The summons from the bishop1 came by e-mail early Thursday morning, and was confirmed by a brief phone conversation in which nothing of substance was discussed. By 9:00 a.m., Keith and Dana were once again on the road, this time headed southwest on Interstate 35 to Wichita. As he drove, Keith recalled the same journey only a week earlier, same car, same radio station, but with a very different passenger. He had finally convinced Dana that Boyette was crazy enough to stalk her. The man had been arrested innumerable times, so he wasn't the craftiest2 criminal on the prowl. Until he was caught, Keith would not let his wife out of his sight.
Keith was ignoring the office and the church. Dana's nonprofit work and jam-packed daily planners had been placed aside. Only the family mattered at the moment. If they had the flexibility3, and the money, Keith and Dana would have loaded up the boys and taken a long trip. She was concerned about her husband. He had witnessed a uniquely disturbing event, a tragedy that would haunt him forever, and though he'd been thoroughly4 unable to stop it or intervene in any manner, he was nonetheless burdened by it. He had told her several times how dirty he felt when the execution was over, how he wanted to go somewhere and take a shower, to cleanse5 himself of the perspiration6 and grime and fatigue7 and complicity. He wasn't sleeping and he wasn't eating, and around the boys he worked hard to carry on the usual banter8 and games, but it was forced. Keith was detached, and as the days passed, she was beginning to realize that he was not snapping out of it. He seemed to have forgotten about the church. He had not mentioned a sermon or anything related to the upcoming Sunday. There was a pile of phone messages on his desk, all waiting to be returned. He'd corralled their assistant minister into presiding over the Wednesday night dinner, blaming it on a migraine. He'd never had a migraine, never faked being ill, and never asked someone to pinch-hit in any situation. When he wasn't reading about the Drumm case, or researching the death penalty, he was watching cable news, some of the same segments over and over. Something was brewing9.
The bishop was a man named Simon Priester, a huge round ball of an old man who was married to the church and had absolutely nothing else to do but micromanage those under him. Though only in his early fifties, he looked and acted much older, with no hair except matching white patches above the ears, and a grotesque10 abdomen11 that bulged12 out and hung grossly over the hips13. There had never been a wife to scold him about his weight, or make sure his socks matched, or do something about the stains on his shirt. He spoke14 in soft slow words, hands usually clasped in front of him, as if waiting for every word to come from above. Behind his back, he was known as the Monk15, usually in an affectionate tone, though often otherwise. Twice a year, on the second Sunday in March and the third Sunday in September, the Monk insisted on preaching at St. Mark's in Topeka. He was a crowd killer16. The few who came to hear him were the hardiest17 of the flock, but even they had to be cajoled into attending by Keith, Dana, and the staff. Because of the slim crowds, the Monk was overly concerned about the health of St. Mark's. If you only knew, thought Keith, who couldn't imagine larger crowds at other churches on the Monk's tour.
The meeting was not urgent, though the initial e-mail began with "Dear Keith: I am deeply concerned ..." Simon had suggested a possible lunch, his favorite pastime, sometime the following week, but Keith had little else to do. In truth, a quick trip to Wichita gave him an excuse to leave town and spend the day with Dana.
"I'm sure you've seen this," Simon said after they were properly arranged at a small table with coffee and frozen croissants. It was a copy of an editorial in the morning edition of the Topeka paper, something Keith had read three times before sunrise.
"I have," Keith said. With the Monk, it was always safer to use as few words as possible. He was brilliant in taking the loose ones, piecing them together, and tying them around your neck.
Hands clasped, after a bite of croissant that had not been fully18 consumed because a large crumb19 was stuck on his lower lip, the Monk said, "Don't get me wrong here, Keith, we are quite proud of you. What courage. You threw caution to the wind and raced off to a war zone to save a man's life. Dazzling, actually."
"Thank you, Simon, but I don't remember feeling that brave. I just reacted."
"Right, right. But you must've been terrified. What was it like, Keith? The violence, death row, being with Boyette? Must've been horrible."
The last thing Keith wanted to do was tell the story, but the Monk looked so eager. "Come on, Simon, you've read the papers," Keith tried to protest. "You know what happened."
"Keith, humor me. What really happened?"
So Keith bored himself while humoring the Monk, who added to the narrative20 every fifteen seconds with a bewildered "Unbelievable" or a clucking "My, my." Once, while he was shaking his head, the crumb was dislodged and fell into his coffee, but the Monk did not notice. In this rendition, Keith chose the chilling phone call from Boyette as the final chapter.
"My, my."
Typical of the Monk, they had begun with the unpleasant--the editorial--then switched to the enjoyable--Keith's brave journey south--and suddenly it was back to the real purpose of the meeting. The first two paragraphs of the editorial commended Keith on his courage, but that was just the warm-up. The remainder chastised21 him for knowingly violating the law, though the editors, like the lawyers, struggled to set forth22 the exact violation23.
"I assume you're getting top-notch legal advice," the Monk said, obviously anxious to give his version of the necessary advice, if Keith would only ask.
"I have a good lawyer."
"And?"
"Come on, Simon. You understand the nature of confidential24 relationships."
The Monk's overloaded25 spine26 managed to stiffen27. Chastised, he plowed28 on. "Of course. I didn't mean to pry29, but this does have our attention, Keith. There is the suggestion that there could be a criminal investigation30, that you could be in hot water, so to speak, and so on. This is hardly private."
"I'm guilty of something, Simon. I did it, plain and simple. My lawyer thinks that I may one day find it necessary to plead guilty to some vague obstruction32 of justice charge. No jail. Small fine. Record to be expunged33 later. There."
The Monk ate the last of his croissant with one savage34 bite and chewed on matters for a while. He washed it down with a slug of coffee. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and, when everything was properly cleared, said, "Assume you plead guilty to something, Keith, what would you expect from the church?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"I had two choices, Simon. Play it safe, stay in Kansas, and hope for the best. Or I could do what I did. Imagine for a moment, Simon, if I had done otherwise, if I had known the truth about who killed the girl and I had been too timid to move. They execute the wrong man, they find the body, and for the rest of my life I carry the guilt31 of not trying to intervene. What would you have done, Simon?"
"We admire you, Keith, honestly," the Monk replied softly, completely ducking the question. "What concerns us, though, is the prospect35 of a prosecution36, one of our ministers accused of a crime, and in a very public way."
The Monk often used the word "us" when driving home a point, as if all the important leaders in the Christian37 world were focused on whatever pressing matter the Monk had on his agenda.
"And if I plead guilty?" Keith asked.
"That should be avoided, if at all possible."
"And if I'm forced to?"
The Monk shifted his sizable frame, yanked on the sagging38 lobe39 of his left ear, then re-clasped his hands, as if ready to pray. "Our synodical policies would require the initiating40 of a disciplinary procedure. Any criminal conviction would mandate41 this, Keith, I'm sure you understand. We can't have our ministers going to court with their lawyers, standing42 before judges, pleading guilty, getting sentenced, with the media stumbling all over themselves. Especially in a case like this. Think about the church, Keith."
"How would I be punished?"
"It's all premature43, Keith. Let's worry about it later. I just wanted to have the first conversation, that's all."
"I want to get this straight, Simon. I stand a very good chance of being disciplined, whether suspended, placed on leave, perhaps defrocked, for doing something that you deem admirable and the church is very proud of. Right?"
"Right, Keith, but let's not jump the gun here. If you can avoid prosecution, the problem is averted44."
"Happily ever after."
"Something like that. Just keep us in the loop. We prefer to hear the news from you, not the newspaper."
Keith nodded, his mind already drifting away.
Classes resumed without incident Thursday morning at the high school. When the students arrived, they were greeted by the football team, again wearing their home jerseys45. The coaches and cheerleaders were there too, at the main entrance, smiling and shaking hands and trying to set a mood of reconciliation46. Inside, in the lobby, Roberta, Cedric, Marvin, and Andrea chatted with the students and teachers.
Nicole Yarber was buried in a private ceremony at 4:00 on Thursday afternoon, almost exactly one week after the execution of Donte Drumm. There was no formal funeral or memorial service; Reeva simply wasn't up to it. She was advised by two close friends that a large, showy service would not be well attended, unless reporters were allowed. Besides, the First Baptist Church had no sanctuary47, and the thought of borrowing one from a rival denomination48 was not appealing.
A strong police presence kept the cameras far away. Reeva was sick of those people. For the first time in nine years, she ran from publicity49. She and Wallis invited close to a hundred family members and friends, and virtually all showed up. There were a few prominent no-shows. Nicole's father was excluded because he had not bothered to witness the execution, though, as Reeva was forced to admit to herself in hindsight, she wished that she had not witnessed it either. Things had become quite complicated in Reeva's world, and not inviting50 Cliff Yarber seemed appropriate at that moment. She would regret it later. She would not regret excluding Drew Kerber and Paul Koffee, two men she now loathed51. They had misled her, betrayed her, and wounded her so deeply that she would never recover.
As the architects of the wrongful conviction, Kerber and Koffee had a list of victims that was growing steadily52. Reeva and her family had been added.
Brother Ronnie, who was as weary of Reeva as he was of the media, presided with a subdued53 dignity that fitted the occasion. He spoke and read scripture54, and as he did so, he noticed the perplexed55 and stunned56 faces of those in attendance. All were white, and all had been convinced beyond any doubt that the remains57 in the bronze coffin58 before them had been swept away by the Red River years earlier. If any had ever felt the slightest sympathy for Donte Drumm and his family, they had kept it from their pastor59. They had relished60 the thought of retribution and execution, as had he. Brother Ronnie was trying to make peace with God and find forgiveness. He wondered how many of those present were doing the same. However, he did not wish to offend anyone, especially Reeva, so his message was on the lighter61 side. He had never known Nicole, but he managed to recount her life with stories shared by her friends. He assured everyone that Nicole had been with her Father in heaven all these years. In heaven, there is no sorrow, so she was oblivious62 to the suffering of the loved ones she left behind.
A hymn63, a solo, another reading of scripture, and the service ended in less than an hour. Nicole Yarber finally received a proper burial.
Paul Koffee waited until after dark to slip into his office. He typed a terse64 letter of resignation and e-mailed it to Judge Henry, with a copy to the clerk of the court. He typed a slightly longer explanation to his staff and e-mailed it without bothering to check for typos. He hurriedly dumped the contents of his center desk drawer into a box, then grabbed whatever valuables he could carry. An hour later, he walked out of his office for the last time.
His car was packed and he was headed west, a long road trip with Alaska as the likely destination. He had no itinerary65, no real plans, no desire to return to Slone in the near future. Ideally, he would never return, but with Flak breathing fire down his neck he knew that was not possible. He would be dragged back for all manner of abuse--an arduous66 deposition67 that would go on for days, a likely date with a disciplinary committee from the state bar, perhaps a punishing ordeal68 with federal investigators69. His future would not be pretty. He was fairly certain he would not face the prospect of jail, but he also knew he could not survive financially and professionally.
Paul Koffee was ruined, and he knew it.
收听单词发音 |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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craftiest
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| 狡猾的，狡诈的( crafty的最高级 ) | |
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flexibility
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| n.柔韧性，弹性，（光的）折射性，灵活性 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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cleanse
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| vt.使清洁，使纯洁，清洗 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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abdomen
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| n.腹，下腹(胸部到腿部的部分) | |
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bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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hardiest
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| 能吃苦耐劳的，坚强的( hardy的最高级 )； （植物等）耐寒的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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crumb
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| n.饼屑，面包屑，小量 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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chastised
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| v.严惩（某人）（尤指责打）( chastise的过去式 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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violation
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| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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overloaded
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| a.超载的，超负荷的 | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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stiffen
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| v.(使)硬，(使)变挺，(使)变僵硬 | |
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plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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expunged
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| v.擦掉( expunge的过去式和过去分词 )；除去；删去；消除 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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lobe
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| n.耳垂，（肺，肝等的）叶 | |
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initiating
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| v.开始( initiate的现在分词 )；传授；发起；接纳新成员 | |
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mandate
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| n.托管地；命令，指示 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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jerseys
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| n.运动衫( jersey的名词复数 ) | |
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reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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denomination
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| n.命名，取名，(度量衡、货币等的)单位 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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50
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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51
loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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52
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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53
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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54
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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55
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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56
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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terse
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| adj.(说话，文笔)精炼的，简明的 | |
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itinerary
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| n.行程表，旅行路线；旅行计划 | |
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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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deposition
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| n.免职，罢官；作证；沉淀；沉淀物 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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investigators
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| n.调查者，审查者( investigator的名词复数 ) | |
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