by John Grisham
“Two or three years? And you’re his lawyer?”
“I’m one of his lawyers. Mr. Hall is now the principal lawyer on this case, and he’s spent innumerable hours with the client during the last month.”
Roxburgh sat down, and Goodman returned to his seat at the table.
“We have no more witnesses, Your Honor,” Adam said for the record.
“Call your first witness, Mr. Roxburgh,” Slattery said.
“The state calls Colonel George Nugent,” Roxburgh announced. Nugent was found in the hallway, and escorted to the witness stand. His olive shirt and pants were wrinkle-free. The boots were gleaming. He stated for the record who he was and what he was doing. “I was at Parchman an hour ago,” he said, looking at his watch. “Just flew down on the state helicopter.”
“When did you last see Sam Cayhall?” Roxburgh asked.
“He was moved to the Observation Cell at nine this morning. I spoke with him then.”
“Was he mentally alert, or just drooling over in the corner like an idiot?”
Adam started to jump and object, but Goodman grabbed his arm.
“He was extremely alert,” Nugent said eagerly. “Very sharp. He asked me why he was being moved from his cell to another one. He understood what was happening. He didn’t like it, but then Sam doesn’t like anything these days.”
“Did you see him yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“And was he able to speak, or just lying around like a vegetable?”
“Oh, he was quite talkative.”
“What did you talk about?”
“I had a checklist of things I needed to cover with Sam. He was very hostile, even threatened me with bodily harm. He’s a very abrasive person with a sharp tongue. He settled down a bit, and we talked about his last meal, his witnesses, what to do with his personal effects. Things such as that. We talked about the execution.”
“Is he aware he is about to be executed?”
Nugent burst into laughter. “What kind of question is that?”
“Just answer it,” Slattery said without a smile.
“Of course he knows. He knows damned well what’s going on. He’s not crazy. He told me the execution would not take place because his lawyers were about to unload the heavy artillery, as he put it. They’ve planned all this.” Nugent waved both hands at the entire courtroom.
Roxburgh asked about prior meetings with Sam, and Nugent spared no details. He seemed to remember every word Sam had uttered in the past two weeks, especially the biting sarcasm and caustic remarks.
Adam knew it was all true. He huddled quickly with Garner Goodman, and they decided to forgo any cross-examination. Little could be gained from it.
Nugent marched down the aisle and out of the courtroom. The man had a mission. He was needed at Parchman.
The state’s second witness was Dr. N. Stegall, psychiatrist for the Department of Corrections. She made her way to the witness stand as Roxburgh conferred with Morris Henry.
“State your name for the record,” Slattery said.
“Dr. N. Stegall.”
“Ann?” His Honor asked.
“No. N. It’s an initial.”
Slattery looked down at her, then looked at Roxburgh who shrugged as if he didn’t know what to say.
The judge eased even closer to the edge of his bench, and peered down at the witness stand. “Look, Doctor, I didn’t ask for your initial, I asked for your name. Now, you state it for the record, and be quick about it.”
She jerked her eyes away from his, cleared her throat, and reluctantly said, “Neldeen.”
No wonder, thought Adam. Why hadn’t she changed it to something else?
Roxburgh seized the moment and asked her a rapid series of questions about her qualifications and training. Slattery had already deemed her fit to testify.
“Now, Dr. Stegall,” Roxburgh began, careful to avoid any reference to Neldeen, “when did you meet with Sam Cayhall?”
She held a sheet of paper which she looked at. “Thursday, July 26.”
“And the purpose of this visit?”
“As part of my job, I routinely visit death row inmates, especially those with executions approaching. I provide counseling and medication, if they request it.”
“Describe Mr. Cayhall’s mental condition?”
“Extremely alert, very bright, very sharp-tongued, almost to the point of being rude. In fact, he was quite rude to me, and he asked me not to come back.”
“Did he discuss his execution?”
“Yes. In fact, he knew that he had thirteen days to go, and he accused me of trying to give him medication so he wouldn’t be any trouble when his time came. He also expressed concern for another death row inmate, Randy Dupree, who Sam thinks is deteriorating mentally. He was most concerned about Mr. Dupree, and chastised me for not examining him.”
“In your opinion, is he suffering from any form of decreased mental capacity?”
“Not at all. His mind is very sharp.”
“No further questions,” Roxburgh said, and sat down.
Adam walked purposefully to the podium. “Tell us, Dr. Stegall, how is Randy Dupree doing?” he asked at full volume.
“I, uh, I haven’t had a chance to see him yet.”
“Sam told you about him eleven days ago, and you haven’t bothered to meet with him.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“How long have you held your present job?”
“Four years.”
“And in four years how many times have you talked to Sam Cayhall?”
“Once.”
“You don’t care much for the death row inmates, do you, Dr. Stegall?”
“I certainly do.”
“How many men are on death row right now?”
“Well, uh, I’m not sure. Around forty, I think.”
“How many have you actually talked to? Give us a few names.”
Whether it was fear or anger or ignorance, no one could tell. But Neldeen froze. She grimaced and cocked her head to one side, obviously trying to pull a name from the air, and obviously unable to do so. Adam allowed her to hang for a moment, then said, “Thank you, Dr. Stegall.” He turned and walked slowly back to his chair.
“Call your next witness,” Slattery demanded.
“The state calls Sergeant Clyde Packer.”
Packer was fetched from the hallway and led to the front of the courtroom. He was still in uniform, but the gun had been removed. He swore to tell the truth, and took his seat on the witness stand.
Adam was not surprised at the effect of Packer’s testimony. He was an honest man who simply told what he’d seen. He’d known Sam for nine and a half years, and he was the same today as he was when he first arrived. He typed letters and law papers all day long, read many books, especially legal ones. He typed writs for his buddies on the Row, and he typed letters to wives and girlfriends for some of the guys who couldn’t spell. He chain-smoked because he wanted to kill himself before the state got around to it. He loaned money to friends. In Packer’s humble opinion, Sam was as mentally alert now as he’d been nine and a half years earlier. And his mind was very quick.
Slattery leaned a bit closer to the edge of the bench when Packer described Sam’s checkers games with Henshaw and Gullitt.
“Does he win?” His Honor asked, interrupting.
“Almost always.”
Perhaps the turning point of the hearing came when Packer told the story of Sam wanting to see a sunrise before he died. It happened late last week when Packer was making his rounds one morning. Sam had quietly made the request. He knew he was about to die, said he was ready to go, and that he’d like to sneak out early one morning to the bullpen on the east end and see the sun come up. So Packer took care of it, and last Saturday Sam spent an hour sipping coffee and waiting for the sun. Afterward, he was very grateful.
Adam had no questions for Packer. He was excused, and left the courtroom.
Roxburgh announced th
at the next witness was Ralph Griffin, the prison chaplain. Griffin was led to the stand, and looked uncomfortably around the courtroom. He gave his name and occupation, then glanced warily at Roxburgh.
“Do you know Sam Cayhall?” Roxburgh asked.
“I do.”
“Have you counseled him recently?”
“Yes.”
“When did you last see him?”
“Yesterday. Sunday.”
“And how would you describe his mental state?”
“I can’t.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“I said I can’t describe his mental condition.”
“Why not?”
“Because right now I’m his minister, and anything he says or does in my presence is strictly confidential. I can’t testify against Mr. Cayhall.”
Roxburgh stalled for a moment, trying to decide what to do next. It was obvious neither he nor his learned underlings had given any thought to this situation. Perhaps they’d just assumed that since the chaplain was working for the state, then he’d cooperate with them. Griffin waited expectantly for an assault from Roxburgh.
Slattery settled the matter quickly. “A very good point, Mr. Roxburgh. This witness should not be here. Who’s next?”
“No further witnesses,” the Attorney General said, anxious to leave the podium and get to his seat.
His Honor scribbled some notes at length, then looked at the crowded courtroom. “I will take this matter under advisement and render an opinion, probably early in the morning. As soon as my decision is ready, we will notify the attorneys. You don’t need to hang around here. We’ll call you. Court’s adjourned.”
Everyone stood and hurried for the rear doors. Adam caught the Reverend Ralph Griffin and thanked him, then he returned to the table where Goodman, Hez Kerry, Professor Glass, and the students were waiting. They huddled and whispered until the crowd was gone, then left the courtroom. Someone mentioned drinks and dinner. It was almost nine.
Reporters were waiting outside the door to the courtroom. Adam threw out a few polite no-comments and kept walking. Rollie Wedge eased behind Adam and Goodman as they inched through the crowded hallway. He vanished as they left the building.
Two groups of cameras were ready outside. On the front steps, Roxburgh was addressing one batch of reporters, and not far away on the sidewalk, the governor was holding forth. As Adam walked by, he heard McAllister say that clemency was being considered, and that it would be a long night. Tomorrow would be even tougher. Would he attend the execution? someone asked. Adam couldn’t hear the reply.
______
They met at Hal and Mal’s, a popular downtown restaurant and watering hole. Hez found a large table in a corner near the front and ordered a round of beer. A blues band was cranked up in the back. The dining room and bar were crowded.
Adam sat in a corner, next to Hez, and relaxed for the first time in hours. The beer went down fast and calmed him. They ordered red beans and rice, and chatted about the hearing. Hez said he’d performed wonderfully, and the law students were full of compliments. The mood was optimistic. Adam thanked them for their help. Goodman and Glass were at the far end of the table, lost in a conversation about another death row case. Time passed slowly, and Adam attacked his dinner when it arrived.
“This is probably not a good time to bring this up,” Hez said out of the corner of his mouth. He wanted no one to hear but Adam. The band was even louder now.
“I guess you’ll go back to Chicago when this is over,” he said, looking at Goodman to make sure he was still engaged with Glass.
“I guess so,” Adam said, without conviction. He’d had little time to think past tomorrow.
“Well, just so you’ll know, there’s an opening in our office. One of my guys is going into private practice, and we’re looking for a new lawyer. It’s nothing but death work, you know.”
“You’re right,” Adam said quietly. “This is a lousy time to bring it up.”
“It’s tough work, but it’s satisfying. It’s also heartbreaking. And necessary.” Hez chewed on a bite of sausage, and washed it down with beer. “The money is lousy, compared with what you’re making with the firm. Tight budget, long hours, lots of clients.”
“How much?”
“I can start you at thirty thousand.”
“I’m making sixty-two right now. With more on the way.”
“I’ve been there. I was making seventy with a big firm in D.C. when I gave it up to come here. I was on the fast track to a partnership, but it was easy to quit. Money’s not everything.”
“You enjoy this?”
“It grows on you. It takes strong moral convictions to fight the system like this. Just think about it.”
Goodman was now looking their way. “Are you driving to Parchman tonight?” he asked loudly.
Adam was finishing his second beer. He wanted a third, but no more. Exhaustion was rapidly setting in. “No. I’ll wait until we hear something in the morning.”
They ate and drank and listened to Goodman and Glass and Kerry tell war stories of other executions. The beer flowed, and the atmosphere went from optimism to outright confidence.
______
Sam lay in the darkness and waited for midnight. He’d watched the late news and learned that the hearing was over, and that the clock was still ticking. There was no stay. His life was in the hands of a federal judge.
At one minute after midnight, he closed his eyes and said a prayer. He asked God to help Lee with her troubles, to be with Carmen, and to give Adam the strength to survive the inevitable.
He had twenty-four hours to live. He folded his hands over his chest, and fell asleep.
Forty-seven
Nugent waited until exactly seven-thirty to close the door and start the meeting. He walked to the front of the room, and surveyed his troops. “I just left MSU,” he said somberly. “The inmate is awake and alert, not at all the blithering zombie we read about in the paper this morning.” He paused and smiled and expected everyone to admire his humor. It went undetected.
“In fact, he’s already had his breakfast, and is already bitching about wanting his recreation time. So at least something is normal around here. There’s no word from the federal court in Jackson, so this thing is on schedule unless we hear otherwise. Correct, Mr. Mann?”
Lucas was sitting at the table across the front of the room, reading the paper and trying to ignore the colonel. “Right.”
“Now, there are two areas of concern. First is the press. I’ve assigned Sergeant Moreland here to handle these bastards. We’re gonna move them to the Visitors Center just inside the front gate, and try to keep them pinned down there. We’re gonna surround them with guards, and just dare them to venture about. At four this afternoon, I’ll conduct the lottery to see which reporters get to watch the execution. As of yesterday, there were over a hundred names on the request list. They get five seats.
“The second problem is what’s happening outside the gate. The governor has agreed to assign three dozen troopers for today and tomorrow, and they’ll be here shortly. We have to keep our distance from these nuts, especially the skinheads, sumbitches are crazy, but at the same time we have to maintain order. There were two fights yesterday, and things could’ve deteriorated rapidly if we hadn’t been watching. If the execution takes place, there could be some tense moments. Any questions?”
There were none.
“Very well. I’ll expect everyone to act professionally today, and carry this out in a responsible manner. Dismissed.” He snapped off a smart salute, and proudly watched them leave the room.
______
Sam straddled the bench with the checkerboard in front of him, and waited patiently for J. B. Gullitt to enter the bullpen. He sipped the stale remains of a cup of coffee.
Gullitt stepped through the door, and paused as the handcuffs were removed. He rubbed his wrists, shielded his eyes from the sun, and looked at his friend sitting alone. He walked to the
bench and took his position across the board.
Sam never looked up.
“Any good news, Sam?” Gullitt asked nervously. “Tell me it won’t happen.”
“Just move,” Sam said, staring at the checkers.
“It can’t happen, Sam,” he pleaded.
“It’s your turn to go first. Move.”
Gullitt slowly lowered his eyes to the board.
______
The prevailing theory of the morning was that the longer Slattery sat on the petition, the greater the likelihood of a stay. But this was the conventional wisdom of those who were praying for a reprieve. No word had come by 9 a.m., nothing by 9:30.
Adam waited in Hez Kerry’s office, which had become the operations center during the past twenty-four hours. Goodman was across town supervising the relentless hounding of the governor’s hotline, a task he seemed to savor. John Bryan Glass had parked himself outside Slattery’s office.
In the event Slattery denied a stay, they would immediately appeal to the Fifth Circuit. The appeal was completed by nine, just in case. Kerry had also prepared a petition for cert to the U.S. Supreme Court if the Fifth Circuit turned them down. The paperwork was waiting. Everything was waiting.
To occupy his mind, Adam called everyone he could think of. He called Carmen in Berkeley. She was asleep and fine. He called Lee’s condo, and, of course, there was no answer. He called Phelps’ office and talked to a secretary. He called Darlene to tell her he had no idea when he might return. He called McAllister’s private number, but got a busy signal. Perhaps Goodman had it jammed too.
He called Sam and talked about the hearing last night, with special emphasis on the Reverend Ralph Griffin. Packer had testified too, he explained, and told only the truth. Nugent, typically, was an ass. He told Sam he would be there around noon. Sam asked him to hurry.
By eleven, Slattery’s name was being cursed and defamed with righteous fervor. Adam had had enough. He called Goodman and said he was driving to Parchman. He said farewell to Hez Kerry, and thanked him again.
Then he raced away, out of the city of Jackson, north on Highway 49. Parchman was two hours away if he drove within the speed limit. He found a talk radio station that promised the latest news twice an hour, and listened to an interminable discussion about casino gambling in Mississippi. There was nothing new on the Cayhall execution at the eleven-thirty newsbreak.
