The Confession, Page 36

  times and actions by the court. Robbie plowed ahead. "The court closes for business each day at 5:00 p.m., even when an execution is pending. Our final filing was the last-minute affidavit and recantation by Joey Gamble. In Austin, attorneys for Donte called the court clerk, a Mr. Emerson Pugh, and informed him that they were on their way with the petition. He said the court would close at 5:00. And he was right. When the attorneys arrived at the court at 5:07, the door was locked. The petition could not be filed."

  Prudlowe's wife glared at him and said, "I hope he's lying."

  Prudlowe wanted to assure her that of course this loudmouthed lawyer was lying, but he hesitated. Flak was too shrewd to make such damning statements in public without having the facts to back them up.

  "Milton, tell me this guy is lying."

  "Well, honey, I'm not sure right now."

  "You're not sure? Why would the court close if the lawyers were trying to file something?"

  "Well, uh, we--"

  "You're stuttering here, Milton, and that means you're struggling to tell me something that may or may not be entirely accurate. Did you see Boyette's video two hours before the execution?"

  "Yes, it was passed--"

  "Oh my God, Milton! Then why didn't you stop things for a few days. You're the chief justice, Milton; you can do anything you want. Executions are delayed all the time. Why not give it another thirty days, or a year for that matter?"

  "We thought it was bogus. The guy is a serial rapist with no credibility."

  "Well, right now he's got a helluva lot more credibility than the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals. The murderer confesses, no one believes him, so he shows them exactly where he buried the body. Sounds pretty credible to me."

  ------

  Robbie paused and took a sip of water. "As for the governor, his office received a copy of the Boyette video at 3:11 Thursday afternoon. I don't know for sure whether the governor saw the video. We do know that at 4:30 he addressed a crowd of protesters and publicly denied a reprieve for Donte."

  The governor was watching. He was standing in his office in the Governor's Mansion, dressed for a golf game that would not be played, with Wayne on one side and Barry on the other. When Robbie paused, he demanded, "Is that true? Did we have the video at 3:11 p.m.?"

  Wayne lied first. "Don't know. So much stuff was happening. They were filing junk by the truckload."

  Barry told the second lie. "This is the first I've heard of it."

  "Did anyone see the video when it came in?" he asked, his irritation growing by the second.

  "Don't know, Boss, but we'll find out," Barry said.

  The governor stared at the television, his mind spinning, trying to grasp the severity of what he was hearing. Robbie was saying, "Even after denying clemency, the governor had the right to reconsider and stop the execution. He refused to do so."

  The governor hissed the word "Asshole," then yelled, "Get to the bottom of this, and now!"

  ------

  Carlos closed his laptop, and the screen went blank. Robbie flipped through his legal pad to make sure he'd said enough. He lowered his voice and in a grave tone said, "In closing, it is now obvious that we have finally done it. Those who study the death penalty, and those of us who fight it, have long feared the day when this would happen, when we would wake up to the horrible fact that we have executed an innocent man, and that it can be proven by clear and convincing evidence. Innocent men have been executed before, but the proof was not clear. With Donte, there is no doubt." A pause. The courtroom was still and silent. "What you will see in the days to come will be a pathetic game of finger-pointing, lying, and dodging blame. I have just given you the names and some of the faces of those responsible. Go after them, listen to their lies. This did not have to happen. This was not an unavoidable mistake. This was a willful disregard for the rights of Donte Drumm. May he rest in peace. Thank you."

  Before the onslaught of questions, Robbie stepped to the bar and took the hand of Roberta Drumm. She rose and walked stiffly to the podium, Robbie by her side. She pulled the microphone down a bit closer and said, "My name is Roberta Drumm. Donte was my son. I have little to say at this moment. My family is grieving. We are in shock. But I beg of you, I plead with the people of this town, to stop the violence. Stop the fires and the rock throwing, the fighting, the threats. Please stop it. It does no good. Yes, we are angry. Yes, we are wounded. But the violence serves no purpose. I call on my people to lay down your arms, to respect everyone, and to get off the streets. The violence does nothing but harm the honor of my son."

  Robbie led her back to her seat, then smiled at the crowd and said, "Now, does anyone have a question?"

  CHAPTER 35

  Matthew Burns joined the Schroeder family for a late breakfast of pancakes and sausage. The boys ate quickly and returned to their video games. Dana made more coffee and began clearing the table. They discussed the press conference, Robbie's brilliant presentation of the case, and Roberta's poignant remarks. Matthew was curious about Slone, the fires and violence, but Keith had seen little of it. He had felt the tension, smelled the smoke, heard the police helicopter hovering overhead, but he had not seen much of the town.

  With fresh coffee, the three sat at the table and talked about Keith's improbable journey and the whereabouts of Travis Boyette. Keith, though, was growing weary of the details. He had other issues, and Matthew was prepared for the conversation.

  "So, Counselor, how much trouble could I be in?" Keith asked.

  "The law is not real clear. There is no specific prohibition against aiding a convicted felon in his efforts to violate the terms of his parole. But it's still against the law. The applicable code section deals with obstruction of justice, which is a huge net for a lot of behavior that would otherwise be difficult to classify. By driving Boyette out of this jurisdiction, and with the knowledge that it was a violation of his parole, you violated the law."

  "How serious?"

  Matthew shrugged, grimaced, stirred his coffee with a spoon. "It's a felony, but not a serious one. And it's not the type of violation that we get excited about."

  "We?" Dana asked.

  "As in prosecutors. The district attorney would have jurisdiction, a different office. I'm with the city."

  "A felony?" Keith asked.

  "Probably. It appears that your trip to Texas has gone unnoticed here in Topeka. You managed to avoid the cameras, and I have yet to see your name in print."

  "But you know about it, Matthew," Dana said.

  "I do, and I suppose that, technically, I'm expected to inform the police, to turn you in. But it doesn't work that way. We can process only so much crime. We're forced to pick and choose. This is not a violation that any prosecutor would want to deal with."

  "But Boyette is a famous guy right now," Dana said. "It's just a matter of time before a reporter here picks up on the story. He jumped parole, took off to Texas, and we've seen his face for three days now."

  "Yes, but who can link Keith to Boyette?"

  "Several folks in Texas," Keith said.

  "True, but I doubt if they care what happens here. And these folks are on our side, right?"

  "I guess."

  "So, who can make the link? Did anyone see you with Boyette?"

  "What about the guy at the halfway house?" Dana asked.

  "It's possible," Keith said. "I went there several times looking for Boyette. I signed the register, and there was a guy at the desk, Rudy, I think, who knew my name."

  "But he didn't see you drive away with Boyette late Wednesday night?"

  "No one saw us. It was after midnight."

  Matthew shrugged, satisfied. All three worked on their coffee for a moment, then Keith said, "I can make the link, Matthew. I knew I was violating the law when I left with Boyette because you made things very clear. I made a choice. At the time, I knew I was doing the right thing. I have no regrets now, so long as Boyette is found before he hurts anyone else. But if he's not found, and i
f someone gets hurt, then I'll have a ton of regrets. I am not going to live with a possible criminal violation hanging over my head. We plan to deal with it now."

  Dana and Keith were both looking at Matthew, who said, "That's sort of what I figured."

  "I'm not running from this," Keith said. "And we can't live with the threat of an officer knocking on the door. Let's get it over with."

  Matthew shook his head and said, "Okay, but you'll need a lawyer."

  "What about you?" Dana asked.

  "A defense lawyer, as in criminal defense. Me? I'm now on the other side of the street, and, frankly, I can help more over there."

  "Could Keith possibly go to jail?" she asked.

  "Get right to the point, don't you?" Keith said, with a smile. Dana was not smiling. Her eyes were moist.

  Matthew stretched his arms above his head, then leaned forward on his elbows. "Here's my worst-case scenario. I'm not predicting this; it's just the worst case. If you admit your role in taking him to Texas, get ready for some coverage. Then, if Boyette rapes another woman, all hell breaks loose. I can see the DA playing hardball with you, but I cannot, under any scenario, see you going to jail. You may have to plead guilty, get probation, pay a small fine, but I doubt it."

  "I'd stand in court, in front of a judge, and plead guilty?"

  "That's what usually happens."

  Keith took Dana's hand on the table. There was a long moment of reflection, then she said, "What would you do, Matthew?"

  "Hire a lawyer, and pray Boyette is either dead or too ill to attack someone."

  ------

  At noon, the forty-one white members of the Slone High football team met in the parking lot of a small elementary school on the edge of town. There, they quickly boarded a chartered bus and left town. Their equipment was in a rental van behind the bus. An hour later, they arrived at Mount Pleasant, population fifteen thousand. From there, the bus followed a police car to the high school football field. The players dressed quickly and hustled to the field for their pregame routines. It was odd, warming up with no lights and no fans. Security was tight; police cars blocked every possible route to the field. The Lobos of Longview High took the field minutes later. There were no cheerleaders, no band, national anthem, pregame prayer, or public address announcer. As the coin was tossed, the Slone coach looked across the field at the Lobos and wondered how bad the slaughter might be. They had eighty players on a roster that was at least 70 percent black. Slone had not beaten Longview since the days of Donte Drumm, and the Warriors had no chance today.

  What was happening in Slone was being felt throughout East Texas, if not far beyond.

  Slone won the toss and elected to receive. It really didn't matter, but the Slone coach wanted to avoid a long kickoff return and a quick seven points. His receiving team took the field, and the Lobos lined up to kick. Ten black kids and a white kicker. At the whistle, the player closest to the ball suddenly stepped forward and grabbed it. It was a move that had never been seen before, and for a second everyone was startled. The ten black members of the kickoff team then yanked off their helmets and laid them on the turf. The referees blew their whistles, the coaches yelled, and for a few seconds there was total confusion. On cue, the other black Longview players walked onto the field dropping their helmets and jerseys as they went. The Slone players on the field backed away in disbelief. The game was over before it began.

  The black players formed a tight circle and sat together at midfield, the modern-day version of a sit-in. The officials, four white and two black, huddled briefly and kept their cool. None of the six volunteered to attempt to get the football. The Longview coach walked to midfield and said, "What the hell is going on here?"

  "Game's over, Coach," said Number 71, a 330-pound tackle and co-captain.

  "We ain't playing," said Number 2, the other co-captain.

  "Why not?"

  "It's a protest," said Number 71. "We're solid with our brothers in Slone."

  The coach kicked the turf and weighed his options. It was clear that this situation was not about to change, not anytime soon. "Well, just so you understand what you are doing here, this means we'll have to forfeit, which knocks us out of the play-offs, and they'll probably find some kind of probation for us. That what you guys want?"

  All sixty or so said "Yes!" in unison.

  The coach threw up his hands, walked off the field, and sat on the bench. The Slone coach called his players off the field. From both sidelines, the white players stared at the black players. Green Lobo jerseys and helmets littered the field. The officials retreated to an end zone and watched; their day was done.

  Minutes passed as reality set in. Then from the Longview sideline, Number 35, a white backup fullback, stepped onto the field, removed his helmet and jersey, and took a seat on the forty-yard line, near his black teammates. One by one the other players followed, until only the coaches were left on the sideline.

  The Slone coach wasn't sure what to do. He was thinking that perhaps he had just been handed a victory, snatched by a miracle from certain defeat. He was about to tell his players to leave the field when Number 88, Denny Weeks, the starting tight end and the son of a Slone police officer, stepped onto the field, dropped his helmet, and pulled off his jersey. He sat on the field with the Longview players, one of whom reached over and shook his hand. One by one the Warriors followed, until all forty-one had left the sideline.

  ------

  At 3:00 p.m., the governor's office issued a statement for the press. Drafted by Barry Ringfield and rewritten by Wayne Wallcott and the governor himself, its final version read:

  Governor Gill Newton is deeply concerned about recent events in the matter of Donte Drumm. The allegations that this office received a videotape of a confession by the alleged killer, just before the execution, are simply false. The governor first saw the video yesterday, Friday, approximately sixteen hours after the execution. The governor will be available on Monday for additional comments.

  ------

  The train station finally closed Saturday afternoon. Aaron Rey placed two armed guards on the landing, with orders to threaten anyone who came near. The Flak firm gathered at Robbie's house for an impromptu party. Everyone was there, along with spouses. DeDe hired a caterer who specialized in barbecue, and the rich smell of ribs on the grill wafted over the patio. Fred Pryor manned the bar and the drinks flowed. Everyone lounged in the pool house and tried to relax. The Longhorns were playing football and the television drew some interest. Robbie tried to prohibit any discussion of the Drumm case, but the conversation drifted there anyway. They couldn't help themselves. They were exhausted, drained, and defeated, but managed to unwind. The booze helped a lot.

  The Longview game was making the rounds, and they tipped a glass in honor of the sit-in.

  Fred Pryor, while bartending, monitored the police chatter on his radio. The streets of Slone were remarkably calm, which they attributed to Roberta Drumm's emotional plea. They had also heard that Roberta, Marvin, Cedric, and Andrea had gone to Washington Park and pleaded with the people to go home, to stop the violence.

  Though Robbie had ordered all cell phones turned off, the call came through anyway. Carlos received it and relayed the news to a hushed audience. The authorities in Joplin had expedited their examination and had some interesting news. On Nicole's underwear, they had found a significant semen sample. DNA testing matched it to Travis Boyette. His DNA sample was in the Missouri data bank due to a previous conviction there.

  There was reason to celebrate, and reason to weep. With emotions torn both ways, they decided to have another drink.

  CHAPTER 36

  Sunday. What had been probable on Thursday, even likelier on Friday, and virtually certain on Saturday became the numbing truth during the night, so that on Sunday morning the country awoke to the sensational reality that an innocent man had been executed. Led by the New York Times and the Washington Post, the big dailies railed and ranted, and all reached the same
conclusion--it's time to stop the killing. The story was page one in both papers, and in dozens of others from Boston to San Francisco. Lengthy articles gave the history of the case, and the characters were well advertised, with Robbie Flak getting as much attention as Donte. Screeching editorials called for a moratorium on executions. There were countless guest columns by legal experts, defense lawyers, death-penalty abolitionists, professors, activists, ministers, even a couple of men on death row, and the same conclusion was reached: now that we have unassailable evidence of a wrongful execution, the only fair and sensible course is to stop them forever, or, if that can't be done, at least stop them until the death penalty system can be studied and overhauled.

  In Texas, the Houston Chronicle, a paper that had gradually