life are for reasons I can’t fathom.
I STAYED UP the rest of the night thinking about how to approach Green. Claiming partial responsibility for three murders he was not suspected of would be a ridiculous long-term strategy, even if it got his life extended past Thursday. Normally, that would count in favor of his credibility. But death-row inmates live their lives in thirty-day increments. There isn’t any long-term strategy, at least for the vast majority who are not actually innocent. The focus is on avoiding the looming execution date. Everything else can wait. You solve the immediate problem, and don’t think about the next one. Or, as we say in my office, we’ll burn the distant bridges when we get to them.
Maybe I could understand Green’s motivation and assess his veracity if I could crawl inside his life, but I could not get inside his life even if I wanted to, and on top of that, I didn’t want to. He killed his son’s mother and grandmother with his bare hands. Who can relate to that? Who wants to? When I leave the prison, I can hardly wait to get in the shower and wash the death and deprivation off of me. I hire experts to tell judges what it is like to be one of my clients, and while they are talking, I try hard not to listen. My job is to keep them from being executed, not to save them, or to heal them. My job is hard enough, but at least it is possible. I’m not Don Quixote.
Understanding a broken human being in a visceral way means that you are broken, too, at least for a while. I do not want to imagine abusing my son, or imagine being abused by my father. I don’t want to think about what kind of person would commit that abuse, or what kind of person could, or what would happen to the person who received it. But you don’t get to control the thoughts that enter your mind, and I couldn’t stop myself from picturing Green as a kid Lincoln’s age. Green’s sister was a sociology professor at the University of Miami. What did someone do to him to make him a monster?
The guard at the entrance to the visitor’s lot asked me to open my hood and my trunk. There was a leash and water bowl for the dog, and the board game Candyland. This vehicle search was a new part of the routine. I got out of the car while the guard looked at the engine block. I asked him what was the purpose. He said, Looking for people who don’t belong. I chuckled at that. I said that it seemed to me that it would make more sense to search cars when they were leaving the prison, rather than when they were arriving. He didn’t laugh. No one gets my jokes.
KASSIE WAS ALREADY THERE, sitting next to Destiny, explaining to Green how everything would work once the polygraph examiner arrived. I said hello and walked over to talk to O’Neill. He was visiting with his parents. They had not seen him in six years. Thinking it was going to be their last chance to see him alive, they had driven down from Michigan and were living at a rest stop in their RV. I introduced myself. His mother hugged me. His father took my right hand in both of his and shook it. His mom said, Thank you for everything you are doing for Ronnie. I didn’t tell her that my vote at the office had been to do nothing. Instead I told her we would do what we could. I sat down to talk to O’Neill. His parents stood behind me so they could listen, too. I told them just to ask if they had any questions. O’Neill’s mom said, Thank you, sir.
O’Neill had three cans of Coke, two bags of nacho-cheese-flavored Doritos, two bags of Funions, and three Snickers bars arranged in front of him. He was making sandwiches by layering a tortilla chip, a piece of chocolate bar, a Funion, another piece of chocolate, and another Dorito. Then he’d pop the whole thing into his mouth. His head would rotate like a figure eight while he chewed. He ate a sandwich, wiped the front of his lower teeth using his tongue, then he said to me, Good day, sir. Those are my parents standing right behind you. I told him I knew, that we had met just moments before. He said, I am not sure you are understanding me, sir. Shall the potter be regarded as the clay? That the thing made should say of its maker, He did not make me? Or the thing formed say of Him who made it, He has not understanding?
I exhaled loudly and shook my head like I was clearing cobwebs. His father leaned close to me and whispered, It’s Isaiah.
I said, a little too harshly, I know that. Chapter twenty-nine. What I’m trying to figure out is the connection.
He said, Oh. I’m sorry. Well, I don’t think there is one.
O’Neill looked at his father like he’d never seen him before, his eyes blank, his pupils the size of a pinhead. I tried to make eye contact, but his gaze was off to my left, like he was examining my ear. He gave no indication that he remembered me. I felt like Bill Murray in
O’Neill’s head twitched ever so slightly to the right, and he stared at my eyes. Then his gaze dropped to my chest and lingered. He said, I can see you have a good and pure heart, sir, and I thank you. But I shall not require your interventions or entreaties on my behalf. I am watched over and blessed. These men cannot do me harm. He waved his arms like a windmill. He bent over and put his ear next to a sandwich he had built, the way you lean toward someone who’s whispering. I told him I would talk to him the following week.
As I was leaving, I wrote down his dad’s cell phone number and promised him I would call as soon as I heard something from the Supreme Court. His eyes were wet. His wife was holding on to her purse strap so tightly that her knuckles were white. She said, Ask him, dear.
He took a hold of my upper arm. I could smell peanut butter and jelly on his breath. He said, We are not planning to watch it. We’ll be at the prison, but we want to stay outside in the camper. Do you think that’s all right?
Against my better judgment I said, I am not convinced it is going to happen, Mr. O’Neill. If it does, though, you and your wife should not watch.
He nodded his head up and down twice. His wife stifled a sob. I squeezed his shoulder, and I walked away.
THREE GUARDS BROUGHT Green into a room I had never been in. Two walked on either side of him, holding his arms, and one walked two steps behind. Green’s wrists were cuffed and chained to a leather belt around his waist. Because his ankles were also chained, he did not so much walk into the room as shuffle. When he walked through the door, he smiled, revealing a gold canine tooth I had not noticed before. In the center of the room was a small, square bridge table, with two folding chairs, across from one another. Against the wall were two plastic chairs, the kind you can buy for $10 at the grocery store. Kassie was with me, along with Fred Faison, the polygraph examiner. Green looked at Kassie and grinned. He nodded to me and said, This is the first time since I got here that I been in a room with people from the free world who ain’t guards. Then he turned to the guard on his left and said, Y’all gonna unchain me? The guard did not say anything. He turned around and looked at the captain. The captain also said nothing and walked out of the room.
Kassie asked Faison in a whisper whether he needed Green to be uncuffed to do the testing. Faison shrugged and said, Not really. Either way will be fine.
The captain walked back in. He said, Warden wants Green to stay chained.
Green said, That’s bullshit, man. I ain’t doing this in chains.
I asked the captain whether I could talk to Green privately. He stepped back toward the door, and motioned the other two guards over to him.
He said, You bring any change, counselor?
Kassie was standing next to me. She quickly said, I can buy you a soda.
Green kept his eyes on me and smiled. He said, A Dr. Pepper and a Sprite. He paused a beat, then said, Please.
Kassie walked out to get them. Green looked at the captain and said, I’m ready.
I sat on the edge of one of the plastic chairs, trying to decide whether I believed a word he was saying, trying to figure out whether I could use it, trying to divine his motives. Faison was staring down at his machines as he asked Green a series of questions in a robotic monotone. He had placed sensors on Green’s chest and head. A blood
