'Why not? You have at least four felony convictions, all related to sexual assault. You've spent most of your adult life in prison. You have an inoperable brain tumor. You actually committed the murder. Why not have the courage to admit it and save an innocent man's life?'
'My mother is still alive.'
'Where does she live?'
'Joplin, Missouri.'
'And her name?'
'You gonna give her a call, Pastor?'
'No. I won't bother her. What's her name?'
'Susan Boyette.'
'And she lived on Trotter Street, right?'
'How'd you-?'
'Your mother died three years ago, Travis.'
'How'd you-?'
'Google, took about ten minutes.'
'What's Google?'
'An Internet search company. What else are you lying about? How many lies have you told me today, Travis?'
'If I'm lying, then why are you here?'
'I don't know. That's an excellent question. You tell a good story and you have a bad record, but you can't prove anything.'
Boyette shrugged as if he didn't care, but his cheeks turned red and his eyes narrowed. 'I don't have to prove anything. I'm not the accused, for a change.'
'Her gym card and student ID were found on a sandbar in the Red River. How does that fit into your story?'
'Her phone was in her purse. As soon as I got her, the damned thing started ringing and wouldn't stop. Finally, I got mad, grabbed the purse, and threw it off the bridge. I kept the girl, though. I needed her. She reminds me of your wife, very cute.'
'Shut up, Travis,' Keith said instinctively, before he could stop himself. He took a deep breath and patiently said, 'Let's keep my wife out of this.'
'Sorry, Pastor.' Boyette removed a thin chain from around his neck. 'You want proof, Pastor. Take a look at this.' A gold class ring with a blue stone was attached to the chain. Boyette unsnapped the chain and handed the ring to Keith. It was narrow and small, obviously worn by a female. 'That's ANY on one side,' Boyette said with a smile. 'Alicia Nicole Yarber. On the other side, you have SHS 1999. Dear old Slone High.'
Keith squeezed the ring between his thumb and his forefinger, and stared at it in disbelief.
'Show that to her mother and watch her weep,' Boyette said. 'The only other proof I have, Pastor, is Nicole herself, and the more I think about her, the more I'm convinced that we should just leave her alone.'
Keith placed the ring on the table and Boyette took it. He suddenly kicked his chair back, grabbed his cane, and stood. 'I don't like being called a liar, Pastor. Go home and have fun with your wife.'
'Liar, rapist, murderer, and you're also a coward, Travis. Why don't you do something good for once in your life? And quick, before it's too late.'
'Just leave me alone.' Boyette opened the door, then slammed it behind him.
CHAPTER 6
The prosecution's theory of guilt had been based in part on the desperate hope that one day, someone, somewhere would find Nicole's body. It couldn't stay submerged forever, could it? The Red River would eventually give it up, and a fisherman or a boat captain or maybe a kid wading in the backwater would discover it and call for help. After the remains were identified, the puzzle's final piece would fit perfectly. All loose ends would be tied up. No more questions, no more doubts. The police and prosecutors could quietly, smugly close the book.
The conviction, without the body, was not that difficult to obtain. The prosecution attacked Donte Drumm from all angles, and while it pushed relentlessly for a trial, it also banked heavily on the appearance of a corpse. But nine years had passed and the river had not cooperated. The hopes and prayers, the dreams in some cases, had vanished long ago. And while this caused doubts in the minds of some observers, it did nothing to dampen the convictions of those responsible for Donte's death sentence. After years of rigid tunnel vision, and with so much at stake, they were certain beyond all doubt that they had nailed her killer. They had invested far too much to question their own theories and actions.
The district attorney was a man named Paul Koffee, a tough career prosecutor who'd been elected and reelected without serious opposition for over twenty years. He was an ex-Marine who enjoyed a fight and usually won. His high conviction rate was splashed across his Web site and, during elections, trumpeted in gaudy advertisements sent by direct mail. Sympathy for the accused was rarely shown. And, like the routines of most small-town district attorneys, the grind of chasing meth addicts and car thieves was broken only by a sensational murder and/or rape. Much to his well-guarded frustration, Koffee had prosecuted only two capital murders in his career, a paltry record in Texas. Nicole Yarber's was the first and the most notorious. Three years later, in 2002, Koffee had won an easier death verdict in a case involving a botched drug deal that left bodies all over a country road.
And two was all he would get. Because of a scandal, Koffee was leaving office. He'd promised the public that he would not seek reelection in two years. His wife of twenty-two years had left him in a rather swift and noisy exit. The Drumm execution would be a final moment of glory.
His sidekick was Drew Kerber, who, after his exemplary work in the Drumm case, had been promoted to chief detective, Slone PD, a position he still proudly held. Kerber was pushing forty-six, ten years younger than the prosecutor, and though they often worked closely together, they ran in different social circles. Kerber was a cop. Koffee was a lawyer. The lines were clear in Slone, as in most small southern towns.
At various times, each had promised Donte Drumm that he would be there when he 'got the needle.' Kerber did so first, during the brutal interrogation that produced the confession. Kerber, when he wasn't jabbing the kid in the chest and calling him every name in the book, promised him over and over that he would get the needle, and that he, Detective Kerber, would be there to witness it.
For Koffee, the conversation had been much briefer. During a break in the trial, while Robbie Flak was not around, Koffee had arranged a quick and secret meeting with Donte Drumm under a stairwell just outside the courtroom. He offered a deal-plead guilty and take life, no parole. Otherwise, you'll get death. Donte declined and again said he was innocent, at which Koffee cursed him and assured him he would watch him die. Moments later, Koffee denied the encounter when Flak verbally assaulted him.
The two men had lived with the Yarber case for nine years, and for various reasons they had often seen the need to 'go see Reeva.' It was not always a pleasant visit, not always something they looked forward to, but she was such an important part of the case that she could never be neglected.
Reeva Pike was Nicole's mother, a stout, boisterous woman who had embraced victimhood with an enthusiasm that often bordered on the ridiculous. Her involvement in the case was long, colorful, and often contentious. Now that the story was entering its final act, many in Slone wondered what she would do with herself when it was over.
Reeva had badgered Kerber and the police for two weeks as they frantically searched for Nicole. She had wailed for the cameras and publicly berated all elected officials, from her city alderman to the governor, because they had not found her daughter. After the arrest and alleged confession of Donte Drumm, she made herself readily available for lengthy interviews in which she showed no patience with the presumption of innocence and demanded the death penalty, and the sooner the better. For many years, she had taught the Ladies' Bible Class at the First Baptist Church and, armed with scripture, could practically preach on the subject of God's approval of state-sponsored retribution. She repeatedly referred to Donte as 'that boy,' which riled up the blacks in Slone. She had other names for him too, with 'monster' and 'cold-blooded killer' being two favorites. During the trial, she sat
