back.'
Keith stood straight and took a deep breath. To make sure things were clear, Boyette repeated himself, but much louder. 'You need to leave, Pastor. And please don't come back.' – In the rear of Eppie's, the two settled over large bowls of beef stew. Matthew pulled some notes out of a pocket and spoke with a mouthful. 'There's no code section directly on point, but you would probably be charged with obstruction of justice. Don't even think about taking that guy to Texas.'
'I just talked to our man. He is-'
'Our man? I didn't realize I'd been drafted.'
'He's in the hospital. Had seizures last night. The tumor is quickly killing him. He's lost his desire to help the cause. He's a creep, a psychopath, probably crazy before the tumor took over his brain.'
'Why did he come to church?'
'Probably to get out of the halfway house for a few hours. No, I shouldn't say that. I've seen real emotion from this guy, real guilt, and a fleeting desire to do what's right. Dana found one of his former parole officers in Arkansas. The officer talked a little and said that our man was a member of some white supremacist gang in prison. Donte Drumm, of course, is black, and so I'm questioning how much sympathy is really there.'
'You're not eating,' Matthew said as he took a bite.
'I'm not hungry. I have another idea.'
'You are not going to Texas. They would probably shoot you down there.'
'Okay, okay. Here's the idea. What if you call the lawyer for Donte Drumm? I couldn't get past the receptionist. I'm just a humble servant of the Lord, but you're a lawyer, a prosecutor, and you speak their language.'
'And what might I say to him?'
'You could say that you have reason to believe that the real killer is here in Topeka.'
Matthew chewed a mouthful and waited. He said, 'Is that all? Just like that. This lawyer gets a weird phone call from me. I say what I say, which isn't much, and that's supposed to give the lawyer new ammunition to file in court and stop the execution? Am I right here, Keith?'
'I know you can be more persuasive than that.'
'Try this scenario. This creep is your typical pathological liar who's about to die-poor guy. And he decides to go out with a bang, decides to get one last shot of revenge at a system that's beaten him up. He learns of this case in Texas, does his research, realizes that the body has never been found, and, presto, he's got his story. He finds the Web site and becomes fluent in the facts, and now he's toying with you. Can you imagine the attention this guy would get? But his health won't cooperate. Leave it alone, Keith. He's probably a fake.'
'How would he hear about the case?'
'It's been in the newspapers.'
'How would he find the Web site?'
'You ever hear of Google?'
'He does not have access to computers. He's been at Lansing for the past six years. Prisoners do not have access to the Internet. You should know that. Can you imagine what would happen if they did? Access, plus all that idle time. No software in the world would be safe. He does not have access to a computer at the halfway house. This guy is forty-four years old, Matthew, and has spent most of his adult life in prison. He's probably terrified of computers.'
'What about Drumm's confession? That doesn't bother you?'
'Of course it does, but according to his Web site-'
'Keith, come on. That Web site is run by his lawyers. Talk about slanted. It's so one-sided it loses credibility.'
'What about the ring?'
'It's a high school ring, one of a billion. Not exactly difficult to produce or replicate.'
Keith's shoulders sagged and slumped and he was suddenly very tired. He lacked the energy to keep arguing.
'You need some sleep, my friend,' Matthew said. 'And you need to forget this case.'
'Maybe you're right.'
'I think I am. And if the execution happens Thursday, don't beat yourself up. The odds are heavy that they have the right guy.'
'Spoken like a true prosecutor.'
'Who just happens to be a friend.'
CHAPTER 10
On October 29, 1999, two weeks after he was convicted, Donte Drumm arrived on death row at the Ellis Unit at the prison in Huntsville, a town of thirty-five thousand, about ninety miles north of downtown Houston. He was processed and issued the standard wardrobe of two sets of white shirts and pants, two white jumpsuits, four pairs of boxers, two white T-shirts, one pair of rubber shower shoes, one thin blanket, and one small pillow. He was also given a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a plastic comb, and one roll of toilet paper. He was assigned to a small cell with one concrete bunk, and a stainless steel toilet and sink. He became one of 452 male inmates on death row. There were twenty-two condemned women housed at another prison near Gatesville, Texas.
Because he had no record of bad behavior in prison, he was classified as a Level I. As such, he was allowed a few extra privileges. He could work up to four hours a day in the garment factory on death row. He could spend his exercise time in a yard with a few other inmates. He could shower once a day, alone without supervision. He could participate in religious services, craft workshops, and educational programs. He could receive a maximum of $75 a month from the outside. He could purchase a television, a radio, writing supplies, and some food from the commissary. And he was allowed visitors twice a week. Those who violated the rules were demoted to Level II, where the privileges were curtailed. The bad boys were reduced to Level III, where all goodies were taken away.
Though he had been in a county jail for almost a year, the shock of death row was overwhelming. The noise was relentless-loud radios and televisions, the constant banter of the other inmates, the shouts from the guards, the whistling and gurgling from the old plumbing pipes, and the banging of the cell doors being opened and closed. In one letter to his mother, he wrote: 'The racket never stops. Never. I try to ignore it, and for an hour or so I can, but then someone will scream or start singing badly and a guard will yell and everybody will laugh. This goes on at all hours. The radios and televisions are turned off at ten at night, and that's when the loudmouths start their foolishness. Living like an animal in a cage is bad enough, but the noise is driving me crazy.'
But he soon learned that he could endure the confinement and the rituals. He wasn't sure, though, if he could live without his family and friends. He missed his brothers and sister and father, but the thought of being permanently separated from his mother was enough to make him weep. He cried for hours, always with his face down, in the dark, and very quietly.
Death row is a nightmare for serial killers and ax murderers. For an innocent man, it's a life of mental torture that the human spirit is not equipped to survive.
His sentence of death took on a new meaning on November 16 when Desmond Jennings was executed for killing two people during a bad drug deal. The following day, John Lamb was executed for the murder of a traveling salesman, the day after Lamb had been paroled from prison. The next day, November 18, Jose Gutierrez was executed for an armed robbery and murder he committed with his brother. The brother had been executed five years earlier. Jennings had been on death row for four years, Lamb sixteen, Gutierrez ten. A guard told Donte that the average stay on death row before execution was ten years, which, he said proudly, was the shortest in the nation. Once again, Texas was number one. 'But don't worry,' the guard said. 'It's the longest ten years of your life, and, of course, the last.' Ha, ha.
Three weeks later, on December 8, David Long was executed for the hatchet slayings of three women in a Dallas suburb. During his trial, Long told the jury he would kill again if not given the death penalty. The jury obliged. On December 9, James Beathard was executed for another triple homicide. Five days later, Robert Atworth was executed, after only three years on death row. The following day, Sammie Felder was executed after
