state troopers, the county coroner, investigators from the Missouri State Highway Patrol, and, finally, a crime scene expert. Radios squawked, men yelled, a helicopter hovered overhead. When the news arrived that Boyette had vanished, cops cursed his name as if they had known him forever. Robbie called Keith's cell phone and passed along the news. Keith explained what had happened at the hospital. He could not imagine Boyette being physically able to go far. They agreed that he would be caught, and soon.
By 2:00 p.m., Robbie was tired of the scene. He had told his story and answered a thousand questions from the investigators, there was nothing left to do. They had found Nicole Yarber, and they were ready to return to Slone and face a multitude of issues. Bryan Day had enough footage for a miniseries, but would be forced to sit on it for a few hours. Robbie informed the sheriff that they were leaving. The caravan, minus the Subaru, worked its way through the traffic until it was back on the highway and headed south. Carlos e-mailed dozens of photographs to the office, as well as the video. A presentation was being put together.
'Can we talk?' Martha Handler asked after a few minutes on the road.
'No,' Robbie answered.
'You talked to the police, what's next?'
'They will keep the remains in the toolbox and move it all to a satellite crime lab in Joplin. They will do what they do, and we'll see.'
'What will they look for?'
'Well, first they will attempt to identify the body using dental records. That should be easy, probably take a few hours. We may hear something tonight.'
'They have her dental records?'
'I gave them a set. Before Donte's trial, the prosecution dumped several boxes of discovery on us a week before we picked the jury. Not surprisingly, the prosecution screwed up, and in one file there was a set of X-rays of Nicole's teeth. Several sets were floating around during the initial days of the search, and Koffee had one. He inadvertently gave it to us. It was no big deal because her dental records were not an issue at trial. As we know, there was no dead body. A year later, I sent the file back to Koffee, but I made a copy for myself. Who knows what you'll need one day?'
'Did he know you kept a copy?'
'I don't remember, but I doubt it. It's no big deal.'
'There's no violation of privacy here?'
'Of course not. Whose privacy? Nicole's?'
Martha scribbled notes as her tape recorder ran on. Robbie closed his eyes and tried not to frown.
'What else will they look for?' she asked.
Robbie frowned but did not open his eyes. 'Cause of death in a strangulation case is impossible after nine years. They'll look for DNA evidence, maybe in dried blood or hair. Nothing else-semen, skin, saliva, earwax, sweat-none of it holds up after this long in a decomposing corpse.'
'Does DNA matter? I mean, we know who killed her.'
'We do, but I would love to have the DNA proof. If we get it, then this will be the first case in U.S. history in which we know by DNA evidence that the wrong man has been executed. There are a dozen or so cases where we strongly suspect the state killed the wrong guy, but none with clear biological proof. Would you like a drink? I need a drink.'
'No.'
'A drink, Carlos?'
'Sure. I'll take a beer.'
'Aaron?'
'Driving, Boss.'
'Just joking.'
Robbie pulled two beers out of the fridge and handed one to Carlos. After a long drink from the bottle, he closed his eyes again.
'What are you thinking?' Martha asked.
'Boyette, Travis Boyette. We came so close, and if he had just given us twenty-four hours, we could have saved Donte. Now we just deal with the aftermath.'
'What happens to Boyette?'
'They'll indict him for murder here in Missouri. If he lives long enough, they'll prosecute him.'
'Will he be prosecuted in Texas?'
'Of course not. They will never, ever admit they killed the wrong guy. Koffee, Kerber, Judge Vivian Grale, the jurors, the appellate judges, the governor-none of those responsible for this travesty will ever admit fault. Watch 'em run. Watch 'em point fingers. Maybe they won't deny their mistakes, but they damned sure won't admit them. I suspect they will just keep quiet, hunker down, ride out the storm.'
'Can they?'
Another pull on the bottle. Robbie smiled at the beer and licked his lips. 'No cop has ever been indicted for a wrongful conviction. Kerber should go to jail. Koffee should too. They are directly responsible for Donte's conviction, but Koffee controls the grand jury. He's in charge of the system. So, criminal prosecutions are unlikely, unless, of course, I can convince the Justice Department to investigate. I will certainly try. And we still have the civil courts.'
'Lawsuits?'
'Oh yes, lots of them. I'll sue everybody. Can't wait.'
'Thought you were moving to Vermont.'
'I may have to put that on hold. I'm not quite finished here.' – The Slone Municipal School Board met in an emergency session at 2:00 Friday afternoon. The only item on the agenda was the game. Longview was scheduled to arrive at 5:00 p.m. for a 7:30 p.m. kickoff. The school officials and coaches in Longview were worried about the safety of their players and fans, and with good reason. The unrest in Slone was now routinely being referred to as a 'race riot,' a sensational description that was as inaccurate as it was catchy.
There had been a constant flow of threatening phone calls to the Slone Police Department and the school. If they tried to play the game, there would be trouble, and lots of it. The chief of police, Joe Radford, pleaded with the board to cancel the game, or somehow postpone it. A crowd of five thousand people, almost all of whom would be white, would provide too enticing a target for those wanting trouble. And just as troubling was the prospect of all the empty and unprotected homes of the fans during the game. The football coach admitted he really didn't want to play either. The kids were too distracted, not to mention the fact that his best players, the twenty-eight black ones, were boycotting. His star tailback, Trey Glover, was still in jail. Both teams had six wins and two losses and were eligible for the state play-offs. The coach knew he had no chance with an all-white team. But a forfeit was a loss, and this perplexed him and everybody else in the room.
The principal described the burned-out press box, the tension of the past two days, the canceled classes, and the phone threats his office had received throughout the day. He was exhausted and jumpy and practically begged the board to cancel.
A honcho from the National Guard reluctantly attended the meeting. He thought it was possible to secure the stadium area and play the game without incident. But he shared the chief's concerns about what might happen in the rest of the town for the three hours. When pressed, he admitted that the safest route was to cancel.
The board members squirmed and fretted and passed notes. While they routinely grappled with budgets and curriculum and discipline and dozens of important issues, they had never been faced with something as momentous as canceling a high school football game. They stood for election every four years, and the prospect of alienating the voters weighed heavily. If they voted to cancel and Slone was forced to forfeit, they would be seen as caving in to the boycotters and troublemakers. If they voted to play and people got hurt in an ugly incident, their opponents would lay blame on them.
A compromise was suggested, seized upon, and quickly gained momentum. A flurry of phone calls were made, and the compromise became a reality. The game would not be played that night in Slone; rather, it would be played the following day at an undisclosed site in a nearby town. Longview agreed. Their coach knew of the boycott and smelled blood. The location of the neutral site would be kept secret until two hours before kickoff. Both teams would drive about an hour, play the game without spectators, and the show would go on. The compromise pleased everyone but the head coach. He gamely gritted his teeth and predicted a win. What else could he do? –
