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 grown weary of the death penalty but had stopped short of calling for its abolition, covered its front page with an unrestrained summary of the case. It was a condensed version of Robbie's press conference, with large photographs of Donte, Nicole, and Robbie on page one, and a dozen more on page five. The stories, all six of them, hit hard at the mistakes and peeled skin off Drew Kerber, Paul Koffee, and Judge Vivian Grale. The identities of the villains were clear; blame was inescapable. One reporter was on the trail of the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals, and it was obvious that there would be no place for the court to hide. Chief Justice Milton Prudlowe was unavailable for comment, as were the other eight justices. The clerk of the court, Mr. Emerson Pugh, refused comment. However, Cicely Avis, the Defender Group lawyer who tried to enter Pugh's office at 5:07 Thursday afternoon, had plenty to say. The details were emerging, with more stories sure to come. Another Chronicle reporter was stalking the governor and his staff, all evidently in full retreat.
Reactions varied around the state. Newspapers known to be generally moderate in their politics-those in Austin and San Antonio-called for outright abolition of the death penalty. The Dallas paper was on record calling for a moratorium. Newspapers that were firmly on the right went light on the editorials but could not resist full- blown coverage of the events in Slone.
On television, the Sunday morning talk shows all found room for the story, though the presidential campaign was still the main topic. On cable, Donte Drumm had been the lead story since Robbie's press conference twenty- four hours earlier, and it showed no signs of slipping to number two. At least one of the subplots had been deemed important enough to have its own title: 'The Hunt for Travis Boyette' could be seen every thirty minutes. On the Internet, the story was all the rage, showing five times more hits than anything else. Anti-death-penalty bloggers railed with uncontrolled fury.
As tragic as it was, the story was a huge gift for those on the left. On the right, things were predictably quiet. Those who supported the death penalty were not likely to change, not overnight anyway, but there seemed to be a general feeling that it was a good time to say nothing. The hard-right cable shows and AM radio commentators simply ignored the story. – In Slone, Sunday was still a day of worship. At the Bethel African Methodist Church, a crowd much larger than normal gathered for the 8:00 a.m. call to worship, to be followed by Sunday school, a men's prayer breakfast, choir practice, Bible lessons, coffee and doughnuts, and eventually the worship hour, which would go on far longer than sixty minutes. Some were there in hopes of seeing one of the Drumms, preferably Roberta, and maybe offering a quiet word of condolence. But the Drumm family needed rest and stayed at home. Some were there because they needed to talk, to hear the gossip, to lend support or to receive it.
Whatever the motive, the sanctuary was overflowing when the Reverend Johnny Canty stepped to the pulpit and warmly welcomed the crowd. It didn't take long to get to the issue of Donte Drumm. It would've been easy to stir up his people, to throw gas on the fire, to hit all the open targets, but Reverend Canty was not inclined to do so. He talked about Roberta and her grace under pressure, her agony in watching her son die, her strength, her love for her children. He talked about the urge for revenge, and how Jesus turned the other cheek. He prayed for patience and tolerance and the wisdom of good men to deal with what had happened. He talked about Martin Luther King and his courage in bringing about change by eschewing violence. It's man's nature to strike back, but the second blow leads to the third, and the fourth. He thanked his flock for laying down their arms and getting off the streets.
Remarkably, it had been a quiet night in Slone. Canty reminded his people that Donte Drumm's name was now famous; it was a symbol that would bring about change. 'Let us not smear it with more blood, more violence.'
After a thirty-minute warm-up, the worshippers fanned out through the church to pursue the usual Sunday morning activities.
A mile away, members of the First Baptist Church began arriving for a unique worship experience. The rubble of their sanctuary was still lined with yellow police tape, still a crime scene under active investigation. In a parking lot, a large white tent had been erected. Beneath it were rows of folding chairs and tables covered with food. The dress was casual, the mood generally upbeat. After a quick breakfast they sang hymns, old-time gospel tunes with a beat and lyrics they knew by heart. The chairman of the deacons spoke about the fire and, more important, about the new church they would build. They had insurance, they had faith, they would borrow, if necessary, but a beautiful new sanctuary would rise from the ashes, all to the glory of the Lord.
Reeva was not in attendance. She had not come out of the house. Frankly, she was hardly missed. Her friends felt her pain, now that her daughter had been found, but with Reeva the pain had been relentless for nine years. Her friends could not help but remember the vigils by the Red River, the marathon prayer sessions, the endless tirades in the press, the enthusiastic embrace of victimhood, all in an effort to extract revenge on that 'monster' Donte Drumm. Now that they had executed the wrong monster, and with Reeva happily watching him die, few of her fellow church members wanted to face her. Fortunately, she did not want to face them.
Brother Ronnie was a troubled soul. He had watched his church burn, which was no fault of his, but he had also watched Donte die, and with no small measure of satisfaction. There was a sin in there somewhere. He was a Baptist, a breed noted for its creative ways of finding new versions of sin, and he needed forgiveness. He shared
