we're meeting. He's opposed to the idea of a clemency hearing. You want this meeting kept quiet. So why are we here?'
'Things change, Governor. Again, I've been here many times before. I've watched men count down their last days. It does strange things to the mind. People change. As the lawyer, I have to cover every base, every angle.'
'Are you asking for a hearing?'
'Yes sir. A closed hearing.'
'When?'
'What about Friday?'
'In two days,' McAllister said as he gazed through a window. Larramore cleared his throat, and asked, 'What sort of witnesses do you anticipate?'
'Good question. If I had names, I'd give them to you now, but I don't. Our presentation will be brief.'
'Who will testify for the state?' McAllister asked Larramore, whose moist teeth glistened as he pondered. Goodman looked away.
'I'm certain the victims' family will want to say something. The crime is usually discussed. Someone from the prison might be needed to discuss the type of inmate he's been. These hearings are quite flexible.'
'I know more about the crime than anyone,' McAllister said, almost to himself.
'It's a strange situation,' Goodman confessed. 'I've had my share of clemency hearings, and the prosecutor is usually the first witness to testify against the defendant. In this case, you were the prosecutor.'
'Why do you want the hearing closed?'
'The governor has long been an advocate of open meetings,' Mona added.
'It's really best for everyone,' Goodman said, much like the learned professor. 'It's less pressure on you, Governor, because it's not exposed and you don't have a lot of unsolicited advice. We, of course, would like for it to be closed.'
'Why?' McAllister asked.
'Well, frankly, sir, we don't want the public to see Ruth Kramer talking about her little boys.' Goodman watched them as he delivered this. The real reason was something else altogether. Adam was convinced that the only way to talk Sam into a clemency hearing was to promise him it would not be a public spectacle. If such a hearing was closed, then Adam could maybe convince Sam that McAllister would be prevented from grandstanding.
Goodman knew dozens of people around the country who would gladly come to Jackson on a moment's notice to testify on Sam's behalf. He had heard these people make some persuasive, last minute arguments against death. Nuns, priests, ministers, psychologists, social workers, authors, professors, and a couple of former death row inmates. Dr. Swinn would testify about how dreadfully Sam was doing these days, and he would do an excellent job of trying to convince the governor that the state was about to kill a vegetable.
In most states, the inmate has a right to a last minute clemency hearing, usually before the governor. In Mississippi, however, the hearing was discretionary.
'I guess that makes sense,' the governor actually said.
'There's enough interest already,' Goodman said, knowing that McAllister was giddy with dreams of the forthcoming media frenzy. 'It will benefit no one if the hearing is open.'
Mona, the staunch open meetings advocate, frowned even harder and wrote something in block letters. McAllister was deep in thought.
'Regardless of whether it's open or closed,' he said, 'there's no real reason for such a hearing unless you and your client have something new to add. I know this case, Mr. Goodman. I smelled the smoke. I saw the bodies. I cannot change my mind unless there's something new.'
'Such as?'
'Such as a name. You give me the name of Sam's accomplice, and I'll agree to a hearing. No promise of clemency, you understand, just a regular clemency hearing. Otherwise, this is a waste of time.'
'Do you believe there was an accomplice?' Goodman asked.
'We were always suspicious. What do you think?'
'Why is it important?'
'It's important because I make the final decision, Mr. Goodman. After the courts are finished with it, and the clock ticks down next Tuesday night, I'm the only person in the world who can stop it. If Sam deserves the death penalty, then I have no problem sitting by while it happens. But if he doesn't, then the execution should be stopped. I'm a young man. I do not want to be haunted by this for the rest of my life. I want to make the right decision.'
'But if you believe there was an accomplice, and you obviously do, then why not stop it anyway?'
'Because I want to be sure. You've been his lawyer for many years. Do you think he had an accomplice?'
'Yes. I've always thought there were two of them. I don't know who was the leader and who was the follower, but Sam had help.'
McAllister leaned closer to Goodman and looked into his eyes. 'Mr. Goodman, if Sam will tell me the truth, then I will grant a closed hearing, and I will consider clemency. I'm not promising a damned thing, you understand, only that we'll have the hearing. Otherwise, there's nothing new to add to the story.'
Mona and Larramore scribbled faster than court reporters.
'Sam says he's telling the truth.'
'Then forget the hearing. I'm a busy man.'
Goodman sighed in frustration, but kept a smile in place. 'Very well, we'll talk to him again. Can we meet here again tomorrow?'
The governor looked at Mona, who consulted a pocket calendar and began shaking her head as if tomorrow was hopelessly filled with speeches and appearances and meetings. 'You're booked,' she said in a commanding tone.
'What about lunch?'
Nope. Wouldn't work. 'You're speaking to the NRA convention.'
'Why don't you call me?' Larramore offered.
'Good idea,' the governor said, standing now and buttoning his sleeves.
Goodman stood and shook hands with the three. 'I'll call if something breaks. We are requesting a hearing as soon as possible, regardless.'
'The request is denied unless Sam talks,' said the governor.
'Please put the request in writing, sir, if you don't mind,' Larramore asked.
'Certainly.'
They walked Goodman to the door, and after he left the office McAllister sat in his official chair behind his desk. He unbuttoned his sleeves again. Larramore excused himself and went to his little room down the hall.
Ms. Stark studied a printout while the governor watched the rows of buttons blink on his phone. 'How many of these calls are about Sam Cayhall?' he asked. She moved a finger along a column.
'Yesterday, you had twenty-one calls regarding the Cayhall execution. Fourteen in favor of gassing him. Five said to spare him. Two couldn't make up their minds.'
'That's an increase.'
'Yeah, but the paper had that article about Sam's last ditch efforts. It mentioned the possibility of a clemency hearing.'
'What about the polls?'
'No change. Ninety percent of the white people in this state favor the death penalty, and about half the blacks do. Overall, it's around eighty-four percent.'
'Where's my approval?'
'Sixty-two. But if you pardon Sam Cayhall, I'm sure it'll drop to single digits.'
'So you're against the idea.'
'There's absolutely nothing to gain, and much to lose. Forget polls and numbers, if you pardon one of those thugs up there you'll have the other fifty sending lawyers and grandmothers and preachers down here begging for the same favor. You have enough on your mind. It's foolish.'
'Yeah, you're right. Where's the media plan?'
