The coffee arrived. Kleckner stirred it with a spoon. Adam watched the crowd. 'I interviewed Benjamin Keyes yesterday in Washington,' Kleckner said. 'He said he wasn't surprised that you're now saying he made mistakes at trial. He said he figured it was coming.'
At the moment, Adam didn't care about Benjamin Keyes or any of his opinions. 'It's standard. I need to run. Nice to meet you.'
'But I wanted to talk about - '
'Listen, you're lucky you caught me,' Adam said, standing abruptly.
'Just a couple of things,' Kleckner said as Adam walked away.
Adam left the Peabody, and strolled to Front Street near the river, passing along the way scores of well- dressed young people very much like himself, all in a hurry to go home. He envied them; whatever their vocations or careers, whatever their pressures at the moment, they weren't carrying burdens as heavy as his.
He ate a sandwich at a delicatessen, and by seven was back in his office.
The rabbit had been trapped in the woods at Parchman by two of the guards, who named him Sam for the occasion. He was a brown cottontail, the largest of the four captured. The other three had already been eaten.
Late Thursday night, Sam the rabbit and his handlers, along with Colonel Nugent and the execution team, entered the Maximum Security Unit in prison vans and pickups. They drove slowly by the front and around the bullpens on the west end. They parked by a square, red-brick building attached to the southwest corner of MSU.
Two white, metal doors without windows led to the interior of the square building. One, facing south, opened to a narrow room, eight feet by fifteen, where the witnesses sat during the execution. They faced a series of black drapes which, when opened, revealed the rear of the chamber itself, just inches away.
The other door opened into the Chamber Room, a fifteen-by-twelve room with a painted concrete floor. The octagonalshaped gas chamber sat squarely in the middle, glowing smartly from a fresh coat of silver enamel varnish and smelling like the same. Nugent had inspected it a week earlier and ordered a new paint job. The death room, as it was also known, was spotless and sanitized. The black drapes over the windows behind the chamber were pulled.
Sam the rabbit was left in the bed of a pickup while a small guard, about the same height and weight as Sam Cayhall, was led by two of his larger colleagues into the Chamber Room. Nugent strutted and inspected like General Patton - pointing and nodding and frowning. The small guard was pushed gently into the chamber first, then joined by the two guards who turned him around and eased him into the wooden chair. Without a word or a smile, neither a grin nor a joke, they strapped his wrists first with leather bands to the arms of the chair. Then his knees, then his ankles. Then one lifted his head up an inch or two and held it in place while the other managed to buckle the leather head strap.
The two guards stepped carefully from the chamber, and Nugent pointed to another member of the team who stepped forward as if to say something to the condemned.
'At this point, Lucas Mann will read the death warrant to Mr. Cayhall,' Nugent explained like an amateur movie director. 'Then I will ask if he has any last words.' He pointed again, and a designated guard closed the heavy door to the chamber and sealed it.
'Open it,' Nugent barked, and the door came open. The small guard was set Tree.
'Get the rabbit,' Nugent ordered. One of the handlers retrieved Sam the rabbit from the pickup. He sat innocently in a wire cage which was handed to the same two guards who'd just left the chamber. They carefully placed him in the wooden chair, then went about their task of strapping in an imaginary man. Wrists, knees, ankles, head, and the rabbit was ready for the gas. The two guards left the chamber.
The door was shut and sealed, and Nugent signaled for the executioner, who placed a canister of sulfuric acid into a tube which ran into the bottom of the chamber. He pulled a lever, a clicking sound occurred, and the canister made its way to the bowl under the chair.
Nugent stepped to one of the windows and watched intently. The other members of the team did likewise. Petroleum jelly had been smeared around the edges of the windows to prevent seepage.
The poisonous gas was released slowly, and a faint mist of visible vapors rose from under the chair and drifted upward. At first, the rabbit didn't react to the steam that permeated his little cell, but it hit him soon enough. He stiffened, then hopped a few times, banging into the sides of his cage, then he went into violent convulsions, jumping and jerking and twisting frantically. In less than a minute, he was still.
Nugent smiled as he glanced at his watch. 'Clear it,' he ordered, and a vent at the top of the chamber was opened, releasing the gas.
The door from the Chamber Room to the outside was opened, and most of the execution team walked out for fresh air or a smoke.
It would be at least fifteen minutes before the chamber could be opened and the rabbit removed. Then they had to hose it down and clean up. Nugent was still inside, watching everything. So they smoked and had a few laughs.
Less than sixty feet away, the windows above the hallway of Tier A were open. Sam could hear their voices. It was after ten and the lights were off, but in every cell along the tier two arms protruded from the bars as fourteen men listened in dark silence.
A death row inmate lives in a six-by-nine cell for twenty-three hours a day. He hears everything - the strange clicking sound of a new pair of boots in the hallway; the unfamiliar pitch and accent of a different voice; the faraway hum of a lawn mower or weedeater. And he can certainly hear the opening and closing of the door to the Chamber Room. He can hear the satisfied and important chuckles of the execution team.
Sam leaned on his forearms and watched the windows above the hallway. They were practicing for him out there.
40
BETWEEN the western edge of Highway 49 and the front lawn of the administrative buildings of Parchman, a distance of fifty yards, there was a grassy strip of land that was smooth and noticeable because it was once a railroad track. It was where the death penalty protestors were corralled and monitored at every execution. They invariably arrived, usually small groups of committed souls who sat in folding chairs and held homemade placards. They burned candles at night. and sang hymns during the final hours. They sang hymns, offered prayers, and wept when the death was announced.
A new twist had occurred during the hours preceding the execution of Teddy Doyle Meeks, a child rapist and killer. The somber, almost sacred protest had been disrupted by carloads of unruly college students who suddenly appeared without warning and had a delightful time demanding blood. They drank beer and played loud music. They chanted slogans and heckled the shaken death protestors. The situation deteriorated as the two groups exchanged words. Prison officials moved in and restored order.
Maynard Tole was next, and during the planning of his execution another section of turf on the other side of the main drive was designated for the death penalty proponents. Extra security was assigned to keep things peaceful.
When Adam arrived Friday morning, he counted seven Ku Klux Klansmen in white robes. Three were engaged in some attempt at synchronized protest, a casual walking along the edge of the grassy strip near the highway with posters strung over their shoulders. The other four were erecting a large blue and white canopy. Metal poles and ropes were scattered on the ground. Two ice chests sat next to several lawn chairs. These guys were planning to stay awhile.
Adam stared at them as he rolled to a stop at the front gate of Parchman. He lost track of time as he watched the Kluckers for minutes. So this was his heritage, his roots. These were the brethren of his grandfather and his grandfather's relatives and ancestors. Were some of these figures the same ones who'd been recorded on film and edited by Adam into the video about Sam Cayhall? Had he seen them before?
Instinctively, Adam opened the door of his car and got out. His coat and briefcase were in the rear seat. He began walking slowly in their direction, and stopped near their ice chests. Their placards demanded freedom for Sam Cayhall, a political prisoner. Gas the real criminals, but release Sam. For some reason, Adam was not comforted by their demands.
'What do you want?' demanded one with a sign draped over his chest. The other six stopped what they were doing and stared.
