Chamber

he said again, very compassionately. 'But we need to talk about some items.'

'Were there Klansmen outside this morning? The television had a shot of them here yesterday.'.'

'Yes. I counted seven a few minutes ago. Full uniforms except for the masks.'

'I used to wear one of those, you know,'he said, much like a war veteran bragging to little boys.

'I know, Sam. And because you wore one, you're now sitting here on death row with your lawyer counting the hours before they strap you in the gas chamber. You should hate those silly fools out there.'

'I don't hate them. But they have no right to be here. They abandoned me. Dogan sent me here, and when he testified against me he was the Imperial Wizard of Mississippi. They gave me not one dime for legal fees. They forgot about me.'

'What do you expect from a bunch of thugs? Loyalty?'

'I was loyal.'

'And look where you are, Sam. You should denounce the Klan and ask them to leave, to stay away from your execution.'

Sam fiddled with his envelopes, then placed them carefully in a chair.

'I told them to leave,' Adam said.

'When?'

'Just a few minutes ago. I exchanged words with them. They don't give a damn about you, Sam, they're just using this execution because you'll make such a marvelous martyr, someone to rally around and talk about for years to come. They'll chant your name when they burn crosses, and they'll make pilgrimages to your gravesite. They want you dead, Sam. It's great PR.'

'You confronted them?' Sam asked, with a trace of amusement and pride.

'Yeah. It was no big deal. What about Carmen? If she's coming, she needs to make travel arrangements.'

Sam took a thoughtful puff. 'I'd like to see her, but you've gotta warn her about my appearance. I don't want her to be shocked.'

'You look great, Sam.'

'Gee thanks. What about Lee?'

'What about her?'

'How's she doing? We get newspapers in here. I saw her in the Memphis paper last Sunday, then I read about her drunk driving charge on Tuesday. She's not in jail, is she?'

'No. She's in a rehab clinic,' Adam said as if he knew exactly where she was.

'Can she come visit?'

'Do you want her to?'

'I think so. Maybe on Monday. Let's wait and see.'

'No problem,' Adam said, wondering how in the world he could find her. 'I'll talk to her over the weekend.'

Sam handed Adam one of the envelopes, unsealed. 'Give this to the people up front. It's a list of approved visitors from now until then. Go ahead, open it.'

Adam looked at the list. There were four names. Adam, Lee, Carmen, and Donnie Cayhall. 'Not a very long list.'

'I have lots of relatives, but I don't want them here. They haven't visited me in nine and a half years, so I'll be damned if they'll come draggin' in here at the last minute to say good-bye. They can save it for the funeral.'

'I'm getting all kinds of requests from reporters and journalists for interviews.'

'Forget it.'

'That's what I've told them. But there's one inquiry that might interest you. There's a man named Wendall Sherman, an author of some repute who's published four or five books and won some awards. I haven't read any of his work, but he checks out. He's legitimate. I talked to him yesterday by phone, and he wants to sit with you and record your story. He seemed to be very honest, and said that the recording could take hours. He's flying to Memphis today, just in case you say yes.'

'Why does he want to record me?'

'He wants to write a book about you.'

'A romance novel?'

'I doubt it. He's willing to pay fifty thousand dollars up front, with a percentage of the royalties later on.'

'Great. I get fifty thousand a few days before I die. What shall I do with it?'

'I'm just relaying the offer.'

'Tell him to go to hell. I'm not interested.' 'Fine.'

'I want you to draw up an agreement whereby I assign all rights to my life story to you, and after I'm gone you do whatever the hell you want with it.'

'It wouldn't be a bad idea to record it.'

'You mean - '

'Talk into a little machine with little tapes. I can get one for you. Sit in your cell and talk about your life.'

'How boring.' Sam finished the Eskimo pie and tossed the stick in the wastebasket.

'Depends on how you look at it. Things seem rather exciting now.'

'Yeah, you're right. A pretty dull life, but the end was sensational.'

'Sounds like a bestseller to me.'

'I'll think about it.'

Sam suddenly jumped to his feet, leaving the rubber shower shoes under his chair. He loped across the office in long strides, measuring and smoking as he went. 'Thirteen by sixteen and a half,' he mumbled to himself, then measured some more.

Adam made notes on a legal pad and tried to ignore the red figure bouncing off the walls. Sam finally stopped and leaned on a file cabinet. 'I want you to do me a favor,' he said, staring at a wall across the room. His voice was much lower. He breathed slowly.

'I'm listening,' Adam said.

Sam took a step to the chair and picked up an envelope. He handed it to Adam and returned to his position against the file cabinet. The envelope was turned over so that Adam could not see the writing on it.

'I want you to deliver that,' Sam said.

'To whom?'

'Quince Lincoln.'

Adam placed it to his side on the desk, and watched Sam carefully. Sam, however, was lost in another world. His wrinkled eyes stared blankly at something on the wall across the room. 'I've worked on it for a week,' he said,

620

his voice almost hoarse, 'but I've thought about it for forty years.'

'What's in the letter?' Adam asked slowly.

'An apology. I've carried the guilt for many years, Adam. Joe Lincoln was a good and decent man, a good father. I lost my head and killed him for no reason. And I knew before I shot him that I could get by with it. I've always felt bad about it. Real bad. There's nothing I can do now except say that I'm sorry.'

'I'm sure it'll mean something to the Lincolns.'

'Maybe. In the letter I ask them for forgiveness, which I believe is the Christian way of doing things. When I die, I'd like to have the knowledge that I tried to say I'm sorry.'

'Any idea where I might find him?'

'That's the hard part. I've heard through family that the Lincolns are still in Ford County. Ruby, his widow, is probably still alive. I'm afraid you'll just have to go to Clanton and start asking questions. They have an African sheriff, so I'd start with him. He probably knows all the Africans in the county.'

'And if I find Quince?'

'Tell him who you are. Give him the letter. Tell him that I died with a lot of guilt. Can you do that?'

'I'll be happy to. I'm not sure when I can do it.'

'Wait until I'm dead. You'll have plenty of time once this is over.'

Sam again walked to the chair, and this time picked up two envelopes. He handed them to Adam, and began