John Grisham - The Confession

“Why were you fired?”

“Stupid. Stayed too long in a bar one night. The cops busted me for drunk driving, then they realized the truck and tags were stolen. I spent a week in jail.”

“In Slone?”

“Yep. Check it out. January 1999. Charged with grand larceny, drunk driving, and whatever else they could throw at me.”

“Was Drumm in the same jail?”

“Never saw him, but there was a lot of talk. Rumor was they’d moved him to another county for safety reasons. I couldn’t help but laugh. The cops had the real killer, they just didn’t know it.”

Keith made notes, but had trouble believing what he was actually writing. He asked, “How’d you get out?”

“They assigned me a lawyer. He got my bond lowered. I bailed out, skipped town, and never went back. I drifted here and there and then got arrested in Wichita.”

“Do you remember the lawyer’s name?”

“You still fact-checking, Pastor?”

“Yes.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“No, but it doesn’t hurt to check the facts.”

“No, I don’t remember his name. I’ve had a lot of lawyers in my life. Never paid ’em a dime.”

“The arrest in Wichita was for attempted rape, right?”

“Sort of. Attempted sexual battery, plus kidnapping. There was no sex, didn’t make it that far. The girl knew karate. Things didn’t go the way I planned. She kicked me in the balls and I puked for two days.”

“I believe your sentence was ten years. You served six, now you’re here.”

“Nice job, Pastor. You’ve done your homework.”

“Did you keep up with the Drumm case?”

“Oh, I thought about it off and on for a few years. I figured the lawyers and courts would eventually realize they had the wrong boy. I mean, hell, even in Texas they have higher courts to review cases and such. Surely, somebody along the way would wake up and see the obvious. Over time, I guess I forgot about it. Had my own problems. When you’re in max security, you don’t spend a lot of time worrying about other people.”

“What about Nikki? You spend time thinking about her?”

Boyette did not respond, and as the seconds limped along, it became obvious that he would not answer the question. Keith kept scribbling, making notes to himself about what to do next. Nothing was certain.

“Do you have any sympathy for her family?”

“I was raped when I was eight years old. I don’t recall a single word of sympathy from anyone. In fact, no one raised a hand to stop it. It went on. You’ve seen my record, Pastor, I’ve had several victims. I couldn’t stop. Not sure I can stop now. Obviously, sympathy is not something I waste time with.”

Keith shook his head with a look of disgust.

“Don’t get me wrong, Pastor. I have a lot of regrets. I wish I hadn’t done all those terrible things. I’ve wished a million times that I could be normal. My whole life I’ve wanted to stop hurting people, to somehow straighten up, stay out of prison, get a job, and all that. I didn’t choose to be like this.”

Keith deliberately folded the sheet of paper and tucked it into his coat pocket. He screwed the cap onto his pen. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at Boyette. “I guess you’re willing to sit by and let things run their course down in Texas.”

“No, I’m troubled by it. I’m just not sure what to do.”

“What if they found the body? You tell me where she’s buried, and I’ll try to contact the right people down there.”

“You sure you want to get involved?”

“No, but I can’t ignore it either.”

Boyette bent forward and began pawing at his head again. “It’s impossible for anybody else to find her,” he said, his voice breaking up. A moment passed, and the pain eased. “I’m not sure I could now. It’s been so long.”

“It’s been nine years.”

“Not that long. I went back to see her a few times after she died.”

Keith showed him both palms and said, “I don’t want to hear it. Suppose I call Drumm’s lawyer and tell him about the body. I won’t give your name, but at least someone down there knows the truth.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a lawyer. Maybe I can convince someone. I’m willing to try.”

“The only person who can possibly find her is me, and I can’t leave the state of Kansas. Hell, I can’t leave this county. If I do, they’ll bust me for parole violations and send me back to prison. Pastor, I ain’t going back to prison.”

“What difference does it make, Travis? You’ll be dead in a few months, according to your own words.”

Boyette became very calm and still and began tapping his fingertips together. He stared at Keith with hard, dry, unblinking eyes. He spoke softly, but firmly. “Pastor, I can’t admit to a murder.”

“Why not? You have at least four felony convictions, all related to sexual assault. You’ve spent most of your adult life in prison. You have an inoperable brain tumor. You actually committed the murder. Why not have the courage to admit it and save an innocent man’s life?”

“My mother is still alive.”

“Where does she live?”

“Joplin, Missouri.”

“And her name?”

“You gonna give her a call, Pastor?”

“No. I won’t bother her. What’s her name?”

“Susan Boyette.”

“And she lived on Trotter Street, right?”

“How’d you—?”

“Your mother died three years ago, Travis.”

“How’d you—?”

“Google, took about ten minutes.”

“What’s Google?”

“An Internet search company. What else are you lying about? How many lies have you told me today, Travis?”

“If I’m lying, then why are you here?”

“I don’t know. That’s an excellent question. You tell a good story and you have a bad record, but you can’t prove anything.”

Boyette shrugged as if he didn’t care, but his cheeks turned red and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t have to prove anything. I’m not the accused, for a change.”

“Her gym card and student ID were found on a sandbar in the Red River. How does that fit into your story?”

“Her phone was in her purse. As soon as I got her, the damned thing started ringing and wouldn’t stop. Finally, I got mad, grabbed the purse, and threw it off the bridge. I kept the girl, though. I needed her. She reminds me of your wife, very cute.”

“Shut up, Travis,” Keith said instinctively, before he could stop himself. He took a deep breath and patiently said, “Let’s keep my wife out of this.”

“Sorry, Pastor.” Boyette removed a thin chain from around his neck. “You want proof, Pastor. Take a look at this.” A gold class ring with a blue stone was attached to the chain. Boyette unsnapped the chain and handed the ring to Keith. It was narrow and small, obviously worn by a female. “That’s ANY on one side,” Boyette said with a smile. “Alicia Nicole Yarber. On the other side, you have SHS 1999. Dear old Slone High.”

Keith squeezed the ring between his thumb and his forefinger, and stared at it in disbelief.

“Show that to her mother and watch her weep,” Boyette said. “The only other proof I have, Pastor, is Nicole herself, and the more I think about her, the more I’m convinced that we should just leave her alone.”

Keith placed the ring on the table and Boyette took it. He suddenly kicked his chair back, grabbed his cane, and stood. “I don’t like being called a liar, Pastor. Go home and have fun with your wife.”

“Liar, rapist, murderer, and you’re also a coward, Travis. Why don’t you do something good for once in your life? And quick, before it’s too late.”

“Just leave me alone.” Boyette opened the door, then slammed it behind him.