John Grisham - The Confession

Checking online sources, Dana had been unable to confirm Boyette’s claim that he had been arrested and jailed in Slone in January 1999. The town’s old court records were not available. The bar directory listed 131 lawyers in Slone. She picked ten at random, called them, said she was with the parole office in Kansas and was checking the background of a Mr. Travis Boyette. Did you ever represent a man by that name? No. Then sorry to disturb you. She did not have the time to call every lawyer, and it seemed futile anyway. She planned to call the city court clerk’s office first thing Tuesday morning.

After holding Nicole’s class ring, Keith had little doubt that Boyette was telling the truth. What if the ring had been stolen before she disappeared? Dana asked. And fenced at a pawnshop? What if? It seemed unlikely Boyette would purchase such a ring from a pawnshop, didn’t it? Back and forth they went for hours, each questioning every idea the other had.

Much of the material scattered around the table came from two Web sites, WeMissYouNikki.com and FreeDonteDrumm.com. Donté’s Web site was maintained by the law offices of Mr. Robbie Flak and was far more extensive, active, and professionally done. Nikki’s Web site was run by her mother. Neither made the slightest effort at neutrality.

From Donté’s, under the tab for Case History, Keith scrolled down to the heart of the prosecution’s case, The Confession. The narrative began by explaining that it was based on two very different accounts of what happened. The interrogation, which took place over a period of fifteen hours and twelve minutes, proceeded with few interruptions. Donté was allowed to use the restroom three times, and was twice escorted down the hall to another room for polygraph exams. Otherwise, he never left the room, which had the in-house nickname “The Choir Room.” Sooner or later, the cops liked to say, the suspects start singing.

The first version was based on the official police report. This consisted of notes taken throughout the interrogation by Detective Jim Morrissey. During one three-hour stretch, while Morrissey took a nap on a cot in the locker room, the notes were taken by a Detective Nick Needham. The notes were typed into a neat fourteen-page report, which Detectives Kerber, Morrissey, and Needham swore to be the truth, and nothing but. Not a single word in the report suggests the use of threats, lies, promises, trickery, intimidation, physical abuse, or violations of constitutional rights. Indeed, all of the above were denied repeatedly in court by the detectives.

The second version contrasted sharply with the first. The day after his arrest, while Donté was alone in a jail cell, charged with kidnapping, aggravated rape, and capital murder, and while he was slowly recuperating from the psychological trauma of the interrogation, he recanted his confession. He explained to his lawyer, Robbie Flak, what had happened. Under Flak’s direction, Donté began writing his account of the interrogation. When it was finished two days later, it was typed by one of Mr. Flak’s legal secretaries. Donté’s version was forty-three pages long.

Thus, a summary of the two accounts, with some analysis thrown in.

THE CONFESSION

On December 22, 1998, eighteen days after the disappearance of Nicole Yarber, Detectives Drew Kerber and Jim Morrissey of the Slone Police Department drove to the South Side Health Club looking for Donté. The club is frequented by the more serious athletes in the area. Donté worked out there almost every afternoon, after school. He lifted weights and was rehabbing his ankle. He was in superb physical condition and was planning to enroll at Sam Houston State University next summer, then try out for the football team as a walk-on.

At approximately 5:00 p.m., as Donté was leaving the club alone, he was approached by Kerber and Morrissey, who introduced themselves in a friendly manner and asked Donté if he would talk to them about Nicole Yarber. Donté agreed, and Kerber suggested they meet at the police station, where they could relax and be more comfortable. Donté was nervous about this, but he also wanted to cooperate fully. He knew Nicole—he’d helped search for her—but knew nothing about her disappearance, and thought that the meeting at the station would take just a few minutes. He drove himself, in the family’s well-used green Ford van, to the police station and parked in a visitor’s slot. As he walked into the station, he had no idea that he was taking his last steps as a free man. He was eighteen years old, had never been in serious trouble, and had never been subjected to a prolonged police interrogation.

He was checked in at the front desk. His cell phone, wallet, and car keys were taken and put in a locked drawer for “security reasons.”

The detectives led him to an interrogation room in the basement of the building. Other officers were around. One, a black policeman in uniform, recognized Donté and said something about football. Once inside the interrogation room, Morrissey offered him something to drink. Donté declined. There was a small rectangular table in the center of the room. Donté sat on one side, both detectives on the other. The room was well lit with no windows. In one corner, a tripod held a video camera, but it was not directed at Donté, as far as he could tell, nor did it appear to be turned on.

Morrissey produced a sheet of paper and explained that Donté needed to understand his Miranda rights. Donté asked if he was a witness or a suspect. The detective explained their procedures required that all persons interrogated be informed of their rights. No big deal. Just a formality.

Donté began to feel uncomfortable. He read every word on the paper, and since he had nothing to hide, signed his name, thus waiving his right to remain silent and his right to an attorney. It was a fateful, tragic decision.

Innocent people are much likelier to waive their rights during an interrogation. They know they are innocent, and they want to cooperate with the police to prove their innocence. Guilty suspects are more inclined not to cooperate. Seasoned criminals laugh at the police and clam up.

Morrissey took notes, beginning with the time the “suspect” entered the room—5:25 p.m.

Kerber did most of the talking. The discussion began with a long summary of the football season, the wins, the losses, what went wrong in the play-offs, a coaching change that was the hot rumor. Kerber seemed truly interested in his future and hoped his ankle healed so he could play in college. Donté expressed confidence that this would happen.

Kerber seemed especially interested in Donté’s current weight-lifting program, and asked specific questions about how much he could bench-press, curl, squat, and deadlift.

There were a lot of questions about him and his family, his academic progress, his work experience, his brief run-in with the law on that marijuana thing when he was sixteen, and after what seemed like an hour, they finally got around to Nicole. The tone changed. The smiles were gone. The questions became more pointed. How long had he known her? How many classes together? Mutual friends? Whom did he date? Who were his girlfriends? Whom did she date? Did he ever date Nicole? No. Did he ever try to date her? No. Did he want to date her? He wanted to date a lot of girls. White girls? Sure, he wanted to, but he didn’t. Never dated a white girl? No. Rumor has it that you and Nicole were seeing each other, trying to keep it quiet. Nope. Never met her privately. Never touched her. But you admit you wanted to date her? I said I wanted to date a lot of girls, white and black, even a couple of Hispanic. So, you love all girls? A lot of them, yes, but not all.

Kerber asked if Donté had participated in any of the searches for Nicole. Yes, Donté and the entire senior class had spent hours looking for her.