John Grisham - The Confession

The four vehicles had gathered in the long driveway of Robbie’s home at 5:00 a.m. and managed to weave through side streets and back roads for a stealthy and successful getaway. The office had received enough phone calls and e-mails to convince Robbie that certain people were curious about where he might be headed on Friday.

He’d slept five hours, and it took a pill to achieve that. He was beyond the point of exhaustion, but there was so much left to do. After leaving Lamb & Son, and briefly seeing the body, he took his entourage home, where DeDe managed to produce enough food to feed everyone. Keith and Boyette slept on sofas in the basement while a maid washed and ironed their clothes.

Everyone was exhausted, but no one had trouble jumping out of bed.

Carlos was on his cell phone, listening more than talking, and when the conversation was over, he announced, “That was my man at the radio station. Forty or so arrests, two dozen injuries, but no fatalities, which is a miracle. They have sealed off most of downtown, and things have settled down for the moment. Lots of fires, too many to count. Fire trucks here from Paris, Tyler, other places. At least three police cars have been hit with Molotov cocktails, which has become the weapon of choice. They torched the press box at the football field and it’s still burning. Most of the fires are in empty buildings. No homes, yet. Rumor is that the governor is sending in more guardsmen. Nothing confirmed, though.”

“And what happens if we find the body?” Martha asked.

Robbie shook his head and thought for a second. “Then last night was child’s play.”

They had debated the various combinations and arrangements for the trip. To make sure Boyette didn’t vanish, Robbie wanted him secured in his van under the watchful eye of Aaron Rey and Fred Pryor. But he just couldn’t stomach the thought of being confined in a small place for several hours with the creep. Keith was adamant that he was driving his Subaru, primarily because he was determined to be in Topeka by late Friday afternoon, with or without Boyette. Like Robbie, he had no desire to sit near Boyette, but since he had done it once, he assured Robbie that he could do it again.

Fred Pryor had suggested they toss Boyette in the rear seat of the club cab of his truck and keep guns on him. Among Robbie’s team, there was a yearning for retribution, and if Boyette did indeed lead them to the body, Fred Pryor and Aaron Rey could easily be convinced to take him somewhere behind the trees and put him out of his misery. Keith sensed this, and they respected his presence. There would be no violence.

The inclusion of Bryan Day had been complicated. Robbie trusted no reporter, period. However, if they found what they were looking for, it would need to be properly recorded, and by someone outside his circle. Of course Day had been eager to tag along, but he had been forced to agree to a list of firm conditions that basically prevented him from reporting anything until so directed by Robbie Flak. If he tried, he and Buck the cameraman would in all likelihood be either beaten or shot, or both. Day and Buck understood that the stakes were high and the rules would be followed. Because Day was the station’s news director, he was able to slip away without leaving clues at the office.

“Can we talk?” Martha asked. They had been on the road for half an hour, and there were hints of orange in the sky ahead of them.

“No,” Robbie said.

“It’s been almost twelve hours since he died. What are you thinking?”

“I’m fried, Martha. My brain is not working. There are no thoughts.”

“What did you think when you saw his body?”

“It’s a sick world when we kill people because we assume we have the right to kill them. I thought he looked great, this handsome young man lying there asleep, no visible injuries, no signs of a struggle. Put down like an old dog by bigots and idiots too lazy and too stupid to realize what they’re doing. You know what I’m really thinking about, Martha?”

“Tell me.”

“I’ll tell you. I’m thinking about Vermont, cool summers, no humidity, no executions. A civilized place. A cabin on a lake. I can learn to shovel snow. If I sell everything and close my firm, maybe I can net a million. I’ll retire to Vermont and write a book.”

“About what?”

“I have no idea.”

“No one believes that, Robbie. You’ll never leave. You might take some time off, catch your breath, but before long you’ll find another case and get mad and file a lawsuit, or ten. You’ll be doing that until you’re eighty, and they’ll carry you out of the station on a stretcher.”

“I’ll never see eighty. I’m fifty-two now and I feel like a geezer.”

“You’ll be suing people when you’re eighty.”

“I don’t know.”

“I do. I know where your heart is.”

“Right now my heart is broken, and I’m ready to quit. A half-ass lawyer could’ve saved Donté.”

“And what could this half-ass lawyer have done differently?”

Robbie showed her both palms and said, “Not now, Martha. Please.”

In the car behind them, the first words were spoken when Boyette said, “Did you really watch the execution?”

Keith took a sip of coffee and waited awhile. “Yes, I did. It wasn’t planned; it just happened at the last second. I didn’t want to watch it.”

“Do you wish you hadn’t?”

“That’s a very good question, Travis.”

“Thank you.”

“On the one hand, I wish I had not watched a man die, especially a man who claimed to be innocent.”

“He is innocent, or was.”

“I tried to pray with him, but he refused. He said he doesn’t believe in God, though he once did. As a minister, it’s very difficult to be with someone who is facing death and does not believe in God or Christ or heaven. I’ve stood at hospital beds and watched my members die, and it’s always comforting to know that their souls are bound for a glorious hereafter. Not so with Donté.”

“Nor with me.”

“On the other hand, I saw something in the death chamber that should be seen by everyone. Why hide what we are doing?”

“So you would watch another one?”

“I didn’t say that, Travis.” It was a question Keith could not answer. He was struggling with his first execution; he couldn’t imagine the next one. Just hours earlier, seconds before he’d finally fallen asleep, the image of Donté strapped to the deathbed came into focus, and Keith ran through it again in slow motion. He remembered staring at Donté’s chest as it lifted slightly, then fell. Lifted, then fell. Up and down, barely noticeable. And then it stopped. He had just watched a man exhale for the final time. Keith knew the image would never go away.

The sky was lighter to the east. They crossed into Oklahoma.

Boyette said, “I guess that’s my last trip to Texas.”

Keith could not think of a response.

———

The governor’s helicopter touched down at 9:00 a.m. Since the media had received plenty of advance notice and were waiting anxiously, there was considerable debate among the governor and Barry and Wayne about the details of the landing. En route, they finally settled on the parking lot next to the football field. The media were informed and scrambled to Slone High School for this late-breaking development. The press box was badly damaged, charred, and smoldering. Firemen were still on the scene, cleaning up. When Gill Newton emerged from his chopper, he was met by state police, colonels from the Guard, and a few carefully selected and weary firefighters. He shook their hands warmly as if they were Marines returning from combat. Barry and Wayne were quick to survey the surroundings, and they organized the press conference so that the backdrop would be the football field and, most important, the burned-out press box. The governor was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, no tie, and a Windbreaker—a real working man.