The Confession (19 page)

Carlos was sent to get pizza and beer, and when he returned, the long table in the conference room was used for dinner. When Ollie arrived later, a poker game materialized. Ollie Tufton was one of a handful of black lawyers in Slone and a close friend of Robbie’s. He was shaped like a bowling ball and claimed to weigh four hundred pounds, though it was not clear why he wished to take credit for this. He was loud and hilarious and had huge appetites—food, whiskey, poker, and, sadly, cocaine. Robbie had rescued him from near disbarment on two occasions. He made an occasional buck with car wrecks, but the money always disappeared. When Ollie was in the room, most of the noise came from him. He assumed control of the poker game, appointed Carlos as dealer, established the rules, and told his latest dirty jokes, all while sipping a beer and finishing off the cold pizza. The players were Martha Handler, who usually won; Bonnie, the other paralegal; Kristi Hinze, who was still afraid of the game and even more terrified of Ollie; and a part-time investigator/runner named Ben Shoots.

Shoots had a pistol in his jacket hanging on the wall. Robbie had two shotguns in his office, loaded. Aaron Rey was always armed, and he moved quietly around the train station, watching the windows and the parking lot. The firm had received several threatening calls during the day, and they were on full alert.

Robbie took a beer to his office, left his door wide open, and called DeDe, his live-in partner. She was at yoga, blissfully unconcerned about the pending execution. They had been together for three years, and Robbie was almost convinced they had a chance. She showed almost no interest in whatever he did at the office, and this was beneficial. His journey to find true love was littered with women who could not accept the fact that life with Robbie was heavily tilted in Robbie’s favor. The current girl went her own way, and they met in bed. She was twenty years younger, and Robbie was still smitten.

He called a reporter in Austin but said nothing quotable. He called Judge Elias Henry and thanked him for calling the governor. They wished
each other well, both knowing that the next twenty-four hours would be remembered for a long time. The clock on the wall seemed stuck at ten minutes after nine. Robbie would always remember that it was 9:10 p.m. when Aaron Rey walked into his office and said, “The First Baptist Church is burning.”

The Battle of Slone had begun.

I
f Keith had fallen asleep, he wasn’t aware of it. For the past three days, he had slept so little, and at such odd hours, that his routines and rhythms were out of sync. When the phone rang, he could have sworn he was wide-awake. Dana, though, heard it first and had to nudge her husband. He finally grabbed it after the fourth or fifth ring. “Hello,” he said, in a daze, while Dana flipped on a lamp. It was 11:40. They had gone to bed less than an hour earlier.

“Hey, Pastor, it’s me, Travis,” the voice said.

“Hello, Travis,” Keith said, and Dana scrambled for a bathrobe. “Where are you?”

“Here, Topeka, at a diner somewhere downtown, not far from Anchor House.” His voice was slow, his tongue thick. Keith’s second or third thought was that Boyette had been drinking.

“Why are you not at Anchor House?”

“It doesn’t matter. Look, Pastor, I’m really hungry, nothing since this morning, and I’m sitting here with just a cup of coffee because I don’t have any money. I’m starving, Pastor. Any ideas?”

“Have you been drinking, Travis?”

“Couple of beers. I’m okay.”

“You spent money on beer but not on food?”

“I didn’t call to fight with you, Pastor. Can you help me get something to eat?”

“Sure, Travis, but you need to get back to Anchor House. They’re waiting for you. I talked to Rudy, and he says they’ll write you up, but nothing serious. Let’s get something to eat, then I’ll take you where you belong.”

“I ain’t going back there, Pastor, forget it. I want to go to Texas, okay? I mean, now. I really want to go. I’ll tell everybody the truth, tell them where the body is, everything. We gotta save that boy.”

“We?”

“Who else, Pastor? We know the truth. If you and me get down there, we can stop this execution.”

“You want me to take you to Texas right now?” Keith asked, staring into the eyes of his wife. She began shaking her head.

“There’s no one else, Pastor. I got a brother in Illinois, but we don’t talk. I suppose I could call my parole officer, but I doubt if he’d have any interest in hauling ass down to Texas. I know a few of the dudes around the halfway house, but they don’t have cars. When you spend your life in prison, Pastor, you don’t have a lot of friends on the outside.”

“Where are you, Travis?”

“I told you. I’m in a diner. Hungry.”

“Which one?”

“Blue Moon. You know it?”

“Yes. You order something to eat. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you, Pastor.”

Keith hung up the phone and sat on the edge of the bed next to his wife. Neither spoke for a few minutes. Neither wanted to fight.

“Is he drunk?” she finally asked.

“I don’t think so. He’s had a few, but seems sober. I don’t know.”

“What are you doing, Keith?”

“I’m buying dinner, or breakfast, or whatever it is. I’ll wait for him to change his mind again. If he’s serious, then I have no choice but to drive him to Texas.”

“You do have a choice, Keith. You’re not being forced to take this pervert to Texas.”

“What about that young man on death row, Dana? Think about Donté Drumm’s mother right now. This will be her last day to see her son.”

“Boyette’s pulling your leg, Keith. He’s a liar.”

“Maybe, and maybe not. But look at what’s at stake here.”

“At stake? Your job could be at stake. Your reputation, career, everything could be at stake. We have three little boys to think about.”

“I’m not going to jeopardize my career, Dana, or my family. I might get a slap on the wrist, but that’s all. I know what I’m doing.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.” He quickly shed his pajamas and put on a pair of jeans, sneakers, a shirt, and a red Cardinals baseball cap. She watched him dress without another word. He kissed her on the forehead and left the house.

———

Boyette was inspecting an impressive platter of food when Keith took the chair across from him. The diner was half-full, with several tables occupied by uniformed policemen, all eating pie, average weight at least 250. Keith ordered coffee and caught the irony of an unconvicted murderer and parole violator having a hearty meal thirty feet from a small squad of cops.

“Where have you been all day?” Keith asked.

The tic. A large bite of scrambled eggs. As he chewed, he said, “I really don’t remember.”

“We wasted an entire day, Travis. Our plan was to do the video, send it to the authorities and the press in Texas, and hope for a miracle. You ruined that plan by disappearing.”

“The day’s done, Pastor, leave it alone. You taking me to Texas or not?”

“So you’re jumping parole?”

The tic, a sip of coffee, his hand shaking. Everything from his voice to his fingers to his eyes seemed to be engaged in a steady tremor. “Parole is the least of my worries right now, Pastor. Dying occupies most of my time. And that boy in Texas concerns me. I’ve tried to forget him, but I can’t. And the girl. I need to see her before I die.”

“Why?”

“I need to say I’m sorry. I hurt a lot of people, Pastor, but I only killed one.” He glanced at the policemen, then kept going, his voice a bit lower. “And I don’t know why. She was my favorite. I wanted to keep her forever, and when I realized I couldn’t, well, I—”

“Got it, Travis. Let’s talk logistics here. Slone, Texas, is 400 miles away, straight shot, as the crow flies, but it’s more like 550 by car, with a lot of two-lane roads. It’s midnight. If we left in the next hour or so and drove like maniacs, we might be there by noon. That’s six hours before the execution. Any idea what we do when we get there?”

Boyette chewed on a piece of sausage and pondered the question, completely untouched by any sense of urgency. Keith noticed that he took very small bites, chewed them a long time, laid down his fork, and took a sip of either coffee or water. He did not seem to be overly hungry. Food was not important.

After more coffee, Boyette said, “I was thinking that we go to the local television station and I go on the air, tell my story, take responsibility, tell the idiots down there that they got the wrong guy for the murder, and they’ll stop it.”

“Just like that?”

“I don’t know, Pastor. I’ve never done this before. You? What’s your plan?”

“At this point, finding the body is more important than your confession. Frankly, Travis, given your lengthy record and the disgusting nature of your crimes, your credibility will be challenged. I’ve done some research since I met you on Monday morning, and I’ve run across some anecdotes about the nutcases who pop up around executions and make all sorts of claims.”

“You calling me a nutcase?”

“No, I’m not. But I’m sure they’ll call you a lot of names in Slone, Texas. They won’t believe you.”

“Do you believe me, Pastor?”

“I do.”

“Would you like some eggs and bacon? You’re paying for it.”

“No, thanks.”

The tic. Another glance at the cops. He pointed both index fingers at both temples and massaged them in tiny circles, grimacing as if he might scream. The pain finally passed. Keith looked at his watch.

Boyette began shaking his head slightly and said, “It’ll take longer to find the body, Pastor. Can’t be done today.”

Since Keith had no experience in such matters, he simply shrugged and said nothing.

“Either we go to Texas, or I walk back to the halfway house and get yelled at. It’s your choice, Pastor.”

“I’m not sure why I’m supposed to make the decision.”

“It’s very simple. You have the car, the gas, the driver’s license. I have nothing but the truth.”

The car was a Subaru, four-wheel drive, 185,000 miles on the odometer, and at least 12,000 miles since the last oil change. Dana used it to haul the boys all over Topeka, and it showed the wear and tear of such a life on the streets. Their other car was a Honda Accord with a sticky oil light and a bad set of rear tires.

———

“Sorry for the dirty car,” Keith said, almost embarrassed, as they crawled in and closed the doors. Boyette said nothing at first. He placed his cane between his legs.

“Seat belts are mandatory now,” Keith said as he buckled up. Boyette did not move. There was a moment of silence in which Keith realized that the journey had begun. The man was in his car, along for a ride that would consume hours, maybe days, and neither knew where this little journey might take them.

Slowly, Boyette strapped himself in as the car began to move. Their elbows were inches apart. Keith got the first whiff of stale beer and said, “So, Travis, what’s your history with booze?”

Boyette was breathing deeply, as if soothed by the security of the car and its locked doors. Typically, he waited at least five seconds before responding. “Never thought of it as a history. I’m not a big drinker. I’m forty-four years old, Pastor, and I’ve spent just over twenty-three of those years locked away in various facilities, none of which had saloons, lounges, juke joints, strip clubs, all-night drive-thrus. Can’t get a drink in prison.”

“You’ve been drinking today.”

“I had a few bucks, went to a bar in a hotel, and had some beers. They had a television in the bar. I saw a report on the Drumm execution in Texas. Had a picture of the boy. It hit me hard, Pastor, I gotta tell you. I was feeling pretty mellow, you know, kinda sentimental anyway, and when I saw that boy’s face, I almost got choked up. I drank some more, watched the clock get closer and closer to 6:00 p.m. I made the decision to skip parole, go to Texas, do what’s right.”

Keith was holding his cell phone. “I need to call my wife.”

“How is she?”

“Fine. Thanks for asking.”

“She’s so cute.”

“You need to forget about her.” Keith mumbled a few awkward phrases into the phone and then slapped it shut. He drove quickly through the deserted streets of central Topeka. “So, Travis, we’re planning on this long drive down to Texas, where you face the authorities and tell the truth and try to stop this execution. And I’m assuming at some point very soon, you’ll be expected to lead the authorities to Nicole’s body. All this, of course, will lead to your arrest and being thrown in jail in Texas. They’ll charge you with all sorts of crimes and you’ll never get out. Is that the plan, Travis? Are we on the same page?”

The tic. The pause. “Yes, Pastor, we’re on the same page. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be dead before they can get me properly indicted by the grand jury.”

“I didn’t want to say that.”

“You don’t have to. We know it, but I prefer that nobody in Texas knows about my tumor. It’s only fitting that they get the satisfaction of prosecuting me. I deserve it. I’m at peace, Pastor.”

“At peace with whom?”

“Myself. After I see Nicole again, and tell her I’m sorry, then I’ll be ready for anything, including death.”

Keith drove on in silence. He was facing a marathon trip with this guy, virtually shoulder to shoulder for the next ten, maybe twelve hours, and he hoped he wouldn’t be as crazy as Boyette by the time they arrived in Slone.

He parked in the driveway, behind the Accord, and said, “Travis, I’m assuming you have no money, no clothes, nothing.” This seemed painfully obvious.

Travis chuckled, raised his hands, and said, “Here I am, Pastor, with all my worldly assets.”

“That’s what I thought. Wait here. I’ll be back in five minutes.” Keith left the engine running and hurried into his house.

———

Dana was in the kitchen, throwing together sandwiches and chips and fruit and anything else she could find. “Where is he?” she demanded as soon as Keith walked through the door.

“In the car. He’s not coming in.”

“Keith, you can’t be serious about this.”

“What are the choices, Dana?” He’d made his decision, as unsettling as it was. He was prepared for a nasty fight with his wife, and he was willing to take the risks that his journey might entail. “We can’t sit here and do nothing when we know the real killer. He’s out there in the car.”