The Chamber (Page 105)

"The inmate has at least three petitions and appeals currently working their way through the various courts, and, of course, there’s no way to predict what might happen. We are in constant contact with the Attorney General’s office. In fact, Mr. Morris Henry is here with us today. It is his opinion, and an opinion shared by Mr. Lucas Mann, that this thing will go down to the wire. A stay could be granted at any moment, but that looks doubtful. We have to be ready regardless. The inmate is also expected to request a clemency hearing from the governor, but, frankly, that is not expected to be successful. From now until next Wednesday, we will be in a state of preparedness."

Nugent’s words were strong and clear. He had center stage, and was obviously enjoying every moment of it. He glanced at his notes, and continued. "The gas chamber itself is being prepared. It’s old and it hasn’t been used in two years, so we’re being very careful with it. A representative of the manufacturer arrives this morning, and will conduct tests today and tonight. We’ll go through a complete rehearsal of the execution over the weekend, probably Sunday night, assuming there’s no stay. I have collected the lists of volunteers for the execution team, and I’ll make that determination this afternoon.

"Now, we’re being inundated with requests from the media for all sorts of things. They want to interview Mr. Cayhall, his lawyer, our lawyer, the warden, the guards, other inmates on the row, the executioner, everybody. They want to witness the execution. They want pictures of his cell and the chamber. Typical media silliness. But we must deal with it. There is to be no contact with any member of the press unless I first approve it. That goes for every employee of this institution. No exceptions. Most of these reporters are not from around here, and they get their jollies making us look like a bunch of ignorant rednecks. So don’t talk to them. No exceptions. I’ll issue the appropriate releases when I deem necessary. Be careful with these people. They’re vultures.

"We’re also expecting trouble from the outside. As of about ten minutes ago, the first group of Ku Klux Klansmen arrived at the front gate. They were directed to the usual spot between the highway and the administration building where the protests take place. We’ve also heard that other such groups will be here shortly, and it appears as if they plan to protest until this thing is over. We’ll watch them closely. They have the right to do this, so long as it’s peaceful. Though I wasn’t here for the last four executions, I’ve been told that groups of death penalty supporters usually show up and raise hell. We plan to keep these two groups separated, for obvious reasons."

Nugent couldn’t sit any longer, and stood stiffly at the end of the table. All eyes were on him. He studied his notes for a second.

"This execution will be different because of Mr. Cayhall’s notoriety. It will attract a lot of attention, a lot of media, a lot of other loonies. We must act professionally at all times, and I will not tolerate any breach of the rules of conduct. Mr. Cayhall and his family are entitled to respect during these last few days. No off-color comments about the gas chamber or the execution. I will not stand for it. Any questions?"

Nugent surveyed the room and was quite pleased with himself. He’d covered it all. No questions. "Very well. We’ll meet again in the morning at nine." He dismissed them, and the room emptied hurriedly.

Garner Goodman caught Professor John Bryan Glass as he was leaving his office and headed for a lecture. The class was forgotten as the two stood in the hallway and swapped compliments. Glass had read all of Goodman’s books, and Goodman had read most of Glass’ recent articles condemning the death penalty. The conversation quickly turned to the Cayhall mess, and specifically to Goodman’s pressing need for a handful of trustworthy law students who could assist with a quick research project over the weekend. Glass offered his help, and the two agreed to have lunch in a few hours to pursue the matter.

Three blocks from the Mississippi College School of Law, Goodman found the small and cramped offices of Southern Capital Defense Group, a quasi federal agency with small, cramped offices in every state in the Death Belt. The director was a young, black, Yale-educated lawyer named Hez Kerry, who had forsaken the riches of the big firms and dedicated his life to abolishing the death penalty. Goodman had met him on two prior occasions at conferences. Though Kerry’s Group, as it was referred to, did not directly represent every inmate on death row, it did have the responsibility of monitoring every case. Hez was thirty-one years old and aging quickly. The gray hair was evidence of the pressure of forty-seven men on death row.

On a wall above the secretary’s desk in the foyer was a small calendar, and across the top of it someone had printed the words BIRTHDAYS ON DEATH ROW. Everybody got a card, nothing more. The budget was tight, and the cards were usually purchased with pocket change collected around the office.

The group had two lawyers working under Kerry’s supervision, and only one full-time secretary. A few students from the law school worked several hours a week, for free.

Goodman talked with Hez Kerry for more than an hour. They planned their movements for next Tuesday – Kerry himself would camp out at the clerk’s office at the Mississippi Supreme Court. Goodman would stay at the governor’s office. John Bryan Glass would be recruited to sit in the Fifth Circuit’s satellite office in the federal courthouse in Jackson. One of Goodman’s former associates at Kravitz & Bane now worked in Washington, and he had already agreed to wait at the Death Clerk’s desk. Adam would be left to sit on the Row with the client and coordinate the last minute calls.

Kerry agreed to participate in Goodman’s market analysis project over the weekend.

At eleven, Goodman returned to the governor’s office in the state capitol, and handed to Lawyer Larramore a written request for a clemency hearing. The governor was out of the office, very busy these days, and he, Larramore, would see him just after lunch. Goodman left his phone number at the Millsaps-Buie House, and said he would call in periodically.

He then drove to his new office, now supplied with the finest rental furniture available on two months’ lease, cash of course. The folding chairs were leftovers from a church fellowship hall, according to the markings under the seats. The rickety tables too had seen their share of potluck suppers and wedding receptions.

Goodman admired his hastily assembled little hole-in-the-wall. He took a seat, and on a new cellular phone he called his secretary in Chicago, Adam’s office in Memphis, his wife at home, and the governor’s hotline.

By 4 P.m. Thursday, the Mississippi Supreme Court still had not denied the claim based on Sam’s alleged mental incompetence. Almost thirty hours had passed since Adam filed it. He’d made a nuisance of himself calling the court’s clerk. He was tired of explaining the obvious – he needed an answer, please. There was not the slightest trace of optimism that the court was actually considering the merits of the claim. The court, in Adam’s opinion, was dragging its feet and delaying his rush to federal court. At this point, relief in the state supreme court was impossible, he felt.

He wasn’t exactly on a roll in the federal courts either. The U.S. Supreme Court had not ruled on his request to consider the claim that the gas chamber was unconstitutional. The Fifth Circuit was sitting on his ineffectiveness of counsel claim.

Nothing was moving on Thursday. The courts were just sitting there as if these were ordinary lawsuits to be filed and assigned and docketed, then continued and delayed for years. He needed action, preferably a stay granted at some level, or if not a stay then an oral argument, or a hearing on the merits, or even a denial so he could move on to the next court.