The Chamber (Page 122)

Adam hung up. "Just getting the appeals filed," he explained to Sam, who at the moment was totally indifferent. "I need to get to Jackson."

"What’s the hurry?" Sam asked, like a man with years to live and nothing to do.

"Hurry? Did you say hurry? It’s ten o’clock, Sam, on Monday. We have exactly thirty-eight hours to find a miracle."

"There won’t be any miracles, Adam." He turned to Carmen, still holding her hand. "Don’t get your hopes up, dear."

"Maybe – "

"No. It’s my time, okay. And I’m very ready. I don’t want you to be sad when it’s over."

"We need to go, Sam," Adam said, touching his shoulder. "I’ll be back either late tonight or early in the morning."

Carmen leaned over and kissed Sam on the cheek. "My heart is with you, Sam," she whispered.

He hugged her for a second, then stood by the desk. "You take care, kid. Study hard and all that. And don’t think badly of me, okay? I’m here for a reason. It’s nobody’s fault but mine. There’s a better life waiting on me outside this place."

Carmen stood and hugged him again. She was crying as they left the room.

Chapter 46

BY noon judge Slattery had fully embraced the gravity of the moment, and though he tried hard to conceal it, he was enjoying immensely this brief interval in the center of the storm. First, he had dismissed the jury and lawyers in the civil trial pending before him. He had twice talked to the clerk of the Fifth Circuit in New Orleans, then to justice McNeely himself. The big moment had come a few minutes after eleven when Supreme Court Justice Edward F. Allbright called from Washington to get an update. Allbright was monitoring the case by the hour. They talked law and theory. Neither man was opposed to the death penalty, and both had particular problems with the Mississippi statute in question. They were concerned that it could be abused by any death row inmate who could pretend to be insane and find a wacky doctor to play along.

The reporters quickly learned that a hearing of some type was scheduled, and they not only flooded Slattery’s office with calls, but parked themselves in his receptionist’s office. The U.S. marshall was called to disperse the reporters.

The secretary brought messages by the minute. Breck Jefferson dug through countless law books and scattered research over the long conference table. Slattery talked to the governor, the Attorney General, Garner Goodman, dozens of others. His shoes were under his massive desk. He walked around it, holding the receiver with a long cord, thoroughly enjoying the madness.

If Slattery’s office was hectic, then the Attorney General’s was pure chaos. Roxburgh had gone ballistic with the news that one of Cayhall’s shots in the dark had hit a target. You fight these bears for ten years, up and down the appellate ladders, out of one courtroom and into another, battling the creative legal minds of the ACLU and similar outfits, producing along the way enough paperwork to destroy a rain forest, and right when you’ve got him in your sights, he files a ton of gangplank appeals and one of them gets noticed by a judge somewhere who just happens to be in a tender mood.

He had stormed down the hall to the office of Morris Henry, Dr. Death himself, and together they hastily had assembled a team of their best criminal boys. They met in a large library with rows and stacks of the latest books. They reviewed the Cayhall petition and the applicable law, and they plotted strategy. Witnesses were needed. Who had seen Cayhall in the last month? Who could testify about the things he said and did? There was no time for one of their doctors to examine him. He had a doctor, but they didn’t. This was a significant problem. To get their hands on him with a reputable doctor, the state would be forced to ask for time. And time meant a stay of execution. A stay was out of the question.

The guards saw him every day. Who else? Roxburgh called Lucas Mann, who suggested that he talk to Colonel Nugent. Nugent said he’d seen Sam just hours earlier, and, yes, of course, he would be happy to testify. Son of a bitch wasn’t crazy. He was just mean. And Sergeant Packer saw him every day. And the prison psychiatrist, Dr. N. Stegall, had met with Sam, and she could testify. Nugent was anxious to help. He also suggested the prison chaplain. And he would think about others.

Morris Henry organized a hit squad of four lawyers to do nothing but dig for dirt on Dr. Anson Swinn. Find other cases he’d been involved in. Talk to other lawyers around the country. Locate transcripts of his testimony. The guy was nothing but a hired mouthpiece, a professional testifier. Get the goods to discredit him.

Once Roxburgh had the attack planned and others doing the work, he rode the elevator to the lobby of the building to chat with the press.

Adam parked in a vacant spot on the grounds of the state capitol. Goodman was waiting under a shade tree with his jacket off and sleeves rolled up, his paisley bow tie perfect. Adam quickly introduced Carmen to Mr. Goodman.

"The governor wants to see you at two. I just left his office, for the third time this morning. Let’s walk to our place," he said, waving toward downtown. "It’s just a coupla blocks."

"Did you meet Sam?" Goodman asked Carmen.

"Yes. This morning."

"I’m glad you did."

"What’s on the governor’s mind?" Adam asked. They were walking much too slow to suit him. Relax, he told himself. Just relax.

"Who knows? He wants to meet with you privately. Maybe the market analysis is getting to him. Maybe he’s planning a media stunt. Maybe he’s sincere. I can’t read him. He does look tired, though."

"The phone calls are getting through?"

"Splendidly."

"No one’s suspicious?"

"Not yet. Frankly, we’re hitting them so fast and so hard I doubt they have time to trace calls."

Carmen shot a blank look at her brother, who was too preoccupied to see it.

"What’s the latest from Slattery?" Adam asked as they crossed a street, pausing for a minute in silence to watch the demonstration under way on the front steps of the capitol.

"Nothing since ten this morning. His clerk called you in Memphis, and your secretary gave him my number here. That’s how they found me. He told me about the hearing, and said Slattery wants the lawyers in his chamber at three to plan things."

"What does this mean?" Adam asked, desperate for his mentor to say that they were on the brink of a major victory.

Goodman sensed Adam’s anxiety. "I honestly don’t know. It’s good news, but no one knows how permanent it is. Hearings at this stage are not unusual."

They crossed another street and entered the building. Upstairs, the temporary office was buzzing as four law students rattled away on cordless phones. Two were sitting with their feet on the table. One stood in the window and talked earnestly. One was pacing along the far wall, phone stuck to her head. Adam stood by the door and tried to absorb the scene. Carmen was hopelessly confused.

Goodman explained things in a loud whisper. "We’re averaging about sixty calls an hour. We dial more than that, but the lines stay jammed, obviously. We’re responsible for the jamming, and this keeps other people from getting through. It was much slower over the weekend. The hotline used only one operator." He delivered this summary like a proud plant manager showing off the latest in automated machinery.

"Who are they calling?" Carmen asked.

A law student stepped forward and introduced himself to Adam, and then to Carmen. He was having a ball, he said.

"Would you like something to eat?" Goodman asked. "We have some sandwiches." Adam declined.