按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
led up and down the tier。 〃Quiet！〃 he demanded； but the laughter。 increased。 Sam continued puffing and blowing smoke through the bars。 Catcalls and insults could be heard amid the ruckus。
〃I'll be back；〃 Nugent shouted angrily at Sam。
〃He shall return！〃 Henshaw yelled； and the motion grew even louder。 The mandant stormed away； and as he marched swiftly to the end of the hall； shouts of 〃Heil Hitler〃 rang through the tier。
Sam smiled at the bars for a moment as the noise died； then returned to his position on the edge of the bed。 He took a bite of dry toast； a sip of cold coffee。 He resumed his typing。
The afternoon drive to Parchman was not a particularly pleasant one。 Garner Goodman sat in the front seat as Adam drove； and they talked strategy and brainstormed about the last minute appeals and procedures。 Goodman planned to return to Memphis over the weekend； and be available during the last three days。 The psychiatrist was Dr。 Swinn； a cold； unsmiling man in a black suit。 He had wild； bushy hair； dark eyes hidden behind thick glasses； and was pletely incapable of small talk。 His presence in the backseat was disfiting。 He did not utter a single word from Memphis to Parchman。
The examination had been arranged by Adam and Lucas Mann to take place in the prison hospital； a remarkably modern facility。 Dr。 Swinn had very plainly informed Adam that neither he nor Goodman could be present during his evaluation of Sam。 And this was perfectly fine with Adam and Goodman。 A prison van met them at the front gate； and carried Dr。 Swinn to the hospital deep inside the farm。
Goodman had not seen Lucas Mann in several years。 They shook hands like old friends； and immediately lapsed into war stories about executions。 The conversation was kept away from Sam； and Adam appreciated it。
They walked from Mann's office across a parking lot to a small building behind the administration plex。 The building was a restaurant； designed along the lines of a neighborhood tavern。 Called The Place； it served basic food to the office workers and prison employees。 No alcohol。 It was on state property。
They drank iced tea and talked about the future of capital punishment。 Both Goodman and Mann agreed that executions would soon bee even more monplace。 The U。S。 Supreme Court was continuing its swing to the right； and it was weary of the endless appeals。 Ditto for the lower levels of the federal judiciary。 Plus； American juries were being increasingly reflective of society's intolerance of violent crime。 There was much less sympathy for death row inmates； a much greater desire to fry the bastards。 Fewer federal dollars were being spent to fund groups opposed to the death penalty； and fewer lawyers and their firms were willing to make the enormous pro bono mitments。 The death row population was growing faster than the number of lawyers willing to take capital cases。
Adam was quite bored with the conversation。 He'd read and heard it a hundred times。 He excused himself and found a pay phone in a corner。 Phelps was not in； a young secretary said； but he'd left a message for Adam： no word from Lee。 She was scheduled to be in court in two weeks； maybe she'd turn up then。
Darlene typed Dr。 Swinn's report while Adam and Garner Goodman worked on the petition to acpany it。 The report was twenty pages long in rough draft； and sounded like soft music。 Swinn was a hired gun； a prostitute who'd sell an opinion to the highest bidder； and Adam detested him and his ilk。 He roamed the country as a professional testifier； able to say this today and that tomorrow； depending on who had the deepest pockets。 But for the moment； he was their whore； and he was quite good。 Sam was suffering from advanced senility。 His mental faculties had eroded to the point where he did not know and appreciate the nature of his punishment。 He lacked the requisite petence to be executed； and therefore the execution would not serve any purpose。 It was not an entirely unique legal argument； nor had the courts exactly embraced it。 But； as Adam found himself saying every day； what was there to lose？ Goodman seemed to be more than a little optimistic； primarily because of Sam's age。 He could not recall an execution of a man over the age of fifty。
They； Darlene included； worked until almost eleven。
38
GARNER GOODMAN did not return to Chicago Wednesday morning； but instead flew to Jackson； Mississippi。 The flight took thirty minutes； hardly time for a cup of coffee and an unthawed croissant。 He rented a car at the airport and drove straight to the state capitol。 The legislature was not in session； and there were plenty of parking places on the grounds。 Like many county courthouses rebuilt after the Civil War； the capitol defiantly faced south。 He stopped to admire the war monument to Southern women； but spent more time studying the splendid Japanese magnolias at the bottom of the front steps。
Four years earlier； during the days and hours prior to the Maynard Tole execution； Goodman had made this same journey on two occasions。 There was a different governor then； a different client； and a different crime。 Tole had murdered several people in a two…day crime spree； and it had been quite difficult to arouse sympathy for him。 He hoped Sam Cayhall was different。 He was an old man who'd probably die within five years anyway。 His crime was ancient history to many Mississippians。 And on and on。
Goodman had been rehearsing his routine all morning。 He entered the capitol building and once again marveled at its beauty。 It was a smaller version of the U。S。 Capitol in
Washington； and no expense had been spared。 It had been built in 1910 with prison labor。 The state had used the proceeds from a successful lawsuit against a railroad to construct itself this monument。
He entered the governor's office on the second floor and handed his card to the lovely receptionist。 The governor was not in this morning； she said； and did he have an appointment？ No； Goodman explained pleasantly； but it was very important； and would it be possible for him to see Mr。 Andy Larramore； chief counsel for the governor？
He waited as she made several calls； and half an hour later Mr。 Larramore presented himself。 They made their introductions and disappeared into a narrow hallway that ran through a maze of small offices。 Larramore's cubbyhole was cluttered and disorganized； much like the man himself。 He was a small guy with a noticeable bend at the waist and absolutely no neck。 His long chin rested on his chest； and when he talked his eyes； nose； and mouth all squeezed together tightly。 It was a horrible sight。 Goodman couldn't tell if he was thirty or fifty。 He had to be a genius。
〃The governor is speaking to a convention of insurance agents this morning；〃 Larramore said； holding an itinerary as if it were a piece of fine jewelry。 〃And then he visits a public school in the inner city。〃
〃I'll wait；〃 Goodman said。 〃It's very important； and I don't mind hanging around。〃
Larramore placed the sheet of paper aside； and folded his hands on the table。 〃What happened to that young fellow； Sam's grandson？〃
〃Oh； he's still lead counsel。 I'm the director of pro bono for Kravitz & Bane； so