The governor was already tired. "There's something at ten this morning," he said to Mona without looking at her.
"Yes, a meeting with a group of Boy Scouts."
"Cancel it. Give my apologies. Reschedule it. I'm not in the mood for any photographs this morning. It's best if I stay here. Lunch?"
"With Senator Pressgrove. You're supposed to discuss the lawsuit against the universities."
"I can't stand Pressgrove. Cancel it, and order some chicken. And, on second thought, bring in Goodman."
She walked to the door, disappeared for a minute, and returned with Garner Goodman. McAllister was standing by the window, staring at the buildings downtown. He turned and flashed a weary smile. "Good morning, Mr. Goodman."
They shook hands and took seats. Late Sunday afternoon, Goodman had delivered to Larramore a written request to cancel the clemency hearing, pursuant to their client's rather strident demands.
"Still don't want a hearing, huh?" the governor said with another tired smile.
"Our client says no. He has nothing else to add. We've tried everything." Mona handed Goodman a cup of black coffee.
"He has a very hard head. Always has, I guess.
Where are the appeals right now?" McAllister was so sincere.
"Proceeding as expected."
"You've been through this before, Mr. Goodman. I haven't. What's your prediction, as of right now?"
Goodman stirred his coffee and pondered the question. There was no harm in being honest with the governor, not at this point. "I'm one of his lawyers, so I lean toward optimism. I'd say seventy percent chance of it happening."
The governor thought about this for a while. He could almost hear the phones ringing off the walls. Even his own people were getting skittish."Do you know what I want, Mr. Goodman?" he asked sincerely.
Yeah, you want those damned phones to stop ringing, Goodman thought to himself. "What?"
"I'd really like to talk to Adam Hall. Where is he?"
"Probably at Parchman. I talked to him an hour ago."
"Can he come here today?"
"Yes, in fact he was planning on arriving in Jackson this afternoon."
"Good. I'll wait for him."
Goodman suppressed a smile. Perhaps a small hole had ruptured in the dam.
Oddly, though, it was on a different, far more unlikely front where the first hint of relief surfaced.
Six blocks away in the federal courthouse, Breck Jefferson entered the office of his boss, the Honorable F. Flynn Slattery, who was on the phone and rather perturbed at a lawyer. Breck held a thick petition for writ of habeas corpus, and a legal pad filled with notes.
"Yes?" Slattery barked, slamming down the phone.
"We need to talk about Cayhall," Breck said somberly. "You know we've got his petition alleging mental incompetence."
"Let's deny it and get it outta here. I'm too busy to worry with it. Let Cayhall take it to the Fifth Circuit. I don't want that damned thing lying around here."
Breck looked troubled, and his words came slower. "But there's something you need to take a look at."
"Aw, come on, Breck. What is it?"
"He may have a valid claim."
Slattery's face fell and his shoulders slumped. "Come on. Are you kidding? What is it? We have a trial starting in thirty minutes. There's a jury waiting out there."
Breck Jefferson had been the number-two student in his law class at Emory. Slattery trusted him implicitly. "They're claiming Sam lacks the mental competence to face an execution, pursuant to a rather broad Mississippi statute."
"Everybody knows he's crazy."
"They have an expert who's willing to testify. It's not something we can ignore."
"I don't believe this."
"You'd better look at it."
His Honor massaged his forehead with his fingertips. "Sit down. Let me see it."
"Just a few more miles," Adam said as they sped toward the prison. "How you doing?"
Carmen had said little since they left Memphis. Her first journey into Mississippi had been spent looking at the vastness of the Delta, admiring the lushness of its miles of cotton and beans, watching in amazement as crop dusters bounced along the tops of the fields, shaking her head at the clusters of impoverished shacks. "I'm nervous," she admitted, not for the first time. They had talked briefly about Berkeley and Chicago and what the next years might bring. They had said nothing about their mother or father. Sam and his family were likewise neglected.
"He's nervous too."
"This is bizarre, Adam. Rushing along this highway in this wilderness, hurrying to meet a grandfather who's about to be executed."
He patted her firmly on the knee. "You're doing the right thing." She wore oversized chinos, hiking boots, a faded red denim shirt. Very much the grad student in psychology.
"There it is." He suddenly pointed ahead. On both sides of the highway, cars had parked bumper to bumper. Traffic was slow as people walked toward the prison.
"What's all this?" she asked.
"This is a circus."
They passed three Klansmen walking on the edge of the pavement. Carmen stared at them, then shook her head in disbelief. They inched forward, going slightly faster than the people hurrying to the demonstrations. In the middle of the highway in front of the entrance, two state troopers directed traffic. They motioned for Adam to turn right, which he did. A Parchman guard pointed to an area along a shallow road ditch.
They held hands and walked to the front gate, pausing for a moment to stare at the dozens of robed Klansmen milling about in front of the prison. A fiery speech was being delivered into a megaphone that malfunctioned every few seconds. A group of brownshirts stood shoulder to shoulder, holding signs and facing the traffic. No less than five television vans were parked on the other side of the highway. Cameras were everywhere. A news helicopter circled above.
At the front gate, Adam introduced Carmen to his new pal Louise, the guard who took care of the paperwork. She was nervous and frazzled. There'd been an altercation or two between the Kluckers and the press and the guards. Things were dicey at the moment, and not likely to improve, in her opinion.
A uniformed guard escorted them to a prison van, and they hurriedly left the front entrance.