“Nate,” she hollered. “Nate!” Agnes ran down the lawn and saw he was still asleep on the bench under the weeping willow tree. “Fine watchdog you turned out to be,” she scolded the now bleary-eyed golden retriever. Her husband was still asleep. “Nate, wake up.”
He opened his eyes from a sound sleep. He rubbed his eyes, “You had to wake me before I could pull the damn fish onto the boat, didn’t you? It was a big one.” He saw the look on her face, “What the blazes is wrong, girl?”
“Linda just called from the office. She called the Supreme Court Appeals office, and for some reason they didn’t get all of the paperwork that we sent them.”
“What? How the hell did that happen? The one time I don’t follow up and this happens. Damn. I didn’t want to bug them and now look at…” He was on his feet, pulling his suspenders up over his shoulders as he walked. Hero followed behind them as they quickly made their way back to his office.
“Darlin’, get me Lin on the phone while I look through what we sent them. Quickly.” He looked at his watch. They had lost almost two hours. Damn.
“She’s on the line,” she hollered as soon as he sat down in his office chair.
“Lin, did you check through everything…”
“Yes sir, I checked,” came her familiar voice as he listened to her on the speakerphone on his desk as he paged through the volumes of documents they had sent to the appeals office.
“They told me they were missing the two concurrent documents from the lower court of appeals that we did six years ago. It was the COA-1999, a two-page document. I checked, and I don’t have it here. Do you have it handy or do you want me to continue to research it?”
He found it! “No, I have it here. I’ll send it off right away.”
“They want it faxed to them at the number I sent you. And they need it now.”
“Got it.” His heart was pounding and he felt his face turning red. How the hell did this happen? He was sure they had sent it to them but they probably misplaced it. After writing up the fax cover sheet, he put a note on the bottom: URGENT! PLEASE CALL ME WHEN YOU RECEIVE THIS. Then he faxed it.
Within minutes, the phone rang and a squeaky young voice was on the other end. “Mr. Hutchinson, you asked that we call you when we got your documents.”
“Yes, thank you so much. I don’t know how this happened. We sent everything to you and double-checked that this document was included in the appeals package. I don’t understand it. Can you tell me how this…”
“Sir, this is Heather Johnson at the USSC Emergency Appeals Division. I have your paperwork and I will hand carry it to the justice who has been randomly assigned to your appeal. Sorry sir, but I must run to get it to him. Thank you for your quick response. If we need anything else from you we will be in touch.” The phone line went dead.
He had to sit down; his heart was beating so fast, it felt like it was going to …
“John Henry, can you hear me?” Silence.
“John Henry?” he called again
“Whatd’chu want Walker? Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?”
“Just lookin’ for somebody to talk to. They don’t usually put anybody down here by me, that’s all.”
The big man swung his feet over the side of the bunk and he sat up. The bed made a loud noise under the shifting weight of the giant man. He sniffed then coughed, adjusting to his new surroundings. “Well, they don’t take kindly to somebody killin’ one of their own here, Mr. Walker. And you were responsible for killin’ two of theirs.”
“Call me, Tim, everybody does. We’re not real formal here on D-Block.”
“Well, no offense, Mr. Walker, but usually I don’t make a habit of getting to know no dead man. And you sure look like a dead man to me. You got that air about you, you know what I mean? So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll keep it at Mr. Walker.”
“Suit yourself, big man.” He looked at him sitting perfectly still almost as if he were meditating. “So tell me John Henry, what’s your story?”
He sniffed and coughed again, stood and turned to face the jail cell door and looked at Walker while stretching out his huge arms to his sides. “Well, you see there Mr. Walker, about twenty years ago I was minding my own business when the police come to my home in Moultrie, just south of Tifton, Georgia. Well sir, they said I killed a man during a holdup. It was a little liquor store owned by some foreigner from Pakistan. Well, they said I shot and killed the man. I was at home all night with my wife and family but they didn’t care. They arrested me anyway. Some young feller name of Christian Brown swore on a Bible that I was the one who done it. They sent me to jail; I wound up on their death row. I waited and waited while my attorney filed appeal after appeal. No luck.” He grabbed hold of the bars on the cell door and gripped them tight, so tight that Walker could see his black knuckles turning white.
“I was on death row for over twenty-two years Walker. Twenty-two years out of my life, away from my family, away from my children and my grandkids. Near broke my heart.” His voice rose and one of the guards looked down at them from his desk in the hallway, then looked away.
“What happened?” I asked John Henry.
“Well, you see Mr. Walker, couple years ago this young feller confessed that he made it all up and that the cops made him testify or else he was goin’ to jail for some other crime. They reopened my case and then set me free with an apology and some money in my pocket. But the damage was already done. My wife divorced me and got remarried. My kids won’t talk to me; they didn’t believe I was innocent. So to them I was guilty.”
“So how did you wind up here?”
“Well, that Mr. Christian Brown fella was real sorry for what he done, so some church group arranged for him and me to meet. He wanted to apologize to me and to the world …on TV, so he said anyway.”
Walker waited for him to continue.
The big man was silent.
“And?” Walker finally asked.
“So the church set up the meeting at the Holy Pentecostal Baptist Church outside of Tallahassee where he lived and went to church. It was a bright sunny Sunday morning when I drove down there by myself from Georgia, and there he was, the man who put me into a jail cell for over twenty years. Standin’ there, all apologizin’ and all. Sayin’ how sorry he was. He came up and hugged me and asked for me to forgive him.”
“And did you?”
“He stood there all small like, mumbling about how wrong he was and all, watching the television cameras filming it all. Smiling for the cameras. Well sir, I just picked him off the ground and snapped his neck clean through. Yes, I did. Well, it was all on film, so the next thing I know I’m right back on D-Block, but this time in the great state of Florida with the likes of folk like you. Yesiree Bob.”
“Whew, lordy John Henry. What a story. Well, I got my lawyer who’s goin’ to make sure nothing happens to me. Just filed the latest appeal and… “
“Okay Walker, on your feet. Turn around, hands through the bars, behind your back.” It was his final meal and four guards stood outside his cell. “Time for your last meal,” bellowed Shiminek. “Steak, done rare and bloody, grits, French fries and mashed potatoes with parsnips everything just the way you like it. And your raspberry ice cream.”
Walker turned and put his hands behind him as they put on the cuffs. They weren’t taking any chances with somebody who had nothing to lose.
When they were done, the senior guard ordered, “Step to the back of the cell. Don’t turn around. Then you can eat your meal.”
He looked down at his clipboard. “I understand you chose lethal injection. Well then, we’ll be back after you finish eating and get you all cleaned up for the show.” He leaned over, closer to the jail cell door as he whispered to the cop killer, “First, we’ll strap you onto the gurney and tighten everything down, nice and snug like. Then give you something nice and warm to help make you sleep, halfway, before giving you the hot shot.” He straightened up, “You got thirty-five minutes to eat Walker, starting now. You just behave yourself in the meantime and it’ll go real smooth for all of us. Got it Walker?”
“Got it,” he said as they uncuffed his hands through the bars. He grabbed the flimsy foam plastic tray with the plastic utensils and ate in silence. This was as close as he had ever got to an execution. He smiled, I got faith in that old fart of an attorney. He always comes through; it’s his job.