10

Mace James arrived at the Diagnostic and Classification Prison in Jackson at three fifteen. There were 107 men on death row, all residing in the same wing of the facility, within yards of the execution chamber housed in a white building at the edge of the prison facility. Other states transported their prisoners to specially constructed execution rooms miles away from where the prisoners were held. But Georgia believed in efficiency.

A handful of demonstrators had already gathered outside the facility, and Mace took the time to shake everyone’s hand. He was still amazed at how little public outcry this case had generated, even after his TV interview. The Troy Davis case, just a year earlier, had garnered widespread publicity. But nothing had changed. If anything, the public just grew more desensitized to last-minute desperation filings by death-row attorneys claiming that their clients were “truly innocent.” Most people now greeted such filings with a yawn.

By midafternoon the Georgia Board of Pardons and Paroles had voted to deny clemency. The US Supreme Court had denied a stay based on the suspect nature of the sodium thiopental. The only hope left was the petition presently before the Georgia Supreme Court. If that petition was denied, the attorneys at Knight and Joyner would raise the same issue with a habeas filing in the federal courts—first with the Eleventh Circuit and ultimately with a single justice of the US Supreme Court.

It was never too late. Troy Davis held the record. He’d been convicted in the 1989 killing of a Savannah police officer. Twenty years later, the Supreme Court granted a stay less than two hours before his scheduled execution. Davis later presented new evidence to a Georgia federal judge who ruled that the evidence amounted to nothing more than “smoke and mirrors.” Davis proclaimed his innocence with his last breath on September 21, 2011. How had Davis’s lawyers managed to keep their client alive for twenty-two years, yet Mace couldn’t keep Antoine alive for more than eleven?

The answer, Mace knew, was the 1996 enactment of the Antiterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act, which seriously curtailed the habeas corpus rights of death-row inmates convicted after the law’s passage. But Mace also shouldered a fair share of the blame. A good lawyer would never allow an innocent man to die.

Before meeting with Antoine, Mace inspected the lethal-injection chamber, which had already been prepared for that evening’s event. The room was small, cold, and sterile, about the size of an examination room at a doctor’s office. It was so white that it was nearly disorienting—the white walls and white tile floor interrupted only by a four-inch black baseboard and a bright-yellow door. The “bed” where they would strap Antoine featured a two-inch mattress covered in a white disposable sheet. There were black straps for his arms, knees, and ankle, as well as one that would lie across his shoulders.

Mace had never witnessed an execution. But it was clear that the state wanted this to look like every other medical procedure. They would even swab Antoine’s arm with alcohol before inserting the needle for the IV.

One wall of the execution chamber was a large window that allowed observers to watch the procedure. There were blinds on the inside that would be pulled back once Antoine was strapped in. Members of the victim’s family and District Attorney Masterson would be in the observation room. Mace would be there too, along with the prison chaplain, who had taken quite a liking to Antoine. They would be joined by five reporters, selected to serve as witnesses for the media, along with a few prison guards.

Mace surveyed the execution chamber and shrugged at the prison guards. What was he supposed to do—complain that he wanted the walls painted a different color?

“I’d like to see my client now,” he said.

A few minutes later, Mace walked into a small room in the main facility where Antoine was sitting at a bolted-down table, wearing shackles on his ankles and wrists. A guard stood just outside the door, staring in through a barred window.

As the door closed behind Mace, Antoine looked up at him, wide eyed. Before, the two had been separated by bulletproof glass. But today, Antoine’s last scheduled day on earth, they were allowed to meet with no barriers between them.

Antoine stood, and Mace walked over and gave him a big hug. Mace felt his client’s bony shoulder blades and was a little surprised at how much shorter Antoine was than he had looked when seated in the cubicle. The inmate smelled like he hadn’t taken a shower in a couple of weeks, and his hair was matted and ratty, his breath enough to knock Mace over.

“Thanks for coming,” Antoine said as if Mace were a hospital visitor after surgery.

“Yeah, I was thinking about going golfing instead but decided against it,” Mace said.

Antoine didn’t smile, and the two men took their places on opposite sides of the table. They both leaned forward on their elbows so they could keep their voices low. Antoine had a healthy sense of paranoia nurtured by eleven years inside the system and memories of Freddie Cooper turning on him. Mace tried to ignore his client’s putrid breath.

“I don’t have any good news,” Mace said, getting right to the point. “The State Board of Pardons and Paroles has denied clemency. The Supreme Court ruled against our petition for cert. The only chance we have is the petition based on Cooper’s affidavit.”

Antoine’s expression didn’t change. “About what I expected.”

“We basically get three strikes on that petition. The Georgia Supreme Court. The Eleventh Circuit. The Supremes.”

“I’m not holding my breath.”

Mace wished he would.

“I’m not either,” Mace said. He had never tried to pump Antoine up with false expectations. There was no need to start now.

“I’m ready,” Antoine proclaimed. “And I wanted you to look over something.”

He reached into the pocket of his orange jumpsuit and handed Mace a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” Mace asked.

“My last statement. I’ll memorize it by seven.”

Mace read the paper while Antoine watched:

I want to say how sorry I am to the members of the Brock family. I have prayed for you every day, and I hope that my execution will allow you to close this chapter of your lives. To Jamie and Chris Brock: I am sorry that you lost a mother. To Robert Brock: I am sorry that you lost a wife.

I am prepared to die. Those of you with power over me would have no power if it were not given to you from above.

Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.

Into your hands, Jesus, I commit my spirit.

Mace read the statement twice to give himself time to think. He didn’t like it. The proclamation was confusing, and there was no clear declaration of innocence. Worse, Antoine was repeating the words of Jesus, which would make the victims furious.

“What do you think?” Antoine asked, his eyes lighting up for the first time since Mace had entered the room.

Mace made a slight grimace. “It’s okay. Very biblical. But I think you could make a stronger claim of innocence.”

Antoine had obviously thought about this. “Jesus could have insisted on his innocence too. But the Bible says he was silent, like a lamb at the slaughter.”

“But that’s different. Jesus had to die to save the world. This is just plain injustice.”

Antoine reached across the table and took the paper, refolded it, and placed it in his pocket. “I appreciate your input. But the chaplain liked it. And I don’t think I can go wrong quoting the words of Jesus.”

Mace wanted to argue the point but decided against it. This was Antoine’s final act of self-determination. The state had taken everything else away except his right to say whatever he wanted just prior to death. Who was Mace to criticize those words?

“It’s a good statement, Antoine. Me, I would be too bitter to say something this gracious. You’re a better man than I.”

“Some might disagree,” Antoine said, forcing a smile. Then he turned serious and narrowed his eyes. “Mace, are you going to stop working on this case once they kill me?”

“No,” Mace said. “I’m going to stop working this case when I clear your name.”

Antoine studied Mace for a moment as if ascertaining whether he could truly believe that promise. They both knew there would be other men on death row who needed Mace’s help. “You’ve done everything you said you’d do,” Antoine eventually said.

“I appreciate that,” Mace said. “But I’m not giving up on saving you yet.”

At this, Antoine leaned back in his chair. “Let’s just get it over with.”