58

I woke up on Wednesday, August 1, the day after receiving the letter from Antoine Marshall, and opened it again. I reread it while I drank my morning coffee. The euphoria of finally having an admission from my mother’s killer had worn off. Melancholy took its place, a strange sense of despondency that I could not shake.

I had always been honest with myself, even hard on myself—something Dr. Gillespie had been trying to beat out of me in my counseling sessions. It wasn’t working. And this morning, I had second thoughts about the way I was handling the information about Judge Snowden.

Antoine Marshall was a thrice-convicted felon who had the integrity to send me a letter revealing evidence that might just seal his fate. And here I was, an attorney sworn to uphold the law, sitting on evidence that might have provided him with a way off death row. Sure, I had lots of rationalizations and justifications. And in terms of true justice, I now felt more vindicated than ever. Antoine Marshall had certainly killed my mother. But did that justify burying evidence that might give him a new trial?

The system sometimes required us to set guilty people free in order to protect the integrity of the process and everyone’s constitutional rights. When I took my oath as a prosecutor, I was reminded by Bill Masterson that our job was to pursue justice and not just win cases. But now, on the most important case of my life, I was playing fast and loose with the rules.

I had no appetite for breakfast. The information about my dad haunted me; I couldn’t do anything to take my mind off it. I watched Justice in the backyard, but I didn’t really see him. Instead, I zoned out, wondering whether I had compromised my integrity and ethics to such an extent that my soul would never recover.

Antoine Marshall’s execution was six days away. What would happen if I provided this information to Mace James now? Was it too late to matter? Even if it wasn’t, would the attorney general be able to use this new letter from Antoine to offset the impact of the information about Judge Snowden and my father? Should I even be asking these types of questions? Phrased differently, could I really sit on this exculpatory evidence and watch the state put Antoine Marshall to death?

I needed to talk to Dr. Gillespie. I called him before I left for work, and he promised to squeeze me in as soon as I got out of court.

I talked to Chris later that afternoon. He had left four messages earlier in the day about a similar letter he had received. I had procrastinated calling him, knowing it would be emotionally draining to discuss it.

He answered on the first ring. “Did you get a letter?” Chris asked.

“Yes. I had to read it three times before it sank in.”

“Me too. I’ve been calling since last night.”

“I know. You might have heard we’re a little busy down here.”

Chris was slow to respond. Knowing my brother, I realized he was getting up the courage to tell me something. “Jamie, I think this letter is genuine. I know how you feel about this, but I really believe Antoine Marshall has experienced a sincere religious conversion and that this brain test helped him come to grips with what he did. I’m not saying he’s innocent, but I am saying he’s not the same man today who he was back then.”

Chris stopped and waited for a response.

I thought it over, choosing my words carefully. “I deal with guys like Antoine Marshall all the time. They all claim to have come to Jesus in prison. Helps them get a better sentence. I think it’s highly suspicious that he finally admits guilt just one week before his execution but only after he’s tried everything else to get his case reversed.”

“His lawyer called today.” Chris kept his voice soft. I knew he didn’t want an argument, and in truth I didn’t either. “Wants to know if I’ll give an affidavit urging that Marshall’s death sentence be commuted to life without the possibility of parole.” He hesitated, probably expecting an explosion from me. When none came, he dropped his own bomb.

“I’m thinking about giving him one, Jamie. I’ve never been in favor of the death penalty, and I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t ask for mercy here. I keep coming back to the Sermon on the Mount, where Christ tells us to forgive others if we want to be forgiven.”

“We’ve both got to do what we think is right,” I said. I knew Chris expected more of a fight, but I was too weary and frazzled to talk about it. Even though I faced my own ethical dilemma surrounding Marshall’s execution, I now felt abandoned by my older brother. Antoine Marshall had killed our mother, and my brother was going to voluntarily sign an affidavit suggesting that the man’s life be spared? It felt like treason to me.

“Will you still go to the execution with me?” I asked.

“Yes. And I’m praying that you can find it in your heart to forgive this man even if you believe the state should put him to death.”

“Then keep praying. Because right now, I’m not feeling it.”

Clarity came halfway through my session with Dr. Gillespie. For the first time, I told him everything about the predicament I found myself in. True to form, he listened patiently and asked insightful questions. When he spoke, his words were measured and illuminating. He helped me look at my dilemma in a whole new light.

“At the core of your being,” he said, “you’re committed to fairness and justice. Withholding evidence from Mace James and watching Antoine Marshall die would be like raping your soul.”

I said nothing.

“On the other hand, you also have a need to protect your father and preserve the ideal of this perfect family that was torn apart by Antoine Marshall.”

“So what should I do?” I asked.

“You should hold fast to the good memories of your dad and remember that he loved you very much. Nothing can take that away. But you’ve also got to embrace your father’s shortcomings.

“Nobody’s perfect, Jamie. We learn from our parents’ mistakes and create a better world for ourselves and our kids. We only compound their errors by trying to cover them up.”

I left Gillespie’s office saddened by the prospect of what I had to do. I would tell my boss about the evidence linking my father and Judge Snowden. He would feel duty-bound to share that data with Mace James. In a worst-case scenario, Antoine Marshall would walk out of jail a free man.

And so I prayed. Not that I would find it within me to forgive Antoine Marshall. My prayers had more of an Old Testament flavor—that one way or another, Antoine Marshall would get the type of justice he undoubtedly deserved.