Jack knew that the judges had to wrestle with that bigger picture just as he did.
“While we are exploring these so-called other issues that are not part of the record, Mr. Tobin,” Judge Blackwell continued, “how do you deal with the fact that the murders stopped after your client was arrested?”
“There are two possibilities, Your Honor. Either my client was guilty or whoever committed the murders decided it was a good time to move on. I can’t choose which of those two options is correct. I’m just a lawyer so I go back to what I know. The evidence in this case does not support a finding of guilt for the crime charged. The prosecutor knew that. The coroner knew that. The prosecutor chose to hide that fact from the jury and the unwitting public defender. I took the case for those reasons. I believe my client should receive a new trial for those reasons. The law is the law.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
On the day scheduled for his execution, Thomas Felton was moved from his cell on death row to the death cell near the execution chamber. Jack stayed with him all day. They had still not heard from the supreme court, and Jack tried to keep his client optimistic. The argument had gone very well, but Jack had had better clients and stronger arguments in the past and still lost, a fact he did not share with Felton, who was extremely nervous.
It was four o’clock. The execution was scheduled for six. Jack knew they would hear something before then. He just didn’t know when or what the verdict would be. Why do they always wait until the last minute? he asked himself. On the other hand, maybe it was good to give people hope right up to the final hour.
Felton had been given the option of receiving a generic form of Valium, diazepam, which he had accepted, but it had not yet arrived. His last meal was due any moment as well. He was jumpy as all get-out, and angry.
“I’m gonna die because of the testimony of one stupid police officer. I can’t believe it.”
His analysis was off base but Jack wasn’t going to correct him. His job was to keep Felton calm and hopeful.
“The judges have all the information. It’s not over yet, Tom.”
His meal finally arrived: a strip steak with mashed potatoes, green beans, and biscuits. Felton inhaled everything, his anxiety consuming him. Jack thought of an evening many, many years ago. He was a young boy waiting for dinner and he was famished. When his mother set his supper on the table, he wolfed it down.
“You ate that like it was your last meal,” his father had said to him in a disapproving manner. Now, after all these years, he knew literally what his father had been talking about.
Thankfully, a guard came with the sedative as soon as Felton finished his supper. Then he was off for his last shower, leaving Jack alone in the cell. Jack knew what was coming next. A preacher would come in and talk to Tom. Then the warden would read the death warrant. Jack would have to leave after that as final preparations for the execution began.
Why do I put myself through this? he asked himself.
Felton came back from the shower dressed in a white shirt and prison pants. All clean and dressed in white, Jack thought. Purified for the slaughter. Does that somehow relieve our collective conscience?
The preacher came in to speak with the prisoner and Jack got up to leave.
“I’ll be right outside the door, Tom,” he said to Felton, whose demeanor had changed dramatically. He was totally subdued now and a look of resignation had settled on his face.
“Don’t, Jack. Don’t come back. Go now. I don’t want to talk anymore.” Felton hugged him. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Nobody could have done more.”
The warden offered his office for Jack to sit and wait and Jack accepted. I’m not going out with the anti–death penalty protesters this time, he told himself. At every execution, a group of protesters gathered outside the prison gates until the execution was postponed or the inmate was executed. They carried placards and sang hymns. In the past, Jack had joined them. He just wasn’t up to it this time and he didn’t know why.
He was sitting in the warden’s office at ten minutes to six, imagining Tom being strapped onto the gurney and the medical team putting the heart monitors and the