had uncovered so much exculpatory evidence that had not been disclosed previously that we were sure there was still more that had not been turned over. The judge finally told us that we were fishing after we’d made our ninth or tenth request for more police and prosecution files. I suspect that Judge Norton had scheduled the final Rule 32 hearing in part because he wanted to get this contentious, complicated case off his docket and out of his court.
In the last pretrial appearance, the judge had asked, “How much time will you need to present your evidence, Mr. Stevenson?”
“We’d like to reserve a week, your honor.”
“A week? You’ve got to be joking. For a Rule 32 hearing? The trial in this case only lasted a day and a half.”
“Yes, sir. We believe this is an extraordinary case and there are several witnesses and—”
“Three days, Mr. Stevenson. If you can’t make your case in three days after all of this drama you’ve stirred up, you don’t really have anything.”
“Judge, I—”
“Adjourned.”
After spending another long day in Monroeville tracking down a few final witnesses, Michael and I went back to the office to plot out how to present all of the evidence in the narrow amount of time the judge was giving us. We needed to make the complexity of the case and the multiple ways that Walter’s rights had been violated coherent and understandable to the judge. Another concern was Myers and his love of fantastical narration, so we sat down with him a few days before the hearing and tried to make it as plain as possible.
“No long excursions about police corruption,” I said. “Just answer the questions accurately and honestly, Ralph.”
“I always do,” Ralph said confidently.
“Wait, did you just say you always do?” Michael asked. “What are you talking about, you always do? Ralph, you lied through your ass the entire trial. That’s what we’re going to expose at this hearing.”
“I know,” Myers said coolly. “I meant I always tell y’all the truth.”
“Don’t freak me out, Ralph. Just testify truthfully,” Michael said.
Ralph had been calling our office almost daily with an unending stream of strange thoughts, ideas, and conspiracies. I was frequently too busy to talk to him, so Michael had been fielding most of the calls and had become increasingly worried about Ralph’s unique perspective on the world. But we could do no more about it.
We arrived at the courthouse the morning of the hearing early and anxious. We were both dressed in dark suits, white shirts, and muted ties. I usually dressed as conservatively as possible for court. I was a young, bearded black man, and even when there was no jury I still tried to meet the court’s expectation of what a lawyer looked like, if only for the sake of my clients. We first went to check on Myers to make sure he had arrived safely and was in a stable state of mind before the hearing began. The Baldwin County Sheriff’s Department deputies had brought Ralph from the prison in St. Clair County to the courthouse the night before the hearing. The five-hour trip through the nighttime roads of southern Alabama had clearly unnerved Ralph. We met with him in his holding cell; he was palpably anxious. Worse, he was quiet and reserved, which was even more unusual. After we finished that unsettling meeting, I went to see Walter, who was also at the courthouse in one of the holding cells. Being back at the courthouse where his fate had seemingly been sealed four years earlier had shaken him as well, but he forced himself to smile when I walked in.
“Was the trip okay?” I asked.
“Everything is good. Just hoping for something better than the last time I was here.”
I nodded sympathetically and reviewed with him what I thought would unfold over the next few days.
The holding cells for prisoners were in the basement of the courthouse, and after meeting with Walter, I made my way upstairs to get ready for court to begin. When I walked into the courtroom, I was shocked by what I saw. Dozens of people from the community—mostly black and poor—had packed the viewing area. On both sides of the hearing room, people from Walter’s family, people who had attended the fish fry on the day of the crime, people we’d interviewed over the past several months, people who knew Walter from working with him, even Sam Crook and his posse, were crammed into the courtroom. Minnie and Armelia