"I understand that. You're asking us to strike down the gas chamber as a method. What happens if we do? What happens to your client and those like him who were convicted prior to 1984? Do they fall through the cracks? There is no provision in the law to execute them by lethal injection."
Adam was anticipating the obvious question. Sam had already asked it. "I can't answer that, Your Honor, except to say that I have great confidence in the Mississippi Legislature's ability and willingness to pass a new law covering my client and those in his position."
Judge Judy inserted herself at this point. "Assuming they do, Mr. Hall, what will you argue when you return here in three years?"
Thankfully, the yellow light came on, and Adam had only one minute remaining. "I'll think of something," he said with a grin. "Just give me time."
"We've already seen a case like this, Mr. Hall," Robichaux said. "In fact, it's cited in your brief. A Texas case."
"Yes, Your Honor. I'm asking the court to reconsider its decision on this issue. Virtually every state with a gas chamber or an electric chair has switched to lethal injection. The reason is obvious."
He had a few seconds left, but decided it was a good place to stop. He didn't want another question. "Thank you," he said, and walked confidently back to his seat. It was over. He had held his breakfast, and performed quite well for a rookie. It would be easier the next time.
Roxburgh was wooden and methodical, and thoroughly prepared. He tried a few one-liners about rats and the crimes they commit, but it was a dismal effort at humor. McNeely peppered him with similar questions about why the states were rushing to lethal injection. Roxburgh stuck to his guns, and recited a long line of cases where the various federal circuits had endorsed death by gas, electricity, hanging, and firing squads. The established law was on his side, and he made the most of it. His twenty minutes raced by, and he returned to his seat as quickly as Adam had.
Judge Judy talked briefly about the urgency of this matter, and promised a ruling within days. Everyone rose in unison, and the three judges disappeared from the bench. The court crier declared matters to be in recess until Monday morning.
Adam shook hands with Roxburgh and made it through the doors before a reporter stopped him. He was with a paper in Jackson, and just had a couple of questions. Adam was polite, but declined comment. He then did the same for two more reporters. Roxburgh, typically, had things to say, and as Adam walked away, the reporters surrounded the Attorney General and shoved recorders near his face.
Adam wanted to leave the building. He stepped into the tropical heat, and quickly covered his eyes with sunglasses. "Have you had lunch?" a voice asked from close behind. It was Lucas Mann, in aviator sunglasses. They shook hands between the columns.
"I couldn't eat," Adam admitted.
"You did fine. It's quite nerve-racking, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is. Why are you here?"
"It's part of my job. The warden asked me to fly down and watch the argument. We'll wait until there's a ruling before we start preparations. Let's go eat."
Adam's driver stopped the car at the curb, and they got in.
"Do you know the city?" Mann asked.
"No. This is my first visit."
"The Bon Ton Cafe," Mann told the driver. "It's a wonderful old place just around the corner. Nice car."
"The benefits of working for a wealthy firm."
Lunch began with a novelty - raw oysters on the half shell. Adam had heard of them before, but had never been tempted. Mann artfully demonstrated the proper blending of horseradish, lemon juice, Tabasco, and cocktail sauce, then dropped the first oyster into the mixture. It was then delicately placed on a cracker and eaten in one bite. Adam's first oyster slid off the cracker and onto the table, but his second slid properly down his throat.
"Don't chew it," Mann instructed. "Just let it slither down." The next ten slithered down, and not soon enough for Adam. He was happy when the dozen shells on his plate were empty. They sipped Dixie beer and waited for shrimp remoulade.
"I saw where you're claiming ineffective assistance of counsel," Mann said, nibbling on a cracker.
"I'm sure we'll be filing everything from now on."
"The supreme court didn't waste any time with it."
"No, they didn't. Seems as if they're tired of Sam Cayhall. I'll file it in district court today, but I don't expect any relief from Slattery."
"I wouldn't either."
"What are my odds, with twelve days to go.
"Getting slimmer by the day, but things are wildly unpredictable. Probably still around fiftyfifty. A few years back we came very close with Stockholm Turner. With two weeks to go, it looked certain. With a week to go, there was simply nothing else for him to file. He had a decent lawyer, but the appeals had run. He was given his last meal, and - "
"And his conjugal visit, with two prostitutes."
"How'd you know?"
"Sam told me all about it."
"It's true. He got a last minute stay, and now he's years away from the chamber. You never know."
"But what's your gut feeling?"
Mann took a long drink of beer and leaned backward as two large platters of shrimp remoulade were placed before them. "I don't have gut feelings when it comes to executions. Anything can happen. Just keep filing writs and appeals. It becomes a marathon. You can't give up. The lawyer for jumbo Parris collapsed with twelve hours to go, and was in a hospital bed when his client went down."
Adam chewed on a boiled shrimp and washed it down with beer. "The governor wants me to talk to him. Should I?"
"What does your client want?"
"What do you think? He hates the governor. He has forbidden me to talk to him."
"You have to ask for a clemency hearing. That's standard practice."
"How well do you know McAllister?"
"Not very well. He's a political animal with great ambitions, and I wouldn't trust him for a minute. He does, however, have the power to grant clemency. He can commute the death sentence. He can impose life, or he can set him free. The statute grants broad discretionary authority to the governor. He'll probably be your last hope."
"God help us."
"How's the remoulade?" Mann asked with a mouthful.
"Delicious."
They busied themselves with eating for a while. Adam was thankful for the company and conversation, but decided to limit the talk to appeals and strategy. He liked Lucas Mann, but his client did not. As Sam would say, Mann worked for the state and the state was working to execute him.
A late afternoon flight would have taken him back to Memphis by six-thirty, long before dark. And once there he could've killed an hour or so at the office before returning to Lee's. But he wasn't up to it. He had a fancy room in a modern hotel by the river, paid for without question by the boys at Kravitz & Bane. All expenses were covered. He'd never seen the French Quarter.
And so he awoke at six after a three-hour nap brought on by three Dixies for lunch and a bad night's rest. He was lying across the bed with his shoes on, and he studied the ceiling fan for half an hour before he moved. The sleep had been heavy.
Lee did not answer the phone. He left a message on her recorder, and hoped she was not drinking. And if she was, then he hoped she'd locked herself in her room where she couldn't hurt anyone. He brushed his teeth and
hair, and rode an elevator to the spacious lobby where a jazz band performed for happy hour. Five-cent oysters on the half shell were being hawked from a corner bar.