But after eight years on death row, Donté had lost hope. He had not lost faith in Robbie; he’d simply realized that the Texas systems were much more powerful than one lawyer. Absent a miracle, this wrong would run its course. Robbie had explained that they would file motions until the very end, but he was also realistic.
They spoke through the phone, each happy to see the other. Robbie brought greetings from the entire Drumm family. He’d visited their home the night before, and gave all the details. Donté listened with a smile, but said little. His conversational skills had deteriorated along with everything else. Physically, he was a skinny, stooped, aging man of twenty-seven. Mentally, he was a mess. He could not keep up with time, never knew if it was night or day, often skipped meals, showers, and his daily hour of recreation. He refused to say a word to the guards and often had trouble following their most basic commands. They were somewhat sympathetic because they knew he was not a threat. He sometimes slept eighteen to twenty hours a day and when he wasn’t asleep, he was unable to do anything. He had not exercised in years. He never read and managed to write a letter or two each week, but only to his family and Robbie. The letters were short, often incoherent, and filled with misspelled words and glaring grammatical errors. The writing was so sloppy that it was disheartening. A letter from Donté was not a pleasant envelope to open.
Dr. Kristi Hinze had read and analyzed hundreds of letters he’d written during his eight years on death row. She had already formed the opinion that the solitary confinement had driven him far from reality. He was depressed, lethargic, delusional, paranoid, schizophrenic, and suicidal. He was hearing voices, those of his late father and his high school football coach. In layman’s terms, his brain had shut down. He was insane.
After a few minutes of summarizing where they were with the last-minute appeals, and covering the events scheduled for the next two days, Robbie introduced Dr. Hinze. She took the seat and the phone and said hello. Robbie stood close behind her with a legal pad and pen. For over an hour, she asked questions about his daily routine, his habits, dreams, thoughts, desires, and feelings about death. He surprised her by saying that 213 men had been executed while he had been on death row. Robbie confirmed the number to be accurate. But there were no more surprises, no more specifics. She quizzed him at length about the reasons he was there, and why he was to be executed. He did not know, did not understand why they were doing this to him. Yes, he was certain that he was about to be executed. Just look at the other 213.
One hour was enough for Dr. Hinze. She handed the phone back to Robbie, who sat down and began talking about the details for Thursday. He told Donté that his mother was determined to watch the execution, and this upset him. He began crying and finally put the phone down to wipe his face. He refused to pick it up, and when he stopped crying, he locked his arms across his chest and stared at the floor. Finally, he stood and walked to the door behind him.
———
The rest of the team waited outside in the van, a guard nearby, casually watching them. When Robbie and Dr. Hinze returned to the van, Aaron waved at the guard and drove away. They stopped at a pizza place on the edge of town and had a quick lunch. They had just settled back in the van and were leaving Livingston when the phone rang. It was Fred Pryor. Joey Gamble had called and wanted to meet for a drink after work.
CHAPTER 11
In a normal week, Reverend Schroeder would spend most of Tuesday afternoon locked in his office with the phones on hold as he searched for his next sermon’s topic. He looked at current events, thought about the needs of his flock, prayed a lot, and, if nothing happened, would go to the files and look at old sermons. When the idea finally hit, he would write a quick outline and then begin the full text. At that point, the pressure was off, and he could practice and rehearse until Sunday. Few things felt worse, though, than waking up on Wednesday morning with no idea what he would say on Sunday.
But with Travis Boyette on his mind, he could concentrate on nothing else. He took a long nap after lunch Tuesday and felt thickheaded, almost groggy when it was over. Dana had left the office to tend to the children, and Keith puttered around the church, unable to do anything productive. He finally left. He thought about driving to the hospital and checking on Boyette, in hopes that perhaps the tumor had shifted and the man had changed his mind. But that was unlikely.
While Dana cooked dinner and the boys were busy with homework, Keith found solitude in the garage. His latest project was to organize it, paint it, and then plan to keep it shipshape forever. He usually enjoyed the mindless cleaning, but Boyette managed to ruin even that. After half an hour, he gave up and took his laptop to their bedroom and locked the door. The Drumm Web site was like a magnet, a thick juicy novel, with so much he had not yet read.
THE KOFFEE-GRALE SCANDAL
The prosecution of Donté Drumm was led by Paul Koffee, the district attorney for Slone and Chester County. The presiding judge at Donté’s trial was Vivian Grale. Both Koffee and Grale were elected officials. At the time of the trial, Koffee had been in office for thirteen years. Grale had been on the bench for five. Koffee was married to his wife, Sara, and they had, and still have, three children. Grale was married to her husband, Frank, and they had, and still have, two children.
The Koffees are now divorced, as are the Grales.
The only significant motion filed by the defense that was granted by Judge Grale was a request to change the venue of the trial. Given its sensational nature and extensive coverage in the media, a fair trial was impossible in Slone. Attorneys for Donté wanted to move it far away, and they suggested either Amarillo or Lubbock, each about five hundred miles from Slone. Judge Grale granted the request—experts agree that she really had no choice, to have the trial in Slone would have been to create certain reversible error—and she decided to hold it in Paris, Texas. The courthouse in Paris is exactly forty-nine miles from the courthouse in Slone. After the conviction, attorneys for Donté argued vehemently on appeal that trying the case in Paris was no different from trying it in Slone. Indeed, during the jury selection process, over half of the prospective jurors admitted they had heard something about the case.
Other than the change of venue, Judge Grale showed no patience with the defense. Her most crucial ruling was to allow Donté’s coerced confession. Without it, the prosecution had no case, no evidence, nothing. The confession was their case.
But other rulings were almost as damaging. The police and prosecutors used a favorite tactic when they produced a jailhouse snitch by the name of Ricky Stone. Stone was in jail on drug charges and agreed to cooperate with Detective Kerber and the Slone police. He was placed in a cell with Donté Drumm for four days, then removed. Donté never saw him again until the trial. Stone testified that Donté talked openly about the rape and murder of Nicole and said that he went crazy after she broke up with him. They had been dating secretly for several months, they were in love, but she became frightened and worried that her wealthy father would cut off the money if he knew she was seeing a black guy. Stone testified that he had been promised nothing by the prosecutor in return for his testimony. Two months after Donté was convicted, Stone pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor and walked out of jail.
Stone had an extensive criminal record and zero credibility. He was a classic jailhouse snitch, fabricating testimony in return for a lighter sentence. Judge Grale allowed him to testify.
Stone later recanted and said he’d been pressured by Detective Kerber and Paul Koffee to lie.