“Got it, Travis. Let’s talk logistics here. Slone, Texas, is 400 miles away, straight shot, as the crow flies, but it’s more like 550 by car, with a lot of two-lane roads. It’s midnight. If we left in the next hour or so and drove like maniacs, we might be there by noon. That’s six hours before the execution. Any idea what we do when we get there?”
Boyette chewed on a piece of sausage and pondered the question, completely untouched by any sense of urgency. Keith noticed that he took very small bites, chewed them a long time, laid down his fork, and took a sip of either coffee or water. He did not seem to be overly hungry. Food was not important.
After more coffee, Boyette said, “I was thinking that we go to the local television station and I go on the air, tell my story, take responsibility, tell the idiots down there that they got the wrong guy for the murder, and they’ll stop it.”
“Just like that?”
“I don’t know, Pastor. I’ve never done this before. You? What’s your plan?”
“At this point, finding the body is more important than your confession. Frankly, Travis, given your lengthy record and the disgusting nature of your crimes, your credibility will be challenged. I’ve done some research since I met you on Monday morning, and I’ve run across some anecdotes about the nutcases who pop up around executions and make all sorts of claims.”
“You calling me a nutcase?”
“No, I’m not. But I’m sure they’ll call you a lot of names in Slone, Texas. They won’t believe you.”
“Do you believe me, Pastor?”
“I do.”
“Would you like some eggs and bacon? You’re paying for it.”
“No, thanks.”
The tic. Another glance at the cops. He pointed both index fingers at both temples and massaged them in tiny circles, grimacing as if he might scream. The pain finally passed. Keith looked at his watch.
Boyette began shaking his head slightly and said, “It’ll take longer to find the body, Pastor. Can’t be done today.”
Since Keith had no experience in such matters, he simply shrugged and said nothing.
“Either we go to Texas, or I walk back to the halfway house and get yelled at. It’s your choice, Pastor.”
“I’m not sure why I’m supposed to make the decision.”
“It’s very simple. You have the car, the gas, the driver’s license. I have nothing but the truth.”
The car was a Subaru, four-wheel drive, 185,000 miles on the odometer, and at least 12,000 miles since the last oil change. Dana used it to haul the boys all over Topeka, and it showed the wear and tear of such a life on the streets. Their other car was a Honda Accord with a sticky oil light and a bad set of rear tires.
———
“Sorry for the dirty car,” Keith said, almost embarrassed, as they crawled in and closed the doors. Boyette said nothing at first. He placed his cane between his legs.
“Seat belts are mandatory now,” Keith said as he buckled up. Boyette did not move. There was a moment of silence in which Keith realized that the journey had begun. The man was in his car, along for a ride that would consume hours, maybe days, and neither knew where this little journey might take them.
Slowly, Boyette strapped himself in as the car began to move. Their elbows were inches apart. Keith got the first whiff of stale beer and said, “So, Travis, what’s your history with booze?”
Boyette was breathing deeply, as if soothed by the security of the car and its locked doors. Typically, he waited at least five seconds before responding. “Never thought of it as a history. I’m not a big drinker. I’m forty-four years old, Pastor, and I’ve spent just over twenty-three of those years locked away in various facilities, none of which had saloons, lounges, juke joints, strip clubs, all-night drive-thrus. Can’t get a drink in prison.”
“You’ve been drinking today.”
“I had a few bucks, went to a bar in a hotel, and had some beers. They had a television in the bar. I saw a report on the Drumm execution in Texas. Had a picture of the boy. It hit me hard, Pastor, I gotta tell you. I was feeling pretty mellow, you know, kinda sentimental anyway, and when I saw that boy’s face, I almost got choked up. I drank some more, watched the clock get closer and closer to 6:00 p.m. I made the decision to skip parole, go to Texas, do what’s right.”
Keith was holding his cell phone. “I need to call my wife.”
“How is she?”
“Fine. Thanks for asking.”
“She’s so cute.”
“You need to forget about her.” Keith mumbled a few awkward phrases into the phone and then slapped it shut. He drove quickly through the deserted streets of central Topeka. “So, Travis, we’re planning on this long drive down to Texas, where you face the authorities and tell the truth and try to stop this execution. And I’m assuming at some point very soon, you’ll be expected to lead the authorities to Nicole’s body. All this, of course, will lead to your arrest and being thrown in jail in Texas. They’ll charge you with all sorts of crimes and you’ll never get out. Is that the plan, Travis? Are we on the same page?”
The tic. The pause. “Yes, Pastor, we’re on the same page. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be dead before they can get me properly indicted by the grand jury.”
“I didn’t want to say that.”
“You don’t have to. We know it, but I prefer that nobody in Texas knows about my tumor. It’s only fitting that they get the satisfaction of prosecuting me. I deserve it. I’m at peace, Pastor.”
“At peace with whom?”
“Myself. After I see Nicole again, and tell her I’m sorry, then I’ll be ready for anything, including death.”
Keith drove on in silence. He was facing a marathon trip with this guy, virtually shoulder to shoulder for the next ten, maybe twelve hours, and he hoped he wouldn’t be as crazy as Boyette by the time they arrived in Slone.
He parked in the driveway, behind the Accord, and said, “Travis, I’m assuming you have no money, no clothes, nothing.” This seemed painfully obvious.
Travis chuckled, raised his hands, and said, “Here I am, Pastor, with all my worldly assets.”
“That’s what I thought. Wait here. I’ll be back in five minutes.” Keith left the engine running and hurried into his house.
———
Dana was in the kitchen, throwing together sandwiches and chips and fruit and anything else she could find. “Where is he?” she demanded as soon as Keith walked through the door.
“In the car. He’s not coming in.”
“Keith, you can’t be serious about this.”
“What are the choices, Dana?” He’d made his decision, as unsettling as it was. He was prepared for a nasty fight with his wife, and he was willing to take the risks that his journey might entail. “We can’t sit here and do nothing when we know the real killer. He’s out there in the car.”
She wrapped a sandwich and stuffed it into a small box. Keith took a folded grocery bag from the pantry and went into their bedroom. For his new pal Travis, he found an old pair of khakis, a couple of T-shirts, socks, underwear, and a Packers sweatshirt that no one had ever worn. He changed shirts, put on his clerical collar and a navy sport coat, and then packed a few things of his own in a gym bag. Minutes later, he was back in the kitchen, where Dana was leaning against the sink, arms locked defiantly across her chest.
“This is a huge mistake,” she announced.
“Maybe so. I didn’t volunteer for this. Boyette chose us.”
“Us?”
“Okay, he chose me. He has no other means of getting to Texas, or so he says. I believe him.”
She rolled her eyes. Keith glanced at the clock on the microwave. He was anxious to take off, but he also realized that his wife was entitled to a few parting shots.