The state and local police arrived in minutes, dozens of marked cars with sirens screaming. They were followed by a brigade of tow trucks, all of which had been rounded up in Livingston on short notice. Operation Detour had briefed its volunteers well. Each driver was adamant that his or her car had quit, and under Texas law this was not a crime. Citations would certainly be written for blocking traffic, but Detour had found a lawyer who would fight those in court. Officers did not have the right to take keys and check the engines for themselves. And if they tried, the engines were dead. The students had been told to resist searches of their vehicles; to peacefully resist any attempts at being arrested; to threaten legal action in the face of an arrest; and, if arrested, consider it an honor, a badge of courage in the fight against injustice. Detour had other lawyers who would handle their cases. The students relished the thought of being locked up, an act of defiance in their minds. Something they could talk about for years.
As the police cars and wreckers parked haphazardly near the traffic jam, and as the first troopers were approaching the students, the second phase of the plan fell beautifully into place. Another wave of students in cars turned onto Route 350 from Livingston and were soon approaching the melee. They parked three abreast and three deep behind the tow trucks. All hoods popped open, more roadside breakdowns. Since the tow truck drivers were expected to react with anger and maybe violence to being penned in, the second wave of drivers remained in their cars with the windows up and doors locked. Most cars were full of students, and many were healthy young men who could take care of themselves. They wouldn’t mind a fight. They were angry to begin with.
A tow truck driver approached the first car parked behind him, realized it was full of blacks, and began swearing and making threats. A state trooper yelled at him and told him to shut up. The trooper was Sergeant Inman, and he took charge of a truly unique situation, one that included, so far, eight police cars, seven tow trucks, at least thirty “disabled” vehicles, and two prison vans, one of which was transporting a man to his death. To make matters worse, the locals who routinely used Route 350 were backing up, unaware they had chosen the wrong time to get from one place to another. The road was hopelessly clogged.
Inman was a cool professional, and he knew something the students didn’t. As he walked through the jam, headed for the vans, he nodded politely at the students, smiled, asked if they were having a nice day. At the vans, security details for Donté unloaded, thick men in blue SWAT-style uniforms with automatic weapons. Most of the students made their way close to the vans. One seemed to lead the pack. Inman approached him, extended a hand, and politely said, “I’m Sergeant Inman. May I ask your name?”
“Quincy Mooney.” He reluctantly shook Inman’s hand.
“Mr. Mooney, I’m sorry about your car breaking down.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Inman looked around, smiled at the other students. “All these folks friends of yours?”
“I’ve never seen ’em before.”
Inman smiled. “Look, Mr. Mooney, we need to get these cars off the road. Traffic is backing up. Everything is blocked.”
“Guess we need to call some mechanics.”
“No, we’re just gonna tow ’em, Quincy. Unless, of course, ya’ll would like to save a hundred bucks and drive away. If you chose to do so, then we wouldn’t be forced to write a bunch of tickets. That’s another hundred bucks a car.”
“So, it’s against the law for your car to break down?”
“No, sir, it’s not. But you and I both know why you’re here. The judge will know too.”
“I know why I’m here. Why are you here?”
“I’m doing my job, Quincy. Traffic control and keeping the peace.” Inman nodded his head and said, “Come with me.” Quincy followed him to the first van. Its double side doors were open. Inman looked inside, then invited Quincy to do the same. The van was empty. They walked to the second van. Both looked inside. It, too, was empty. The security guards were snickering. The whirling thump-thump of a helicopter could be heard.
“Where’s Donté Drumm?” Quincy asked, stunned.
“He ain’t here, is he?” Inman asked with a smirk. Quincy stared at the darkened windows of the empty van. They walked back to the front of the first one. Inman looked to the sky, in the direction of Polunsky. Everyone waited and waited, and seconds later a helicopter roared directly over them.
Inman pointed at it and said, “There goes Donté.”
Quincy’s jaw dropped, his shoulders slumped. Word spread through the students, and there were looks of shock and disbelief. A perfect operation had been compromised. Donté Drumm would arrive at the death chamber ahead of schedule.
“Too much Internet chatter,” Inman said. “Here’s the deal, Quincy. You guys have fifteen minutes to clear this road and get outta here. In fifteen minutes, we start writing tickets and towing. And, just so you know, there won’t be any arrests, so don’t provoke us. Got it?”
Quincy walked away, thoroughly defeated.
———
Boyette, after a sandwich and three cups of coffee, was feeling better. He was at the table, lights on, shades opened. Robbie and Keith were staring at him, and no one was smiling. Evidently, the issue of money had been put aside by Boyette, at least for the moment.
“So if I tell you what happened with Nicole, what happens to me?” he asked, looking at Robbie.
“Nothing, at least nothing for a long time. The cops and prosecutors have their man. If he’s killed tonight, then they’ll never consider pursuing someone else. If Donté gets a stay, I’m not sure what they’ll do, but it’ll be a long time before they admit that anybody but Donté killed Nicole. They have far too much invested in their wrongful conviction.”
“So I won’t be arrested today or tomorrow or the next day?”
“I can’t speak for these clowns, Mr. Boyette. I don’t know what they’ll do. As a general rule, the cops here are stupid, and Detective Kerber is a moron. But to arrest you is to admit they were wrong about Donté, and that’s not going to happen. If you walked into the police station right now, swore on a Bible, and gave them every detail of the abduction, rape, and murder, they would dismiss you outright as a lunatic. They’ll have no desire to believe you, Mr. Boyette. Your admission destroys them.”
The tic, the pause. Robbie leaned forward and glared at him. “Time’s up, Mr. Boyette. I want to hear it. Tell me the truth. Did you kill the girl?”
“Yes, just like I’ve told Keith here. I grabbed her, raped her for two days, then choked her and hid the body.”
“Where is the body? Finding the body will stop the execution, I guarantee it. Where is it?”
“In the hills south of Joplin, Missouri. Deep in the hills.”