"Now, Dr. Stegall," Roxburgh began, careful to avoid any reference to Neldeen, "when did you meet with Sam Cayhall?"
She held a sheet of paper which she looked at. "Thursday, July 26."
"And the purpose of this visit?"
"As part of my job, I routinely visit death row inmates, especially those with executions approaching. I provide counseling and medication, if they request it."
"Describe Mr. Cayhall's mental condition?"
"Extremely alert, very bright, very sharptongued, almost to the point of being rude. In fact, he was quite rude to me, and he asked me not to come back."
"Did he discuss his execution?"
"Yes. In fact, he knew that he had thirteen days to go, and he accused me of trying to give him medication so he wouldn't be any trouble when his time came. He also expressed concern for another death row inmate, Randy Dupree, who Sam thinks is deteriorating mentally. He was most concerned about Mr. Dupree, and chastised me for not examining him."
"In your opinion, is he suffering from any form of decreased mental capacity?"
"Not at all. His mind is very sharp."
"No further questions," Roxburgh said, and sat down.
Adam walked purposefully to the podium. "Tell us, Dr. Stegall, how is Randy Dupree doing?" he asked at full volume.
"I, uh, I haven't had a chance to see him yet.
"Sam told you about him eleven days ago, and you haven't bothered to meet with him."
"I've been busy."
"How long have you held your present job?"
"Four years."
"And in four years how many times have you talked to Sam Cayhall?"
"Once."
"You don't care much for the death row inmates, do you, Dr. Stegall?"
"I certainly do."
"How many men are on death row right now?"
"Well, uh, I'm not sure. Around forty, I think."
"How many have you actually talked to? Give us a few names."
Whether it was fear or anger or ignorance, no one could tell. But Neldeen froze. She grimaced and cocked her head to one side, obviously trying to pull a name from the air, and obviously unable to do so. Adam allowed her to hang for a moment, then said, "Thank you, Dr. Stegall." He turned and walked slowly back to his chair.
"Call your next witness," Slattery demanded.
"The state calls Sergeant Clyde Packer."
Packer was fetched from the hallway and led to the front of the courtroom. He was still in uniform, but the gun had been removed. He swore to tell the truth, and took his seat on the witness stand.
Adam was not surprised at the effect of Packer's testimony. He was an honest man who simply told what he'd seen. He'd known Sam for nine and a half years, and he was the same today as he was when he first arrived. He typed letters and law papers all day long, read many books, especially legal ones. He typed writs for his buddies on the Row, and he typed letters to wives and girlfriends for some of the guys who couldn't spell. He chain-smoked because he wanted to kill himself before the state got around to it. He loaned money to friends. In Packer's humble opinion, Sam was as mentally alert now as he'd been nine and a half years earlier. And his mind was very quick.
Slattery leaned a bit closer to the edge of the bench when Packer described Sam's checkers games with Henshaw and Gullitt.
"Does he win?" His Honor asked, interrupting.
"Almost always."
Perhaps the turning point of the hearing came when Packer told the story of Sam wanting to see a sunrise before he died. It happened late last week when Packer was making his rounds one morning. Sam had quietly made the request. He knew he was about to die, said he was ready to go, and that he'd like to sneak out early one morning to the bullpen on the east end and see the sun come up. So Packer took care of it, and last Saturday Sam spent an hour sipping coffee and waiting for the sun. Afterward, he was very grateful.
Adam had no questions for Packer. He was excused, and left the courtroom.
Roxburgh announced that the next witness was Ralph Griffin, the prison chaplain. Griffin was led to the stand, and looked uncomfortably around the courtroom. He gave his name and occupation, then glanced warily at Roxburgh.
"Do you know Sam Cayhall?" Roxburgh asked.
"I do."
"Have you counseled him recently?"
"Yes."
"When did you last see him?"
"Yesterday. Sunday."
"And how would you describe his mental state?"
"I can't."
"I beg your pardon."
"I said I can't describe his mental condition."
"Why not?"
"Because right now I'm his minister, and anything he says or does in my presence is strictly confidential. I can't testify against Mr. Cayhall."
Roxburgh stalled for a moment, trying to decide what to do next. It was obvious neither he nor his learned underlings had given any thought to this situation. Perhaps they'd just assumed that since the chaplain was working for the state, then he'd cooperate with them.
Griffin waited expectantly for an assault from Roxburgh.
Slattery settled the matter quickly. "A very good point, Mr. Roxburgh. This witness should not be here. Who's next?"
"No further witnesses," the Attorney General said, anxious to leave the podium and get to his seat.
His Honor scribbled some notes at length, then looked at the crowded courtroom. "I will take this matter under advisement and render an opinion, probably early in the morning. As soon as my decision is ready, we will notify the attorneys. You don't need to hang around here. We'll call you. Court's adjourned."
Everyone stood and hurried for the rear doors. Adam caught the Reverend Ralph Griffin and thanked him, then he returned to the table where Goodman, Hez Kerry, Professor Glass, and the students were waiting. They huddled and whispered until the crowd was gone, then left the courtroom. Someone mentioned drinks and dinner. It was almost nine.
Reporters were waiting outside the door to the courtroom. Adam threw out a few polite nocomments and kept walking. Rollie Wedge eased behind Adam and Goodman as they inched through the crowded hallway. He vanished as they left the building.
Two groups of cameras were ready outside. On the front steps, Roxburgh was addressing one batch of reporters, and not far away on the sidewalk, the governor was holding forth. As Adam walked by, he heard McAllister say that clemency was being considered, and that it would be a long night. Tomorrow would be even tougher. Would he attend the execution? someone asked. Adam couldn't hear the reply.
They met at Hal and Mal's, a popular downtown restaurant and watering hole. Hez found a large table in a corner near the front and ordered a round of beer. A blues band was cranked up in the back. The dining room and bar were crowded.
Adam sat in a corner, next to Hez, and relaxed for the first time in hours. The beer went down fast and calmed him. They ordered red beans and rice, and chatted about the hearing. Hez said he'd performed wonderfully, and the law students were full of compliments. The mood was optimistic. Adam thanked them for their help. Goodman and Glass were at the far end of the table, lost in a conversation about another death row case. Time passed slowly, and Adam attacked his dinner when it arrived.
"This is probably not a good time to bring this up," Hez said out of the corner of his mouth. He wanted no one to hear but Adam. The band was even louder now.
"I guess you'll go back to Chicago when this is over," he said, looking at Goodman to make sure he was still engaged with Glass.