“I’ll pass,” Pete said.
The door opened and Nix Gridley approached them. He appeared fidgety and tired. “Can I do anything for you, Pete?”
“I can’t think of anything.”
“Okay. At some point we need to walk through the schedule, just so we’ll know what to expect.”
“Later, Nix, if you don’t mind. I’m busy right now.”
“I see. Look, there’s a bunch of reporters hanging around outside the jail, all wanting to know if you’ll have anything to say.”
“Why would I talk to them now?”
“That’s what I figured. And John Wilbanks has already called. He wants to come over.”
“I’ve had enough of John Wilbanks. There’s nothing left to say. Tell him I’m busy.”
Nix rolled his eyes at Leon, turned, and left.
The soldiers began arriving before noon. They came from nearby counties, easy trips of two and three hours. They came from other states, after driving all night. They came alone in pickup trucks, and they came in carloads. They came in the uniforms they once proudly wore, and they came in overalls, khakis, and suits with ties. They came unarmed with no plans to cause trouble, but one word from their hero and they would be ready to fight. They came to honor him, to be there when he died because he had been there for them. They came to say farewell.
They parked around the courthouse and then around the square, and when there was no place to park they lined the streets of the downtown neighborhoods. They milled about, greeting each other, staring grimly at the townsfolk, people they really didn’t like, because it was them, the locals, who had sentenced him to die. They roamed the halls of the courthouse and stared at the locked door of the upstairs courtroom. They filled the coffee shops and cafés and killed time, speaking gravely to each other but not to anyone from the town. They grouped around the silver truck and studied the cables that ran along the main sidewalk and into the courthouse. They shook their heads and thought of ways to stop it all, but they moved on, waiting. They glared at the police and deputies, a dozen armed and uniformed men, most sent in from nearby counties.
The governor was Fielding Wright, a lawyer from the Delta who had become a successful politician. He had stepped into the office eight months earlier, when his predecessor died, and he was currently seeking election to a full four-year term. After lunch on Thursday, he met with the Attorney General, who assured him there was nothing left in the courts that might stop the execution.
Governor Wright had received a flood of letters requesting, even demanding, clemency for Pete Banning, but others had asked for justice in the full measure of the law. He viewed his election opponents as weak and did not wish to politicize the execution, but like most people he was intrigued by the case. He left his office in the state capital in the backseat of a 1946 Cadillac, his official vehicle, with a driver and an aide. They followed two state troopers in a marked car and headed north. They stopped in Grenada, where the governor met briefly with a prominent supporter, and made another stop for the same reason in Oxford. They arrived in Clanton shortly before five and drove around the square. The governor was amazed at the crowd milling about the courthouse lawn. He had been assured by the sheriff that matters were under control and additional police were not needed.
Word had leaked that the governor was coming, and another crowd, mostly reporters, waited outside the jail. When he stepped out of his car, cameras flashed and questions were thrown at him. He smiled and ignored them and quickly went inside. Nix Gridley was waiting in his office, along with John Wilbanks and the state senator, an ally. The governor knew Wilbanks, who was supporting one of his opponents in the election. That did not matter at the moment. To the governor, this was not a political event.
Roy Lester brought in the prisoner and introductions were made. John Wilbanks asked the senator to please step outside. What was about to be discussed was none of his business. He reluctantly left. When the four men were alone, the governor went through a breezy narrative of having met Pete Banning’s father years earlier at some event in Jackson. He knew the family was important to the area and had been prominent for many years.
Pete was not impressed.
The governor said, “Now, Mr. Banning, as you know I have the power to commute your death sentence to life in prison, and that’s why I’m here. I really don’t see any benefit to proceeding with your execution.”
Pete listened carefully, then replied, “Well, thank you, sir, for coming, but I did not request this meeting.”
“Nor did anyone else. I’m here of my own volition, and I’m willing to grant clemency and stop the execution, but only on one condition. I will do so if you explain to me, and to the sheriff and to your own lawyer, why you killed that preacher.”
Pete glared at John Wilbanks as if he was behind a conspiracy. Wilbanks shook his head.
Pete looked at the governor without expression and said, “I have nothing to say.”
“We’re dealing with life and death here, Mr. Banning. Surely you do not want to face the electric chair in a matter of hours.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“I’m dead serious, Mr. Banning. Tell us why, and your execution will not take place.”
“I have nothing to say.”
John Wilbanks dropped his head and walked to a window. Nix Gridley gave an exasperated sigh as if to say, “I told you so.” The governor stared at Pete, who returned the stare without blinking.
Finally, Governor Wright said, “Very well. As you wish.” He stood and left the office, walked outside, ignored the reporters again, and drove away to the home of a doctor where dinner was being prepared.
As dusk settled over the town, the crowd swelled around the courthouse and the streets were filled with people. Vehicles could no longer move and traffic was diverted.
Roy Lester left the jail in his patrol car and drove to the home of Mildred Highlander. Florry was waiting, and he returned to the jail with her. They managed to sneak through the rear door and avoid the reporters. She was taken to the sheriff’s office, where Nix greeted her with a hug. He left her there, and a few minutes later her brother was brought in. They sat facing each other, their knees touching.
“Have you eaten?” she asked softly.
He shook his head. “No, they offered a last meal but I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“What did the governor want?”
“Just stopped by to say farewell, I guess. How are the kids?”
“‘How are the kids?’ What do you expect, Pete? They’re a mess. They’re devastated and who can blame them?”
“It’ll be over soon.”
“For you, yes, but not for us. You get to go out in a blaze of glory, but we are left to pick up the pieces and wonder why the hell this happened.”
“I’m sorry, Florry. I had no choice.”
She was wiping her eyes and biting her tongue. She wanted to lash out and finally unload everything, but she also wanted to hug him one last time to make sure he knew that his family loved him.
He leaned closer, took her hands, and said, “There are some things you should know.”
Chapter 20
The prisoner made only one request. He wanted to walk from the jail to the courthouse, a short distance of only two blocks, but nevertheless a long march to the grave. It was important to him to walk proudly, head high, hands unshackled, as he bravely faced the death he had so often eluded. He wanted to show the courage that few people could ever understand. He would die a proud man with no grudges, no regrets.