The Confession

CHAPTER 43

The Schroeders celebrated Thanksgiving with Dana’s mother in Lawrence. Early the following morning, Keith and Dana left the boys at their grandmother’s and flew from Kansas City to Dallas, where they rented a car and drove three hours to Slone. They roamed around the town, looking for points of interest—the Baptist church, the football field with a new press box under construction, the charred remains of a few empty buildings, the courthouse, and Robbie’s office at the old train station. Slone seemed very much at peace, with city crews stringing Christmas decorations back and forth over Main Street.

From his first visit two weeks earlier, Keith remembered little about the town itself. He described to Dana the ever-present smoke and the constant wail of sirens, but looking back, he had been in such a state of shock that everything had been a blur. At the time, the thought of returning never entered his mind. He was in charge of Boyette; there was an execution pending, a body to locate, reporters everywhere. It had been frantic chaos, and his senses could only handle so much. Now, driving the shaded streets of downtown, he found it difficult to believe that Slone had recently been occupied by the National Guard.

The feast began around five, and since the temperature was in the high sixties, they gathered beside the pool, where Robbie had rented tables and chairs for the occasion. His entire firm was there, with spouses and partners. Judge and Mrs. Henry arrived early. The entire Drumm clan, at least twenty in number, including small children, arrived in one wave.

Keith sat next to Roberta. Though they had been in the same witness room when Donté died, they had never actually met. What do you say? At first the conversation was awkward, but before long they were on the subject of her grandchildren. She smiled often, though it was obvious her thoughts were elsewhere. Two weeks after losing Donté, the family was still in mourning, but they worked hard to enjoy the moment. Robbie proposed a toast, a lengthy tribute to friendship, and a brief memorial to Donté. He was so grateful that Keith and Dana could join them, all the way from Kansas, and this brought light applause. Within the Drumm family, Keith’s mad dash south in an effort to stop the execution was already a legend. When Robbie finally sat down, Judge Henry stood up and tapped his wineglass. His toast was to the courage of Roberta and her family, and he ended by saying that something good comes from every tragedy. When the speeches were over, the caterers began serving thick sirloins smothered in mushroom gravy with more sides than could possibly fit on a plate. They ate well into the night, and though Roberta drank only tea, the rest of the adults enjoyed the fine wine Robbie had shipped in for the occasion.

Keith and Dana slept in the guest room and left early the next morning to eat breakfast in a Main Street café known for its pecan waffles. Then they drove again. Using Robbie’s directions, they found the Greenwood Cemetery behind a church at the edge of town. “The grave will be easy to find,” Robbie had said. “Just follow the path until you see fresh dirt.” The footpath was grass that had been worn thin. Ahead, a group of ten or so pilgrims were holding hands around the grave and having a prayer. Keith and Dana pretended to look for other headstones until they cleared out.

Donté’s grave was a neat pile of red dirt ringed by dozens of bouquets of flowers. His large headstone read: “Donté Lamar Drumm, born September 2, 1980. Wrongfully executed by the State of Texas on November 8, 2007. Here lies an INNOCENT MAN.” In the center was an eight-by-ten engraved color photo of Donté in shoulder pads and blue jersey, all suited up and ready to play. Keith knelt by the headstone, closed his eyes, and offered a long prayer. Dana looked on. Her feelings were a mix of grief for the tragic loss, sympathy for her husband, and an ongoing confusion about what they were doing at that moment.

Before they left, Keith snapped a quick photo of the grave. He wanted a memento, something to keep on his desk.

The conference room at the train station hadn’t changed. Robbie and Carlos were toiling away, on a Saturday morning, with files and stacks of paper scattered among plastic coffee cups and empty pastry wrappers. Robbie gave Dana the grand tour, complete with an overblown history that Keith had managed to avoid on his first visit.

Their first farewell had been deep in the woods at Roop’s Mountain, and at the time they were not sure if they would ever see each other again. Now, two weeks later, when they embraced, they knew it would not be for the last time. Robbie thanked Keith again for his heroic effort. Keith demurred and said that Robbie was the real hero. Both agreed that they had not done enough, though they knew they had done everything possible.

The drive to Austin took seven hours.

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On Sunday, Keith spoke to an overflow crowd at Unity Lutheran Church. He told the story of his improbable journey to Slone, and then to Huntsville, to the death chamber. He dwelled on the death penalty, attacked it on all fronts, and got the clear impression he was preaching to the choir.

Since it was an official trial sermon, the church covered all of the expenses for the trip. After the service, Keith and Dana lunched with the Pastor Search Committee and the Reverend Dr. Marcus Collins, the retiring senior minister and a much-revered leader. During lunch, it became obvious that the church was enamored of the Schroeders. Later, as the prolonged good-byes were under way, Dr. Collins whispered to Keith, “You’ll find a wonderful home here.”