The Confession by John Grisham Read Free Book Online

even dead.”
    “They found her gym card and student ID.”
    “Yeah, but they didn’t find her body. She could be alive for all we know.”
    “You don’t believe that.” A gulp of the margarita to wash things down.
    “No, I don’t. I’m sure she’s dead. Right now it doesn’t matter. We’re racing against time here, Joey, and we need your help.”
    “What am I supposed to do?”
    “Recant, recant, recant. Sign an affidavit telling the truth. Tell us what you really saw that night, which was nothing.”
    “I saw a green van.”
    “Your friend didn’t see a green van, and he walked out of the mall with you. You didn’t mention anything to him. In fact, you didn’t say anything to anybody for over two weeks, then you heard the rumor that her gym card and student ID had been found in the river. That’s when you put together your fiction, Joey, that’s when you decided to nail Donté. You were outraged because she would prefer a black guy to you. You called Kerber with the anonymous tip, and all hell broke loose. The cops were desperate and stupid and couldn’t wait to pursue your fiction. It worked perfectly. They beat a confession out of him, only took them fifteen hours, and, bingo! it’s front-page news—‘Donté Drumm Confesses.’ Then your memory works a miracle. You suddenly remember that you saw a green van, just like the Drumms’, moving suspiciously around the mall that night. What was it, Joey, three weeks later when you finally told the cops about the van?”
    “I saw a green van.”
    “Was it a Ford, Joey, or did you just decide it was a Ford because that’s what the Drumms owned? Did you really see a black guy driving it, or was that just your imagination?”
    To keep from responding, Joey stuffed half a quesadilla into his mouth and chewed slowly. As he did so, he watched the other diners, unable or unwilling to make eye contact. Pryor took a bite, then pressed on. His thirty minutes would be gone soon enough.
    “Look, Joey,” he said in a much softer tone, “we can argue the case for hours. I’m not here to do that. I’m here to talk about Donté. You guys were friends, you grew up together, you were teammates for, what, five years? You spent hours together on the football field. You won together; you lost together. Hell, you were co-captains your senior year. Think of his family, his mother and brothers and sister. Think ofthe town, Joey, think how bad things will get if he’s executed. You gotta help us, Joey. Donté didn’t kill anybody. He’s been railroaded from the beginning.”
    “Didn’t realize I had this much power.”
    “Oh, it’s a long shot. Appeals courts are not too impressed with witnesses who suddenly change their minds years after the trial and hours before the execution. You give us the affidavit, we’ll run to court and scream as loud as possible, but the odds are against us. We gotta try, though. At this point, we’ll try anything.”
    Joey stirred his drink with the straw, then took a sip. He rubbed his mouth with a paper napkin and said, “You know, this is not the first time I’ve had this conversation. Mr. Flak called me years ago, asked me to stop by his office. This was long after the trial. I think he was working on the appeals. He begged me to change my story, tell his version of the truth. Told him to go to hell.”
    “I know. I’ve been working on the case for a long time.”
    After demolishing half of the quesadillas, Joey suddenly lost interest in lunch. He shoved the platter away and pulled the drink in front of him. He stirred it slowly and watched the liquid spin around the glass.
    “Things are a lot different now, Joey,” Pryor said softly, pressing. “It’s late in the fourth quarter, the game’s almost over for Donté.”
    ———
    The thick maroon fountain pen clipped inside Pryor’s shirt pocket was in fact a microphone. It was entirely visible, and next to it was a real pen with ink and a ballpoint in case writing was