Slone High School did not open Monday morning. Though the tension appeared to be easing, the school authorities and the police were still nervous. Another round of fights and smoke bombs could spill over into the streets and disrupt the fragile truce. The white students were ready to return to class, to their normal routines and activities. As a rule, they were shocked, even appalled by what had happened over the weekend. They were as stunned by the Drumm execution as their black friends, and they were anxious to confront it, discuss it, and try to move on. The joining of the sit-in by the white football players at the Longview game was the topic of nonstop chatter around town, and that simple act of solidarity was viewed as one huge offer of an apology. A momentous mistake had been made, but others were to blame. Let's meet and shake hands and deal with it. For most of the black students, the thought of continued violence was not appealing. They had the same routines and activities as their white friends, and they, too, wanted a return to normalcy.
The school board met again with the mayor and the police. The term "powder keg" was used often to describe the atmosphere in Slone. There were enough hotheads on both sides to make trouble. Anonymous phone calls were still being recorded. There were threats of violence as soon as the school reopened. In the end, it was decided that the safest route was to wait until after the funeral of Donte Drumm.
At 9:00 a.m., the football team met with their coaches in the locker room at the field. The meeting was closed. The twenty-eight black players were there, as were their white teammates, all forty-one of them. The meeting had been suggested by Cedric and Marvin Drumm, both of whom had played as Warriors, though at a level far below their brother's. Standing side by side, they addressed the team. They thanked the white players for their courage in joining the Longview players in protest. They spoke fondly, even emotionally, of their brother and said that Donte would not approve of the divisiveness. The football team was the pride of the town, and if it managed to heal itself, then there was hope for everyone. They appealed for unity. Cedric said, "When we bury Donte, I ask that all of you be there. It will mean so much to our family, and to the rest of our community."
Denny Weeks, the son of a Slone policeman and the first player to remove his helmet and jersey and sit with the Longview players, asked if he could speak. He faced the team and began by describing how sickened he was by the execution and its aftermath. He, along with most of the whites he knew, had felt all along that Donte was guilty and getting what he deserved. He was wrong, so incredibly wrong, and he would always carry the guilt. He apologized for what he'd believed, that he'd favored the execution. Denny became emotional and, trying to keep his composure, finished by saying that he hoped Cedric and Marvin, the rest of the family, and his black teammates could find it in their hearts to forgive him. Other confessionals followed, and the meeting became a prolonged and fruitful effort at reconciliation. It was a team, complete with petty grudges and fierce rivalries, but most of the boys had played football together since middle school and knew each other well. They had nothing to gain by allowing the bitterness to fester.
The state officials were still trying to resolve the baffling issues presented by the Longview standoff. It was generally believed that both teams would be given a forfeit, but the regular season would go on. There was one game left on the schedule. The coach said that it was all or nothing--if they could not come together as a team, then the last game would be forfeited. With Cedric and Marvin standing before them, the players had no choice. They could not say no to the brothers of Donte Drumm. After two hours, they shook hands and decided to meet that afternoon for a long practice.
The spirit of reconciliation had not reached the Flak Law Firm, and it probably would not. Energized by a quiet Sunday, and facing a mountain of work, Robbie pushed the troops to prepare for an assault on various fronts. Top priority was the civil litigation. Robbie was determined to file suit that day, both in state and in federal court. The state action, for wrongful death, would be a shotgun blast aimed at the City of Slone, its police department, the county and its district attorney, the state and its judges, prison officials, and appeals court justices. The members of the judiciary were immune from liability, but Robbie planned to sue them anyway. He would sue the governor, who was absolutely immune. Much of the lawsuit would be dismantled and eventually dismissed, but Robbie didn't care. He wanted revenge, and embarrassing those responsible and forcing them to hire lawyers were things he relished. He loved bare-knuckle litigation, especially when he was throwing the punches and the press was watching. His clients, the Drumms, were sincerely opposed to more violence in the streets, as was Robbie, but he knew how to create violence in the courts. The litigation would drag on for years and consume him, but he was confident of prevailing eventually.
The lawsuit in federal court would be a civil-rights action, with many of the same defendants. There, he would not waste time suing the judges, justices, and the governor, but would hit hard at the City of Slone, its police, and Paul Koffee. In light of what had become obvious, he foresaw a lucrative settlement, but far down the road. The city and county, and, more important, their insurance companies, would never run the risk of having their dirty laundry aired before a jury in such a notorious case. When they were fully exposed, the actions of Drew Kerber and Paul Koffee would terrify the well-paid lawyers for the insurers. Robbie was obsessed with revenge, but he also smelled money.
Other strategies on the table included an ethics complaint against Paul Koffee. A win there could mean disbarment and further humiliation, though Robbie was not overly optimistic. He also made plans to file a complaint against Chief Justice Milton Prudlowe with the State Commission on Judicial Conduct, but this would take more time. So few of the facts surrounding the aborted filing were known. It appeared, though, as if the facts would be forthcoming. Something akin to a hornet's nest of reporters was already attacking the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals. Robbie was content to sit back and watch the press flush out the truth.
He contacted the Justice Department in Washington. He took calls from death-penalty opponents around the country. He chatted with reporters. His office was chaos, and he thrived on it.
The law office Keith and Dana walked into Monday morning was far different from the last one Keith had seen. The Flak Law Firm had been filled with people, tension, and activity. The office of Elmo Laird was small and quiet. Matthew's scouting report described Elmo as a sole practitioner, a sixty-year-old veteran of the criminal courts who dispensed solid advice but rarely went to trial. He and Matthew were friends, and, more important, Elmo played golf with the district attorney.
"I've never had a case like this," Elmo admitted after listening to Keith for a few minutes. He had done his homework and, like everyone who enjoys the morning paper, knew the basics of the Drumm mess down in Texas.
"Well, it's something new for me too," Keith said.
"There's no clear statute on point. You provided assistance to a man who was determined to violate his parole anyway by leaving this jurisdiction. It's not exactly a major crime, but you could be prosecuted for obstruction of justice."
"We've read the statutes," Dana said. "Matthew sent them over, along with a few cases from other states. Nothing is clear."
"I haven't been able to find a similar case in Kansas," Elmo said. "Not that that means anything. If the district attorney chooses to prosecute, then I'd say he has a pretty good case. You're admitting everything, aren't you?"
"Sure," Keith said.
"Then I suggest we explore the possibility of a plea agreement, and the sooner, the better. Boyette is on the loose. He may strike again, maybe not. Perhaps this week, maybe never. It's to your advantage to cut a deal, a good deal, before he makes any m............