It took Dana almost two hours of persistent calling and cajoling to find the right deputy clerk willing to dig through the right record logs to determine that, yes, in fact, one Travis Boyette was arrested for drunk driving in Slone, Texas, on January 6, 1999. After he was jailed, more serious charges were added. He had posted bond, then skipped town. The charges were dismissed and the file was closed when Mr. Boyette was arrested and sentenced to ten years in prison in Kansas. The clerk explained the procedure in Slone was to dispose of cases that would not or could not be pursued. There were no outstanding warrants on him, at least not in Slone and Chester County.

Keith, who'd been unable to sleep and brewed the first pot of coffee at 3:30 a.m., called Mr. Flak's office the first time at 7:30 a.m. He was not entirely certain what he would say to the lawyer if he got him on the phone, but he and Dana had decided they could not sit by and do nothing. When he was stiff-armed by Flak's receptionist, he called another lawyer.

Matthew Burns was an assistant prosecutor and an active member of St. Mark's. He and Keith were the same age and had coached their sons' T-ball teams together. Luckily, Burns was not in trial Tuesday morning, but was still quite busy in court with first appearances and other routine matters. Keith found the right courtroom, one of several in the courthouse, and from a seat in the back row watched the flow of justice. After an hour, he was fidgeting and ready to leave, though he wasn't sure where to go. Burns finished another appearance before the judge, stuffed his paperwork into his briefcase, and headed for the door. He nodded at Keith, who followed. They found a quiet place in the bustling corridors, a well-used wooden bench near a stairwell.

"You look like hell," Burns began pleasantly.

"Thanks. I'm not sure that's a nice way to greet your minister. I couldn't sleep last night, Matthew. Not one minute. Did you look at the Web site?"

"Yes, for about ten minutes at the office. I'd never heard of Drumm, but then these cases tend to run together now. They're pretty routine down there."

"Drumm's innocent, Matthew," Keith said with a certainty that surprised his friend.

"Well, that's what the Web site says. But he's not the first killer who claimed to be innocent."

The two had rarely talked about the law or any issue related to the death penalty. Keith assumed that, as a prosecutor, Matthew supported it. "The killer is here in Topeka, Matthew. He was in church Sunday morning, probably in a pew not far from you and your family."

"You have my attention."

"He's just been paroled, spending ninety days at the halfway house, and he's dying of a brain tumor. He stopped by the office yesterday for counseling. He has a long history of sexual assaults. I've talked to him twice, and he's admitted, in confidence of course, he raped and killed the girl. He knows where the body is buried. He doesn't want Drumm to be executed, but he doesn't want to come forward either. He's a mess, Matthew, a real sick psycho who'll be dead himself in a few months."

Matthew exhaled and shook his head as if he'd been slapped. "May I ask why you're in the middle of this?"

"I don't know. I just am. I know the truth. The question is, how does one go about stopping an execution?"

"Good God, Keith."

"Yes, I've talked to him too and I'm still waiting on His guidance. But until it comes, I need some from you. I've called the defense lawyer's office in Texas, but that went nowhere."

"Don't you have to keep these matters in confidence?"

"Yes. And I will. But what if the murderer decides to come clean, to tell the truth, to try to save this man from being executed? What then? How do we go about it?"

"We? Not so fast, buddy."

"Help me here, Matthew. I don't understand the law. I've read the Web site until I'm cross-eyed, and the more I read, the more confused I become. How do you convict a man of murder when there is no dead body? How do you believe a confession that was so obviously coerced by the police? Why are jailhouse snitches allowed to testify in return for lighter sentences? How can a black defendant get an all-white jury? How can the jurors be so blind? Where are the appellate courts? I have a long list of questions."

"And I can't answer all of them, Keith. Seems, though, that the only important one is the first--how do you stop the execution?"

"I'm asking you, pal, you're the lawyer."

"Okay, okay. Let me think for a minute. You need some coffee, don't you?"

"Yes. I've only had a gallon."

They walked down a flight of stairs to a small canteen where they found a table in a corner. Keith bought the coffee, and when he sat down, Matthew said, "You gotta have the body. If your man can produce the body, then Drumm's lawyers could probably get a stay from the courts. If not, the governor might delay the execution. I'm not sure how the mechanics work down there. Every state is different. Without the body, though, your man will sound like just another quack that shows up looking for attention. Keep in mind, Keith, that there will be the usual last-minute filings. These death-penalty lawyers know how to play the system, and a lot of executions get delayed. You may have more time than you think."

"Texas is pretty efficient."

"Good point."

"Two years ago, Drumm came within a week of execution. Something clicked in a federal court filing, don't ask me what. I read it last night and I'm still confused. Anyway, according to the Web site, a last-minute miracle is unlikely now. Drumm's had his miracle. His luck has run out."

"Finding the body is crucial. That's the only clear proof that your man is telling the truth. Do you know where it is? If you do, don't tell me. Just tell me if you know."

"No. He's told me the state, the nearby town, the general location, but he's also said that he hid it so well he may have trouble finding it."

"Is it in Texas?"

"Missouri."

Matthew shook his head. He took a long drink and said, "What if this guy is just another lying con, Keith. I see a dozen a day. They lie about everything. They lie out of habit. They lie when the truth would be of far greater help to themselves. They lie on the witness stand and they lie to their own lawyers. And the longer they stay in prison, the more they lie."

"He has her class ring, Matthew. Wears it on a cheap little chain around his neck. He stalked the girl; he was obsessed with her. He showed me the ring. I held it and inspected it."

"You're sure it's real?"

"If you saw it, you would say it's real."

Another long drink. Matthew glanced at his watch.

"You gotta go?"

"Five minutes. Is this guy willing to go to Texas and proclaim the truth?"

"I don't know. He says that if he leaves this jurisdiction, he violates his parole."

"He's not lying about that. But if he's dying, why does he really care?"

"I asked him that. His answer was vague. Plus, the guy has no money, no way to get down there. He has zero credibility. No one will give him the time of day."

"Why did you call the lawyer?"

"Because I'm desperate, Matthew. I believe this guy, and I believe Drumm's innocent. Maybe Drumm's lawyer will know what to do. I don't know."

There was a gap in the conversation. Matthew nodded and spoke to two other lawyers at the next table. He glanced at his watch again.

"One last question," Keith said. "Just a hypothetical one. What if I convinced this guy to hustle down to Texas, as soon as possible, and start telling his story?"

"You just said he can't get there."

"Yes, but what if I take him?"

"No, hell no, Keith. You'd be aiding in the violation of his parole agreement. Absolutely not."

"How serious is that?"

"I'm not sure, but it could get you embarrassed, maybe even defrocked for all you know. I doubt if you would serve time, but it would be painful enough."

"How is he supposed to get down there?"

"I thought you said he hasn't decided to go."

"But if he does?"

"Take it one step at a time, Keith." The third glance at his watch. "Look, I gotta run. Let's meet somewhere for a quick lunch and finish this conversation."

"Good idea."

"There............