The Confession (52 page)

After settling into their new home in late January, Keith and Dana went to the Capitol often to watch the proceedings. They were in the crowd during several protests, and they watched the legislature suffer through the tortured process of coming to grips with a major problem. They, along with most observers, soon had the impression that nothing was going to change.

As the special session dragged on, the name of Adam Flores began to
appear in the news. After twenty-seven years on death row, Flores was to be executed on July 1. In another life, he had been a petty drug dealer who had killed another petty drug dealer during a bad night. His appeals were ancient history. He had no lawyer.

The legislature recessed in late March, then reconvened the first week in May. After months of bitter infighting, the obvious had become even more so. It was time to forget this little war and go home. On final passage, the moratorium failed in the Senate by a vote of twelve in favor and nineteen against, all votes along party lines. Two hours later, the House voted seventy-seven to seventy-three against the creation of the innocence commission.

———

On July 1, Adam Flores was escorted to Huntsville and met by Warden Ben Jeter. He was placed in the holding cell and counseled by the prison chaplain; he ate his last meal—fried catfish—and said his last prayer. At precisely 6:00 p.m., he made the short walk to the death chamber, and twenty minutes later he was pronounced dead. He had no witnesses, and there were none for his victim. There was no one to claim his body, so Adam Flores was buried in the prison cemetery, alongside dozens of other unclaimed death row inmates.

My heartfelt thanks to David Dow of the Texas Defender Service for his time, advice, insights, and willingness to slog through my manuscript and offer suggestions. David is a noted death penalty litigator, but also a professor of law and acclaimed author. Without his assistance, I would have been forced to handle my own research, a prospect that still frightens me and should frighten my readers.

The Senior Warden at the Walls Unit in Huntsville is Mr. C. T. O’Reilly, a colorful Texan who showed me his prison and answered every question possible. Thanks to him and his trusted assistant, Michelle Lyons, for their hospitality and openness.

Thanks also to Neal Kassell, Tom Leland, Renee, Ty, and Gail.

Some overly observant readers may stumble across a fact or two that might appear to be in error. They may consider writing me letters to point out my shortcomings. They should conserve paper. There are mistakes in this book, as always, and as long as I continue to loathe research, while at the same time remaining perfectly content to occasionally dress up the facts, I’m afraid the mistakes will continue. My hope is that the errors are insignificant in nature.