During the previous holiday break, Keith and Ainsley had completed the move to Jackson and were now unpacking in a small house on a quiet street in Central Jackson, close to Belhaven College. His daily commute to his new office on High Street across from the state capitol was fifteen minutes.
At 7:30 the following morning, he was in his office with his jacket off and ready for his first appointment. Since 1976, Witt Beasley had run the AG’s Criminal Appeals Division, and in that capacity was in charge of defending the convictions of the thirty-one inmates currently on death row. The excitement of Jimmy Lee Gray’s execution had only increased the pressure on Beasley and his team to wrap up the cumbersome delays and give the green light to the executioner at Parchman. After years in the trenches, Beasley knew full well the complications and frustrations of death penalty litigation. Politicians did not. He also knew his new boss had a burning desire to speed along the appeals of Hugh Malco.
Keith began with “I’ve reviewed your capital caseload, all thirty-one cases. It’s difficult to say who might be next in line.”
“Indeed it is, Keith,” Beasley said as he scratched his beard. He was twenty years older than his boss and was not being disrespectful. Keith had already implemented a first-name policy for the forty-six lawyers currently on his staff. The secretaries and clerks would be expected to stick with “Mr.” and “Mrs.”
Beasley said, “Jimmy Lee Gray’s appeals were finished rather quickly, relatively speaking, but he didn’t have much to argue about. As of today, I don’t see another execution for at least two years. If I had to guess, I’d go with Wally Harvey.”
“What a horrible crime.”
“They’re all horrible. That’s why they got the death penalty. That’s why the people out there are clamoring for more.”
“What about Malco?”
Beasley took a deep breath and kept scratching his beard. “Hard to say. His lawyers are good.”
“I’ve read every word.”
“I know. Right now we’re five-plus years post-verdict. We should win the habeas in federal court this year, maybe next. They don’t have much to argue: the usual ineffective assistance of counsel at trial, verdict against the overwhelming weight, that sort of thing. They’re doing a nice job of whining about the proof. As you know, the only real witnesses were Henry Taylor and Nevin Noll, two ex-confederates singing to save themselves. Malco is making a decent argument, but I can’t see the court falling for it. Again, I’d say two years to get to the finish line with the Feds, then the usual Hail Marys. These guys’ll try everything and they are experienced.”
“I want it to have priority, Witt. Is that asking too much?”
“They all have priority, Keith. We’re dealing with men’s lives here and we take these cases seriously.”
“I know that, but this is different.”
“I understand.”
“Put your best people on it. No delays. Right now, I’m guaranteed only four years in this office. Who knows what happens after that.”
“Understood.”
“Can we do it in four years, Witt?”
“Well, it’s impossible to predict. We’ve had only one execution since 1976.”
“And we’re lagging behind. Texas is burying them right and left.”
“They have a much larger death row population.”
“What about Oklahoma? They’ve had five in the past three years and we have more men on death row.”
“I know, I know, but it’s not always left up to the AG’s office. We have to wait on a bunch of federal judges who, as a group, loathe habeas work. They are notoriously deliberate and uncooperative. Their clerks hate death penalty cases because there’s so much paperwork. This is my world, Keith, and I know how slow things move. We’ll push as hard as we can, I promise.”