* * *
In their two years in office, the governor and the attorney general worked well together. Bill Allain had held the AG’s office four years before Keith, and was always ready for advice if needed. He had enjoyed his term as AG; his current gig was another matter. In a nasty campaign, he had been slandered with allegations of grotesque sexual misconduct, and, though he received 55 percent of the vote, the dark cloud would never go away. He longed for the private life of a country lawyer in his hometown of Natchez.
The white men who wrote the state’s constitution in 1890 wanted a strong legislature and a weak governor; thus, a four-year limit. No other elected office in the state had a one-term restriction.
Bill Allain was leaving office, and not soon enough.
He and Keith had a standing lunch date for the first Tuesday of each month at the governor’s mansion, during which they tried mightily to avoid any talk of politics. Football and fishing were favorite topics. Both were Catholic, oddities in a state that was 95 percent Protestant, and they enjoyed jokes about Baptists, tent preachers, snake handlers, even the occasional cheap shot at a priest. In February of 1986, though, there was no way to avoid the biggest story in the state.
Being the governor, and a natural storyteller to begin with, Allain did most of the talking. As the AG, he had been in the middle of the execution of Jimmy Lee Gray, and he enjoyed recalling the drama. “It gets crazy at the end. Lawyers shotgunning motions and petitions in every possible court, talking to the reporters, trying to get on camera. Politicians chasing the same cameras, screaming for more executions. Governor Winter was getting hammered with human rights folks on one side, death penalty hawks on the other. He got something like six hundred letters from twenty different countries. The Pope weighed in, said spare the boy’s life. President Reagan said gas him. It became a national story because we hadn’t executed anyone in a long time. The liberal press was eating us for lunch. The conservative press was cheering us on. With two days to go it looked as though it might really happen, and Parchman became a zoo. Hundreds of protesters came out of nowhere. On one side of Highway 49 there were people yelling for blood, gun nuts waving rifles, on the other side there were nuns and priests and kindlier folks who prayed a lot. Every sheriff in the state found an excuse to rush up to Parchman for the big party. And that was just a warmup. Malco’s will be an even bigger circus.”
“He filed a petition for clemency yesterday.”
“I just saw it. It’s on my desk, somewhere. How do you feel about it?”
“I want him executed.”
“And your family?”
“We’ve discussed it many times. My mother is somewhat hesitant, but I want revenge, as do my three siblings. It’s that simple, Governor.”
“It’s never simple. Nothing about the death penalty is simple.”
“I disagree.”
“Okay, I’ll prove how complicated it is. I’m punting this one over to you, Keith. You’ll make the decision on clemency, not me. I can go either way. I knew your father and had great respect for him. The contract murder of a district attorney was an attack on the very core of our judicial system and cannot be tolerated. I get that. I can make that speech; indeed I have. I understand revenge. I can pull that switch. But, on the other hand, if killing is wrong, and we can all agree that it is, then why do we allow the State to kill? How does the State become so self-righteous that it rises above the law and sanctions its own murders? I’m confused, Keith. As I said, it’s not a simple issue.”
“But clemency is your issue, not mine.”
“That’s the law, yes, but no one has to know about our little arrangement. It’s a handshake deal. You make the decision. I’ll make it public and take the heat.”
“And the fallout?”
“I’m not worried about that, Keith, because I’ll never again run for office. When I leave here, and it won’t be soon enough, I’m done with politics. I have it from a good source that the legislature is serious about allowing gubernatorial succession. I’ll believe it when I see it, but it won’t affect me because I’ll be gone. My days of looking for votes are over.”