"Travis, look, I'm not keen on discussing this subject. I have some appointments. If you'd like to visit again, fine, just call ahead. And I welcome you back to our services this Sunday." Keith wasn't sure he meant that, but he sounded sincere.

From a pocket of his Windbreaker, Boyette removed a folded sheet of paper. "You ever hear of the case of Donte Drumm?" he asked as he handed the paper to Keith.

"No."

"Black kid, small town in East Texas, convicted of murder in 1999. Said he killed a high school cheerleader, white girl, body's never been found."

Keith unfolded the sheet of paper. It was a copy of a brief article in the Topeka newspaper, dated Sunday, the day before. Keith read it quickly and looked at the mug shot of Donte Drumm. There was nothing remarkable about the story, just another routine execution in Texas involving another defendant claiming to be innocent. "The execution is set for this Thursday," Keith said, looking up.

"I'll tell you something, Pastor. They got the wrong guy. That kid had nothing to do with her murder."

"And how do you know this?"

"There's no evidence. Not one piece of evidence. The cops decided he did it, beat a confession out of him, and now they're going to kill him. It's wrong, Pastor. So wrong."

"How do you know so much?"

Boyette leaned in closer, as if he might whisper something he'd never uttered before. Keith's pulse was increasing by the second. No words came, though. Another long pause as the two men stared at each other.

"It says the body was never found," Keith said. Make him talk.

"Right. They concocted this wild tale about the boy grabbing the girl, raping her, choking her, and then throwing her body off a bridge into the Red River. Total fabrication."

"So you know where the body is?"

Boyette sat straight up and crossed his arms over his chest. He began to nod. The tic. Then another tic. They happened quicker when he was under pressure.