Chapter 50 Chapter Four

After the shooting, the whole event resembled a circus with three performance areas.The Governor is District One, the prison is District Two, poor lost Percy Wetmore is District Three.Who are the performance directors of these three districts?Alas, it is the gentlemen from the media who take turns in this position.The media wasn't as bad as it is now, they didn't allow themselves to be this bad, but even then, before the likes of Geraldo and Mike Wallace, they could always handle something Pretty good.That was the case for one time, and the show went on, and it did well. However, no matter how lively the circus is, no matter how thrilling stunts, no matter how ridiculous clowns, no matter how incredible animals, in the end they have to leave.But this time, as soon as the investigation committee left, the circus also left.The name of the investigative committee sounds unusual, which can't help but make people frightened, but in fact it is calm and hastily done.On another occasion, the Governor would no doubt have demanded someone's head, but this time it was different.This nephew was his wife's only blood relative, but he had a brain problem and killed someone.Percy killed the murderer, thank God, which was fine, but it wasn't much fun when he killed a guy lying in a cell.If you add the problem that the lad was as mad as a March rabbit in heat, it's not hard to understand why the Governor was so intent on getting things over with, the sooner the better.

The fact that we went to Warden Moores' house in Harry Twillig's truck was never mentioned.Nor was Percy straitjacketed and locked in the brig while we were away.It is not mentioned that Wharton was drugged and rolled over when Percy shot and killed him.Why mention these?Officials don't have anything suspicious other than the six bullets in Wharton's body. The coroner ruled out other causes, and the undertaker put him in a pine coffin, and the guy with the wild Billy tattoo on his left arm was done.It can be said that this villain still had a good end. Anyway, the matter went on and on for about two weeks.During this period, I dare not speak or fart, let alone find time to investigate the idea that popped up at the kitchen table that morning after the incident.

One day near the middle of November, I think it was the twelfth of November, but I'm not sure, I thought at work, the circus must be gone.That was the day I found the document I'd been dreading in the middle of my desk: John Coffey's execution warrant.It was signed by Curtis Anderson, not Hal Moores, but it was perfectly legal to do so, and the document had to go through Hal's hand before it could reach me.I can picture Hal sitting at his management desk with this document in his hand, thinking about his wife.In the eyes of doctors at Indianola General Hospital, Mellie was almost the same again.The doctors handed her the execution warrant to herself, but John Coffey tore it up.But now, it's John Coffey's turn to hit the Green Mile, and who of us can stop it?Who can stop this?

The date on the execution document is November 20.Three days after I got the executor (I think it was the 15th), I asked Janice to call in sick for me.After a cup of coffee, I headed north in my old Ford, which was bumpy but otherwise reliable.Janice kissed me good-bye and wished me good luck, and I thanked her, but had no idea what luck was going to be, finding what I was looking for, or not finding it at all.All I can say for sure is that I'm not in the mood to hum a song while driving.I didn't feel like that at all that day. At three o'clock that afternoon, I had already driven a long way in the mountains.I got there before the Pudong County courthouse closed, checked some records, and then the sheriff came, and the county clerk told him that a stranger was going through the local files.Sheriff Catlett wanted to see if I understood what I was doing.I told him.Catlett thought it over, and then told me something interesting.He said that if I spread his words, he would deny that he had said such things, anyway, those circumstances are not conclusive, but it is interesting.I kept thinking about his words on the way home, and I slept in bed that night, tossing and turning, thinking, not sleeping for hours.

The next day I got up early and drove south toward Trapinger County with just a sliver of sunlight on the eastern horizon.I bypassed the fat-headed Homer Cribbs and went straight to Deputy Sheriff Rob McGee.McGee would not listen to what I had to say about the situation, very reluctantly.For a moment, I even thought he was going to punch me on the mouth so he wouldn't listen to me anymore.In the end, however, he agreed to ask Klaus Dietrich a few questions.I think it's mainly because he doesn't want me to ask. "He's only thirty-nine, but he's looking like an old man these days," McGee said. I'm staying in the county and you're not allowed near the Detricks' farm, but I've got to find you when I'm done talking with Klaus. If you're bored, go to the diner and eat a pie, Calm yourself down." In the end, I ate two pieces, and the pressure was really heavy.

When McGee came back, he sat down at the table next to me, and I tried to read something in his face, but there was nothing. "How?" I asked. "Come home with me, we'll talk there," he said, "I don't like this place, it's too crowded." We were talking on Rob McGee's porch.Both of them were wrapped in thick clothes, but they still felt cool.Mrs. McGee didn't allow smoking in the house, and she was a woman ahead of her time.McGee talked for a while, watching him speak as if he did not want to hear the words coming out of his own mouth. "This proves nothing, you understand, don't you?" he asked when he was almost done, with a defiant tone in his tone, as he thrust the homemade cigarette into my hand, unable to push it but his face was ugly.It was clear to both of us that he wasn't saying everything he had heard in court.

It seemed to me that this was probably the only time in his life that Deputy Sheriff McGee wished he was a country mute like his superior. "I understand," I said. "If you're going to give him a retrial on the basis of that, you'd better think about it, sir. John Coffey's a black person, and in Trapinger County we're special about retrials." It's on." "I know that too." "Then what are you going to do?" I snapped my fingers and the cigarette butt flew over the porch rail and onto the street.Then I stood up.The journey home is long and cold, and the sooner you start, the sooner your trip will be over. "Sir McGee, I wish I knew what to do,"

I said, "But I don't know. The only thing I know for sure tonight is that I shouldn't have a second pie." "Listen, smart guy," he said, still in a provocative tone, "I don't think you should have opened that Pandora's box in the first place." "I didn't open it," I said as I drove home. I got home very late, past midnight, but my wife was still up and waiting for me.I guessed that she would wait for me, but seeing her, letting her stretch out her arms to hold me in her arms, letting her body stick to me firmly and gently, I felt a lot better in my heart. "Hey Rare," she said, patting my underside, "Is this guy okay now? He seems to be in good health."

"That's right, ma'am," I said, picking her up, into the bedroom, and making love to my heart's content. At the climax, the gushing and the letting go was so wonderful, I thought of John Coffey's teary eyes and Melinda Moores' words: I dreamed You wander in the dark, and so do I. I was still on my wife, her arms still around my neck, our stomachs pressed together, and suddenly I burst into tears. "Paul!" she was startled, terrified.She didn't seem to see me cry a few times in the decades of our marriage.In general, I'm not a teary man. "Paul, what's the matter?"

"I know all I need to know," I said through tears. "If you want me to be honest, I know too much fucking. In less than a week, I'll have John Coffey Sent to the electric chair, but it was William Wharton who killed the two Detrick girls, and it was Billy Wild Boy."

---

Notes: