Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption Read online

  Chapman had called in the state attorney general’s office to help defend Walter’s conviction, and they’d sent Assistant Attorney General Don Valeska, a longtime prosecutor with a reputation for being intense and combative. Valeska was a white man in his forties whose fit, medium frame suggested someone who stayed active; the glasses he wore added to his serious demeanor. His brother Doug was the district attorney in Houston County, and both men were aggressive and unapologetic in their prosecution of “bad guys.” Michael and I had reached out to Chapman once more before the hearing to see if we could persuade him to reopen the investigation and independently reexamine whether McMillian was guilty. But by now, Chapman and all of the law enforcement officers had grown tired of us. They seemed increasingly hostile whenever they had to deal with us. I had considered reporting to them the bomb threats and death threats we’d received, since they were likely coming from people in Monroe County, but I wasn’t sure anyone in the sheriff’s or D.A.’s office would care.

  The new judge on the case, Judge Thomas B. Norton Jr., had also grown weary of us. We’d had several pretrial hearings on different motions during which he would sometimes become frustrated because of the bickering between the lawyers. We kept insisting on obtaining all files and evidence the State had in its possession. We had uncovered so much exculpatory evidence that had not been disclosed previously that we were sure there was still more that had not been turned over. The judge finally told us that we were fishing after we’d made our ninth or tenth request for more police and prosecution files. I suspect that Judge Norton had scheduled the final Rule 32 hearing in part because he wanted to get this contentious, complicated case off his docket and out of his court.

  In the last pretrial appearance, the judge had asked, “How much time will you need to present your evidence, Mr. Stevenson?”

  “We’d like to reserve a week, your honor.”

  “A week? You’ve got to be joking. For a Rule 32 hearing? The trial in this case only lasted a day and a half.”

  “Yes, sir. We believe this is an extraordinary case and there are several witnesses and—”

  “Three days, Mr. Stevenson. If you can’t make your case in three days after all of this drama you’ve stirred up, you don’t really have anything.”

  “Judge, I—”

  “Adjourned.”

  After spending another long day in Monroeville tracking down a few final witnesses, Michael and I went back to the office to plot out how to present all of the evidence in the narrow amount of time the judge was giving us. We needed to make the complexity of the case and the multiple ways that Walter’s rights had been violated coherent and understandable to the judge. Another concern was Myers and his love of fantastical narration, so we sat down with him a few days before the hearing and tried to make it as plain as possible.

  “No long excursions about police corruption,” I said. “Just answer the questions accurately and honestly, Ralph.”

  “I always do,” Ralph said confidently.

  “Wait, did you just say you always do?” Michael asked. “What are you talking about, you always do? Ralph, you lied through your ass the entire trial. That’s what we’re going to expose at this hearing.”

  “I know,” Myers said coolly. “I meant I always tell y’all the truth.”

  “Don’t freak me out, Ralph. Just testify truthfully,” Michael said.

  Ralph had been calling our office almost daily with an unending stream of strange thoughts, ideas, and conspiracies. I was frequently too busy to talk to him, so Michael had been fielding most of the calls and had become increasingly worried about Ralph’s unique perspective on the world. But we could do no more about it.

  We arrived at the courthouse the morning of the hearing early and anxious. We were both dressed in dark suits, white shirts, and muted ties. I usually dressed as conservatively as possible for court. I was a young, bearded black man, and even when there was no jury I still tried to meet the court’s expectation of what a lawyer looked like, if only for the sake of my clients. We first went to check on Myers to make sure he had arrived safely and was in a stable state of mind before the hearing began. The Baldwin County Sheriff’s Department deputies had brought Ralph from the prison in St. Clair County to the courthouse the night before the hearing. The five-hour trip through the nighttime roads of southern Alabama had clearly unnerved Ralph. We met with him in his holding cell; he was palpably anxious. Worse, he was quiet and reserved, which was even more unusual. After we finished that unsettling meeting, I went to see Walter, who was also at the courthouse in one of the holding cells. Being back at the courthouse where his fate had seemingly been sealed four years earlier had shaken him as well, but he forced himself to smile when I walked in.

  “Was the trip okay?” I asked.

  “Everything is good. Just hoping for something better than the last time I was here.”

  I nodded sympathetically and reviewed with him what I thought would unfold over the next few days.

  The holding cells for prisoners were in the basement of the courthouse, and after meeting with Walter, I made my way upstairs to get ready for court to begin. When I walked into the courtroom, I was shocked by what I saw. Dozens of people from the community—mostly black and poor—had packed the viewing area. On both sides of the hearing room, people from Walter’s family, people who had attended the fish fry on the day of the crime, people we’d interviewed over the past several months, people who knew Walter from working with him, even Sam Crook and his posse, were crammed into the courtroom. Minnie and Armelia smiled as I walked into court.

  Tom Chapman then walked in with Don Valeska, and they both scanned the room. I could tell from the looks on their faces that they were unhappy about the crowd. Tate, Larry Ikner, and Benson—the law enforcement team primarily responsible for Walter’s prosecution—piled in behind the prosecutors and sat down in the courtroom as well. A deputy sheriff escorted the parents of Ronda Morrison to the front of the court just before the hearing began. When the judge took the bench, the crowd of black faces noisily rose as one and sat back down. Many of the black community members looked dressed for church. The men were in suits, and some of the women wore hats. It took them a few seconds to settle into silence, which seemed to annoy Judge Norton. But I was energized by their presence and happy for Walter that so many people had come out to support him.

  Judge Norton was a balding white man in his fifties. He wasn’t a tall man, but the elevated bench made him as imposing as any judge. He had managed some of our earlier preliminary hearings in a suit, but today he was in his robe, gavel firmly in hand.

  “Gentlemen, are we ready to proceed?” Judge Norton asked.

  “We are, Your Honor,” I replied. “But we intend to call several of the law enforcement officers present in the courtroom, and I would like to invoke the rule of sequestration.” In criminal cases, witnesses who will be testifying are required to sit outside the courtroom so they can’t alter their testimony based on what other witnesses say.

  Valeska was on his feet immediately. “No, Judge. That’s not going to happen. These are the investigators who figured out this heinous crime, and we need them in court to present our case.”

  I stayed on my feet. “The State doesn’t bear the burden of presenting a case in these proceedings, Your Honor; we do. This isn’t a criminal trial but a postconviction evidentiary hearing.”

  “Judge, they’re the ones that are trying to retry this case and we need our people inside,” Valeska countered.

  The judge jumped in with, “Well, it does sound like you’re trying to retry the case, Mr. Stevenson, so I’m going to allow the State to keep the crime investigators in the courtroom.”

  It was not a good start. I decided to proceed with an opening statement before calling Myers as our first witness. I wanted the judge to understand that we weren’t simply defending Mr. McMillian from a different angle than his original lawyers. I wanted him to know that we had dramatic new evidence of
innocence that exonerated Walter and that justice demanded his immediate release. We wouldn’t succeed if the judge didn’t know how to hear the evidence.

  “Your Honor, the State’s case against Walter McMillian turned entirely on the testimony of Ralph Myers, who had several prior felony convictions and another capital murder case pending against him in Escambia County at the time of Mr. McMillian’s trial. At trial, Mr. McMillian asserted that he is innocent and that he did not know Mr. Myers at the time of this crime. He has maintained his innocence throughout these proceedings.”

  The judge had been fidgeting and had seemed distracted when I started, so I paused. Even if he didn’t agree I wanted him to hear what I was saying. I stopped talking until I was sure that he was paying close attention. Finally he made eye contact with me, so I continued.

  “There is no question that Walter McMillian was convicted of capital murder based on the testimony of Ralph Myers. There was no other evidence to establish Mr. McMillian’s guilt for capital murder at trial other than Myers’s testimony. The State had no physical evidence linking Mr. McMillian to this crime, the State had no motive, the State had no witnesses to the crime, the State had only the testimony of Ralph Myers.

  “At trial, Myers testified that he was unknowingly and unwillingly made part of a capital murder and robbery on November 1, 1986, when Walter McMillian saw him at a car wash and asked him to drive McMillian’s truck because his ‘arm hurt.’ Myers stated that he drove Mr. McMillian to Jackson Cleaners, subsequently went into the cleaners, and saw McMillian with a gun, placing money in a brown bag. Another man, who was white, was also present in the cleaners. Myers testified this man had black-gray hair and allegedly talked to McMillian. Myers asserted that he was shoved and threatened by Mr. McMillian when he went into the cleaners. The mysterious third person, who is circumstantially presumed to be in charge, allegedly instructed McMillian to ‘get rid of Myers,’ which Mr. McMillian said he couldn’t do because he was out of bullets. The white man in charge has never been identified or arrested by the state. The State has not been looking for a third person, a ringleader for this crime, because I think they recognize that this person doesn’t exist.”

  I paused again to let the meaning of this sink in. “Based on the testimony of Ralph Myers, Walter McMillian was convicted of capital murder and sentenced to death. As you’re about to hear, the testimony of Ralph Myers was completely false. Again, Your Honor, the testimony of Ralph Myers at trial was completely false.”

  I took a moment before turning to the bailiff to call Myers to the stand. The courtroom was silent until the deputy opened the door to the holding area and Ralph Myers walked into the courtroom. There was an audible reaction to his presence. Ralph had aged visibly since the last time many of the people in the courtroom had seen him; I could hear murmurs about how his hair had grayed. Dressed in his prison whites, Myers once again appeared small and sad to me as he climbed up onto the witness stand. He looked around the courtroom nervously before raising his hand and swearing an oath to tell the truth. I waited until the courtroom became quiet. Judge Norton was looking at Myers attentively.

  I walked over to begin my examination. After asking him to state his name for the record and establishing that he had previously appeared in court and testified against Walter McMillian, it was time to get to the heart of things.

  I walked closer to the witness stand.

  “Mr. Myers, was the testimony that you gave at Mr. McMillian’s trial true?” I was hoping that the judge couldn’t see I was holding my breath waiting for Ralph to answer. Ralph looked at me coolly but then spoke very clearly and confidently.

  “Not at all.” There was more murmuring in the courtroom now, but the crowd quickly quieted to hear more.

  “Not at all,” I repeated before continuing. I wanted Ralph’s recantation to sink in, but I didn’t want to hesitate too long because we needed a lot more.

  “Did you see Mr. McMillian on the day that Ronda Morrison was murdered?”

  “Absolutely not.” Ralph looked steady as he spoke.

  “Did you drive his truck into Monroeville on that day?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Did you go into Jackson Cleaners when Ronda Morrison was murdered?”

  “No. Never did.”

  I didn’t want the court to think that Ralph was robotically denying everything I asked him, so I asked a question that required an affirmative answer. “Now, at Mr. McMillian’s trial, did you give some testimony that there was a white man inside the cleaners when you went inside?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  I had gone as long as I dared asking Ralph yes/no questions. “What was that testimony, please?”

  “As I can recall, the testimony was that I had overheard Walter McMillian saying something to this guy, and I had also recalled saying that I had seen the back part of his head, but that’s just about all I can recall on that.”

  “Was that testimony true, Mr. Myers?”

  “No, it wasn’t.” Now the judge leaned in to listen with rapt attention.

  “Were any of the allegations you made against Walter McMillian as being involved in the Ronda Morrison murder true?”

  Ralph paused and looked around the courtroom before he answered. For the first time there was emotion in his voice, regret or remorse.

  “No.”

  It seemed that everyone in the courtroom had been holding their breath but now there was an audible buzz from many of Walter’s supporters.

  I had a copy of the trial transcript and took Ralph through every sentence of his testimony against Walter. Statement by statement he acknowledged that his previous testimony was entirely false. Myers was direct and persuasive. He would frequently turn his head to look Judge Norton directly in the eye as he spoke. When I made him repeat the parts of his testimony about being coerced to testify falsely, Ralph remained calm and conveyed absolute sincerity. Even during the lengthy cross-examination by Chapman, Myers was unwavering. After relentless questioning about why he was changing his testimony and Chapman’s suggestion that someone was putting him up to this, Ralph became indignant. He looked at the prosecutor and said:

  Me, I can simply look in your face and anybody else’s face dead eye to eyeball and tell you that that’s all I—anything that was told about McMillian was a lie.… As far as I know, McMillian didn’t have anything to do with this because on the day, on the day they say this happened, I didn’t even see McMillian. And that’s exactly what I told lots of people.

  On re-direct examination, I asked Ralph to acknowledge once again that his trial testimony was false and that he had knowingly put an innocent man on death row. Then I took a moment and walked over to the defense table to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. I reviewed my notes and then glanced at Michael. “Are we okay?”

  Michael looked astonished. “Ralph was great. He was really, really great.”

  I looked at Walter and only then realized that his eyes were moist. He was shaking his head from side to side in disbelief. I put my hand on his shoulder before announcing to the court that Myers could be excused. We had no further questions.

  Myers stood up to leave the courtroom. As the deputies led him to a side door, he looked apologetically at Walter before being escorted out. I’m not sure Walter saw him.

  People in the courtroom started whispering again. I heard one of Walter’s relatives, in a muted tone, say, “Thank you, Jesus!”

  The next challenge was to rebut the testimony of Bill Hooks and Joe Hightower, who had claimed to see Walter’s modified “low-rider” truck pulling out from the cleaners about the time Ronda Morrison was murdered.

  I called Clay Kast to the stand. The white mechanic testified that McMillian’s truck was not a low-rider in November 1986 when Ronda Morrison was murdered. Kast had records and clearly remembered modifying Walter’s truck in May 1987, over six months after the day when Hooks and Hightower claimed they’d seen a low-rider truck at the cleaners. We finished the d
ay with Woodrow Ikner, a Monroeville police officer who testified that he was the first on the scene and that the body of Ronda Morrison was not where Myers had testified it was. Ikner said it was clear from his observation of the murder scene that Morrison had been shot in the back after a struggle that had started in the bathroom and ended in the rear of the cleaners, where the body was found. Ikner’s description of the scene contradicted the assertion that Myers had made at trial about seeing Morrison near the front counter. More significantly, Ikner testified that he’d been asked by Pearson, the trial prosecutor, to testify that Morrison’s body had been dragged through the store from the front counter to the spot where it was found. Ikner was indignant on the stand as he recalled the conversation. He knew that such testimony would be false and had told the prosecutors that he refused to lie. He was soon after discharged from the police department.

  Evidentiary hearings, like jury trials, can be exhausting. I had done the direct examination of all of the witnesses and was surprised when I realized that it was already 5:00 P.M. The hearing was going well. I was excited and energized to be able, finally, to lay out all of the evidence proving Walter’s innocence. I kept an eye on Judge Norton to make sure he was still engaged, and he seemed visibly affected by the proceedings. I believed the concerned look on his face revealed confusion about what he was going to do in light of this evidence, and I considered the judge’s newfound confusion and concern to be real progress.

  All of the witnesses we called during the first day were white, and none had any loyalties to Walter McMillian. It seemed that Judge Norton had not expected that. When Clay Kast acknowledged that the truck the state witnesses described as a “low-rider” wasn’t modified until close to seven months after the crime took place, the judge furiously scribbled notes, the worry lines on his face deepening. When Woodrow Ikner announced that he had been fired for trying to be honest about the evidence against McMillian, the judge seemed shaken. This was the first evidence we presented that suggested that people in law enforcement had been so focused on convicting Walter that they were prepared to ignore or even hide evidence that contradicted their case.