and to get his blood boiling

Prudlowe and his law clerk read the petition and paid particular attention to the eight-page transcript of the recording of Joey Gamble spilling his guts in a Houston strip club the night before. While it was entertaining, it was far from sworn testimony, and there was little doubt he would deny making the statements if confronted with them. No consent had been given to the recording. Everything about it was tinged with sleaze. The young man was obviously drinking heavily. And, if his statements could be delivered, and if he had indeed lied at trial, what would it prove? Almost nothing, in Prudlowe's opinion. Donte Drumm had confessed, plain and simple. The Drumm case had never bothered Milton Prudlowe. Seven years earlier, he and his colleagues had first considered the direct appeal of Donte Drumm. They remembered it well, not because of the confession, but because of the absence of a dead body. His conviction was affirmed, though, and in a unanimous opinion. Texas law had long been settled on the issue of a murder trial without clear evidence of murder. Some of the usual elements were just not necessary. Prudlowe and his law clerk agreed that this latest claim had no merit. The clerk then polled the clerks of the other justices, and within an hour a preliminary denial was being circulated. Boyette was in the backseat, where he'd been for almost two hours. He'd taken a pill, and evidently it was working splendidly. He didn't move, didn't make a sound, but did appear to be breathing the last time Keith checked. To stay awake, and to get his blood boiling, Keith had called Dana twice. They had words, neither retreated, neither apologized for saying too much. After each conversation, Keith found himself wide-awake, fuming. He called Matthew Burns, who was at the office in downtown Topeka and anxious to help. There was little he could do. When the Subaru drifted onto the right shoulder of a two-lane road, somewhere close to Sherman, Texas, Keith was suddenly awakened. And mad. He stopped at the nearest convenience store and bought a tall cup of strong coffee. He stirred in three packs of sugar and walked around the store five times. Back in the car, Boyette had not moved. Keith gulped the hot coffee and sped away. His cell phone rang, and he snatched it from the passenger's seat. It was Robbie Flak. "Where are you?" he asked. "I don't know. Highway 82, headed west, outside of Sherman." "What's taking so long?" "I'm doing the best I can." "What are the chances of me talking to Boyette, now, by phone?" "Slim. Right now he's passed out in the backseat, still very sick. And he said he was not talking until he got there."