The Executioner's Song (85 page)

                They ate in a glorified hamburger joint near the shoe shop, hamburgers, milkshakes—the absence of liquor made the whole thing difficult—but still they had a good conversation and Stanley got insights he thought helpful, especially in the choreography of the crimes. He got to see Vern's home in its physical relation to the motel and the service station down the street. Wonderful details for TV. Gilmore knocking on his uncle's door in the afternoon to say he's dirty and wants to take a shower and the uncle turning him away. Then getting his gun and that night walking right past the open window where the uncle is sitting by the television set—didn't take a Freudian genius to figure this one out.

As soon as he got back, Greenberg called Susskind and said, "It's fascinating, it's ugly, and it's complicated." Susskind asked if it was a good idea to go out to Utah himself. Stanley replied, "Things are so hectic I would not advise it at the moment. The principals are being bombarded on all sides, and at the moment, we can't see Gilmore, we can't see the fiancee, you can't get to any of the principals other than Damico."

                Susskind agreed. The story, after all, rested on Gilmore's past deeds, and Stanley was there to get the foundations for that. No necessity to become acquainted with Damico and the others. Why, when he acquired the rights to Joe Lash's Eleanor and Franklin, he happened to know a few of the Roosevelts, Elliot, James, and Franklin Jr., in particular, but he hadn't tried to go around and meet any others, hadn't personally intervened and said, "I'm David Susskind. Let me tell you why I should get the rights." The thing to do, if necessary, was send a lawyer.

DESERET NEWS

Nov. 17, Salt Lake—Gary Gilmore's date with Utah State Board of Pardons passed today while the convicted murderer lay conscious and shackled in a hospital bed . . .

                Meanwhile, Nicole Barrett, Gilmore's girlfriend and apparent suicide pact partner, is in critical condition at Utah Valley Hospital.

                When Gilmore returns to prison he will be moved to a tighter security cell, will have limited communications, and won't be allowed any physical contact with outside persons, Warden Sam Smith said . . .

Chapter 8

ENTERPRISE

That night, on the news, it was mentioned that Tamera Smith's story was being syndicated all over the world. Her phone began ringing, and she began hearing from people she hadn't thought about in years. Friends kept telling her that some of the biggest reporters in the country were here in Salt Lake, yet she had scooped them all.

                Next day, a fellow from the New York Times wanted to interview her, then a reporter from Time again, and Newsweek. It got pretty standard that if a new man came to town on the story, he rang up Tamera as soon as he checked into the Hilton. Dying for background on Nicole. She got a lot of free lunches that week.

                It was kind of exciting, of course, but one little side of her wanted to escape. Milly from Philly left town to go hiking in the mountains, and that's where she wanted to be, just leave it all, let the world stay down in Salt Lake.

It was only after Gary had been at the hospital for 24 hours that the tube was taken out of his lungs. He had been awake for several hours, but they left it in until they were certain he could swallow.

                Then he was given oxygen by mask, and it was recorded that he was expectorating moderate amounts of phlegm. When they examined his throat, he said, "You're violating my privacy."

                Next he wanted to know about his fiancee. Suddenly, he was alert, he was agitated, and he was refusing care. Told the nurse to get out. They had to put him in restraints. Then he refused to take a breath. Nearly turned blue before he had to open his mouth. He became extremely abusive. When the nurse tried to give him a needle, he spit in her face. Then he demanded to have the monitor recording his heartbeat removed from his chest. He demanded Fiorinal. When the nurses spoke to him, he refused to answer. On his chart they wrote, "Spiteful, revengeful, obscene." After the intern removed the tracheal tube, Gilmore sat up, sputtered, and said, "I'll fucking well get you, motherfucker."

Most people who overdosed were not like Gilmore when they woke up. He was coming on exceptionally strong. It was dangerous to get within reach. "He looks," said one of the nurses, "like the demon that got into Linda Blair in The Exorcist." Other suicides were depressed when they came out of it. After all, that was why they had taken the overdose in the first place. Didn't want to live. With Gilmore, it was more like he wanted to die.

SALT LAKE TRIBUNE

Nicole's Mother Calls Slayer 'Manson Type'

Nov. 17—Gary Mark Gilmore was described Wednesday as another "Charles Manson" by Mrs. Barrett's mother.

Given all those rides back and forth with Charles from Intensive Care to Pleasant Grove, Kathryne began to live in old memories. Neither she nor Charley was saying much, but she was feeling close to him.

                After all, they had lived all those years together. It was the kind of mood to let her think of the summer she met Charley and dated him when he was 16 and worked at the carnival and she was 14. Went together three months and never even kissed. But one day they decided to get married. Kathryne figured it meant going to the movies when you wanted to, and not taking orders from your folks anymore, so she talked her mother into driving them to Elko, Nevada. The Justice of the Peace there didn't believe Charley was 18 and said, "If I make a long distance call to your folks, son, how will they answer my question?" Charley started to stammer. "Well," the Justice of the Peace said, "you better say to your mum I'm going to phone." He was obviously advising them to tell her to lie.

                Verna Baker, however, had started screaming,—which made Charley finally speak up and say, "Knock it off, Ma. You tell him I'm 18." That was how Kathryne remembered it.

Same day, they drove back to Provo, and Kathryne's mother said, "Charley can sleep on the couch." He actually did that first night.

The following morning Charley came over with his friend George, and they went riding around all day in George's car, until Kathryne told Charley to have her home at 10 P.M., which he did.

                The following night, George and he came over again, but George finally drove them over to this motel called Back of the Pine-Trees and Charley got out to get a room. Kathryne started carrying on, at which point George said, "Get out. You're married to him." "I'm not," said Kathryne, "you take me home." "I'll tell you what, Nicky," George said—they used to call Kathryne "Nicky" after her middle name, Nicole—"you can go with me, or you can go with him."

                Kathryne had no choice. Nothing to do but go in and say hello to Charley. God, they were kids.

They'd fight and make up, fight and make up, and one time, in one of those fights, he enlisted in the Service. They didn't even find out she was pregnant until months later. She had missed periods so many times that she never noticed the real misses. When she started to feel a lump in her stomach, and it got larger, she thought, I bet I got a tumor, and went to the doctor by herself, really scared. When she found out it was a baby, she nearly died of embarrassment. The doctor said, "Are you married?" She didn't have her ring on. The one Charley had bought was too big, and they were waiting for her to grow into it. So when she said she sure was married, she could see the doctor didn't believe her. When he asked where her husband might be, she said he had just finished basic training, only then he asked where Charley was stationed, and she couldn't even remember the name of the fort, just said, "He's in the Army. Somewhere, you know." That doctor was so positive she wasn't married that when Charley came home a couple of weeks later, Kathryne hauled him down there with her for the second medical exam.

The way Charley looked at it, he and Kathryne had been married so long, one of them couldn't start thinking without the other. Two mules in traces. Brooding about how they got into marriage. Charley couldn't even tell himself now what interested him then. He still got mad remembering how Kathryne told him they had to get married because she was pregnant. Pretending she didn't want to marry, boo hoo, but her mother sat them down, and Charley had said, "Well, it don't matter to me." By the time he found out Kathryne wasn't pregnant, by God, she was.

                Over the years, he must have dropped a total of $500 to different lawyers for starting a divorce. She'd start bawling and say, "What am I going to do? Can't raise the kids by myself." He'd back out every time, say "Forget about it, you know," and lose his down payment to the lawyer. They were the kind of thoughts to put Charley in a thorough state of gloom. His luck was typical of his life. By the time they reached the hospital, he couldn't even bear to sit down. Kept thinking about Nicole and how much he used to love her. Damn if he wouldn't see Uncle Lee getting drunk. Felt ready to kill Lee, that greedy child-molesting bastard.

They were no sooner in the door than Charley began to move around restlessly, and look at people as if he didn't know whether to glare, bust out, or bawl. Finally he had to leave, and Kathryne settled in for another vigil. Immediately a fellow came up and said he was from the National Enquirer, associated with Jeff Newman, and the paper needed a better picture of Nicole. All the stills they'd seen so far were terrible, and they wanted something complimentary to do her justice. Kathryne remembered a picture taken at Midway when Sissy was pregnant with Sunny, and said, "You can put the head in, but that's all." Nicole was in a swimsuit and real pregnant. Her face was pretty, but her big pregnant bod was the last thing Kathryne wanted shown right now. An hour after the first fellow took it, Jeff Newman came by and Kathryne found out the first fellow wasn't from the Enquirer at all. Some paper she'd never heard of. They got the picture for nothing.

In the afternoon, Earl Dorius received word to be down at Judge Ritter's Court by four. The message had been from Don Holbrook, one attorney Earl respected immensely. Holbrook said that the Tribune which he represented was filing a suit in Federal Court for the right to enter Utah State Prison and interview Gary Gilmore. Earl had an hour to get ready to argue before Willis Ritter, the toughest Federal Judge in the State of Utah. Conceivably the toughest in the nation.

                At seventy-nine, he was certainly the oldest, and a choleric personality if ever, one crusty, portly old man with a huge bay window and a full head of white hair. Earl's stomach felt stuck to his spine when he thought of going in to plead before Ritter without proper preparation.

                He didn't even have time to call the Warden.

Since Ritter's dislike for the Attorney General's office was about equal to his declared detestation of the Mormon Church, and since Ritter was bound to see Sam Smith as an agent of said Mormon Church and somebody therefore to give the shaft to, Earl did not have vast hopes for this coming encounter. People on the outside tended to see LDS church members as part of one huge well-organized Mormon conspiracy, when in fact it wasn't like that. But don't try to tell Judge Ritter. Earl just grabbed his law books and quickly reread old trusty Pell v. Procunier, trying to get himself psyched up to expect anything around Ritter. Kept reminding himself to present his argument quickly.

                Judge Ritter did not allow you to expound your case at great length. It was wise to conclude a presentation in five minutes that you would normally do in thirty. "Don't get that mane of white hair bobbing," was the general wisdom of his legal colleagues.

In Court, Earl began with the simple statement that the case might be moot because Gilmore did not necessarily want an interview.

                Nobody knew. The Salt Lake Tribune had made no effort to find out. Not even by sending the convict a letter. Judge Ritter, to Earl's amazement, seemed to agree. Since Gilmore was unconscious in the medical center, he said he didn't see any urgency to issue a temporary restraining order against prison rules and regulations. He would deny the Tribune's request for now. When the man recovered, they could take the case up again. Earl went back to his office feeling drained from all the adrenalin he had generated.

Larry Schiller's meeting with Vern took place in the Damico living room. Schiller had come prepared to make an offer. He knew Damico was not Gary's representative, but he still liked the idea. By delivering the offer, he would make Damico a representative, de facto. Gary would have to deal with him. A better approach than by way of Boaz.

                So Schiller wanted to strike the right effect at this meeting.

                Under his dark brown winter overcoat, he was wearing a safari suit the color of a camel's hair coat, and a brown tie with a stripe in it.

                Ever since his days on Life, he always went out on a job with one set of colors, that is, all brown, or all blue, so he wouldn't have to worry about matchups. Today, brown was perfect. Blues would have been too cold, too much like Court. The brown was somber, warm, businesslike.