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.
After Woodrow Ikner completed his testimony, it was deep into the afternoon. The judge
looked at the clock and called it a day. I wanted to keep going, to continue until midnight if
necessary, but I realized that that wasn’t going to happen. I walked over to Walter.
“We have to stop now?” he asked worriedly.
“Yes, but we’ll just pick up and keep going tomorrow morning.” I smiled at him, and I was
pleased when he smiled back.
Walter looked at me excitedly. “Man, I can’t tell you how I’m feeling right now. All this
time I’ve been waiting for the truth and been hearing nothing but lies. Right now feels
incredible. I just—” A uniformed deputy walked over and interrupted us.
“We need to take him back to the holding cell, you’ll have to talk there.” The middle-aged
white officer seemed provoked. I didn’t pay it much attention and told Walter I’d come down
later.
As people filed out of the courtroom you could see hope growing among Walter’s family.
They came up to me and gave me hugs. Walter’s sister Armelia, his wife Minnie, and his
nephew Giles were all talking excitedly about the evidence we’d presented.
When we got back to the hotel, Michael was pumped up, too. “Chapman should just call
you and say he wants to drop the charges against Walter and let him go home.”
“Let’s not hold our breath waiting for that call,” I replied.
Chapman had seemed troubled as we left the courthouse. I still had some hope that he
might turn around on this and even help us, but we definitely couldn’t plan on that.
I arrived at the courthouse early the next morning to visit Walter in his basement cell before
the proceedings began. When I headed upstairs, I was confused to see a throng of black folks
sitting outside the courtroom in the courthouse lobby. It was just about time for the
proceedings to begin. I went up to Armelia, who was sitting with the others outside the
courtroom, and she looked at me with concern.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Why aren’t y’all inside the courtroom?”
I looked around the lobby. If there had been a huge crowd yesterday, today’s hearing had
brought more people, including several clergy members and older people of color I’d never
seen before.
“They won’t let us in, Mr. Stevenson.”
“What do you mean they won’t let you in?”
“We tried to go in earlier, and they told us we couldn’t come in.”
A young man in a deputy sheriff’s uniform was standing in front of the entrance to the
courtroom. I walked over to him and he put his arm up to stop me.
“I want to go into the courtroom,” I said firmly.