Aside from officials, the other occupants in the room are Poland's son Kent, Poland's daughter-in-law and one of Baich's paralegals. Poland's son introduces himself to me, but aside from that we don't talk. Kent's wife sits and cries quietly. The paralegal is in equally bad shape.
Dale Baich and Lisa Eager are driving to Florence. Baich's cellular phone rings. It's his assistant. She tells him that Samuel King, U.S. District Court Judge in Hawaii, is willing to consider a stay of execution on the grounds that Poland is incompetent. But he's not prepared for any delays. He wants to have the hearing now. As in right now.
Baich pulls the car to the side of the road. They do the hearing by phone. There's Baich, his Tucson counterpart Denise Young, the judge, and four people from Attorney General Grant Woods' office. The case is argued. The AG's people aren't happy about it.
"Judge, if you grant this, tomorrow morning they'll all be claiming to be incompetent!" one of them protests.
In the waiting room for the inmate's witnesses, Poland's daughter-in-law is still crying. The paralegal looks like she's about to. Poland's son sits in silence, his eyes half closed. I sit beside him, whispering a prayer.
They told us a little while ago that the execution would now be at 5 o'clock, rather than 3 o'clock. They gave us no explanation. Now an official comes in and says, "Okay, folks. There's not going to be an execution today. You're free to go."
Beside me, Kent Poland's breath comes out so hard that I actually feel it. He opens his eyes. Otherwise, he doesn't react. He quietly asks the guy, "Would it be okay for me to see my dad?"
Later, another death-row lawyer will tell me, "What he [Baich] did was absolutely incredible. It's unheard of, getting a stay from the district court at the last minute. The guy's unbelievable. He never misses a thing. If you write about this, don't let him give the credit to anybody else. It's all him."
"It was a team effort," Baich will say. "A lot of people worked hard on this."
Baich shows up at the prison, and his face is still as impassive as it has been for the past few days. We all walk out to the parking lot. He tells Kent Poland and his wife he'll talk to them next week and discuss what happens next.
His colleagues are waiting by his car. One of them hugs him.
He decides to ride back to Phoenix with me. We'll meet his colleagues back at his office, then head for a bar.
He takes off his jacket, throws it in the back of my car, and loosens his tie. His expression hasn't changed. I start up the car, and he laughs out loud. "Fuckin' A," he says.
As we drive to Phoenix, he makes and takes phone calls from lawyers, from the media and from his girlfriend in New Orleans, with whom he'll be spending the next few days. Then he'll be coming back to Phoenix for the next chapter in the Poland story, when the judge considers whether Poland's competent or not.
I tell him I had been certain that Poland would be executed, and that everyone else in the know agreed with me, how I thought Baich was deluding himself when he said there was hope. He grins and shrugs.
As we reach Mesa, Baich suggests that I take the 202 to Phoenix, because the I-10 will be more congested. I tell him I think the 202 will be worse.
"I've been right about everything else today," he says. "Take the 202."
I do.
Contact Barry Graham at his online address: bgraham@newtimes.com
