Dead man talking

Workman panicked and bolted. The men grabbed him in a bear hug. Workman wiggled his gun up and shot Stoddard in the arm. The lieutenant lost his grip, and another shot rang out. When the scuffle ended, Oliver -- whose job did not require him to answer alarm calls -- was dead from one bullet wound that broke his seventh rib and pierced his heart. He died on the pavement near the restaurant's flower bed.

The bullet that ripped through Oliver was never recovered. Workman's defense attorneys, Christopher Minton and Jefferson Dorsey, say ballistics evidence suggests that one of the officers -- Stoddard or the only other cop at the scene, officer Steven Parker, now a U.S. district attorney -- accidentally shot Oliver.

To prove this, the defense has brought in some heavy hitters, Georgia's chief medical examiner and Pittsburgh pathologist Cyril Wecht, who was lead consultant on the U.S. House of Representatives Subcommittee on Assassins, which analyzed both Kennedy killings. Both experts say Oliver's wound is consistent with damage caused by a .38 bullet -- like the ones in the officers' guns, not a .45 like Workman was carrying.

It helps the defense that Stoddard and Parker's initial police statement's differed. Also, another officer said he saw Parker carrying his weapon to the scene. Parker and Stoddard contend their guns never left their holsters. That officer came down with appendicitis before the trial and did not testify. The state's key witness in the 1982 trial, a known drug addict and alcoholic, has recently said on videotape that he lied about seeing Workman pull the trigger.

With drama befitting a John Grisham novel, the day before their client's last-chance clemency hearing, Minton and Dorsey uncovered a missing autopsy X-ray taken by the Memphis/Shelby County medical examiner, O.C. Smith. He says that he just forgot about the X-ray's existence, and that it "just got lost" over years of refiling. Monday, 10 out of the 12 jurors went on record saying they would not have recommended the death penalty knowing the new information.

If the bullet that killed that cop didn't come from Workman's gun, he is not guilty of a murder -- which gives juries the death penalty option -- but of robbery and attempted murder (for shooting Stoddard in the arm). Convicted of those charges, he would have gotten life in prison at most.

In light of the new evidence, the attorneys filed an appeal with the Sixth Circuit Court, the U.S. Supreme Court subordinate, asking justices to grant Workman a new trial. They could rule as early as Friday.

Meanwhile, Tennessee Gov. Don Sundquist, the only person with the authority to commute Workman's sentence, will not answer questions about the impending execution.

"I am for the death penalty for heinous crimes," he said in an interview last Wednesday. "I will take into account the facts in each case."

Workman's hopes are tempered by years in confinement. "I've never had any faith in the courts and I've always taken the state of Tennessee seriously," Workman says, leaning forward. "This was the end of the line for me. The end of everything. I knew I was gonna die here."

If the lights go out once again in Tennessee, it will be for Robert Glen Coe first. He was convicted of raping and killing an 8-year-old. His antics over the past few months in Memphis courts were so outrageous -- swearing, kicking the table, screaming and spitting at the judge -- his face had to be wrapped tightly in gauze like Hannibal Lector. He is scheduled to die by lethal injection Thursday. In fact, Roe's case prompted a public call for the renewal of capital punishment in the state. In Tennessee, inmates are given a choice between that method and electrocution. Workman's professed religious faith mandates that he not participate in his own death. By default, he gets the chair.

Ol' Sparky hasn't gotten much use in the past several decades, and Workman's sentence has prompted the legislature to pass new laws regarding state executions. An engineer was brought in from Arkansas to rewire the chair when Workman unexpectedly did not choose lethal injection. To avoid botched electrocutions, which typically result in major lawsuits, those given the death penalty for crimes committed after Jan. 1, 1999, will die by lethal injection.

"I feel responsible for initiating what happened," Workman says, "for bringing everyone together. But if I didn't kill him, then all of this has been a mistake." he says. "I'm really sorry for what happened."

After a few hours of conversation with Workman, two guards who have been watching interrupt and say the interview needs to end soon. It's strangely easy to become comfortable in the sanitary calm of the prison's visiting room, complete with toys for inmates' children, toys Workman's grandchildren have played with. The guards apologize, but they're short one guard and are just not going to take any chances. Just days before, an unsupervised inmate named Bobo fatally bludgeoned two other prisoners with a set of weights.

Workman once again says if he did shoot Oliver, he didn't intend to. He turns to his attorney, Dorsey, who's sitting nearby and asks that if he gets a second shot at a clemency hearing, he should bring in a baggy filled with powdered sugar to show just how coked up he was during the robbery. Dorsey says Workman calls him almost every night.

He has no plans for April 6, Workman says. He's asked his attorneys to keep his family as far away as possible so they won't have to endure the media glare.

"No dyin's a good way to die," he answers, pausing. "If you're asking me if I'm ready, well, you'd think I would have had enough time. But I'm not."

Workman then quotes several Bible verses and hands me one of his plain white business cards on which another Old Testament verse is quoted. He has been warned by his attorneys to tone down his statements about being a born-again Christian. Too many people view his religious statements as an orchestrated way to dodge responsibility for the crime.

Outside the prison and through a series of locked metal doors, Dorsey says he doesn't know what chance Workman has now. He's too afraid to get his hopes up that the 6th Circuit will order a new trial. He knows the odds are not in favor of commutation.

"We're just waiting now," he says.

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