Kansas City News Blog

Jennifer Merrigan

Missouri Gov. Jay Nixon never called Dennis Skillicorn's lawyer at the Public Interest Litigation Clinic to say that he'd denied Skillicorn's petition for clemency. Scott Holste, the governor's press secretary, wrote up a press release that was sent to media outlets shortly after 5 p.m. yesterday, but nobody notified Jennifer Merrigan, Skillicorn's lawyer. As a result, Skillicorn himself didn't find out that he was denied clemency until after Merrigan read it on the The Kansas City Star's Web site, almost an hour after the press release had been issued.

From Gov. Nixon's campaign Web site

The Nixon clan

An hour might not seem like much, unless it's one of someone's final hours on earth. And it's more than an act of courtesy to let a condemned man's lawyer know that the petition has been denied -- it's part of the legal process.

The scene at the Public Interest Litigation Clinic's offices last night wasn't as tense as one might expect. Interns with open laptops joked and ate pizza while researching case law for last-minute motions. Merrigan herself worked on an emergency motion for a stay of execution, to be submitted to the "death clerk" of the Missouri Supreme Court, arguing that the state's clemency process is "so grotesquely flawed that it violates due process of law."

Yes, there's a death clerk.

A little after 9 p.m., PILC's director, Terri Backhus, walked into the room. "We're done," she announced grimly. The clerk for Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito, who is in charge of weighing emergency motions that arise from the 8th Circuit Court, had just informed Backhus that Alito had denied all four of Skillicorn's still-pending motions.

It was quiet for a moment or two. "This is premeditated, ritualized killing," a lawyer spat. "State-sanctioned. This is truly sick."

Reality started to sink in, but the lawyers kept working. One UMKC law student pulled up a state statute that addresses the issue of notification as it relates to clemency denials. "Yeah, from 16 years ago," Merrigan sighed. Nevertheless, she added Connecticut Board of Pardons v. Dumschat to her motion. 

Dennis Skillicorn

Merrigan told me that Paula Skillicorn, Dennis' wife, spent hours with him at Bonne Terre before leaving at 7 p.m. and planning to return at 10:45 for the execution.

At a quarter to 11, Merrigan left the group to take a quiet moment alone before calling Skillicorn for the last time. "How do you say goodbye?" one of the law students wondered aloud. "It's pretty fucked up to be the last person that someone will ever talk to," said another.

Merrigan was on the phone for about 15 minutes. Afterward, her eyes tired and red, she reported what Skillicorn told her. "He said that he hoped that this wouldn't make me jaded or cynical," she said with a wry smile. "I guess if he were a selfish person, he would have cried. But he said, 'I gave most of my strength to my wife, and the rest to you.'"

He also said that the last 30 minutes he spent with Paula were the hardest 30 minutes of his life.

Moments later, Merrigan received a call that her last emergency motion had been denied. The law students popped new beers. Backhus joined them. A helpless feeling washed into the room. Merrigan opened another Word file on her laptop. "What do I call this?" she said. "Final motion?"

Dennis Skillicorn, courtesy of Paula Skillicorn

Nothing marked the passing of 12:01 on the wall clock. The phone stayed silent. The older lawyers in the room, ones who had been through this process before, said that this is how it happens. Nobody calls to tell you when your client is dead. You just have to assume it.

Cheryl Pilate, one of the "death qualified" lawyers helping Merrigan last night, is assigned to represent the next several death-row inmates facing execution. It's kind of like being a public defender for the back end of the justice system.

"In reality, very few people want to do this work," Pilate said. "It's regarded as the armpit of the law. But since executions were halted briefly in 2005, these cases have piled up like railroad cars reaching -- I hate to say it, but -- reaching the end of the line."

And because Nixon and the state of Missouri are clearly committed to getting executions back on track in 2009, Skillicorn's will be just the first of many.

Reginald Clemons is scheduled to die Wednesday, June 17.