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asked.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI called in a few favors. The state police will be there to give you a ride in about ten minutes. When they come, they’ll turn on their lights, and you can follow them down the shoulder of the road until you can get to an exit and find a place to leave your car.”
    It was now four thirty, and our cushion had diminished to less than an hour. I wondered if, in the history of Georgia executions, a victim’s family members had ever been late.
    I thanked Masterson and explained the strategy to Chris. Since we were in one of the middle lanes, I took some executive action.
    â€œYou drive,” I told him. I hopped out of the car and walked up to drivers who were ahead of us in the right lanes. I explained the situation, and they all sized me up as if trying to figure out whether I would invent something this crazy. Eventually, they squeezed together and created enough space for us to weave our car onto the right shoulder of the road. Ten minutes later, a squad car arrived. The officer told us we should let him pass and follow him down the shoulder to the next exit. After we parked my vehicle, we could ride in the police car to Jackson.
    As we started down the shoulder, I was filled with a sense of gratitude. It felt good to be on the right side of justice. Prosecutors and cops could sometimes be at each other’s throats, but we also had each other’s backs. I had dedicated my professional life to helping officers like the ones in front of us by putting thugs in jail. Today the blue brotherhood was looking out for one of its own.
    â€œI can’t believe they’re doing this for us,” I said.
    â€œPretty cool,” Chris agreed.

    We had cleared the traffic on the loop and were heading south on I-75, riding in the back of the state police car, when the next call from Bill Masterson came. As always, the boss was blunt, but I could hear concern in his voice.
    â€œJamie, I just got a call from the AG’s office. The Georgia Supreme Court granted a stay of execution until August 7. They want time to reevaluate the case in light of the Cooper affidavit. They’ve sent out a briefing schedule and a date for oral arguments.” He paused as I took the news in. “I’m sorry.”
    I stared straight ahead, feeling numb. I had thought I was ready for everything. I’d reminded myself a thousand times that this could happen. But the reality of it hit harder than I had imagined. I had marked this day months ago as a day when I would finally achieve closure. But here I was, getting abused by the system all over again.
    â€œYou okay?” Masterson asked.
    â€œI don’t believe it” was all I could manage.
    â€œI know you’re disappointed,” Masterson said. “But I wouldn’t read too much into this. They just want time to consider it. That affidavit won’t invalidate your dad’s testimony.”
    It helped to hear Masterson sounding so confident. But the gut punch had left me nearly breathless. I knew I had to get off the phone before I started crying.
    â€œOkay. Thanks for letting me know.”
    Masterson apologized again before he hung up. Chris looked at me, and I could tell the blood had drained from my face. He slid next to me and put an arm around my shoulder. He had heard enough of the phone call to know.
    â€œOfficer Hartley, I hate to ask you to do this, but could you take us back to our car?” I asked. My voice held up, though I could feel my throat clenching, the tears starting. “The Georgia Supreme Court just granted a stay.”
    I leaned into my older brother, and the tears started pouring down my face. Before I could stop, I was sobbing, even though I tried to be quiet and stoic.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Officer Hartley said from the front seat.
    At that moment I couldn’t even respond. Instead, I lowered my head onto Chris’s shoulder and allowed myself to cry.

    One of the