Graham ignored my next few calls when I tried him in the morning. I gave calling after 5pm a shot and got him on the first ring.
We set up our next meeting at his office on-campus. I’ll fast-forward you through the unimportant first 25 minutes of one-sided conversation which touched on night crawlers, routes to Memphis, and Michael Oher not actually being a nice guy.
ME: Was the first appeal you pursued something you, or your lawyer, decided to do?
GRAHAM: You asked me about John Cole last time, at The Filling Station?
ME: I did.
GRAHAM: I actually knew John.
ME: You did? How?
GRAHAM: He worked subcontract on a project I worked on in Batesville a few years before all the bullshit. Good guy.
ME: How good of a guy?
GRAHAM: Honest, hard-working, kind of guy who would give you the shirt off his back. He wouldn’t lie to you.
You can hear me trip over my own tongue for a few moments on the tape.
ME: Would you still say that if you knew that he was asked about the Oxford swimming hole killings and swore he didn’t do it?
GRAHAM: I’m just saying what I’m saying.
ME: So you knew John though?
GRAHAM: Drinking, fishing buddy. He lived in Batesville, Mississippi, for like nine months. I don’t think most people know that.
ME: I certainly didn’t. What year?
ME: Are you playing games with me?
GRAHAM: Ah nah…if I was playin games with you I would be saying stuff like, Bill Clinton did it! Aha!
GRAHAM: Clinton wasn’t bad though, just couldn’t keep his dick out of the wrong place. Still can’t, from what I hear over in D.C.
Graham was the master of the misdirection. He clammed up about the case again.
I chewed on Graham’s information for a while. He was a caustic bastard. He had the personality of an aging punk singer even though he was a tone deaf country boy from Mississippi who probably thought The Sex Pistols were some kind of male nude revue.