It was seven o’clock in the morning on Wednesday, August 11, 2004, when Helen and I pulled out of her driveway and headed for Menard Penitentiary. The morning sky was a resplendent mix of orange, yellow, and red. Helen suggested I grab the disposable camera from the glove box and snap a picture—it was the last shot left on the roll.
As we merged off of old Route 66 onto I-55, I began studying the questions I’d prepared for Michael Drabing. We were slightly paranoid about being followed when we left Lincoln, but forty-five minutes into the drive we began to relax. I’d brought along a tape recorder to record the highlights of my visit with Drabing on the return trip. My habit was to document information while it was fresh in my mind. I also kept a daily journal and was religious about my entries.
After a few hours, we arrived in the town of Chester, the home of American cartoon icon “Popeye.” Up ahead, I spotted a towering bronze statue of the “Sailor Man,” and I kiddingly suggested to Helen that we stop somewhere so I could load up on some spinach before meeting with Drabing.
We breezed through Chester, and the road began snaking downhill through trees and limestone bluffs towards the banks of the Mississippi. I began to feel a twinge of queasiness when we spotted a group of inmates in striped garb performing some kind of work detail along the river’s edge. It was only a matter of time before I’d be entering Illinois’ largest maximum-security prison to meet with the man who’d considered killing my family twenty-eight years earlier. I had a feeling of impending doom, and my greatest concern was leaving the prison alive. Surely, I’d be safe.
