THE LONGEST WAIT: JEROME MALLETT PONDERS HIS EXECUTION

POTOSI, Mo. -- No one disputes that shortly after 5:40 p.m. on March 2, 1985, Jerome Mallett grabbed the sidearm of Missouri Highway Patrolman James Froemsdorf and opened fire at point-blank range.

And fired. And fired.

The first .357 Magnum round blasted out the driver's window of the patrol car. A second slug struck the trooper in the left lower chest, was stopped by his ballistic vest and slammed him against the driver's door, breathless. As Froemsdorf struggled to defend himself, a third shot passed through his left hand and tore through his neck, through his trachea and carotid artery.

And the fourth and final shot struck the trooper as he tried to escape, fracturing two vertebrae, rupturing his spinal cord and killing him instantly.

But Mallett says there is one disputed fact -- whether the state of Missouri should take his life for the crime. And that battle has kept him alive nearly 16 years after the gruesome crime.

Today, Mallett, 42, fights his court-ordered execution from behind the electrified fence and razor wire of the maximum-security Potosi Correctional Center in Potosi, Mo. Having lost two appeals to the U.S. Supreme Court, he likely is coming to the end of his legal options. The Missouri attorney general filed a motion with the Missouri Supreme Court in October 1999 to set a date to inject a lethal dose of potassium chloride into Mallett's arm.

Mallett's lawyer -- the latest in a succession of at least six attorneys who have handled the defense over the years -- vows to fight to the end and has a filings in federal court contesting his client's death sentence. But counselor Michael Gorla of the St. Louis area recognizes a date of execution could be issued at any time.

State Supreme Court Judge Stephen Limbaugh of Cape Girardeau said he's keeping an eye on the status of this latest appeal, but until it's resolved, responding to the attorney general's motion and issuing an execution date would be premature.

"Our practice is not to set an execution date until it is feasible to carry it out," said Limbaugh. "And after the execution date has been set, there is often another round of litigation."

But that's small comfort to Sarah Froemsdorf, the patrolman's widow, a registered nurse in Cape Girardeau. She and James Froemsdorf -- who was a Vietnam veteran and avid bass fisherman -- were married for 15 years, and she was left with three young daughters to raise alone.

"Why is it that a lifetime criminal fights so hard for a life that was never productive and had no forethought or remorse when it came time to taking a very gentle, thoughtful person's life?" she said.

Deadly traffic stop

James Froemsdorf was 35 when he pulled Mallett's car over for speeding on Interstate 55 near Brewer, Mo. The trooper learned Mallett was wanted in Texas, handcuffed him and placed him in the passenger seat of the patrol car. Because of a deformity that allows Mallett to compress his hand, the prisoner was able to slip out of his right handcuff. He lunged for the trooper's sidearm.

At the time of the traffic stop, Mallet was fleeing four outstanding warrants for probation violations and one for the robbery of a Texas jewelry store. He was en route to his native city of St. Louis.

After killing Froemsdorf, he fled the patrol car and ran into the woods. He went without nourishment, he said, and bedded down in hay like an animal while on the run for three days before his arrest in Desloge, Mo.

A change of venue request for Mallett's trial was granted, and the case was transferred to Schuyler County, Mo., on the Iowa border. There, in the courtroom of Circuit Judge E. Richard Webber, Mallett was convicted and sentenced to death.

Ten years later, a U.S. District court rejected Mallett's claim that he could not have received a fair trial in predominantly white Schuyler County.

Mallett said he has done everything he could to save himself.

"I wrote letters to all types of different organizations, the attorney general, the president, the governor, everything. But the way it looks, I'm going to end up getting executed," he said. "The rest of it is in God's hands."

Lately, said the inmate, waiting for the end has grown increasingly difficult.

"It's taking my control, all of my composure, and it's just kind of draining me," he said.

Mallett claims the fatal attack was provoked. He said the patrolman backhanded him in the face more than once when, in custody, Mallett gave a false name. This argument was presented in court by Mallett's trial attorney, Kenny Hulshof, then an assistant public defender and now a GOP congressman for Missouri's 9th District. The jury obviously discounted that argument.

Ended dreams

The shooting turned Sarah Froemsdorf's life upside down. In the instant that high-caliber bullet hit her husband's spine, she became a single parent.

"We never had the stability we had before. If I had to go through this again, I couldn't handle it. All your hopes and dreams die with your spouse," she said. "With my daughters, I became responsible for everything. It's not like you get a break when dad comes home.

"When it came time to see my first grandchild born, he wasn't there. When it came time to walk one of my girls down the aisle, he wasn't there."

For her, religious beliefs demand the execution of her husband's killer. The widow said she will attend Mallett's execution.

"The Old Testament said if you are tried by a jury of your peers, and it's found that you have malice in your heart, then you are to be put to death," she said.

"I don't think Jim would want me to be there, but I made a promise to Jim and my kids that I'd be there. As a nurse that has worked in critical care units and has seen people die, do I look forward to seeing him die? No. Do I look forward to this being over? Yes.

"One of my daughters has never gotten over this. She wants to be there, and I'll be there beside her."

Religious upbringing

Growing up, Mallett was no stranger to the Old Testament. He said his mother, a housekeeper, was a "die-hard Christian." His father was a Pepsi employee.

But Mallett fell into drug use as a teen-ager. He credited a long history of drug abuse with placing him in the state of mind that would let him gun down a patrolman.

"I did drugs ever since I was 14 years old," he said. "I've experimented with all types of drugs, heroin, cocaine, acid, PCP. To be honest though, in '78, I started smoking PCP. I used to smoke that stuff every day. That stuff kills brain cells. For a while, I was crazy.

"When I smoked PCP, it made me feel like I was Superman."

Mallett said if somehow magically he was released today, he would like to send some money to Froemsdorf's daughters.

While Mallett fights for his own life, anti-death penalty groups are calling for an investigation into Missouri's entire capital punishment process.

On Tuesday, the Missouri Catholic Conference released a report alleging that Missouri's death penalty judicial process is broken. The report, "Miscarriages of Justice," cited several individuals who have been executed in Missouri although they committed their crimes while juveniles, or with reduced mental capacity, or despite credible evidence suggesting their innocence.

The author, Cathleen Burnett, chairperson of the sociology department at the University of Missouri-Kansas City, said the legal errors that occurred with past capital punishment defendants require that the cases of all current death row inmates be re-examined.

The Missouri Catholic Conference advocates a bill currently before the state Legislature that calls for the suspension of all state executions from August 2001 to January 2004 during an investigation of the state's death penalty procedure.

But, until a date is set, Mallett lives behind gray cinder block prison walls, and he waits.

Mallett said: "Unless a miracle happens, I think I'm fried."