It’s almost 1 a.m., the time Philip Workman is scheduled to die by lethal injection. Seven media witnesses wait inside a beige cinder-block room deep in the bowels of Riverbend Maximum Security Institution. The minutes slowly tick by and finally someone says what others have been thinking: “Maybe there’s been a last-minute stay of execution.”
But then a corrections officer guarding the room abruptly stands and announces, “It’s time.” Two officers escort the group through a set of steel doors and into a cramped room where several rows of chairs face three windows. Black blinds are drawn, obstructing the view of preparations inside the death chamber. The only sounds on the other side are an occasional clink or rattle.
At 1:20 a.m. Wednesday, May 9, a voice bellows over a speaker to test the sound. Suddenly two men raise the blinds and quickly exit the stark death chamber. There, in the middle of the room, 53-year-old Philip Workman lies strapped to a gurney.
On the night of Aug. 5, 1981, Philip Workman walked into a Wendy’s restaurant in Memphis armed with .45-caliber semi-automatic pistol. The 28-year-old IV cocaine user robbed the restaurant at gunpoint and walked out with a bag of cash. But unbeknownst to Workman, an employee had tripped a silent alarm during the holdup, and police officers were waiting outside.
Exactly what ensued between Workman and police in the dark parking lot that night is unclear. The only certainty is that someone shot and killed Memphis Police Lt. Ronald Oliver.
Police claimed it was Workman who fired the single bullet that struck Oliver, although no ballistics evidence was ever presented to support this theory. At trial, the state’s case rested almost entirely on the testimony of a single witness who testified he saw Workman “coolly and deliberately” shoot Oliver at close-range. Public defenders did little to prove otherwise, and Workman was convicted of first-degree murder and sentenced to death.
Years later, however, post-conviction lawyers uncovered evidence suggesting police pinned the shooting on Workman to cover up a tragic case of friendly fire, but it was not enough to save him. Although some say he’s still to blame regardless of whether the deadly bullet came from his gun, the state’s felony murder statute at the time would not have allowed him to be charged with first-degree murder or sentenced to death if he did not fire the shot.
“I have never experienced a case with this many twists and turns, cover-ups and lies. This case started out with a lie in 1981,” says Kelley Henry, an assistant federal public defender who began working on the case in 2000. “It started out with police discovering a horrible truth—that one of their officers had accidentally killed one of their own.” And from there, the lies simply spiraled out of control, she says, but by the time these lies were discovered, it was too late. No one wanted to hear it.
The state’s primary witness eventually recanted, saying police told him to lie and even coached him on what to say. Two former Memphis cops also came forward with information suggesting it was, in fact, a fellow officer who shot Oliver. Two renowned forensic pathologists reviewed post-conviction evidence and said Workman’s gun could not have been the source of the fatal bullet. Even Oliver’s daughter, Paula Dodillet, has voiced skepticism about the prosecution. In a 2005 short-film about the case called “Deadly Silence,” Dodillet says, “My belief and my feelings are that Mr. Workman did not kill my father... I know it’s odd for me to be saying this, but it seems like there are a lot of questionable things related to this case.”
In 1990, a new lawyer began representing Workman in his appeals. Christopher Minton, an assistant federal public defender in Nashville, was the first to question the credibility of the prosecution’s star witness, Harold Davis.
“As far as Philip knew at trial, Harold Davis was there. Philip was led to believe that Harold Davis was telling the truth, so there is testimony from Philip saying, ‘Well, I guess I shot the officer,’ ” Henry says during an interview one week before her client’s execution. As for his trial testimony, Henry says Workman was strung out on cocaine during the robbery and that his memory of what happened was fuzzy. And although he did not remember shooting Oliver, he took the word of police and the state’s key witness.
During trial Davis claimed he watched Workman shoot Oliver in the chest from about three feet away. He also testified that he left his car in the Wendy’s parking lot that night, which is what first tipped off Workman’s post-conviction lawyers that something was amiss. A review of crime scene photos in 1990 clearly shows Davis’ car is not parked outside the restaurant.
Workman’s lawyers also learned that before the night-shift officers headed out on patrol that evening, they were told a black male was suspected in a string of fast-food restaurant robberies in the area. “They would have assumed he was a suspect, but he’s not even mentioned in the report,” Henry says of Davis, a young black male. “Instead, they let him leave the scene?”
Workman’s lawyers spent years trying to find Davis, a drifter with a history of drug abuse, but to no avail. And although the defense couldn’t find him, they nonetheless argued during appeals that he lied as part of a police cover-up. Just days before Workman’s first execution date in April 2000, the 6th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals stayed the execution to consider the claims. The court split 7-7, however, and Workman’s appeal was denied. Four more execution dates eventually were set and then stayed, and in one case Workman was within 42 minutes of lethal injection when the Tennessee Supreme Court ruled a lower court should consider the perjury claims, as well as ballistics evidence.
Before a 2001 hearing on the evidence was set to begin in the same Memphis courtroom where Workman was convicted, lawyers finally located Davis and, during an interview with the defense, he tearfully confessed to lying at the trial.
Davis later testified at the hearing that he lied about witnessing the shooting. A friend of Davis’ also testified that they were together and nowhere near the crime scene the night Oliver was killed. A member of the jury that convicted Workman told the judge he would not have found the defendant guilty of first-degree murder or sentenced him to death had this evidence been presented at trial, and four other jurors signed affidavits echoing those remarks.
Despite the new evidence, the judge denied Workman a new trial, and another execution date was set. As for Davis’ testimony, the judge said neither he nor his friend were credible witnesses, even though Davis passed a polygraph test indicating he was telling the truth about his past perjury. Not to mention he was the state’s star witness in the first trial.
Davis still maintains he lied at trial. One week before Workman’s execution, Davis sent an emotional video-recorded message to Gov. Phil Bredesen, saying: “I am talking to the governor to beg and plead for Philip Workman’s life. I feel like Philip has been on death row probably in large part because of what I did and what I said, which turned out not to be true.... All I’m asking, governor, is that you allow Philip the chance to redeem his life here on this earth, just as God has given me a chance.”
Warden Ricky Bell stands just a few feet from the gurney, hands clasped in front of him, resting on his black suit jacket. After the blinds are raised he asks the condemned for any last words. It’s 1:21 a.m. when Workman, staring up at the ceiling, says, “I have prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ not to lay charge of my death to any man.”
Workman is secured to the gurney by four black straps across his body, and by leather restraints fastened around his ankles and wrists. He wears a white jail-issued uniform, which blends with the sterile surroundings—white sheets, concrete walls, tile floors and fluorescent lights. The room is vacant, with the exception of Workman and the warden. On the wall opposite the media witness room there is a small one-way mirror. On the other side the execution team administers the deadly cocktail of three chemicals, which are injected through a tube that’s fed through a tiny hole in the wall and inserted into Workman’s right arm. Workman is still, except to occasionally purse his lips as though he is thirsty.
Two silent minutes pass and at 1:23 a.m. Workman struggles to loudly proclaim, “I commend my spirit into your hands Lord Jesus Christ.” His chest rises as though he is taking in a deep breath. He exhales, blinks several times, then closes his eyes. Workman’s head tilts slightly to the left and he does not open his eyes or move again.
As the minutes elapse, Workman’s face becomes flush. A few more silent minutes pass and his face turns blue, then ashen. Meanwhile, the warden stands in the same spot with his left hand grasping his right in front of him. He stares straight ahead showing no emotion, occasionally rocking back and forth in place.
Seventeen minutes into the execution Workman is pale white. Suddenly, the warden moves from his position as another man enters the room. The pair close the black blinds without a word. Then a man’s voice comes over the speaker: “This concludes the execution of Philip Workman. Time of death, 1:38 a.m.”
After discovering the state’s key witness lied at trial, Workman’s lawyers continued to chisel away at the government’s case, finding what they call even more instances of perjury, deception and prosecutorial misconduct.
At Workman’s trial, Terry Willis, a mechanic who worked at an auto parts store next to the Wendy’s, testified that the day after the shooting he found a shiny piece of metal he thought was a ball bearing. He later realized that maybe what he found in the parking lot had something to do with the shooting the night before and he called police, who told him to put the item—which really was a bullet—back where he found it.
“That becomes the bullet the prosecutor argues to the jury at trial is the bullet that killed Lt. Oliver,” says Henry, who adds that as a mechanic, Willis would have easily known the difference between a bullet and a ball bearing.
After the prosecution asserted this was the bullet that killed Oliver, an FBI agent testified that in fact the bullet had no traces of blood or tissue. The testimony was a surprise to prosecutors, who in turn waffled on whether it really was the death bullet, saying in the end it didn’t really matter.
In 2001, Workman’s lawyers reviewed crime scene photographs that ran in The Commercial Appeal and noticed an evidence marker near the spot where Oliver was shot. On subsequent diagrams by the state, that marker is not represented. Henry believes that is where the real bullet that killed Oliver was found that night, and that the bullet likely was thrown out to cover up who really fired the fatal shot.
In addition, Henry says the ammunition belt carried by one of the officers on the scene that night was inexplicably checked out of the evidence room at police headquarters for several hours the day after the shooting.
The first and only expert ever to testify under oath regarding ballistics was Dr. Cyril Wecht, a forensic pathologist hired by the defense nearly two decades after trial. After reviewing X-rays of the entry and exit wounds caused by the fatal bullet (records withheld from the defense for years), Wecht concluded a .45-caliber could not have been used to kill Oliver. That’s because such bullets are designed to mushroom inside the body, and therefore do not typically exit. If by chance such a bullet does leave the body, the exit wound would be larger than the entry wound, which was not the case with Oliver. A second expert, Dr. Kris Sperry, chief medical examiner for the state of Georgia, signed an affidavit outlining similar findings.
Two former Memphis police officers eventually came forward with information Henry says further proves Workman did not shoot Oliver. In 2005, former Officer Charlotte Creasy told the defense she was directing traffic near the crime scene the night of the shooting when a hysterical woman approached and said she just saw a policeman shoot a fellow officer outside the Wendy’s. Creasy claimed she relayed the information to her commander at the time, and that he told her to forget about it. Several witnesses maintain she has said this for years, although the information wasn’t brought to the attention of the defense until two years ago, at which point Creasy was herself serving time for issuing false driving certificates, making her claim seem less than credible.
Matthew Ian John, a former Memphis officer turned lawyer, swore in an affidavit that during his police academy training, the shooting of Oliver was taught as an example of friendly fire.
Lawyers for Workman contend that if all of this evidence had been disclosed sooner, their client would have certainly been granted a new trial. “Then Workman would have won, there’s really no doubt,” Henry says. “Essentially, if the evidence is hidden long enough then the state wins.”
Struggling to hold back tears, Henry speaks to a handful of reporters present for a press conference two days after the execution. She describes the last phone call she received from Workman at about 8 p.m. Tuesday, at which point it was clear there was little hope for a last-minute reprieve. Henry says he spoke individually to everyone in her office who worked on his case to relay his appreciation. Then, she says, before hanging up the phone, Workman said he forgave those responsible for putting him to death.
And although Workman maintained until his death that he did not kill Oliver, he nonetheless took responsibility for the situation that led to the shooting. Workman—who became a born-again Christian on death row—often said he agonized about what happened to Oliver.
“The state of Tennessee killed a good, Christian man,” Workman’s older brother, Terry Workman, tells the crowd. “The state of Tennessee killed a man that did not commit the crime they say he did. I know this for a fact.” He goes on to relay details of the last time he saw his brother. After spending four hours together, much of that time spent praying, they said their final goodbye. Glancing back as the door was closing, Terry Workman recalls, “I saw tears well up in his eyes and I knew he knew what was going to happen to him that night.”
The Rev. Joe Ingle, Workman’s spiritual advisor, then describes the final few hours he spent with Workman, but not before relaying his own anguish about what happened. He says it’s not the facts that put one of his best friends into the grave, but the myth that he was a cop killer, which he called “an utter and complete fabrication.”
Several days earlier, Ingle spoke to a small crowd at the Belcourt Theatre to discuss details of the case and raise awareness about the upcoming execution. During that gathering he stated his belief that there had been a cover-up from the beginning, first by fellow officers, then by the prosecution. He also shared his disbelief and outrage that a story created out of whole cloth could lead to this.
Ingle, who frequently counsels death row inmates, first met Workman 17 years ago. They developed a deep friendship, and for the past 12 years, the two met almost every week. In the hours before his death, Ingle says he was the last person who loved Workman to be with him.
For two hours, Ingle sat in a chair outside Workman’s cell. The two held hands through the bars, and leaned forward so their heads touched as they prayed. “I could feel his tears and my tears running off our faces and dripping onto our hands,” he says, stopping for a moment to regain his composure. When it was clear their time together was almost up, Ingle recited a prayer that Workman often said at the end of their weekly sessions. “I asked God to put a hedge of protection around Philip Workman,” he says, turning his head for a moment as he sobs. “But it was not to be, and it broke my heart, and it’s still broken.
