The killer and his deacon
We’re upstairs in his office, where three pictures of a young man in gray prison clothes are taped to his computer. They sit closer to him than the pictures of his grandchildren.
At 63 years old, Larry Day doesn’t have many friends. He makes a lot of them, but then they die. He’s often there as the machine is turned off for the last time.
As a church deacon, his job could best be explained as religious hospice.
I was here because of a sermon Larry had given. It was about a relationship.
More than that, it was about finding hope in the darkest of places.
We talk for an hour before a call interrupts us, and Larry puts it on speaker phone. It’s the man from the photos.
This call is originating from an Ohio correctional facility and may be recorded or monitored.
The automated greeting is robotic and female, but not pleasant like Siri. Larry has gotten to know this voice well.
When he starts, it sounds like he is speaking to a child.
Larry’s voice is never intimidating, even though he used to be a high school principal, and it's always high-pitched. Even then, it seems to go up an octave higher when speaking to Josh.
Joshua Estes is a 27-year-old from Eaton, Ohio. A man who was baptized in jail.
He’s the product of a broken home, a father who never sees his son and is Larry's best friend.
Josh is also a convicted killer.
...
This is the second time Josh has called today. At 8:20 a.m., inmate No. A666506 excitedly told Larry about his new job as a clerk for the prison's addiction services.
It's almost noon now and Josh just came from church. He starts to tell Larry about the thousands of pushups he does to pass the time when he is cut off.
This call is originating from an Ohio correctional facility and may be recorded or monitored.
This happens every few minutes. Larry rolls his eyes and smiles.
He knows the routine, and he knows when the robo-voice is close to signaling one minute remaining.
Larry is sitting in a church pew, his phone a foot from him. Josh is some 140 miles away.
It's December now, and there are four inches of snow in Marion, Ohio. It's beautiful, Josh tells the deacon, if he looks past the razor wire.
You have one minute remaining.
Josh tells Larry he loves him, for the second time this call, and to expect another message later today. He is still saying goodbye when the phone disconnects.
Make sure to read it all: https://www.cincinnati.com/story/news/2018/07/30/killer-and-his-deacon-inside-unusual-friendship-one-man-says-saved-his-life/806657001/
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