One of the few areas of agreement between supporters and opponents of capital punishment is the deep-seated belief that accuracy is essential to the integrity of the process. Ensuring that those accused of capital crimes are represented in court by a robust and competent defense is the fundamental obligation of communities that seek fair and honest justice in their courts.

The case of Curtis Osborne was never a simple one. When a Georgia jury convicted Osborne of two counts of murder in 1991 and sentenced him to death, it was in the shadow of claims that Johnny Mostiler, his court-appointed defense attorney, told another client that Osborne was "a little [racial epithet]" who "deserves to die." When the justices of the Georgia Supreme Court confirmed the death sentence, it was in the face of evidence that Mostiler was handling more than 600 cases at the time, more than four times the limit established by the American Bar Association.

As a former federal judge, I have presided over hundreds of criminal cases in which convicted criminals have received severe punishments. In that capacity, I have seen defendants represented by high-priced private lawyers and overburdened public defenders, by lawyers of all backgrounds and abilities. However, the case of Osborne, and Mostiler's inexplicable failure to adequately represent his client, stands as a singularly dark moment in the history of America's courts.

Even if one set aside for a moment Mostiler's disparaging remarks or his crushing caseload, his defense of Osborne was still woefully deficient. Mostiler refused to request that the court hire a mental health expert to examine Osborne or an investigator to look into other possible mitigating factors in the case, either of whom might have revealed that his client had a documented history of drug addiction and mental illness.

Perhaps worst of all, there is persistent doubt that Osborne's attorney ever informed his client that the prosecutors had offered a plea agreement that would have limited the sentence to life in prison.

The Georgia Supreme Court was precluded from considering any of these issues on appeal: Some had not yet been discovered, some were simply not brought up by Mostiler, and others could not be raised thanks to a state law that prohibits appellate courts from taking up such matters if they were not raised during the initial trial.

It is impossible to overstate the importance of competent, zealous representation of those accused of capital crimes; procedural barriers like Georgia's often prevent judges from correcting the injustices emerging from lower court decisions.

Osborne admits that he is guilty of the murders for which he was sentenced to die, but that sentence has been permanently stained by the acute inadequacy of his counsel, and by the laws that prevent courts from righting the wrongs of his defense.

When a person accused of murder is failed by his or her attorney, our faith in the verdict —- and in the criminal justice system itself —- is shaken. The finality of capital punishment demands complete confidence in the conviction and sentencing processes. Anything less is a mockery of the expectation of justice held by the citizens of this state, and Osborne's case is blemished by a defense that leaves us anything but confident.

It is, unfortunately, too late for that expectation to be met.

On Monday, the Georgia Board of Pardons and Paroles denied Osborne's final appeal for clemency. On Wednesday, barring some unanticipated intervention, he will be executed by lethal injection.

The only thing more shameful than the failure to defend a man facing execution is that those in power turned a blind eye to that injustice.

> William S. Sessions served as the chief judge of the U.S. District Court for the Western District of Texas and as director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He is a member of the Constitution Project's National Committee on the Right to Counsel.