
Chiefs
by
Stuart Woods
STUART WOODS
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CHIEFS
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msz Tucker Watts Author's Note Acknowledgments
CONTENTS
IrHE BOY ran for his life.
He poured forth an effort born of fear and a wild sense of freedom
regained. At first he ran entirely unconscious of his injuries, then
tearing recklessly through the dark woods, he struck a tree and went
down. He lay stunned for a time he could not account for, and when he
was finally able to struggle to his feet, the full force of the pain
and the winter air swept over him and made him stagger.
He heard the dog and the man crasking through the brush, and he ran
again, wildly, blindly, the underg, owth tearing at his naked body.
Abruptly, he broke through onto a road, hesitated, decided against it,
and threw himself across the open area into the brush on the other
side. He was momentarily in thick, thorny blackberry bushes, then
found hinelf on a narrow path.
He was Falling now sucking in air with a loud, rasping noise, his
muscles aching, legs wobbling. He heard the man fighting through the
blackberry bushes, cursing, and he flung himself forward with his
remaining strength. He knew he would rather run until he died than go
back to that house. He willed his heart to brrst, God to take him, but
his exhausted body still carried him unsteadily forward.
The path turned sharply to the right, but he lunged ahead into thick
brush again, hoping for safety. Then he saw stars ahead through the
bushes and thought he might break through into a field, while his
tormentor followed the path. He gathered his last strength and
ao
plunged forward and down, hoping to lie on the ground undetected.
There was no ground; the earth fell away beneath him. He believed
himself to be falling into a ditch, but his ditch had no bottom. He
fell, twisting in the air, trying desperately to get his feet under
him, while the hard earth waited far below him.
HUGH HOLMES, president of the Bank of Delano and chairman of the Delano
City Council, was a man who, more than most, thought about the present
in terms of the future. It Was one of his great strengths, both as a
banker and as a politician, but on a cold morning in December of 19x9,
this faculty failed him. It would be many years before he would have
some grasp of how that morning changed his future, changed
everything.
Holmes prided himself on bing able to look at a man as he entered the
bank and predict what the man would want. On this morning he watched
through the sliding window in the wall between his office and the main
room of the bank as Will Henry Lee entered, and Holmes indulged himself
in a bit of his usual prognostication. Will Henry Lee was a cotton
farmer; his standing mortgage was due the first of the year, and he
would want it renewed. It took Holmes only seconds to review the
circumstances: Will Henry's debt amounted to about thirty-five percent
of the value of his farm, in reasonably goed times. That was a lower
level of debt than was borne by most farmers, and Will Henry had paid
his interest on time and made two payments against princilYal. But
Holmes knew, the boll weevil situation being what it was, that Will
Henry might fail with his next crop. Still, he respected the man,
liked him, even; he decided to renew. He
leaned forward at his desk and pretended to read a letter, confident
that he had anticipated the content of their approaching discussion and
had worked out an appropriate response. Will Henry knocked at the open
door, sat down, exchanged pleasantries, nd asked Holmes for the job of
chief of police.
Holmes was stupefied, partly by the completely unexpected request,-and
partly by the total collapse of his early-warning system. His mind was
not accustomed to such surprises, and it lurched about through a long
moment of silence as it struggled to assimilate this outrageous input
and get it into an orderly framework of thought. The effort was a
failure. To give himself more time, he clambered onto familiar ground.
"Well, now, Will Henry, you're not overextended on your farm. We could
probably see you through another crop, even with things the way they
are with cotton." To his credit, Holmes maintained his banker's face
throughout the exchange.
"Hugh, if I extended I'd have to have more capital, which means getting
deeperin debt to the bank. If I did that for another crop things
wouldn't get any better; they'd just get worse. Better farm em than me
are going under. I think you'd be doing the best thing for the bank if
you took the farm now and sold it. I might get something after the
note was paid. To tell you the truth, Hoss pence offered me nearly
about exactly what I owe for the place just last week, but I think I'd
rather let the bank take it than let a man buy me out for a third of
what the place is worth. Hoss's peaches and cattle are going to be on
a lot of land where cotton used to grow, and I'd just as soon my land
didn't get included in that." He stopped talking, looked at Holmes,
and waited.
Holmes's brain was beginning to thrash through the gears now. Item
one: Will Henry was right about the bank's position; taking the farm
now would give a better chance of coming through the transaction
profitably; things could truly be a whole lot worse next year. Item
two: Delano had long been big enough for a chief, but the town wasn't
big enough to attract an experienced officer from another force.
Holmes, as chairman of the city council, had been looking hard for
months for a suitable man. The chief at La Grange had put it to him
bluntly. "Mr. Holmes, I'll tell you the truth; right now Delano
couldn't even attract a decent patrolman from a larger town, let alone
a sergeant. My advice to you would be to find a local man that people
respect, and give him the job. In a town like Delano he can do about
ninety-nine percent of what he's got to do with just plain old
respect." Holmes looked across the desk at Will Henry. He respected
the man, and he was a harsher judge than most. Will Henry was well
known in the community, even though he and his father before him had
been country men. Maybe his always having lived in the country would
mix a little distance with familiarity and give respect as harper edge.
Holmes resisted an urge to pump Will Henry's hand and pin a badge on
him right on the spot. He had to preserve a reputation for caution,
and, anyway, he couldn't make the decision entirely on his own. "Well,
I'll have to bring this up at the next council meeting." He paused.
"Have you talked to Carrie about this, Will Henry?" "No, I wanted to
talk to you first. Carrie's all ready to worry us through another
crop, but I think it'd be a kind of relief to her to have done with the
farm. We'd have to find a house in town, and I think she'd like fixing
that up. She's really always been a town girl at heart, I think.
What's your opinion of my chances for this job, HUgh?" Holmes cleared
his throat. "Well, I guess you could say it's within the realm of
possibility. I'll see that the council gives the proposal serious
consideration." The two men rose and shook hands. "I might be able to
help you with finding a house in town, too." He already had something
in mind. The banker's brain was in high gear now. But Holmes's
morning was just Ieginning. When he opened his office door to show"
out Will Hj. my, he found someone else waiting to see him. Francis
Funderburke, better known in Delano and Meriwether County as Foxy,
because of an uncommon resemblance to that animal, stood waiting at a
not-too-loose parade rest. The stubby, wiry little man, dressed in
stiffly starched and tightly tailored khaki, with trousers tucked into
lumberjack boot tops and a flat-brimmed, pointy-peaked army campaign
hat raked at a regimental angle over his bright, dose-set eyes, looked
for all the world like a demented forest ranger or an ancient Boy
Scout. "Foxy, how you doing?" asked Will Henry. Foxy directed a
narrow glance at the farmer. "Lee." He turned back to the banker.
"Holmes, like to speak to you." Foxy addressed all men by their
unadorned surnames and usually in the manner of a high-ranking officer
speaking to a recruit. To females he offered a grudging "Miz" before
the name, regardless of age
CHxE
or marital status. At meetings with Foxy, Holmes always felt as if he
had been summoned rather than sought out, and for some infraction of an
unnamed set of rules. He invited Funderburke into his office, with the
distinct premonition that his morning was again about to come unglued.
He was not wrong.
Before either man had reached a chair, Foxy said, "Holmes, I want that
job."
"What job is that, Foxy?" Holmes asked, with a sickly foreknowledge of
exactly what job Foxy meant.
"Chief of police, of course," said Foxy, his tone implying that Holmes
had been attempting to withhold information from him. "I know you've
been looking hard for an experienced man, and you can't find one. Well,
that means you're going to have to hire a civilian. With my military
experience and knowledge of firearms I'm the man for the job." Foxy had
served briefly in France as a second lieutenant in the supply corps.
He had been sent home when a wagon had overturned, landing on his foot.
The injury had got him a medical discharge. In Foxy's mind, and in
his telling, the iniury was a combat wound.
Holmes began to marshal his faculties once more. "I don't see the
connection."
"I've been trained. I know how to lead men."
"Well, now, Foxy, a Delano chief of police isn't going to have any men
to lead. He's going to be a one-man department."
"It'll grow. Besides, this town is going to need discipline."
"Discipline," Holmes repeated tonelessly. "People have got to respect
the chief."
There was that word again: respect. Holmes admitted to himself that
Foxy did command respect of a kind in the community. His father had
left him a small block of early Coca-Cola stock that Holmes estimated
must be worth a considerable sum, judging from the size of the dividend
checks Foxy deposited in his bank account. Wealth brought a kind of
respect. Foxy had served his country in a war, and people respected
him for that, although they were hazy about the details. And Foxy was
a super-American. In a burst of patriotic fervor he had built a log
cabin with his own hands, and he lived in it. True, the improvements
added by a series of builders had since made it arguably the most
expensive log cabin in American history, but Foxy could still, with
some justification, say he had built it with his own hands.
So people respected Foxy. But they also thought he was crazy.
Booc of: Will Henry Lee
Foxy was certainly an eccentric, but there was considerable tolerance
for eccentricity among the people of small towns like Delano, Georgia.
Discipline? Foxy was congenitally incapable of requesting anything.
Holmes had a brief vision of people driving their automobiles on the
sidewalks and shooting each other just to spite Foxy. "You know, Foxy,
I'm not authorized to hire anybody. I've only been conducting a search
on behalf of the council. I'd suggest you make application in writing
to the council, and I'll see that it get the council's full attention."
Holmes would certainly do that. This dearly seemed an orderly and
efficient procedure to Foxy. "You'll have my application today,
Holmes," he barked, and with a curt farewell Foxy Funderburke marched
out of the office and the bank. Holmes took off his glasses and
massaged the bridge of his nose. And people wondered why he was almost
entirely gray at forty-five. One of the tellers stuck his head in and
said, "A man wants to open an account." At the thought of a familiar
request Holmes revived. He greeted the new customer warmly. He could,
in fact, have kissed him.
THE REGULAR weekly meeting of the City Council of Delan was duly
convened at 4:0o P.m. on December 31, x99. Present were Hugh Holmes,
banker; J. P. Johnson, Coca-Cola bottler; Frank Mudter, Doctor of
Medicine; Ben Birdsong, druggist; Willis Greer, city manager and
honorary member; Lamar Maddox, undertaker (or funeral director, as he
preferred to be called); and Idus Bray, peach farmer, landlord, money
lender, and co-proprietor of the Delano Telephone Company. The minutes
of the last meeting were read and approved, the treasurer's report (Ben
Birdsong's), showing an estimated end-of-year surplus of $6,300, was
read and approved, and a motion for an extension of the sewerage system
to Lower Fourth Street was made, seconded, and approved by all but Idus
Bray, who changed his vote when it was pointed out to him that new
sewerage extensions meant new houses, which would require new
telephones. Hugh Holmes, as acting chairman, asked for further
business. There was none. Holmes cleared his throat and assumed a
look which the others had come to learn meant there was serious
business afoot which would likely be settled to Holmes's satisfaction
before the meeting was done. "The council has two applications for the
position of chief of police." There was a loud sigh from Idus Bray.
Several chairs
Booc o/E: Will Henry Lee x9
creaked as their occupants assumed new positions to indicate their
willingness to settle down and resolve a matter which has been hanging
over the council for nearly a year. Idus Bray said wearily, "You going
to start that again, HUgh? This county has ashe riff A good sheriff."
J. P. Johnson cut in. "Skeeter Willis lives in Greenville. That's
twenty-two miles up the road, and you know as well as I do that Skeeter
won't get out of bed for anything less than as hooting Holmes cut the
discussion short. "Gentlemen, this coundl passed a resolution eight
months ago that a chief of police would be procured for Delano. Unless
somebody wants to introduce a motion repealing that resolution, this
discussion is out of order. The mater now before the council is who
the man will be. As I said before, the coundl has two applications."
"Experienced men?" asked Ben Birdsong. Holmes's reply had an air of
finality about it. "During the past eight months I have talked either
in person or on the telephone with twenty-one chiefs all over the state
and in Alabama, asking for recomthendations. A total of fourteen men
were mentioned. Six of them were interested enough to come and talk
with me about it. None of the six wanted the job. I have come to the
conclusion that it is not possible to attract an experienced police
officer of good character to Delano without paying approximately fifty
percent more money han we can afford. The best advice I had was from
the chief at La Grange. In his opinion, the kinds of problems a chief
would face in Delano could be handled by a local man of good standing,
with the SUlport of the council and the help of the sheriff and state
patrol when needed. I concur in that opinion." Frank Mudter spoke up.
"Our problems here are traffic and petty crimes, with a little
peacekeeping thrown in down in Braytown. Anybody with a good head on
his shoulders and a fairly strong arm ought to be able to handle the
job." There were murmurs of agreement from Birdsong and Maddox. "Who
are your applicants?" asked Idus Bray. Holmes took a deep breath.
"The first appliEation I'd like for the council to consider is that of
Francis Funderburke." There was a moment of silence, followed by a
shout of laughter. Holmes kept a straight face. "Foxy feels that his
military experience and his proficiency with firearms qualify him for
the job." Ben Birdsong smiled. "Well, if we want anybody shot, I
guess
Foxy's our man." "More likely, somebody'd shoot him," said Idus Bray.
Holmes persisted. "I told Foxy I'd see that the council would give his
application serious consideration." "Consider it considered," said Ben
Birdsong. There was a chorus of agreement. "I move that the applicati
n of Francis Funderburke for the position of chief of police be put to
a vote," said Holmes. "Seconded," said Dr. Mudter. "All those in
favor of acceptance of this application, signify by saying, "Aye."
"Silence. "All those opposed to the acceptance of this application,
say, "Nay." "There was a volley of nays. "I also vote nay, so the
decision of the council is unanimous in rejecting the application of
Francis Funderburke." Holmes set aside Foxy's letter and picked up
another sheet of paper. "The next applicant for the position of chief
of police is William Henry Lee." There was a thoughtful silence.
"Will Henry?" "Weevil get him?"
"Well, he's as honest as the day is long, like his daddy." "He's a
good persuader. At deacons' meetings he seems to be able to put a
point without getting folks mad at him." "Can he take care of
himself?" "I went to country school with him. I never saw him start a
fight, but I never saw him let anybody push him around, either." "Will
he do it for the money?" "Yes," said Holmes. "But if he works out, I
think we ought to consider giving him more after a while. He's got a
family." "Is he all right with guns?" "He won't use as hotgun but
I've seen him shoot squirrel with a .22." "He's a good man in the
church. I reckon he's about as respected as any man around here his
age." "How old is Will Henry, anyway?" "About thirty. He was two
years behind me in school." There was silence again. Holmes had not
spoken except to answer questions. Now he said his piece. "Will
Henry's a responsible man. He's not stupid, and I don't think he'd ever
use the job to push anybody around, the way Foxy might. He pays his
bills, and he's from an old family in Meriwether County. He's
Booc ONe: Will Henry Lee 2x never been a very successful farmer, but
he's had the gumption to stick to it until the weevil came along. When
that happened he had the good sense to get out before he was over his
head in debt. He's well known as a man of character and a Christian.
He's never done anything but farm, but I think if he took the job he'd
feel obligated to give it his best, and I think that could be pretty
good. I think we should hire him." "So moved," said Frank Mudter
without hesitation. "Seconded," said Ben Birdsong. "All in favor,
say, "Aye."" There was a collective aye from everybody but Idus Bray.
"Well, I guess if you're bent on having a chief, Will Henry'd do about
as little damage as anybody. Aye." "The council unanimously approves
the application of William Henry Lee as chief of police," said Holmes.
There was a stir and a scraping of chairs. "There's one more thing.
This is the first time the city has ever hired a man to do what might
be a dangerous job. We're asking this man to carry a gun and protect
us, and there's always he possibility that he could get killed doing
it. I think we ought to do something about some insurance for his
family if he shoulci be killed or disabled in the line of duty." Idus
Bray spoke up. "I don't think the city ought to go buying insurance
policies for its employees. Sets a bad precedent." "Why don't we give
him another ten dollars a month, with the provision that he spend it on
insurance?" replied Ben Birdsong. :' So moved," said Frank Mudter.
Seconded," said Lamar Maddox. "All in Favor?" "Aye," said four men.
"All opposed?" "Nay," said Idus Bray. "It's a bad precedent." "The
motion is passed," said Holmes. "Any further business?" "Move we
adjourn." "Seconded." "All in favor?" "Aye!" "Happy New Year,
Gentlemen."
WILL HENRY LEE stepped from his front porch with the fear and reolve of
a man who has finally decided to jump from a great height into unknown
waters. His historical perspective was sufficient for him to know that
his descent of the five steps to the front yard was changing not just
his own life, but the future of his line. Somewhere in one of the
boxes stacked on the flatbed wagon was a Bible that recorded his
forebears back to the year 2798, 'and now, at noon on this last day of
99, he was to be the first man of that succession to leave the land,
except to go to war.
He joined the small group of people who stood shivering near the idling
car. Two of the black people made a farewell and separated themselves
from the group, trudging over the frozen ground to one of the small,
unpainted houses a few yards away. The other two remained to say a few
parting words. The black woman dabbed at her eyes as he approached.
"Now, Flossie, don't you do that," Will Henry said. "You know you're
going to be back with us real soon."
"That's right, Flossie," said Will Henry's wife, Carrie, dabbing at her
own eyes. "You know we can't get along without you and Robert."
"Yes'm," Flossie replied. She turned to the children in an effort to
distract herself. The little girl, the smaller of the two, was
ooc ONE: Will Henry Lee 3
carefully holding a box tied with string. "You children make that
lemon cheese cake last you awhile, now. It's gon'be a little while
I can make you another one. And Eloise, don't you let Billy eat it all
up, hear?"
"Don't you Worry about that, Flossie," replied the child firmly.
Will Henry called Flossie's husband, Robert, aside. "Don't say
anything to Flossie yet, but I think I might be able to get things
fixed up in a week or ten days. I've got to talk to Mr. Holmes at the
bank one more time, and we'll have to find you a house in town. Mr.
Holmes wants Jesse and Nellie to stay on at the farm and keep it up
until the bank can find a buyer." Jesse and Nellie Cole were the only
other remaining employees on the farm. Nellie was Flossie's sister.
"Tha's jcs' fine, Mr. Will Henry, jcs' fine. An' I'll git the rest of
yo' things into town jcs' as fas tas that mule will move."
The two men shook hands, the first time they had ever done so. Robert
held on to Will Henry's hand for a moment. "Mist' Will Henry, you a
good farmer, a good farmer."
Will Henry smiled gratefully, though he knew this was not true.
"Culdn't nobody d( no better," Robert said. "Couldn't nobody beat the
weevil 'cept a rich man, a mighty rich man."
As they climbed into the Ford, Will Henry took in the yard and the
house with a final glance. Everything looked as cold and hard as the
weather. It would be, pretty in the spring, if there were anybody here
to see to it. He forced hirrelf not to think of anything that had
happened to him here, of his father and grandfather. He would think of
that later, alone with himself. He drove the car out of the yard,
picking his way carefully through the red winter mud, toward the main
Delano road. In the bouncing mirror he caught a glimpse of Flossie and
Robert standing in the yard, looking after them. He quickly looked
away.
In the car Billy hung over the front seat. "Mama, why can't I have my
own room in town? I don't want Eloise to have half my room." Will
Henry heard Billy catch himself, knowing he was sounding selfish. "I
can't sleep with Eloise in the room," he continued, trying another
tack. "She snores."
Carrie disposed of this transparency with a reproachful glance. "Billy,
you know we have to have a guest room."
"But we hardly ever have any company; it'll just be emp"
"Billy."
The boy sank into the back seat, glaring sullenly at the back of hi
mother's neck. Eloise stuck her tongue out at him.
Will Henry glanced at Carrie. He knew she was both looking forward to
life in Delano and frightened. She would enjoy having friends within
walking distance, but she would feel insecure at first without the
farm. He had given her no clear definition of his job. He would be,
he had said, "working for the city," and he was vague about what the
work entafied. She had accepted that, at least for the moment. He was
not looking forward to telling her the whole of it.
Will Henry retreated into him sel as he drove. He tapped out a rhythm
on the steering wheel and sang absently to himself. "Bringing in the
Sheaves, Brining in the Sheaves. We shall come, rejoicing, Bringing in
the Sheaves .... "
He felt the way some men feel when they leave the army; the way some
men feel when they have paid their debt; the way any man feels when he
is free.
"We shall come, rejoicing, Bringing in the Sheaves!"
from: Will Henry Lee '5
A HUGH HOLMES had anticipated the outcome of the city[/-council
meeting, even to the method of arranging the insurance policy. He had,
expected Idus Bray to object, but The was prepared to suggest the extra
money as a compromise. "Nevertheless, he was pleased that somebody
else had suggested
He had anticipated the results to the extent that, on the day it.
ter Christmas, he had given Will Hen.ry Lee a ye arts lease on a house
recently repossessed by the bank when its o,mer had simply disappeared,
on the occasion of the failure of his grain and feed business. Holmes
sent his own housekeeper to clean the place before the Lee family
arrived. He knew Carrie would be exhausted enough from the packing and
unpacking without the additional chore of making habitable a house
which had been disused for some months. Before the lease was signed
Holmes raised the insurance question. "Will Henry, have you thought
about the possibility of your getting killed if you take this job?"
"Well, I guess I'm going to have to carry a gun. That's part of the
job. But I figure I'm about as likely to get kicked to death by
somebody's mule while I'm directing traffic on Main Street on a
Saturday afternoon as I am to get shot." "I expect you're probably
fight, but I'll tell you the truth, I
Think that just by carrying a gun--and you have got o carry one, folks
will expect it--you'll increase your chances o somebody taking as hot
at you. You knoW, the English policemen, he bob-hies, hhey're called,
don't wear guns. They figure if criminals know they're not going to
get shot at by the police, they're less likely to carry guns
themselves, and I think hey're probably right, a! least for England.
But we Americans, especially we southerners, don't see it hat way.
We're not very far from a time in his couno] when a man was more likely
to get shot at if he didn't carry a gun, and we can't seem to forget
it. So I think you ought to keep the possibility of getting shot at in
mind. That's why I want you to make me a promise, and I won't
recommend you for he job unless you do."
"What's that, Hugh?"
"I want you to agree to take out a ten-thousand-dollar insurance
policy. I'll make the arrangements for you." Holmes already had
arrangements in mind.
"Ten thousand dollars!"
"I know that sounds like a lot, Will Henry, but it's not. Your
children are still young---what are they?"
"Billy's eight, and Eloise is six."
"Yes, young, and if anything happens to you Carrie's going to need
fifteen hundred or two thousand dollars a year to raise and educate
them. In fact, her expenses would be just about as high as they are
with you around. You don't eat all that much. Even with ten thousand
dollars in the bank she'd have to go to work to make that last until
they're finished school, don't you see that? If she didn't go to work
she'd have finished spending that money just about the time Billy would
be ready to go to college. You want him to go to college, don't you?
He's going t) need that kind of education to make something of himself
in this country."
"Carrie and I have talked about it. We'd like him to go; Eloise, too,
if we can manage it."
"Well, if you save your money, you can. But Carrie could never manage
it by herself. Not unless she has some capital to see her through.
Now, I'm not going to have a widow and two children on my conscience or
on the city's conscience if something happens to you. Will you promise
me to take out that insurance policy?"
"Well, all right, Hugh. I guess you're right. How much is it going to
cost me?"
Will Henry Lee :z?
"Several dollars a month, but the council is going to add to your
salary to take care of it."
"I appreciate that, Hugh."
"There are going to be a lot of expenses connected with a cf of police
that the council hasn't even thought about yet. Be're going to have to
have a jail. When you start arresting peo I, we've got to have a place
to put them. You're going to need !B.carI figure you can use your own
and take gas out of the city
'hunp until I can get that through. They've already approved a ii
rehouse and I reckon a couple of extra rooms onto that will do i a
jail. Why don't you think about what you might need? After 're
appointed, you might go up to Greenville and talk to ikeeter Willis and
see what he's got up there. Then you and I'll iup a budget, and I'll
spoon-feed it to Idu,s, Bray and the rest Of them, and one, of these
days before long we 11 have us a proper i lice station. III tell Idus
the station will have to have a tele;lhone. That'll do it for him."
ii While the council was meeting to approve Will Henry's appointment
the Lee family movt into the house on Lower Third i E Street. Delano
was situated at a point where Pine Mountain be' san its rise from the
valley. Broad Street cut across the town at where the hillside started
to be steep, and streets hum-two, three, and four ran vertically up the
hill, at right angles to Broad Street. The upper ends of the streets
attracted more expensive homes, since the sites afforded a view of the
town. The lower ends of the streets contained Beat frame and brick
houses occupied by small merchants and the better-pai railroad people.
Upper Third Street was the prettiest and most desirable in town. Lower
Third Street, therefore, had a slight edge on Lower Second and Fourth
streets.
Carrie was delighted with their location. It made it, in her mind, all
the more necessary to have a guest room, and Billy was i-: qua. ed
with oise in spite of in easin y loud protests and,
eventually, hot tears. Eloise maintained a smug silence, but permitted
herself an occasional triumphant glance in his direction. Carrie
banished Will Henry and Billy to the yard, where tey discovered a swing
blade and a rusty lawn mowerin the back shed. They set about taming
the overgrown lawn and pulling weeds from the skimpy flower beds. By
late afternoon the two of them were thoroughly muddy. They enjoyed
their first bath in their running-water tub, and when they sat down to
a fried
chicken supper, Will Henry experienced the odd sensation of having
lived in the house for a long time. He felt they would like it here.
Carrie was certain of it.
Will Henry and Carrie Lee were town people now, after haying spent all
their lives on middle Georgia farmland, half that period in hard times.
Both, at thirty, were handsome people. Will Henry stood just under six
feet tall and was of a muscular build, the product of sturdy ancestors
and hard, physical work. If his ears were a bit large, his nose a bit
blunt, and his jaw square and aggressive, his eyes softened the total
effect considerably. Large and brown, they conveyed intelligence and
sensitivity, and the soft tenor of his voice and his manner of speaking
reinforced the impression immediately. He had a temper, which he took
pride in not showing, and this restraint enhanced the aura of strength,
both physical and psychic, which he exuded. He was shy, but not
withdrawn.
Carrie was tall and trim of figure and very nearly beautiful. An Irish
grandmother had willed her black hair and green eyes and a sense of
humor. She had none of her husband's shyness and little of his
restraint; pragmatism and often bluntness ruled her existence, but a
natural charm and lack of desire to wound made her views seem
refreshing rather than offensive to others.
They both came of families that preceded their republic, the Lees
claiming a connection with those of Virginia, and the Cal-la ways
Carrie's family, going back to seventeenth-century Kentucky and a
connection with Boone. Given an opportunity, Carrie would refer to
Fenimore Cooper's description of Boone's daring rescue of the Callaway
girls from the Indians.
Neither of their families had had anything but land since what was
locally referred to as the War Between the States. Still, they had
inherited intelligence and gentility and a love of music and books. In
their home they entertained themselves and had done so even before the
children came. They both sang, and Car-tie played serviceable Mozart'
and Bach. They had read Twain and Hawthorne and Dickens, among others.
They had both had some higher education, though neither had earned a
degree. While Will Henry had been in his third year at Gordon Military
College at Barnesville, his father had died suddenly, and the farm had
demanded his presence. Will Henry, after an adolescence of waiting,
had proposed to Carrie, and she had come home from Bessie Tift College
at Forsyth and unhesitatingly become his
ONg: Will Henry Lee as she had known for a long time she would. Will
Henry had had ambitions for the law, but the land had in the family for
a long time, though much had been sold Reconstruction, and he felt a
responsibility toward the families who lived upon it. At the beginning
of their mar the farm had offered security and familiarity and even so
they had not felt thwarted---not, at least, in a way could admit to
each other. And now they had left the farm, something Will Henry had
to think he would never do. He had grown up there, and it became his,
it waited for him each day, demanding to be reaped, milked, repaired,
fertilized, and made profitable. : had hacked away diligently, but he
had worked without fe rand without much talent, and the land had
yielded a profit only so long as the soil and the times had been easy
enough to require neither fervor nor talent. When the boll weevil had
come, Henry had at first seen it as simply another demand upon his
efforts. But when the pestilence had shown signs of hanging on, when
even the best of farmers Was struggling for existence, then the weevil
began to look like something Will Henry had begun to despair of ever
finding: an honorable way out, After supper Carrie read to them frdm
Great Expectations, because, she said, that was what they all had of
their new life, then the children were put to bed. Will Henry and
Carrie tidied up about the house until nearly midnight, then woke the
children. At the stroke of twelve, somebody blew the siren at the
fixe-house, and they all sang "Auld Lang Sync" and kissed. C read a
passage from the Bible, Will Henry said a prayer of hope for the new
year, and they all went to bed. Will Henry and Carrie were alone for
the first time in their new existence. A weight had been lifted from
them, and they enjoyed their love more than they had in months. They
fell asleep exhausted and happy.
IT WAS his first morning on the new job, and Will Henry and Carrie sat
in the Far in front of the city hall. The car had no heater, and lap
robes were pulled tightly around them. As they talked, the windows of
the car misted over. Will Henry was glad, for he did not know what her
reaction would be when he told her about the job as chief, and he did
not want passers-by to see her upset. When he told her, her expression
changed only slightly, and she was silent, her eyes remaining on his
face. He could not look away from her, for fear of seeming even more
guilty than he felt.
Soon he could bear the silence no longer. "It's not a dangerous job,
not really." She still said nothing. "Not in Delano. Nothing ever
happens here that's dangerous. I'll be spending more time fooling with
the traffic on Main Street and watching out for speeders on the Atlanta
highway than anything else." She turned and stared at the foggy
windshield. "It's just a city job," he said, almost pleading.
"All right," she said finally.
The members of the city council gathered in the back room office of the
city manager. They removed their coats and gathered around the wood
stove but did not sit down. They were taking time away from their work
and did not wish to prolong the oc ONE: Will Henry Lee
John B. ("Skeeter") Willis, sheriff of Meriwether County,
down from Greenville to be on hand. When they were called the meeting
to order. "Gentlemen, I suppose this is a kind of an historic
occasion. here this morning to appoint our first law-enforcement of-I
guess it's a credit to our citizens that we've been able to s far
without one, but we've got more than a thousand in Delano now, at least
that's my estimate, and I think the this year will bear me out, and a
police department is every town must have. We've chosen a local man
for job, not because he is an experienced policeman, but be we know him
and respect him and believe we can trust to preserve the peace and
protect life and property."
; "Amen," said Idus Bray.
"Idus, was that amen for life or for property."
Everybody laughed.
"I suppose any councilman can swear in o'u, new chief, but if nobody
has any objections I'd like the honor. There was a murmur of assent,
and Holmes produced a battered Bible. "Will Henry, place your left
hand on the Bible, and raise your right hand. Do you, William Henry
Lee, swear by Almighty God to uphold and enforce the laws of Delao, the
state of Georgia, and the United States of America and to do so
impartially, without fear or favor?".
"I do."
"Well, I guess that makes you chief of poll? of Delano' Will Henry."
Holmes had given some considerable thought to the content of the oath
he had just administered. He had considered including a phrase along
the lines of "carry out such instructions as the city coundl shall give
from time to time," and as he watched his fellow councilmen offering
hurried congratulations, then scrambling into their coats and returning
to their interrupted work, he felt glad that he had not. Too much city
business, he believed, was conducted hurriedly and without proper
consideration. He was forced to use this impatience at times to push
something he' considered vital through the council, and he did not like
doing so. He felt that the responsibility for major acts should be
carried by a consensus rather than by one councilman who had railroaded
something through purely by the force of his personality or the weight
of his standing. But he had found that if he did not
do this, then the councilmen's impatience, coupled with their native
caution, caused important business to be neglected, while time was
taken up with pork-barrel trivia. Because of the indifference of his
fellow councilmen, he was becoming, against his better judgment and
considerably before his time, a Town Father. As the meeting broke up,
Dr. Frank Mudter reached into an overcoat pocket and pulled out an
enormous pistol. "Will Henry, I don't know if you own a gun, but this
was my daddy's. It's a little rusty, but I expect it'll still shoot
all right." Will Henry and the others had a good laugh over the
pistol. "It's an old Colt 45 Buntline, with a twelve-inch barrel. Wild
Bill Hickock wore one, they say." Will Henry laughed. "Well, Dr.
Frank, I hope you don't think you've got yourself a Wild Bill Hickock."
He weighed the pistol in his hand. "I don't know if I'm strong enough
to carry it for very long, but I guess if the rust is scraped off it'll
weigh a pound or two less. Thank you, Dr. Frank. I'll keep it until
I get a pistol of my own. I guess I need some sort of badge of
authority." Skeeter Willis,poke up. "I reckon I can help out there."
He took a small star-shaped badge from his pocket. "You can wear this
until you get yourself a Delano badge. I've got a catalogue that's got
a lot of police stuff in it. You'll need a lot of things out of that
pretty soon. I'll go over it with you, and we'll make a list. They've
got a salesman comes through Greenville every now and then. I'll send
him down to see you. He'll be glad to get his hands on a new boy."
Will Henry pinned the badge onto his coat and polished it with his
sleeve. "Well, now, Skeeter; I feel real official." "I'll talk to
Hugh about getting you a budget-for some equipment," said Willis, and
he moved off toward Holmes. Will Henry and the doctor left the city
hall together, the long pistol cradled in Will Henry's right hand. He
had almost forgotten about it. As they walked down the short flight of
steps to the sidewalk, a car backfired twice around the cornerin the
square. They reached the curb and stood next to the doctor's car.
Will Henry raised the hand holding the gun and pointed toward the
corner. "You know, Frank, it's occurred to me that we could use one of
those automatic traffic signals at that corner. The traffic is pretty
heavy off the Atlanta highway there, and it seems to me to be a better
use of the city's money to have a light there than to
ONE: Will Henry Lee 33 ;' e me down there waving my arms. One light
could--" Vs he spoke there was a roar and a clatter of a car's engine,
[d around the corner, literally on two wheels, came a large tckard
tourng car. The car straightened, lurched back onto all r wheels, and
roared unsteadily down the street toward them. /tll HenrY stopped
talking, but his arm remained up, pointing and the intersection and the
car. Across the street a Model A la. clster began to back out of a
parking place. The Packard i-med on brakes and veered away from the
backing car, point-ig itself directly toward the doctor and the new
chief of police, to stood, openmouthed, staring at the huge car which
seemed to run them down. Less than a dozen feet from where they as
they were about to jump out of the way, the car to a halt and both
doors on the curb side were thrown As Will Henry stared at the car, a
double barreled shotgun out the door, followed closely by a pistol. Two
verY large, blonde young men stumbled out of the car, their hands in
terror written acrpss their faces. They stood there in the cold
sunlight, staring wide-eyed at the man pointing a huge pi sing their
direction. Into the sudden silence came the sound of silver striking
cement. A large bag of half dollars was spilling ' from the front seat
into the street. Frank Mudter recovered first. "Will Henry," he said
in a whisper, "I think you've made your first arrest." Will Henry
snapped to. He lowered the gun to waist level and slipped his finger
into the trigger guard. ,
"Just stand right there. Don't move." SkeetetWillis was coming
through the door of the dty hall with Hugh Holmes. Holmes had been
explaining that he thought it was a little soon to go asking the
council for more police money. They stopped and stared at Will Henry
and his prisoners.
"Jesus Christ," Skeeter Willis said.
The following few minutes were a jerky montage for Will
Henry. There was Skeeter snapping handcuffs on the two young men;
Holmes leading the party around to the bank, w, here two large holes
were discovered in the front window; the staff still
: lying on the cold marble floor, two of them (one a man) weeping;
and Holmes, while the two young men were being securely cuffed to a
water pipe in the next room, conducting an ira promptu city-council
meeting during which motions were swiftly adopted authorizing an
addition to the new firehouse for
CHI II
police headquarters and an expenditure o a $35o for ire arm handcuffs,
uniforms, and other essential police equipment.
Before Will Hem had ull come to terms with this situation, he was faced
with another: that of explaining to Carrie all that had happened. He
did not relish the thought.
ONE: Will Henry Lee
"THEY WERE BROTHERS. Their name was O'Brien." Will Henry looked
carefully at Carrie, who was seated across the kitchen table, staring
out the window. She had been just as quiet when he had told his story
as she had been earlier, in the car. "They'd got liquored up on New
Year's Eve over at Thomaston, that's where they're from, and they stole
the Packard from in front of the country club. As a joke, seemed to
me. They ran around all night with some girls, and when-hey sobered up
they were afraid to take the car back. They gotlrunk again, spent all
their money with a bootleggerin Yatesville, and they were between here
and Woodbury when they had a flat tire. When they got the trunk open
to get the jack out, they found the
: shotgun and two pistols, and they decided to stick up somebody and
just keep going. They look like redneck farm boys to me, and I guess
they were tired of it."
"What happened to the girls?" It was the first time she had spoken,
and he took the show of interest as a recovery from some, kind of
shock.
"They took them home before daylight." He paused to wait for a
reaction. She nodded as if she were satisfied that the girls hadn't
been involved. He continued, "The shotgun wasn't even loaded. I doubt
if they even bothered to look. When they got to Delano, first place
they saw was the bank, it being on the corner.
They just walked right in and told everybody to stick 'em up. The
oldest one, J'mlmy--he had the shotgun--he climbed over the teller's
bars and emptied the cash drawers into a sack, a moneybag from an
Atlanta bank. They took two other bags that were already full and
walked out. Never even looked at the vault, which was wide open and
had about forty thousand dollars in it. As they walked out the door,
Danny, the young one, turned around and fired two shots through the
front window into the ceiling, and everybody inside hit the floor
pretty quick. Then they drove around the corner, and there we were. I
was showing Frank Mudter something, pointing with the gun, I guess, and
they thought I was pointing it at them. Well, anyway, we got them, and
everybody in town except Frank Mudter thinks I'm a hero. I don't like
that much, but Frank's right, the alternative is for everybody in town
to think I'm a helpless fool who got lucky, which isn't too far wrong,
I guess. But if I'm to go on being chief I'm going to have to live
with being the fearless hero." He laughed. "Even Skeeter was
impressed, although he didn't let it get in his way when it came time
to question the boys. I'm glad he was there, though, o'I guess they'd
still be handcuffed to that pipe. Hugh Holmes got a motion passed real
quick to build a jailhouse onto the fire. station."
He stopped abruptly, realizing that he was talking very fast. Carrie
got up and went to the big wood stove and stirred something. "i
suppose you're the chief now," she said. "I think I had hoped to talk
you out of it, to find something else for you to do, but after this I'd
have the whole town against me." She stirred slowly for a moment.
"I'll try and get used to it, Will Henry. But
I want you to make me a promise."
"All right."
"I want you to promise me that you'll always be real, real careful,
that every time you see something coming on that could be. dangerous
even a little, that you'll think about Billy and Eloise and me, and
that you'll do everything you can to be careful. Will you promise me
that?"
"Yes, I promise. I'm not fool enough to want to get hurt, Car-tie.
I'm not William $. Hart against the badmen, and I hope you believe that
I'll always think about you and the children."
She smiled for the first time that day. He went to her and kissed her
on the cheek. She smiled. "Now get out of here and let me set the
table for your dinner."
Will Henry stepped out the back door, aware now that Billy and Eloise
had been playing in the back yard while he and Carrie had talked in the
kitchen. He looked up' to see Eloise, her hands up and her back
against a tree. Perhaps six feet from her stood Billy, the Buntline
revolve ring his two small hands, pointing at Eloise's head. "The only
good Indian is a dead Indian/' he was saying. He had a thumb around
the hammer and was cocking the pistol. Will Henry's first reaction was
to scream as loudly as he could at Billy, but in a small part of a
second he realized that Billy might jerk the trigger and that Carrie,
in the kitchen, would hear him and come to see what was the matter.
Instead, he spread his hands and clapped them together once, as loudly
as he could. Billy's head jerked around. He dropped the pistol as if
it had suddenly become hot and stood, wide-eyed, looking at his father.
The Buntline lay on the ground, still cocked, still pointing in
Eloise's direction. Will Henry strode down the steps and across the
yard and picked up the pistol. Billy seemed to be trying to speak, but
nothing came out. Will Henry eased the hammer down, opened the
retaining piece and turned the cylinder slowly as Billy watched. There
were cartridges in all six chambers. He shook the cartridges out into
his hand and put them into his pocket. Then he stuck the pistol into
his belt, grabbed Billy by an upper arm, and spun him around, hitting
him across the buttocks hard, once, with his open hand. He spun the
boy around again. Tears were streaming down his face, .afid he was
trembling violently. Angry as he was, Will Henry could not bring
himself to chastise the boy further. After all, he himself had left
the pistol, fully loaded and in plain view, on a straight-back chair in
the living room, on top of his coat. "Take your sister around to the
front of the house," he said in a loud whisper. "Wash your face under
the spigot and wait out front until you're called to your dinner. Don't
you say a word about this to your mother, and don't you be crying when
you come in." He forced himself to relax a little, to look less angry,
to let the child know that it was all right now. "Go on," he said. As
the children scurried around to the front yard, Will Henry walked
quickly to the tool shed at the back of the lot. Inside he found a
rusty pair of pliers. He twisted the lead from all six cartridges and
emptied the powder charge onto the dirt floor. He rummaged around
until he found a chisel and a ball peen ham met. He placed the pistol
in the bench vise and locked it. Then he chipped at the firing spur on
the hammer until it broke off, rendering the weapon useless. He put
the pistol back into his belt, gathered the empty shell casings and the
lead, took them around back of the shed, and mixed them with the
contents of the garbage can. Then he leaned against the back of the
shed and vomited.
Later, as they ate their midday meal, each quiet with his own thoughts,
Will Henry said, "That pistol Frank Mudter gave me is too old-fashioned
to be any good to anybody, so I broke off the firing part of the hammer
to make it harmless. Billy, why don't you clean the rust off it, and
we'll keep it as a souvenir."
He smiled at the boy, and the boy smiled back.
Booc ors: Will Henry Lee 9
WILL HENRY left the louse after his midday meal and walked up the hill
to Broad Street. He turned left and started toward the corner where
Broad met Main Street, where the bank was. He had to pass a number of
stores on the way, and he was nervous about it. He knew that word of
the arrest that morning would surely have got around by this time; he
began to wish the incident had never happened. As he approached the
hardware store, he saw Ralph McKibbon, the owner, standing out front
talking to a rrm. "Hey, Chief!" Will Henry winced. McKibbon came
over and punched him playfully in the ribs. "I hear you really took
care of those bank robbers this morning! Whole town's talking about
it! Why, you've only been chief a couple of hours, and everybody feels
safer already!" Will Henry mumbled something, smiled as best he could,
dnd continued on toward the corner, receiving greetings and
congratulations from three more people on the way. He stopped outside
the bank and looked at the window. A man was nailing boards over the
broken glass. He walked inside. "Why, Mr. Lee! Or I guess I should
say, Chief Lee." Miss Bessie Simmons, the teller, was smiling broadly
from her cage. "I sure do want to thank you for catching those awful
men this morning." "Well, Miss Bessie, I just wish we could have done
something
to stop them before they scared you so bad."
Harold Bowen, the clerk, came over. "Just get me a pistol, that's what
I told Mr. Holmes. Just get me a pistol, and we won't have that kind
of trouble no more. I could have shot both of them dead this morning."
Will Henry remembered that Harold had been lying on the floor weeping,
when he had come into the bank after the robbery.
"Harold, I don't think those boys would have shot anybody even
accidentally. They were drunk, but they weren't killers. They just
shot those holes in the window to scare you. They were so scared
themselves when we caught them that they seemed almost relieved. I
think this thing this morning was just a kind of fluke. But if it ever
happens again, you do just what you did this morning. It's no use
getting killed for a few hundred dollars of somebody else's money."
"Well, it's our duty to protect folks' money here. They put it in the
bank and they expect it to be safe. We need a pistol or two around
here, that's what we need."
"What did you do with those two boys, Chief Lee?" Miss Bessie asked.
"Skeeter Willis took them up to the county jail. The council has voted
to build us a jail onto the new firehouse here, so we'll be able to
handle it if something like this happens again. Matter of fact, I'm
due over there in a minute to talk to Mr. Holmes and Skeeter about it.
Just wanted to see if everything was all right here."
He excused himself and crossed the street toward where the new
firehouse was being built behind the city hall. There was a sound of
hammering and sawing as he approached. He walked through a
half-completed doorway and looked at what was being built. There was a
large garage for the engine and three rooms and a bathroom with a
showerin the back. It seemed adequate, even comfortable, for the one
fuil-time fireman, Jimmy Riley, and his group of volunteers. The plan
was to have a siren on top of a pole outside the firehouse. When a
fire was reported, Jimmy would switch on the siren, and the volunteers,
all of whom lived or worked less than two blocks away, would come
running. Will Henry wondered what he would do if he ever needed help.
It was something else to discuss with Holmes. He heard a car pull up
outside. Holmes and Skeeter Willis came in together. Holmes called
the building foreman over, and they walked around to the
one: Will Henry Lee 4z II ide of the building. He indicated the piece
of ground between the firehouse and he back door of city hall. "I
thought this would be a good place to build. The city owns a few feet
more frontage on this side than on the other. Will Henry, have you
given any thought to what you're going to need here?" "I've got one or
two ideas, but I think we ought to ask Skeeter what he thinks about it.
He's the only man I know with his own jail." Skeeter grinned. 'ou got
a real smart chief here, Hugh; knows when to ask the advice of his
sheriff. That won't last long, though. He'll know it all before
long." "Well, Skeeter," said Will Henry, "I guess we better get our
money's worth out of you while we can. You'll be back up in Greenville
tomorrow, sleeping next to that potbellied stove, and we won't see you
in Delano again until next election." "That's exactly what I'm going
to do, boy, after I give you the benefit of my experience. I'm going
to let you take care of the trash down here." He pOinted to-the rear
of the new building. "Hugh, I'd make the jail just as deep as the
firehouse, but maybe not as wide. Will Henry don't have. to get a
fire engine in it. I'd put four cells back there at the back, about
eight by eight apiece. That may sound like a lot, but the first rowdy
Saturday night you have you'll wish you had more. Now, you want a
flush toilet and a sink in every one of them, for two reasons. First
of all, you don't want to put your brand new chief to work carrying
slop jars right off, and second, if you get anybody mean in there, ad
you will 'ventually, you don't want to have to open the cell door any
more than you have to. That's basic security. Once you got 'em in
there, keep 'em in there. Now, some of these things might sound like
they're extravagant, Hugh, but they're not. Once you build this
jailhouse, nobody is going to want to hear about doing anything to it
until it falls down all by itself. If you do it right the first time,
it'll last you a long time. You do it wrong, and you'll have people
busting out of it, and you'll have some ladies' group or other down on
you for conditions. Believe me, I know whaf I'm talking about."
Holmes nodded. "I see your point, Skeeter. What else?" "Well you're
going to need a window in every cell, 'cause in about a month after
it's built this jailhouse is going to smell just exactly like every
other jailhouse in the United States, and it's
going to need air. Remember, your officers spend just about as much
time here as your prisoners. You're going to need a drain in every
cell, so washing down the floors will be easy, and I'd put two
double-decker bunks in every cell." "You'd put four men in an
eight-by-eight cell, Skeeter?" Will Henry was surprised. "I'm talking
about the minimum, Will Henry. If you want to, you can make 'em
bisger. Two of 'em anyway. Your prisoners are only going to be
short-timers, fellows waiting to be tried or sent to Greenville or the
county camp. You don't have to pamper 'em. Something else, though.
I'd partition one of the cells off from the others, because sooner or
later you're going to get a woman or two in here, and you'll even get a
white woman now and then. If you want to keep the place quiet, you
have to be able to keep 'em separate from the men." He moved to the
front of the lot. "Now you'll need a kind of office, and you better
make it pretty big, 'cause you'll have to work and keep records in
there. I'd make it as wide as the building, except for room for a
corridor back to the cells. Then you'll need a waiting room up front
that's as wide as the building. Somebody is always waiting in a
jailhouse, and you don't want 'em in your working area, where you've
got files and records and weapons around. You need some benches in
there, but don't make it too comfortable. You don't want folks waiting
around too long." "That's roughly what I thought wourd do, Skeeter,"
said Will Henry, "but bigger. I think you're right, though. I'd like
to have a sort of window with a counter between the office and the
waiting room." "Good idea. I've found it's better to have something,
a desk or a counter or something, between you and the public Makes
things a little more official. Might be a good idea to have a little
window in the wall between you and the firehouse, too. You're both
going to be shorthanded, and you can cover each other's phones that
way. Make sure, too, Hugh, that you have separate numbers for the two
things. Nothing worse for folks than having a busy telephone when they
want to get through to you." "I think that window would be good for
the city," said Holmes. "And Idus Bray will like the idea of two
phones. I think we can get this general plan approved on the wave of
enthusiasm over our chief's first day in office." "Another thing,
Hugh," said Skeeter. "You ought to pass
of ONE: Will Henry Lee 43 i ome sort of motion giving Will Henry the
authority to deputize. He's by himself here, and he's going to need
help from time to time." He turned to the new chief. "Will Henry, I'm
going to deputize you as a deputy sheriff, the way I have the other
chiefs at Warm Springs and Manchester and the rest. That way you won't
have to get me out of bed if you want to chase somebody past the city
limits. But be careful how you use the authority. Keep it within the
limits of official investigations of crimes committed inside the city
limits, otherwise you're crossing onto my territory. Raise your right
hand. Do you promise to uphold the laws of Meriwether County and the
State of Georgia and to do your duty and to wash your face and hands
every day and behind your ears where you're still wet and to be a good
boy in general. Will Henry started to speak. "Good. You're a deputy.
Holmes is a witness." "Has your wife made the speech yet?" Will Henry
and Skeeter were alone at the jail site. Holmes had returned to the
bank.
"What speech?" "l'he one about being careful and not getting
killed."
"Oh, well, yes."
"She's right, Will Henry. You can get killed real easy in your job,
and you can get hurt bad even easier." Skeeter squinted off into the
distance. "I've been sheriff of Meriwether County for eight years, and
I've had one deputy killed and one nearly 'bout killed, beat up so bad
he'll never do a man's work again. But nobody's ever laid a hand on
me, personally. You want to know why? ..... Will Henry nodded.
Skeeter was standing with his consider able weight on his left foot,
the one nearest Will Henry, his hands on his hips. Will Henry was
standing with his legs apart and his hands shoved into his hip pockets.
Skeeter pivoted on his left foot and drove his right forearm hard into
the upper part of Will Henry's abdomen. Will Henry emitted a loud
grunt and sat down, hard, on the grass. He sat there, dazed, gasping
for breath. Skeeter squatted in front of him and peered into his face
concernedly. "That hurt, didn't it." Will Henry nodded, 'till trying
for breath. "Now, right now, at this particular moment,
you don't feel like getting up and doing that to me, do you?" Will
Henry shook his head. "In a minute or two you will, but right now all
you want to do is hold your belly and get your breath."
Will Henry weighed 180 pounds, but Skeeter reached under his
arms and lifted him to his feet like a child.
"I'm sorry I had to do that, Will Henry, but I could explain that to
you for a week, and you wouldn't get it. There's two things: first,
you've got to always be ready for somebody to try to do that to you,
'or worse, and somebody will try, believe me. Let's say you stop a
fellow for speeding. He might be the nicest, friendliest fellow you
ever saw when you walk up to him, but you don't know what he's got in
that car. He might have a trunk full of white lightning or a back seat
full of some bank's money. If you don't know him, watch him. If you
expect a fellow to hit you or shoot you, chances are he won't get to.
Second point is, don't ever take no crap from anybody, and if you have
to hit a man, hit him hard enough so you only have to do it once. Don't
you ever, ever let yourself get in a fight with a man. Your job is to
stop fights, not get in 'em. The way to stop a man fighting is to fix
him so he can't fight. After you've stopped one or two fights that way
you'll be able to stop a lot of 'em just by speaking to 'em. If you're
going to get in that position you have to keep an edge all the time."
He reached behind him and pulled out a small blackjack. "This is an
edg. It's got lead inside and leather on the outside, and you can hit
a man on the head with it almost anywhere except the temples, hit him
hard and not do him any permanent damage. And for a minute or two you
can put the cuffs on him or get him in a car or a cell without any
problem."
Skeeter set Will Henry, who was still having trouble breathing, on a
nail keg and pulled one up for himself. "I know it seems unfair to hit
a man with a blackjack when he isn't holding anything himself, but
you've got to get a new idea of what being fair is. I've got a
reputation in this county for being tough and fair. It gets me
reelected every four years, and believe' me if wasn't tough I'd never
get a chance to be fair. Do you understand me, Will Henry?"
"Yes," said Will Henry, finally drawing enough breath to speak.
"Another thing. Don't ever threaten anybody. Don't ever say to a man,
"You come with me, or I'll hit you with this blackjack." If he's a
problem, hit him, and he'll come with you. If you're always ready to
hit a man first, then you'll almost never have to draw a pistol, let
alone use it. Now, I've heard some peace officers say that you
shouldn't draw your gun unless you're going to use it. Well, that
sounds tough, but it's stupid. You can threaten
ONR: Will Henry Lee man with a gun, that's common sense. You pull it
out and you point it at his head and you cock it, and he'll do pretty
much what you tell him. Something else about the blackjack; it's
official. If you pick up a two-by-four and hit a nigger with it, he'll
hold a grudge and be a problem to you forever. But if you hit him with
a blackjack--when he deserves it--well, that's official to a nigger; he
figures you're just doing a job."
Skeeter paused for a moment. "Now, about guns. I've pulled my gun a
dozen or fifteen times in eight years, and I've fired it at a man
twice. Killed 'em both. One of 'em was about to try to kill me with a
pistol, and I didn't bat an eye; I just shot him. The other one was
running from me, and I told him to halt, and he wouldn't, and I shot
him. I didn't mean to kill the second one, just bring him down. I was
aiming at the seat of his pants, but I hit him in the small of his back
and cut his spine." He lookedavay. "I didn't lose any sleep over the
first one; it was me or him. The second one hadn't done much, though,
just stole some fires from a filling station, but he was trying to
escape and would have if I hadn't shot him. F guess I didn't feel too
good about either one of them. I can't give you much advice about when
to shoot at a man, Will Henry, un. less he's trying to kill you.
You'll have to work that out by yourself. But I'll tell you this,
you'd better work it out in your mind right now, 'cause when the time
comes you won't have time to think about it."
Will Henry's breath was coming more easily now; he stood up and filled
his lungs. "Well, thanks for the advice, Skeeter. If I ever recover
my health enough to use it, it ought t.come in real handy."
"I'm just giving you the little lecture I give when I get a new deputy.
You'd be surprised the way some of 'em act as soon as they get a badge
on. I have to pick 'em real careful." Skeeter traced some obscure
pattern in the dirt with a toe. "I wouldn't have picked you, Will
Henry. If Holmes had asked my advice I'd of told him to find somebody
else."
Will Henry was stung. "You think I'd push people around?" "Oh, no,
no, no. That's not why I wouldn't of pickea you. Just the reverse. I
don't know if you've got it in you to be hard enough. I think you're
likely to hesitate when the time comes. That'll breed disrespect, and
word'll get around. You won't be able to keep things straight. And
when that happens, Carrie's going to have good reason to worry.
Somebody' Il kill you, Will
Henry, as sure as you're standing there."
They were both silent for a moment. It occurred to Will Henry that
this must be one of the most solemn moments of his life. Skeeter
Willis, with patent sincerity, was giving him the most earnest possible
advice, based on knowledge and experience. The man was trying the very
best he knew how to help him survive the work he had chosen to do. Will
Henry was moved.
"Skeeter, I understand you, and I'll try to remember what you've told
me. I reckon if I don't die in bed it won't be your fault. Thank
you."
Skeeter heaved a deep sigh and nodded. He patted Will Henry's shoulder
heavily a couple of times, gave him a small smile, and walked away
toward his car.
Will Henry stopped in front of the house and looked at it. Although
chilled from the walk home, he felt compelled to pause and reflect. The
night was dear and very cold, even though it was not much past six. The
rising moon gave the white frame house a luminous quality. It looked
secure and inviting. He still felt somewhat disoriented. Only the day
before he had left the house he was born in, left a country life,
changed irrevocably his existence. The farm was receding into the pa
stat an astonishing rate; it surprised him to feel, standing in front
of this strange house, that he had arrived home. Inside, his wife was
preparing a supper she had not grown or picked or plucked. His children
would get up tomorrow morning and walk as hort distance to school, and
afterwards would play with other children who lived only a few yards
away. Tomorrow, his work would allow him to walk on pavement in shoes
he normally wore only on Sundays. People would seek him out with their
problems, or simply pass the time of day. People. He would see more
people in a day than he normally saw in ten. He had a place, a
position in other people's lives, for the first time. He would not
disappoint them.
In one short day he had single-handedly captured two armed bank robbers
in a manner that, if anyone other than Frank Mud-ter ever found out
about it, he would never live down; he had almost seen his son kill his
daughter with a pistol he himself had left loaded and within reach; and
he had been knocked on his ass by the sheriff of Meriwether County. It
was less than an auspicious beginning, but it was, by God, a new
beginning.
He climbed the steps and went inside.
Will Henry Lee
HOLMES cloed thefrbnt door and card, fully hung his coat in the hall
closet.
"Hugh?" The call ca.e from upstairs. "Is that you?" "Yes, Ginny, I'm
home." He heard her start for the stairs, and he waited in the
entrance hall for her. He kissed her on the lips as she reached him,
and they went into the small sitting room together. They had only
recently completed the red-brick colonial house, and already they
gravitated to war the "den," as Virginia called it, instead of the more
formal living room, witch was kept for occasions when company called.
The den was oak-paneled and leathery, and in winter Virginia always had
a fire going in the little fireplace by the time he arrived home. Here,
too, was kept their dark secret. In a cupboard which was part of a
bookcase, concealed by a door onto which was glued a row of book
spines, rested a bottle of bourbon whiskey, one of Scotch, one of very
good cognac, and a bottle of very dry sherry. Holmes had made the
cupboard himself after the builders had departed. Neither he nor
Virginia ever touched the whiskey or brandy. Fhose were kept for
civilized and trusted visitors, none of whom had as yet appeared. But
Holmes knew that, surely, the day would come when he would want to
offer a man a drink, and he would be ready.
The cupboard was the only receptacle in a Meriwether
County home which had been consciously constructed for the storage of
alcoholic beverages, secret spirits usually residing in a cellar or
out-of-the-way kitchen cupboard. Alcohol was a religious issue in
Delano, and there were many people who held the belief that a man could
not both drink whiskey and call himself a Christian. Although he had
been brought up in an abstemious home, Holmes could see no logic in
this viewpoint. He and Virginia had traveled widely in the United
States and seen respectable people imbibing in hotels and restaurants
without debauchery. The summer before, in London, on their first trip
abroad, they had gone to Rule's, the famous restaurant in Covent
Garden, and Holmes had impulsively asked the wine waiter to recommend a
good half-bottle of wine. He had also accepted a recommendation of
sherry before the meal. He and Virginia had returned to Brown's Hotel
slightly tipsy, had had the best night in bed of their eight-year
marriage, and had smuggled a bottle of sherry home.
Although the Eighteenth Amendment would not be declared officially
ratified until later that same month and would not go into effect for
another year, a nan in Holmes's position did not buy liquor openly.
Instead, once a month, a small, extremely well-dressed young man in a
large Pierce Arrow called at the Holmes residence after dark, filled a
modest order, accepted cash in payment, and continued on his merciful
rounds.
Holmes poured them both asherry and sank into the leather sofa. He did
not come home for "dinner," as most men did. He had a sandwich at his
desk and worked. Virginia prepared a three-course meal for the
evening--they had dinner later than other people---and they shared half
a bottle of wine with it. When he arrived home at night, the day's
news was fresh between them, and they always had plenty to talk
about.
"You heard about the bank robbery and the arrest."
"Yes, in great detail, at least four times this afternoon."
"I swear, Ginny, it was the best thing that could possibly have
happened right at this time."
"You mean you'reglad the bank was robbed?"
"Oh, no, not that, although it will teach us to be a little more
prepared for that sort of thing. What it's done is made this whole
chief-of-police situation so much easier to handle. We got a motion to
build a police station through the council just like that, and I think
we'll get a police car through next meeting."
ONI' Will Henry Lee "Even Idus Bray went along?" "Went along! He
was leading the charge! I've never seen him excited about anything!
Will Henry handled the thing real too. Naturally, he was surprised,
and I could tell he was but he stopped that car and arrested those two
boys just us cool as you please. You know, I probably wouldn't have
Will Henry to have that job if there had been any kind of real choice,
if there had been an experienced man available. Skeeter Willis still
has a lot of reservations about him, I think, this thing real well, and
he's anxious to get Skeeter's advice about everything. He may not know
much about being a policeman yet, but at least he knows he doesn't know
much. Thank the Lord for that. Can you imagine what somebody like
Foxy Funderburke would be like in that job?" They talked on for a
while, then Virginia excused herself to finish cooking dinner. Holmes
felt the sherry warming him and stretched out on the sofa, groaning
with fatigue and pleasure. He closed his eyes and felt a sense
of-egmpletion. With the new fire department and the appointment of the
chief of police, he felt that the town had reached a milestone, that it
now had the organization and staffing and equipment, that it needed.
The paving of the central streets, the waterworks, the telephone
exchange had all been milestones. There were dozens of other things
they would need in the future, but for the moment, everything seemed
complete. Holmes dozed. Unlike Will Henry and Carrie Lee, who had
grown [ortlessly into what they were, like healthy plants, the prod
'ffcts of long and provincially selective breeding, Hugh Holmes had
designed and constructed himself, brick by plank by nail. He was a
farmer's son, too, but his father, who had been born to a starving
sharecropper's family, had had only his own shrewdness, industry, and
sense of timing to help him extract a prosperous farm and cotton gin
from the shambles of Reconstruction. He had passed on to the young
Hugh the notion of the self-made man, the idea that he could decide
what he wanted to do and then do, it. Holmes took the idea quite
literally, and he began with one or two attributes which would be of
great help. In addition to a remarkable native intelligence, nature
had given Holmes a rare physical presence. He was six feet five inches
tall and might have been thought of as Lincolnesque, if his posture had
not been so erect. From his early teens he towered over everyone he
met; indeed, he did not meet a man taller than himself until he was
thirty, and the experience depressed him for a week. He learned early
to use his height with subtlety and effectiveness, when to slump into a
chair and when to rise and look down. To his imposing height was added
the distinct advantage of early maturity. Grayness tinted his hair at
nineteen, and his features had been large and craggy even before that,
lending him an air of thoughtfulness and wisdom. Holmes decided early
that he wanted a careerin business, specifically, in banking. He
realized that banks were at the heart of every business transaction of
any consequence, that they held the power to move a community or a
state, perhaps even a country. He knew, too, that a good bank was a
highly efficient intelligence-gathering organization, and he liked the
idea of having a special knowledge of what was going on. He believed
that with such knowledge and with access to capital he could achieve
whatever he wanted. There was not, however, a megalomaniacal bone in
Holmes's body. He did not wish to be J. P. Morgan. He wished to be a
big fish in a small pond and to gaer to himself just enough power to
shape his own destiny and that of the pond he chose. He wished to
travel, to learn, to experience many things in the world, and he knew
if he went into a big city bank he would have to devote all of his
energies to climbing the business ladder and to surviving in
intramural, political warfare. He did not doubt that he could excel in
such circumstances, but they were not circumstances to his liking.
Hugh Holmes had constructed a set of circumstances exactly to his
liking, and, at the time of Will Henry Lee's escape from the farm, at
the end of 99, those circumstances were the Bank of Delano. They were
achieved with a combination of hard work, intelligence, and a stroke of
luck, to which he had applied a finely developed sense of opportunism
and a willingness to take, under the right circumstances, a major
personal risk. The first time Holmes had seen Delano, or rather, the
place where Delano would soon be, was more than ten years before. He
was the cashier at the Farmers and Merchants Bank at Woodbury, some
twelve miles north, when on a Sunday afternoon he took the train to
Warm Springs for a Sunday School Union picnic. Warm Springs was a
prosperous and fashionable resort, attracting people from all over the
South to bathe in the naturally warm
from: Will Henry Lee 5 '
and listen to music and lectures at the Meriwether Inn. It also a
favorite spot in the county for church outings, and wa with a party of
thirty who took the M&B to Warm
The Macon and Birmingham Railroad was misnamed, since it not reach
either Macon or Birmingham. The local name, Mule Wagon, was more
appropriate, owing to the slow speed at the trains traveled. On this
occasion, the train stopped for at a country tank, and after a few
minutes it was an-ced that there would be as hort delay due to
mechanical and that passengers were encouraged to stretch their The
whistle would blow when the train was ready once again. ' Holmes got
down from the train and looked about. They were tlin a pine
forest--mostly young trees, but a few older, taller ones. was a
generous scattering of oaks and elms, as well, and the place was cool
on a hot day. He strolled aimlessly away from he train into the woods,
enjoying the scented air and the carpet of pine needles underfoot.
Shortly, h came to a large clearing and was surprised to see a very
new, white Cadillac touring car parked there. Three men, their dusters
and goggles draped over a fender, stood talking, occasionally referring
to a map and pointing in one direction or another. Holmes approached
the group. "Good day to you, Gentlemen." The men responded. "I'm a
little bit surprised to see a big car like that so far off the beaten
track." The shortest of the three men spoke up. "Wellit's only about
a hundred yards through the trees there to the Atlanta highly. There
used to be a sawmill here, and there's an old road to the highway."
Holmes remembered that the train had just traveled under a rickety
wooden bridge. The man stuck out his hand. "My name is Thomas
Delano." Holmes recognized the name immediately. Delano, after as hort
but successful career as a merchant, was becoming something of a tycoon
in the textile business, based in Atlanta, but having mills in three
smaller towns nearby. "This is Mr. Bill $menner, of the M&B Railroad,
and Mr. $vensen, a visitor from Norway, who is doing some surveying
for us."
"I'm Hugh Holmes, from Woodbury." "You the cashierin the bank over
there?" Holmes registered surprise. "Oh, I do a little business over
there, as you know." Holmes had had no idea that Delano had business
in the county.
Delano exchanged a glance with Smenner. He turned bak to Holmes. "You
might be interested in what we're up to here, Mr. Holmes." "Well, it
looks like kind of a lonesome plae to put a cotton mill." "It may look
that way, now, but in two years it won't. We're going to bufid a town
here, Mr. Holmes. Have a look at Mr. Svensen's plan." He spread the
map out over the hood of the Cadillac and pointed out various features.
"As you can see, this is the spot where the M&B and the
Atlanta-Columbus highway cross. That's pretty good transportation
access to start with. I'm going to build a mdem cotton mill right
here, and Mr. Smenner has derided--you don't mind my mentioning it,
Bill?--he's going to put the new repair shops for the M&B right up
there, about where the water tower is. The two to ether will be a fine
base of employment for a town." Holmes was impressed. "What will you
do for a water supply? Or will you have folks di88-ing their own
wells.:"' "No, sir. There's a spring up on that mountainside over
there that's got a flow rate that would supply a city of a much greater
size than we're plannin . We'll have a modern waterworks and a
sewerage system, too, and we're going to pave the business district and
four residential streets first thing." Holmes noticed he was breath
in8 faster. "What method of financing all this will you be using?"
"We're forming the Delano Development Corporation--the town will be
called Delano; I'm not bashful about things like that. Our initial
capitalization' will be one hundred thousand dollars. Mr. Smenner and
I will participate personally in that, in addition to our capital
expenditure on the mill and rail shops, and we'll be inviting a limited
number of other gentlemen to invest, men who have the personal
resources and the kind of business experience to help the town grow.
We're going to have a barbecue here on this spot the fifteenth of next
month and sell three hundred residential lots for seventy-five dollars
each and fifty business lots at two hundred dollars. Folks will pay
their money in advance, and then there'll be a drawing for locations.
The corporation will retain ownership of all the other prospective
residential and business property until such time as it feels more
should be sold." Holmes was quiet. Delano was watching him closely.
"It would be the finest investment a young man could make, Mr.
orB: Will Henry Lee It would be an investment with a future, and it
would getting in on the ground floor. At this moment no more a dozen
men know about this, but our commitments are Mr. Holmes. This is
going to happen." The train whistle
"Mr. this sounds like idea to me.
Delano,
very interesting Could I get in touch with you at your Atlanta office?"
Holmes B shook hands with the three men and turned to leave. Delano
stopped him. "Mr. Holmes---Hugh, if I may call you that--I've already
made proper application to the secretary of state for a bank charter,
and I expect it to be granted shortly. This bank is going to have the
mill and the railroad as depositors fight off, and it's going to need
the right man to run it. I've heard some good things about you, and
I'd be interested in talking to you about it. There would be an
opportunity for investment, and a chance for more later. Why don't you
think about it for a day or two, then come see me in Atlanta?" I'll be
in touch with you before t-e week is out, if that's all fight, Mr.
Delano." "That's fine." They shook hands again, and Holmes hurried
back to his train. The picnic at Warm Springs passed in a blur, and he
did not sleep that night. The next morning he telephoned a man in
Athens who had previously made him an offer for his recently deceased
father's farm and cotton-ginnning business and named a price. After
the usual haggling, the man met it. Within the week he had invested
ten thousand dollars in-'he Delano Development Corporation. The
following month he went to the barbecue on the Delano site and bought a
residential lot and a business lot. He drew the land on Upper Third
Street, where he would later build his house and the lot at the
intersection of Main Street and the Atlanta highway, where the bank
would be built. He suspected that he had been more than lucky in the
draw, but he did not question it. Before the day was out, he bought
two more business lots, one adjacent to his own, for three hundred
dollars each from men who found a fast hundred-dollar profit more
interesting than a long haul in a new town. He also renewed an old
acquaintance with a prosperous farmer named Idus Bray and agreed to put
up twenty-five percent of the capital in the new telephone company Bray
was to build. He reached agreement with Thomas Delano on the bank. He
would
own forty~ nine percent of the stok and supply that proportion of the
capital, In five years he could buy the two percent that would give him
control, and Delano would sell the remainder of the stock to loal
investors. By the end of the day, he had committed all but two
thousand dollars of his inheritance and savings. Still, two thousand
dollars cash, three business lots, a residential lot, twenty-five
percent of a telephone ompany, forty-nine percent of a bank, and ten
percent of the Delano Development Corporation onstitoted an e
traordinary collection of holdings for a man of thirty-four years, even
if his holdings were mostly paper. He was very pleased with himself.
And as he responded to Virginia's call to dinner, he was more pleased
with himself than at any time since that day.
i BOOK ONlg-' Will Henry Lee
TWO WEEKS PASSED. work on the-'new jail moved rapidly along, now that
the firehouse was finished. HoLmes got the authorization of the coundl
to buy a good secondhand car for the police department. A two-year-old
Ford was found, and a clerk at Ralph McKibbon's hardware store painted
Delano Police on both front doors in white paint. Will Henry began to
establish a routine of sorts. When the stores opened at eight o'clock,
he would make a slow tour of Main Stree,t, speaking to those store
owners he saw, and being seen by the others, just in case anyone had
any loss or complaint to report. He would then go to the post office,
collect any police mail and take it to the city hall, where, in Willis
Greer's office, he would sort the various bulletins and wanted posters
which came in. He would have a cup of coffee at about ten with a small
group of merchants and businessmen who gathered every day at the Delano
Drug Company's soda fountain to exchange gossip and opinions. He
figured that if there were any dissatisfaction with the way he was
doing the chief's job, he would hear about it at these daily meetings
before it got to be a problem.
After coffee he would make a slow tour of the whole town, "showing the
flag" on every street in both black and white sections. Sometimes he
would stop and chat with someone, and most days he stopped in Smitty's
Grocery Store in Braytown, the
black section unoffidally named after the white man who owned about a
third of the property within its boundaries. Smitty's was the daytime
social center of the black community, and Will Henry would have a cold
drink and chat for a few minutes with Smitty and whoever else happened
to come into the store. He be san to know many of the black people by
name. After leaving Smitty's he would drive to the north side of town
and park the police car in a conspicuous place near the city limits sig
on the Atlanta highway. He did not arrest anyone for speeding. He
wanted the truck drivers and traveling salesmen who drove regularly
from Atlanta to Columbus and back to know that the town now had a
police car, and the sight of the car was enough to slow anybody down.
He stayed at thipost for an hour or so, then drove back to the city
hall to check in before going home for dinner. He spent an hour at
dinner, fifteen minutes of it stretched on the living-room sofa in half
a doze, then made another tour of the town, stopped at the drug store
for an afternoon cup of coffee, and parked near the city-limit sign on
the south side of town, the Columbus side, for an hour. With all this
routine he still had two or three hours of his day to spend looking for
something to do. He passed it at dry hall, making lists of things to
do in the future, or at the firehouse, talking with Jimmy Riley and
checking on the progress of the police station. He felt that when the
building was complete he would not be at such a loss as to how to spend
his time. After supper each night, just before bedtime, he drove to
Main Street, parked the car, checked all the front door locks on all
the stores, then got back into the car and made another quick tour of
the
One rainy morning when the police station was nearly finished, a small
man, neatly dressed in a brown tweed suit with a matching brown derby
hat, walked in and introduced himself. "Chief Lee? Thought so." The
man extended a hand which Will Henry found to be as soft as a child's.
"r. T. Brown, National Law Enforcement Equipment Company,
Incorporated. Sheriff Willis said to stop in and see you. Ah, I see
you're making progress with your station. Mind if I have a look
around?" "Go right ahead, Mr. Brown." Will Henry followed him into
the back of the building. "Ah, see you took Skeeter's advice on making
it roomy. Good, good. Oh, that won't do. Got to have a cement floor,
no
ONe: Will Henry Lee bars around a pine floor, you'll have some booger
'em up and getting out of here, see what I mean?" Will ' nodded. He
was embarrassed that he had not thought of floor. "I suppose you're
right about that, Mr. Brown. We'll need o set the bars in, too, I
reckon." "Now, about the bars, Chief, about the bars. You can't go
your local blacksmith make those, you know. Not that he do his best
job, of course. But you need a specially jail bars, and you need the
right locks, too. We make all that up for you at our factory." "Well,
now, I don't have approval from the city council for of expenditure
just yet. I'llm" "Course you don't. Can't be expected to know about
all this irst month on the job. Here, take this end of the tape
measure, and we'll see what you've got. here We'll get you measured
see how many locks and keys you'll need, and I'll get you an estimate
drawn up right away so you cab talk to your coundl. Just back right
along there, Hold it." Hescribbled in a black notebook. "Now, it's
four cells, isn't it? Window in each. No, two against the firehouse
wall. Tell you, though, I'd put a window in the end of the corridor
there. You want as much ventilation as you can get in here. Now,
that's four cells, two with windows, two extra windows; you can get one
in over there, too, and four locks. Tell you, you'll want a door
locking the whole jail area off, too. Basic security, that is. You
going to screen one off for the ladies? That's one extra wall you're
gonna need, too. here, I'll get that typed up in our Atlanta office
and have it down to you all official in a day or two. Phone it in this
evening. We're very quick about these things, Chief Lee, we know the
needs of our Georgia law-enforcement officers, and we don't want the
law waiting to be enforced, do we? No, siree. Now, you'll be wanting
some personal equipment, I expect." "Well, yes. Why don't we go
around to the firehouse where we can sit down? Jimmy'll have some
coffee over there, too." "Fine, Fine. I'll just get my cases out of
the car." The little man hauled two very large leather sample cases
out of his car and deposited them on the firehouse floor. "I'll need a
hand with the trunk. Two hands wouldn't hurt." Will Henry and Jimmy
Riley helped Brown drag a small, extremely heavy, padlocked trunk into
the building. "Thank you, Gentlemen." He began unstrap ping the two
cases. "Now, let's start with some duty clothing. I'd recommend three
changes of uniform, summer and winter. You can get by with two changes
in the winter, but when the hot weather comes in, you're gonna have to
change every day if you're gonna stay looking neat, and that's
important to a law-enforcement officer, of course. I'd say you're a
stock standard forty-two in the chest, am I right?" He whipped out a
tape and measured Will Henry's chest, waist, and trouser length.
"Right, thirty-four in the waist and thirty-one length. My trousers
are all thirty-two in the length, but no doubt your little lady can fix
that up for you. Now, I've got a real handsome uniform tunic here that
goes real well with a white shirt, but I'll admit that most of my
officers are happier with the heavy wool shirt without a tunic. Suits
real good for spring and all, and they wear the pea jacket over it in
the cold weather. What would be your preference, Chief?" Will Henry,
who had not seriously considered the wearing of a uniform, was a bit
taken aback, but he began to feel it would be better to be properly
uniformed. '2 think the shirt should do all right. I expect I can get
by for nw with just two changes, though." "Fine. Now you have your
two shirts and two trousers there. Here, slip into the pea
jacket--that's what they call one something like this in the U.S. Navy,
you know. There, that's a perfect fit if I ever saw one. This is sure
the cold weather for it, ain't it? Now, here's your wet-weather gear."
Within a few minutes Will Henry was standing next to a pile of
clothing that reached his waist, and Brown was opening the padlock on
the trunk. Jimmy Riley, who had been watching the uniform operation in
a kind of trance, gasped. Will Henry reckoned Brown could arm a whole
police force in a bigger town than Delano with what was in the trunk.
Brown took a green felt doth from the trunk and spread it over Jimmy
Riley's firehouse card table. "Now," said Brown, lifting a large,
squarish-looking pistol from the case and polishing it with a corner of
the doth, "here's your latest sidearm, the Colt .45 automatic pistol,
as used by the U.S. Army in the recent European war." He took an
enormous bullet from the trunk. "Fires a piece of metal that will
knock a man flat on his back if it only hits his outstretched hand. A
big wallop."
oldE: Will Henry Lee
Will Henry picked up the pistol and held it gingerly. Brown he had not
yet suited his man to the weapon. He removed pistols, revolvers, from
his trunk and placed them on felt doth. "Two very fine weapons, both
from the house of 32 revolver with a two-inch barrel, excellent piece
for the or the officer who wants to conceal his weapon. Or your
revolver with your four-inch barrel. A fine police sidearm. I
myself, that this pistol will sooner or later become standard most
law-enforcement agencies." Will Henry picked up the istol and pointed
it at a spot on the wall. Then he quickly it down and fumbled for an
entrance to the cylinder. He had enough problems with "unloaded"
pistols. Brown him the mechanism which allowed the cylinder to fall
"I think this might be the best weapon for you, Chief Not as bulky as
the .45, but a lot more impact than the .32. An excellent piece. Now,
you're going to need an extra weapon around here, Chief. If you ever
have to deputize a man you're going to have to arm him. You can't,have
a re, an showing up here with a .22 rifle or a .4o shotgun for police
work. You ever shot much with handguns?"
"Not much." .
going to leave you with a thousand rounds. That may so una like a lot,
but you've got to go out in the country somewhere and practice a lot
with the pistol. Not at all like using a rifle or shotgun. Different
thing entirely. Now, you're going to need at least three pair of
handcuffs. Hear you've already been in a two-cuff situation; handled
it well, too. One key fits 'em all, so you don't have to worry about
keeping track of a pocketful of keys." He held up a small blackjack
similar to the one Skeeter Willis had shown Will Henry. "An officer's
best friend." Brown dove into one of the other cases and came up with
a hoister and belt. "Handcuffs fit right in here; here's a place for a
dozen extra rounds of ammunition; and your billy fits right here. All
your equipment on one belt. Just buckle this on, and let's see how it
fits." It fit.
"Now--"
"Let's see what all this comes to, Mr. Brown." Brown whipped out an
order pad and began writing furiously. "I'm sure you'll find every
item on this list absolutely necessary in time, Chief. I've been
equipping peace officers for twelve years now,
and I can honestly say that I've never over equipped one yet. Now,
let's see. That's two winter uniforms, shirt and trousers, three
summer uniforms--that's first-grade military khaki there, sir--shirt
and trousers, one pea jacket, one winter hat, one summer hat, two black
neckties, one holster and belt with attachments for extra ammunition,
handcuffs, and blackjack, one blackjack, two Colt .38 pistols, three
pair of handcuffs, and one thousand rounds of .38 ammunition. That
comes to exactly three hundred forty-nine dollars and forty-five
cents."
Will Henry looked narrowly at the little man. "Couldn't you think of
anything to spend the other fifty-five cents on?"
Brown grinned. "I always like to see a department come in under
budget." He reached into an inside pocket and withdrew a thin leather
ease. "By the way, Chief. Just as a token of our esteem and
congratulations on your new post, the National Law Enforcement
Equipment Company, Incorporated, would be honored if you'd accept this
little gift." He opened the box and set it on the green felt. Inside
were three badges, large, medium, and small. Each bore the legend
Delano Police Department and the designation Chief. "One'S' for your
shirt, the middle-sized one clips onto your cap, and the little
one"--he took a small leather wallet from his pocket and pinned the
smallest badge into it--"this is for carrying when you're in civilian
clothes. It's gold plated."
Will Henry picked up the order blank and signed it. "Mr. Brown, you
sure come prepared, don't you. TM
"Chief, I know my business, and I know my officers' business. I know
what they need to do the job." He turned to Jimmy Riley. Now, just
let me run out to the car for a minute. I've got a few things you're
going to be needing."
Will Henry gathered his things and left Jimmy Riley to the tender
mercies of T. T. Brown.
Boo ONE: Will Henry Lee 6
SINCE THE NEW policstation was simply being added onto the
already-planned fire station, building proceeded quickly. Will Helary
had been chief for less than a month when it was completed. On the
Saturday night before the Monday when the station was to be officially
open, he and Hugh Holmes were hard at work in the new building. T. T.
Brown's custom-made bars, doors, windows, and locks had arrived during
the week, and their installation ha been completed the day before.
Holmes had purchased a roll-top desk, two filling cabinets, four
straight-backed chairs, a swivel chair, and a hat rack. The cells had
been furnished with wooden bunks, cotton mattresses, and army blankets,
and a large potbellied stove was glowing in the office. Will Henry was
tacking wanted posters to a new bulletin board, and Holmes, his shirt
sleeves rolled up, was sweeping up excelsior, in which the new
furniture had been packed. A man from the telephone company had just
left. The new instrument had been hung on a wall next to a window
opening into the firehouse, so that it could be answered from the other
' side. The telephone rang.
Will Henry put down his box of thumbtacks and answered it.
It was Estelle, the night operator. "Is that you, Mr. Lee? Chief?"
"Yes, Estelle. How're you?"
"I'm just fine, but I've got a lady on the line who's nearly
'bout hysterical. She says there's something terrible happening over
on Maple Street." The streets on the north side of the tracks were all
named after trees. They were lined with nearly identical white houses
built by Thomas Delano to house his work force. "Well, you better
connect her with me, here. You can do that, can't you? I mean, the
phone is all hooked up, isn't it?" " .essir. Here she is." There was
a click, and Will Henry could hear someone breathing irregularly, as if
trying to suppress sobs. "Hello. Hello, this is Will Henry Lee.
Chief Lee. What's the matter?" "Oh, thank God!" a woman's voice
said. "I'm so glad I got hold of you! The operator said there was a
phone in the jail now. I'm so glad you was there." "Yes, I'm here.
Now what's the matter? What's wrong?" The woman continued in a loud
whisper. "You've got to come over here quick. He's going to kill her
this time if you don't get here quick! I can hear him now, and she's
crying again. I--" "Who is this speaking?" "I'm Mrs. Smith. My
husband' is James Smith. I'd send him over there to stop it, but he's
on the night shift at the mill: He's stopped him before." "Stopped
who, Mrs. Smith?" 'hat Butts man next door. He's beating her up
again." "I see. Now you're on Maple Street, is that right? Where is
Maple Street?" "On the corner. The corner of Poplar. They're right
next door, at 'number four. We're number two. Can you come over here
quick? He's going to kill her--" I'll be right there, Mrs. Smith.
Now, you stay away from their house until I get there, you hear? Don't
go in there" He hung up the phone and started to get into his coat.
"Sounds like somebody's beating up a woman ove ring Milltown," he said
to Holmes. Holmes reached for his coat. I'll come with you." They
started for the door. Will Henry stopped. He looked at the gun belt
lying on his desk. He strapped it on and left the building. Will
Henry drove as quickly as he could through the Saturday-night shopping
traffic. "I've got to get a siren for this car," he said, blowing his
horn at a mule and wagon blocking his way.
Boox one: Will Henry Lee "Get it," said Holmes grimly. "I'll fix up
the money." "You know a man named Butts?" "Grady Butts? Works at the
mill?" 'q guess that's the one." "I know his wife, Mary. She saves a
dollar a week at the bank. Never misses a week. Never met him. Don't
think he knows she's putting the money away. She always comes in
alone. Pretty, in a plump sort of way. She's got forty-two dollars in
her account. Forty-two weeks, forty-two dollars." Will Henry wondered
if Holmes had every account at the bank in his head. "A Mrs. Smith
who lives next door to them says it's happened before. The way she
talks you're going to lose a customer unless this damn mule and wagon
gets out of the way." He drove around the wagon, blowing his horn. As
they pulled up in front of the house a woman stepped from behind a tree
and ran to the car. "Oh, hurry! It's getting worse! He's going to
kill her!" They heard the noise of something being knocked over, and
the light against the shades on the front windows of the house changed
its angle slr ply Will Henry ran up the front steps, closely followed
by Holmes. He stopped at the front door. The noise inside had
stopped. He banged on the door. "Open the door! This is the police."
Now he could hear a woman sobbing. "There's no trouble here," a man's
voice said. The words were slurred. "Go on away from here." Will
Henry turned the knob and pushed the door open. The room was
surprisingly neat. Will Henry had expected ash-bles. A worn
three-piece living-room suite occupied most of the room. A cheerful
little fire was burning in the fireplace. Through a door at the back
of the living room, he could see a dining table set for supper, and
there was food on the table. The only upset in the room wa a tiny
table which had held a lamp. The table and lamp were sprawled across
the floor, but the bulb was still burning. A small, plump woman stood
with her back to the wall next to the fireplace. She was crying, and
with every sob a spurt of blood came from her nose. The front of her
cotton dress was soaked in blood, and it hdd begun to drip onto the
floor. Across the room from her stood a thin, wiry-looking man of
medium height, dressed immaculately in a white shirt, necktie, and what
must have been the trousers to his Sunday suit. His hair was slightly
mussed, his face was red and twisted with anger, and he held a large
lump of coal in his right hand. It occurred
to Will Henry that the man had been about to hit his wife with the
lump of coal. This thought so astonished him that he stood for several
seconds without saying anything. The woman's sobs were the only sound
in the room.
"There's no trouble here," the man said. He seemed to be drunk.
Will Henry said, "Put that piece of coal down." The man looked at the
coal in his hand and seemed surprised to find it there. He dropped the
coal onto the linoleum floor.
"This here's private property. This's my house. Get away from here.
None y'business." Holmes stepped toward the woman, pulling a
handkerchief from his pocket. "Stay 'way from her," the man said.
Holmes took the woman by the arm and led her to a chair.
"Here, now, Mrs. Butts. You just hold this handkerchief to your
nose." An eye was swollen shut. Will Henry thought it would be very
black within hours. He began to grow angry. "Get outta my house," the
man said. "Shut up," Will Henry replied.
"You got no right--"
Will Henry hit the man with his open hand. "I said shut up. Stand
over there by the wall until I get ready to talk to you." The man
backed up to the wall, holding his hand against his cheek. He looked
like an outraged child who had been picked on by a bully. Will Henry
went and looked closely at the woman's face. She rolled her eyes in
his direction and mumbled something about everything being all right.
"You're not all right, Mrs. Butts. You've got a terrible black eye
there, and your nose looks like it could be broken. Anyway, we can't
fix that here, we're going to have to get you over to Dr. Mudter's and
let him fix you up."
"Baby," the woman said through her sobs. She rolled her eyes toward a
bedroom door.
Will Henry turned to the front door, where the petrified Mrs. Smith
stood watching. "Ma'am, could you look after the baby tonight? I
expect Dr. Mudter will want her to stay at his clinic tonight." The
woman nodded and went to the bedroom. "Mrs. Smith from next door will
take care of the baby until tomorrow," he said to Mrs. Butts.
"Now, listen here," said the husband.
"I told you to shut up. Hugh, could you get her into the car?
Put he ring the front seat with us." Holmes helped the woman to her
feet and led her out of the house. Mrs. Smith appeared at the bedroom
door with a bundle. "Mrs. Smith, would you have a look around here
and take what you need for the baby, and then dose up the house and
turn off the lights when we're gone?" The woman nodded. "And will you
please call up Dr. Frank Mudter and tell him we're on the way over
there?" She nodded again.
"Now, listen," said Butts. He was beginning to become agitated again.
"You got no right."
Will Henry stopped himself from hitting the man again, but he wanted to
humiliate him somehow. He reached behind him for his handcuffs. He
knew there was no need for them, but he very much wanted to humiliate
the man. "Come here," he said. The man shrank back against the wall.
"Now, listen--" "Come here!"
The man edged fearfully over to him. "Hold out your hands." "Now,
listen--"
"Hold out your hands!"
The man held out his hands. Will Henry handcuffed him. "Now, go out
and get in the back seat of my car. You won't get lost, will you? Just
get in the back seat, and don't say anything to Mr. Holmes or your
wife." The man started f speak. "If I hear one more word out of you
I'm going to take this blackjack and do to you just what you did to
your wife." The man turned and hurried to the car. Will Henry stood
in the living room chewing his lower lip. He was breathing very fast;
his lungs seemed too full of air.
The Smith woman was still standing there. "Will you be all right with
the baby, Mrs. Smith? Can you take care of all this all right and
call the doctor?"
"Yes, sir," she said. "I'll take care of everything here."
Will Henry left the house and got into the car. Holmes had the woman's
head on his shoulder and was holding the sodden handkerchief. All the
way to the doctor's house Will Henry was torn between his concern for
the woman and his hatred of her husband. He said as little as
possible.
Frank Mudter was standing shivering on his front steps in a bathrobe
when they arrived. He helped Holmes put the woman inside. "You leave
her with us, Will Henry. Martha and I will get her fixed up and put
her to bed. Call me tomorrow."
Will Henry and Holmes walked back to the car. Butts was
huddled in the back seat, saying nothing. "Will Henry, I think if I'm
ever at that jail again when you get a call, I think I'll pass up the
opportunity to go with you," Holmes said. "I'm just not cut out for
seeing things like that."
Will Henry had not realized how shaken Holmes was. He had handled the
woman very well, but Will Henry could see that he was trembling. He
hoped Holmes had not noticed how upset he himself was.
"I'm glad you did come, Hugh. I don't know what I'd of done without
you tonight. I'm going to go downtown and inaugurate our new jailhouse
now."
Holmes glanced into the car. "It couldn't happen to a nicer fellow,"
he said.
Since Holmes lived only across' the street from the doctor, Will Henry
left him there and drove to the police station. The lights were still
burning. He took Butts into the jail area, took the handcuffs off, and
locked him into a cell. "It's freezing in here," said Butts. He was
beginning to sober up.
"There's four blankets in that cell, one on each bunk," Will Henry said
to the man. "Thai'il have t do you, because I'm not about to start
building fires for bastards like you. For all I care, you can freeze
to death tonight." He slammed shut the main door to the jail area and
locked it. "Tomorrow I'm going to see how many things I can charge you
with. You've beat that woman up for the last time."
He locked the building and went home.
That night he had trouble getting to sleep. "I've got to learn not to
get mad on this job," he told Carrie. '"i swear, I hate being mad. I
think it's punishing me more than that man down in the jail." He
finally fell asleep in her arms, as she rubbed the back of his neck. It
was another half hour before she fell asleep.
The fl lowing afternoon Mrs. Butts came to the jail in a taxi and told
Will Henry she would not press any charge against her husband. She
would not listen to any argument. Will Henry let the man out of his
cell, and the couple went home together in the taxi. Will Henry was
furious.
shaved, and, for the first time, dressed in his uniform. Carrie had
cuffed the 4To user bottoms and pressed everything. He pinned the
large badge to his shirt and affixed a second one to his cap. He had
not worn a badge before, but he had kept the small gold one in his
pocket. "You look real handsome," Carrie said when he came down to
breakfast. She handed him a small gift-wrapped box. Here's a finishing
touch to your uniform from the children and me." The box contained a
gold tie clasp adorned with a tiny replica of his badge. "Now where on
earth did you get a thing like that?" "I ordered it from the same
company in Atlanta that made your badges." He kissed her and thought
that the fine hand of T. T. Brown was evident here. Will Henry arrived
at the station at a quarter to eight and built a fire in the wood
stove. He and Carrie had spent two hours after church the night before
giving the place a final cleaning and putting it in order before its
official opening. Idus Bray was the first to arrive, a few minutes
before nine. He ambled in as though the thought had just struck him
that he might stop by, and then he went over the building in minute
detail. Finally, he seemed satisfied that the city's money had been
properly spent. "Phone
CruEts
working all right?" he asked, patting the instrument.
"Just fine, Idus. Had our first call Saturday night, before we were
even officially open for business."
"Yeah, heard about that. Man ought not to beat his wife like that.
Still, seems like something our police force shouldn't have to spend
its time on."
"Well, I guess that comes under the heading of keeping the peace. Can't
let folks go beating each other up, even in their own homes."
Bray grunted what seemed agreement.
The other coundl members wandered in over the next hour, and a number
of passers-by stopped in. All complimented Will Henry and Holmes on
the thoroughness with which the station had been planned and equipped.
Skeeter Willis put his stamp of approval on the jail and admired Will
Henry's new uniform, much to Will Henry's embarrassment. He wondered
how long it would take for him to become used to wearing it.
Finally, they returned to their businesses, and Will Henry was left
alone. George Piti-man, the posmaan, came by with the mail, peeked
into the jail room and fled as afraid that he would be held there if he
stayed too long. Will Henry sat down and stared to open the mail.
He heard the sound of someone vigorously opening the door and wiping
his feet on the doormat just inside, t-e looked up from the mail in
time to see Foxy Funderburke marching through his office toward the
jail room He got up and followed. Foxy marched briskly in and out of
each of the four cells, felt the mattresses, flushed the toilets,
stamped on the floor, looked under the bunks, and tested the strength
of the bars. "Morning, Foxy." "Lee."
Foxy stood in the aisle between the cells and looked about. He seemed
irritated because he had found nothing amiss. He stalked past Henry
into his office and gave the place a cursory glance. Will Henry was
annoyed. "Can I offer you a cup of coffee, Foxy?" He could think of
nothing else to say.
"Never drink the stuff. Eat your insides out." Will Henry felt as if
he had spoken above his rank.
Foxy stared at him fixedly for half a minute without speaking. Will
Henry felt forced to look away. He went to his desk and began
shuffling through the mail.
Booz ONto Will Henry Lee "You're not the man for this job, Lee." Will
Henry looked blankly at Foxy, startled by the statement. "I'll do the
best I can, Foxy. Look, I hope there's no hard feelings between us
because I got this job. Ira" "You'll never survive. Somebody's going
to kill you." There was a brief silence while the two men stared at
each other. Finally Will Henry spoke. "Well, if you hear about
anybody planning to do that, I wish you'd tell me about it." Foxy
stared coldly at him for another ten seconds, then executed a nearly
military turn to the right and stamped out of the station. Will Henry
was baffled by the exchange. He was not accustomed to dealing with
people who did not make sense, and there was something about Foxy which
transcended the silly eccentricity most people ascribed to him. There
was something angry and--menacing. It made Will Henry uneasy.
2 APART FROM the incident of the inept bank robbers,
Will Henry's first month' as chief had been free of any serious demands
upon him as a policeman. He had had a period of adjustment, an
opportunity to ease into the job, to begin to feel comfortable in it,
without the pressure of major incident. On the Wednesday following the
opening of the police station his period of adjustment came to an
end,
He arrived at the police station on the stroke of eight, to find a
young boy sitting on the doorstep, clutching a hound dog and weeping as
though the end of the world were at hand. Will Henry knew the boy from
church. He was called Brother, as his sister was called Sister.
"Good morning, Brother," Will Henry said as casually as he could. He
didn't want to show too much concern for fear of increasing the
weeping; it was a technique he used when his children came to him with
stubbed toes. "What can I do for you? What's the problem?" Brother
almost collapsed with relief, but every time he began a sentence his
sobbing and gasping overtook his speech. Will Henry sat down beside
him on the steps. "Now, just take it easy. Take your time and get
your breath back. I've got all day, no need to rush." Brother
gradually collected himself enough to speak.
"There's this fellow out in the woods." He stopped.
"Out in the woods." "Yes sir, right next to the Scout hut, right at
the bottom of Hodo's Bluff." "What's this fellow doing, Brother?"
"He's not doing nothing, sir, He's dead." Will Henry took a quick
breath. "You ever. seen a dead person, Brother?" "No, sir." "Well,
how do you know he's dead." Will Henry thought maybe the boy had come
upon a bum sleeping in the woods. "Well, he's nekkid, sir. And
there's ants in his eyes."
Brother Maynard had awakened with a star at exactly six o'clock on that
morning. He did not need an alarm clock. He brushed his teeth and
dressed, and then went to the kitchen. He fried an egg and two strips
of bacon and made a sandwich of them, wrapping the sandwich carefully
in waxed paper. His dog, Buster, who was almost a pgrebre beagle,
watched with interest and earned a scrap of bread for his attention.
Brother's name was John, but his parents had called him Brother and his
sister Sister for all of their lives, and so had everyone else. Brother
was fourteen. He dressed warmly and rode his bicycle to the M&B depot,
Buster trotting alongside. At near enough to six-thirty, the Atlanta
train pulled into the station and dropped off 4oo Atlanta
Constitutions. Brother counted out 172 and folded each of ffiem into a
tight three-cornered hat, warming himself next to th potbellied stove
in the stationmasters office. He placed the papers in neat rows in the
large grocery bike basket, then pedaled around virtually the entire
"town" (as opposed to "mill town") side of the railroad tracks, tossing
papers accurately onto front porch after front porch. He rarely tossed
a paper onto a roof or under a porch any more. Finally, he pedaled
laboriously up Broad Street, up the mountainside, where there were
eleven more subscribers. He always saved this part until last, so that
he could enjoy the ride down the mountain. His final delivery was
invariably to the solitary mailbox which Foxy Funderburke had erected
at the crest of the mountain, exactly on the city limit, so that he
would not have to come all the way into Delano for his paper. Foxy's
house was a mile further along, on the Talbot County side of the
mountain.
When Brother had delivered Foxy's Consfifufiort, he turned off the
road onto the footpath the Boy Scouts had built from the crest of the
mountain, past the Scout hut to the end of Fourth Street. The path-was
wide and smooth enough for his bicycle, and Brother relished the
thought of the long, steep, practically straight coast down the
mountainside. The sun had risen now, and half the mountain was in
bright new sunlight, the other half in cold blue shadow. Brother began
his descent, and his speed increased rapidly. He had never been able
to bring himself to make the whole coast without once using his brakes,
but this morning he was determined. The bicycle went faster and
faster. Buster began to drop back on the path, too winded to bark more
than once or twice. Brother's eyes were almost closed from the force
of the wind. Tears streamed down his cheeks. His hands grew numb as
the wind rushed through his woolen mittens. His forehead, cheeks, and
the bridge of his nose hurt furiously from the cold. It occurred to
him that if he struck a stone or a fallen limb his battered body would
probably not stop rolling until it reached the Scout hut.
There was a jolt as the path turned lightly uphill, then leveled off as
it approached the hut. Finally, he applied the brakes and brought the
bike to a halt at the foot of Hodo's Bluff, which rose nearly a hundred
feet straight up the mountainside. He leaned the bike against a tree
and flopped down in the leaves and pine needles, his heart pounding
wildly. Buster trotted up and dropped beside him like a stone. They
both panted for a minute, before Brother regained enough strength to
open his sandwich. Buster wolfed down his small piece and hoped
against all odds for more.
Brother pushed back until he was resting against the foot of the bluff.
He munched his sandwich and looked lazily around him. The early
morning sun filtered through the pines and the haze. Everything more
than a few feet away had a fuzzy, out-of-focus quality that Brother
found particularly pretty. He especially liked the way the sunlight
struck the smooth faces of a number of granite boulders which were
embedded in the earth and pine needles around him. The low angle of
the. light and the smoothness of the stones gave them the texture of
the hides of fallen beasts-elephants, maybe, felled by the gun of some
mighty hunter. The texture of one smaller boulderin particular caught
his eye. It was whiter than the others, probably from a covering
o1: Wi//HenLee 7
dead, gray moss. As he chewed his sandwich and stared at the it seemed
to change in ttxure, as if his eyes had suddenly an optical illusion.
There was something familiar , something he had seen only this morning.
He an unpleasant jolt that it was the texture of his own which he had
inspected while dressing before the mirror morning, longing for a
summer tan. He got slowly to his feet and approached the stone. He
the sandwich. An acidic foreboding crept into As he walked toward the
boulder it became, un mis-buttock, and as he drew closer the new angle
revealed and ashoulder and, finally, a closely cropped head, sharply to
the right. The nose and jaw were covered by but there was an eye, and
it was open. A column of ants in and out of it. Buster. came over.
and sniffed at the Brother dropped his sandwich and ran. Buster
collected sandwich before following.
Will Henry thought fas tas he ltened t Brother's story. He want to
spread news of this sort on the telephone. He as well go to Atlanta
and put it on WSt. "Yell you what, You run over to th funeral home and
tell Mr. Maddox I for him to come out to the Scout hut with his
ambulance. I'll pick up Dr. Mudter, and we'll meet you there in a
couple of right at the foot of Hodo's Bluff, you sayT'
"You say he's naked? In this weather?" Frank Muter hud down into his
overcoat and put his hand under the dash of car to see whether any heat
was coming out. "That's what Brother said. He was pretty shook up, of
course. something about the fellow having ants in his eyes, too. he
might be imagining the whole thing. I hope so." Will Henry stopped
the car as close as he could get to the Scout hut, and they walked the
rest of the way. Dr. Mudter knelt beside the corpse. "Well, Brother
was right. sure naked. Right about the ants, too." Will Henry
shuddered.
"Give me a hand, Will Henry, let's turn him over." Will was horrified
at touching the cold flesh but tried not to it. "Nothing but
superficial wounds. No gunshot or stab wounds that I can see." A car
door slammed in the distance. Dr. Mudter stood up.
"How did he die, then, Frank? Did he fall off the bluff?"
"I don't think there's any question about that, Will Henry. Question
is, what happened to him before he fell down here? What was he doing
running around up there naked as a jay-bird?"
"Well, first thing comes to my mind is, there's only one thing around
here that's bizarre enough to go with this."
Will Henry nodded. 'l'hey horsewhipped a man up at Greenville two
years ago. White man fooling around with a colored girl. But this is
just a boy. What would you say, eighteen, nineteen?"
Will Henry glanced at the corpse involuntarily. "Yes, I guess so. How
long would you say he's been dead?"
"Well, the rigor's still there. Less than twenty-four hOUrs, maybe
less than twelve. We can take his body temperature as soon as we can
get him back. That might help. Temperature was in the twenties last
night. Can't be more than twenty-five right now, and he's not frozen.
Tell you the truth, Will Henry, this isn't my line of work. I
generally get to before they go, you know?"
"Well, Frank, I've almost certainly got a criminal cae on my hands. I
mean, this doesn't look like any kind of accident to me, not like I've
ever heard of, anyway. There's going to have to be a thorough
investigation of this, and it ought to start with a medical
examination. Hadn't we better get somebody down here from Atlanta to
see about this? You know anybody?"
Lamar Maddox came striding through the leaves carrying one end of a
stretcher. Brother Maynard trotted along behind with the other end,
followed by Buster.
"Morning, Frank, Will Henry. What we got here?"
"You know as much as we do, Lamar. We just got here. I was just
asking Frank if he knows somebody in Atlanta, an expert, who could do a
thorough medical examination."
Brotherinterrupted. ""Scuse me, Chief, but I'm already fifteen minutes
late for school. Can I go now, please?"
"Sure, Brother, and thanks for letting me know about this. You did the
right thing."
"Uh, Chief, could you give me a note or something? You have to bring a
note if you're late."
Will Henry took out his notebook and wrote, "To whom it
Booc otag: Will Henry Lee may concern: Brother Maynard is late for
school this morning because he was helping the police with a
confidential matter. If there is any further question, please
telephone me." He signed and dated the note and gave it to the boy.
"Listen, Brother. We don't know yet what's happened here. Word'ii get
around about this sooner or later, but right now I don't want any talk
about it, all right? I don't want you to tell anybody about this
until--until you read about it in the paper, all right?" Will Henry
thought for a moment. "And even then, I don't want you to tell
anybody, and I mean anybody, about his not having any clothes on. That
could be very important, and nobody's to know about it but us, all
right?"
"Yes sir, I promise." Brother hopped on his bicycle and rode off to
school.
"You think he'll keep this to himself?" Frank Mudter asked. "Lord, I
hope so. Frank, you and Lamar have got to help me keep this thing
under control. For the time being, when it comes up, let's just say
that it looks like a fellow got' 10st and fell off the bluff. This is
going to be hard enough to handle without a lot of hysteria. All
right?"
Both men nodded. Frank Mudter looked thoughtful. "Will Henry, I've
got an old med-school friend in Columbus who's pretty much of a hotshot
pathologist. He's done a job now and then for the Columbus police. I
could call him up and ask him if he'll drive up here and do a
postmortem. His fee could run to twenty-five or thirty dollars if you
figure he's got to travel but I think the council will sit still for
that."
"That sounds good to me, Frank. Is there any reason we shouldn't move
him now?"
"I don't think so. You reckon we can get him on the stretcher and in
your hearse like he is, Lamar?"
"No problem, Frank." Lamar Maddox was, by profession, a stoic.
At the funeral parlor, Dr. Mudter telephoned Columbus. He came back
into the workroom, where Will Henry was eyeing the syringes and tubing
uneasily. "Well, I had to promise him a fried-chicken supper--he's a
bachelor--but he's coming as soon as he can get away from the hospital.
He figures to be here about four. In the meantime we're to take the
temperature and then keep the body as cool as possible. Lamar, could
we put him in
your storage room and open a window?" "Sure, I guess so. What are you
going to take the temperature with? I don't get much call for
thermometers from my customers." "I guess I better run back to the
office and get an anal thermometer." Will Henry spoke up. "Frank, I
don't think there's any more I can do here. I better check in at the
station and see if anything's happening, then ve got some investigating
to do, I guess." "Why don't you come back here about four. He'll do
his postmortem first, and then we'll have supper at my house. Iql get
Martha and the children to go down and have supper with Carrie, and
Nellie can leave as soon as she's cooked. That way we can talk about
this by ourselves." "Fine. Maybe I'll know a bit more myself by
then."
BooI Olm: Will Henry Lee pencil from a drawer. He noticed that his
hand was trembling. He was filled with the. most curious mixture of
emotions. He was angry that someone had caused the boy to die; he was
sickened by the thought of the boy wandering, probably pursued, through
the woods; and he was terribly excited. He felt guilty about it, but
he was excited that he suddenly had a major crime to investigate, to
solve, so soon in his new job. He had no doubt that he could do it.
He thought that a professional soldier must feel the same way about a
dedaration of war; regretful, but eager. He began to list the things
that must be done. 1. Question everybody who lived anywhere near where
the body was found. 2. Check with Atlanta for any persons recently
reported miss3. Check the top of Hodo's Bluff for evidence. 4Check on
Klan activities. 5./Telephone Skeeter Willis. 6. Go see Harmon
Everson. He could think of nothing else to do, al least until the
medical examination was done. He telephoned the state police in
Atlanta. There were no missing-persons reports that matched his
victim.
He telephoned Skeeter Willis. "Skeeter, you might want to drop by here
today or tomorrow if you get a chance."
"What's up, Will Henry?"
"Interesting development. Not much more I can tell you right now."
"I get you." Skeeter had telephone operators to deal with, too. "If
I'm not here when you come, get Jimmy Riley to give a blast on the fire
siren. We've got a signal worked out. I'll come back to the
station."
"Probably be tomorrow morning before I can get down there. Can it wait
until then?"
"That'll be fine. I'm here from eight o'clock."
He knew how to check on the Klan, but that would have to wait until he
had questioned the householders near Hodo's Bluff. He would save
Harmon Everson until last. He wanted to know as much as possible
before he talked to the press, even to the editor of the Messenger.
Two hours later, he had talked with people at nine houses on the
mountainside. Nobody had seen, heard, or noticed anything unusual the
night before, except for one-woman who had heard something crashing
through the bushes sometime after midnight. She thought nothing of it;
deer and other animals were about; she often heard them. There was
nobody home at one house, and a neighbor said they were away for a
week, visiting relatives in Waycross. Only the visit to Foxy
Funderburke was left, that and the inspection of Hodo's Bluff. Foxy
lived down the other side of the mountain and seemed the least likely
of Will Henry's prospects to have seen or heard anything, but Will
Henry was not looking forward to interviewing Foxy.
He drove slowly up the gravel road to the Funderburke cabin. The road
wound back and forth up the mountain and was very steep in places, but
it was well cared for, not rough at all. Foxy probably didn't get too
many visitors, not with his personality, so the road didn't get worn
down much from trafic. Still, Will Henry figured Foxy must be spending
a good bit of money keeping it so well, since it was not a county road,
but private. The road turned and fell away slightly downhill before
the tall pines gave way to a large cleared space. The cabin stood
squarely across the road, and on each side of the house were matching
flower beds. There was nothing blooming this time of year, but Will
Henry thought the place must look very pretty in spring. A
profusion of azaleas formed a background for the beds, and two quite
large dogwood trees faced each otherin front of the house. He had
expected something much rougher and was surprised that Foxy had spent
so much effort to make the place beautiful. It was obvious how Foxy,
who had no regular job and needed none, occupied much of his time.
Still, in midwinter it failed to be beautiful. The place had an oddly
regimented orderliness about it, as if it were part of some eccentric
military reservation. It was a lot like Foxy. Will Henry immediately
felt like an intruder. He got out of the car and approached the house.
The place seemed deserted. There was no answer to his knock at the
front door. He walked around to the back of the house, peering into
windows. The rooms seemed almost unnaturally neat. There was a large
shed at the back. Will Henry peeked through the crack between the
padlocked doors. Foxy's pickup truck stood inside. He walked back to
the house and looked through a kitchen window. It was much the same as
the other rooms---neat, cold, well equipped, orderly. Only in the
kitchen was-there a touch of disarray. The chairs surrounding the
little kitchen table were in the process of being re caned Two of them
had complete new backs and seats, one was half done, and the fourth was
stripped down to the bare wood, waiting its turn. Foxy seemed to have
a number of manual skills. Will Henry froze. There had been a tiny,
almost surreptitious, sound, then silence. Then there was an explosive
sound of something striking wood and the creak of metal. Will
Henryspun to d. his right, clawing for his pistol. He found himself
facing a large, placid golden Laborador retriever. The dog approached
him, everything wagging. Will Henry sagged against the house with
relief. He felt a complete fool. He scratched the dog behind the
ears. Why had he drawn his pistol? Why did he feel threatened on
Foxy's property? He realized he was, irrationally, still very afraid.
His heart was pounding, and he was sweating in spite of the cold. There
was more to it than being startled by the dog. "How are you, old
fellow? You scared me real good, there." There was another scraping.
The dog turned to the back door leading into the kitchen and pushed the
lower panel with her nose. It swung back, and five puppies tumbled
through the opening. "Sorry, it's old girl, isn't it?" The puppies,
which seemed to be five or six weeks old, surged around his ankles, ?
yapping and stumbling over his feet. He squatted and played with them
for a moment, and his anxiety ebbed away. The bitch and her puppies
made the place seem less threatening. He walked to the door, tucked
the puppies through the flap, gave their mother a pat, and walked back
to the car. She came with him and sat in front of the cabin, watching,
as he drove away. Will Henry drove down the track from Foxy's cabin to
the main road, continued for a mile, then turned left up the Scenic
Highway, as the road was called which ran along the crest of Pine
Mountain, overlooking Delano. He drove another mile until he came to
the bottom of a steep dip in the road known as Hodo's Gap, named for a
reclusive old Cherokee Indian who had lived in as hack near the spot
until his death years ago. Hodo, said to have been in his nineties,
had fallen to his death from the bluff which bore his name. Will Henry
parked the car and began picking his way through the woods toward the
bluff. Even in winter the going was slow, and he moved clumsily
through the thick growth. He looked for signs that someone had been
through these woods before him, but he saw nothing. Shortly before
reaching th, e edge of the bluff, he thought he heard the sound of
someone else moving. He stopped for a moment and listened, but heard
nothing; so he continued. Abruptly, he reached the edge of the bluff.
He had been expecting the undergrowth to dear at the edge, but it did
not. He knew he had arrived there only because he could see a few feet
ahead to clear air, and because he knew the bluff was ahead. It was
easy to see how someone who did not know about the bluff, traveling at
night, could simply walk over the edge, especially if he were in a
hurry, if he were running from something. Looking over the edge he
could see nothing that would tell him anything about what had happened.
He was disappointed, for he had half expected to find some obvious clue
to what had happened--a piece of clothing caught on a thorn which could
be traced to its owner; a footprint with a distinctive mark on the
heel; some small, personal item which would identify the pursuers or
the pursued. But there was nothing. He began to work his way to the
right, where the thicket appeared to be less thick, and he nearly ran
head-on into Foxy Funderburke, standing with his feet planted apart,
holding a 3o3o lever-action rifle stiffly at port arms. Even in the
sudden shock of
Booc oNz: Will Hem Lee 8z finding Foxy there, Will Henry noticed that
the hammer of the rifle was cocked. "Good Lord, Foxy, you scared me
half to death! What are you doing up here?" Fox. y's face was
impassive, lacking even his usual tightlipped grimace. "Hunting. What
are you doing?" "Having a look around. I stopped by your house to see
you, but there was nobody there but your dog and her puppies. Nice
animal." Will Henry thought he noticed some tiny reaction at the
mention of the visit to the house. "The puppies for sale? I've been
thinking about getting a dog for my children. None of the farm dogs
could have lived in a house in town." "Haven't given it much thought.
Why did you want to see me?" "I just wanted to know if you heard
anything, anything or anybody, around your place last night." "No."
"Nobody in the woods or anything?" "No. What was I supposed to have
heard?"-. "I had a report the Klan might of been having a gathering up
here somewhere last night." "They get together in a pasture the other
side of the road'B he pointed--"over yonder about half a mile. I
generally hear the cars when they do. Didn't hear anything last
night." "Well, that's all I wanted to know. Is there a better way
back to the road from here?" "There's a path." Foxy motioned to his
left. "After you."" Will Henry stepped Past him and found the path.
The going was much easier. It seemed to lead from the road directly to
the bluff, then along the side of the mountain. It probably came out
onto the Boy Scout trail further along. They walked single file, Foxy
bringing up the rear. Will Henry thought about the cocked rifle at his
back. He had not seen Foxy un cock it, and he began to feel uneasy
with the man behind him. Neither of them said a word until they
reached the road. "Can I give you a lift back to your place?" "I'll
walk." "Say, Foxy, what are you hunting up here with a thirty-thirty?"
"Bobcats." "In the daytime, and without a dog?"
"I get one now and then."
Will Henry go into he car. "You let me know if you want to sell a
puppy. I'd like a male. BRIy and Eloise would be real glad to get
one."
Foxy nodded noncommittally. Will Henry drove away. He watched Foxy in
the rear view mirror until he crested the next hill. Foxy stood
staring after the car, the cocked rifle in his hands, never moving.
WILL HENRY had one more top to vake, one more person to question,
before he gave the newspaper his story. He felt that it would be the
most iportant part of his investigation and that he must handle it well
or perhaps lose all hope of solving the mystery of the boy's death and
apprehending those responsible.
He entered the shop from the alley at the back. Even before he opened
the door, the smell of leather reached him, and by the time he was
inside it seemed to fill his lungs. It was not at all unpleasant.
Tommy Allen was buffing as hoe on a large machine and did not hear him
enter. Will Henry waited for him to finish before speaking.
"Tommy?"
Tommy Allen jumped. "Hey, there, Chief, you snuck up on me, there."
"Didn't mean to scare you. Think you might half-sole these shoes for
me while I wait? They're my only black pair, and the city fathers
might frown on brown shoes with the uniform."
"Be glad to. I'm not all that busy, anyway." He took the shoes from
Will Henry and climbed onto his high stool and fitted the shoe over his
last. "Might as well go ahead and let me put some heels and a whole
sole on these shoes. They'll wear better and last longer."
"You're the doctor."
Tommy took a long-handled plier like tool and began to expertly strip
the soles off the shoes. "First I've seen of you since you got the
chief's job. Haven't had a chance to congratulate you."
"Thank you, sir."
"I've been sort of expecting you to drop by, as a mater of fact."
"Oh? The Good Lord tell you when my soles are getting thin?"
"Come on, Will Henry, you look just like you used to look when we'd go
down to the blacksmith shop and try to borrow Jesse Brown's new
horseshoes to play with. Why, in a minute you'd of told me how it
fascinates you to watch me fix these shoes." Will Henry was
embarrassed in spite of himself. Tommy looked up from the shoe at him.
"I reckon you want to know about the Klan, Will Henry."
"You always could see through me, Tommy. Yeah, I want to know about
it. I know you never wanted to talk about it, but now I need to know,
and you're the only fellow I can talk to."
"Well, I reckon it's not too big of a secret that I'm in the Klan, but
like you say, I never talk about it to nobody."
"Why are you in it, Tommy? I never knew why. Always wanted to ask
you."
"Well, a long time ago, old--Well, a fellow took me to a meeting, and I
was real impressed with the Bible reading and the praying. You know
how daddy brought us up. And later on, when they got up to some high
jinks I thought I'd get out, but I was able to hold 'em back a little
bit, help keep 'em from getting out of hand. There's a few boys in
there would bea lot of trouble to folks if there wasn't somebody to
keep an eye on 'em."
"I expect there are."
"Yeah, and I figure with some older fellows to keep things in line, the
Klan might get to be a little more responsible organization. There's a
job to be done, you know. Somebody's got to keep the niggers in their
place, and I don't know who else is going to do it, do you?"
Will Henry was silent.
"Well, don't get me started on that subject." Tommy was quiet for a
moment as he brushed glue onto a strip of leather.
"Tommy, you wouldn't get mixed up in something really
bad, would you? You--" Will Henry stopped when he saw the expression
on Tommy's face. "I'm sorry, I know you wouldn't, I
was thinking about that story about the fellow up at Greenville last
year getting horsewhipped for fooling around with a colored girl.
Things like that."
"That was a bunch of Greenville boys, and I wouldn't of let it happen
around here. I'd of seen that he got a good talking to,
maybe scared him a little. Theatening to tell his wife would have been
the best way."
Will Henry nodded, and they were both quiet again. The only sound in
the little shop was that of Tommy's curved knife as he carved the
leather to the size of the shoe.
"Tommy, something bad has happened, not in Greenville or
Woodbury or Manchester, but right here in Delano. Last night."
Tommy stopped working. "Last night?" He looked worried.
"There was a meeting last night, but it was a regular sort of meeting
Nothing unusual about it."
"This one got unustml, Tommy. Somebody got killed."
Tommy stared at him, frozen. "That's not possible," he said.
Will Henry slammed his palm down on the counter, and his voice became
tight. "Dam.mit, Tommy, the boy's dead! He ran right off the bluff.
The Maynard boy found him at eight o'clock this morning. He's up at
Lamar Maddox's right now, and there's a doctor coming from Columbus
this afternoon to examine him.
Now, this thing has got Klan written all over it, and I want you to
tell me anything you know about-it." Tommy was staring at him
incredulously." What bluff?" "Hodo's Bluff, Tommy. It's no more than
three hundred yards from the field. He ran, and he ran right off it. I
figure he found an old path that leads down to the bluff and then turns
toward the Boy Scout trail. He didn't turn. He went straight ahead."
Will Henry paused for a moment. "How could this have happened, Tommy?
How?" "You mean the field on Pine Mountain? Will Henry, that field
hasn't been used since we bune'd a cross last summer," Tommy reached
under the counter, pulled out a Bible, and put his hand on it. "Listen
to me, Will Henry, this is the truth, I swear to God. That meeting was
held at somebody's house nowhere near Pine Mountain. All but one of
our bunch was there, and he was home sick in bed. We were at that
house 'til after midnight, and we left in ones and twos and went home.
Nobody was excited about
anything. Nobody was going after anybody. Everybody went home, and if
it came to it, every one of us would be able to prove
Will Henry leaned forward and looked into the shoemaker's face. "You're
sure about this, Tommy," He said that because he couldn't think of
anything else to say.
"Will Henry, that meeting was at my house."
By the time Will Henry reached the Messenger office it was late
afternoon, and his exdtement had soured. He had been almost certain
that the Klan was connected with the boy's death, and now he was almost
certain that it was not. His only hope of a quick solution now lay
with the medical examination, and he could not imagine a doctor,
however good, telling him much of great use in finding the murderers.
He still thought there was more than one person involved. Perhaps it
was the bizarre nature of the boy's death. It held overtones of a
prank gone wrong, of a dub initiation which had got out of hand. The
killers, in his mind, were young; irresponsible. They had intended to
frighten., not kill. But with the Klan out of the picture, he could
not come up with a plausible substitute. If Delano had had a college
he would have suspected some student group. The boy was not from
Delano. Brother Maynard or one of the three men who had seen the body
would have known him. He began thinking what colleges were within
driving distance. There was La Grange College, but that was a
religious institution, not the sort that would have a student group
that went in for violent hazing. There was nothing else at aR near.
He walked into the storefront office of the Delano Messenger and closed
the door behind him. Harmon Everson was sitting at his mR-top desk,
his back to the door. He turned to see who had entered. The editor
and owner of the weekly newspaper was wearing a green eye shade, and
black cuff guards protected his shirt. There was a smell of ink and
paperin the air.
Everson looked up from his desk. "Evening, Will Henry, what can I do
for you? If you want to place a classified ad, I'm afraid you're a
little late."
"No, Harmon. I've got some news for you. Not very good news, I'm
afraid."
"Pull up a pew. Something I should hold the paper for? We're just
going to press." "I expect you might want to." Everson walked across
the
room and opened a door. The clatter of machinery came into the room.
"Henry, hold the paper for a few minutes. We might have something to
go in." He returned to his desk, sat down, and waited. "Harmon,
you're going to have to exercise a little restraint on this." "You
trying to muzzle the press, Will Henry?" "No, I want this in the
paper, but I don't want my investigation hampered by a lot of
sensationalism." "You think the Messenger runs to sensationalism?"
Harmon was shifting irritably in his seat. "No, Harmon, I don't. But
what's happened has some sensational aspects, and I don't want them in
the paper." "Well, you're just going to have to trust my judgnent,
Will Henry." "No, I don't have to do that, Harmon. There's still time
to get this in tomorrow mornings Consfi'tution, and I'm sure the
Atlanta papers would be happy to print it. Now, if you'd rather have
it that way, you can pick up your story from them in time for next
week's Messenger. Or I'll write you out as hort statement and won't
answer any questions." "Now, listen here, Will Henry--" "I don't want
to do it that way, Harmon. What I'd like to do is tell you what I
know, every step along the way, but have you print just the basic facts
for the moment, until I tl.?k it's time to print the whole story. Now,
if you'll give me you word to print only what I authorize, then I'll
tell you everything." Everson squirmed even more. He clamped his jaws
together and stared angrily at Will Henry. "It's a murder, Harmon. A
nasty case of manslaughter, at the very least." "All right, Will
Henry," Everson exploded. "You have my word. But you better not hold
out on me. I want to know it all, theories and everything." "I'll
give you the facts as I know them. I'll keep my heories to myself."
Will Henry squirmed a bit himself. "To tell you the truth, I'm a
little short of theories." "All right, all right, let's have it.
We're holding up a press
Will Henry told him everything that happened, omitting only the
identity of his Klan source. "How much of this can I print?"
88 CHxS "For the moment, I think you'd better just say that the body
of a young man was found at the foot of Hodo's Bluff and that he
apparently fell off while walking through the woods the night before.
You can say that we haven't identified him yet, but that we don't
believe he's a local boy. You might say that if anybody knows of a
young fellow missing from home they should get in touch with me right
away." Everson was scribbling rapid shorthand on a pad.
"Description." "About five feet eight, a hundred and thirty pounds,
sandy-colored hair." Will Henry paused for a moment, remembering.
"Blue eyes." "Age?" "I don't want to be too specific about that until
the doctor from Columbus has seen him, but I think you can safely say
he's in his teens." "Can I say you think somebody killed him?" "For
the moment say it appears to be accidental, but I'm investigating any
possibility of foul play, if only to rule it out." "Accidental! With
the boy aked like that?" "I don't want a word printed about his being
naked, Harmon. That's the sort of thing that will get people a lot more
upset than is good for anybody. Except for you and those of us who've
seen the boy, nobody but whoever is responsible for this knows the boy
was naked. I think it might be important to the investigation to keep
it that way. Just print the straightforward story. You come meet the
doctor at Lamar's and then have supper with us at Frank Mudter's
tonight, and maybe you can say more next week, but I'm not promising
anything." "Do you think he was sexually abused?" "What?" "Did
anybody com hole him? There are people who do that kind of thing to
youngsters, you know." Will Henry was horrified. The thought had never
even occurred to him. "How the hell should I know?" He was aware that
he was blushing. "You can ask the doctor." He got up to leave. "He's
due at the funeral home at about four. I'll see you there." By the
time Will Henry reached the front door, Everson wds already banging
away on his typewriter, and the chief was feeling a new kind of unease
about his case.
Will Hem Lee
ALTHOUGH WILL HENRY had had no real idea of the sort of man the
visiting doctor would be, Carter $auls surprised him. He wa well over
six feet tall and built. Will Henry guessed he had been an athlete,
prob-a football player, in his college days, and he had only run to
fat. He was jocular and a bit loud, and he greeted gusto.
When the greetings were over and the small talk finished La-into his
workroom. A chemical sell, with that of a kerosene heater, greeted
them. The room about twelve feet square and had a cement floor
slanting into drain in the middle. There was a large, deep sink on one
side, shelves stacked with bottles of chemicals and strange In the
center of the room was a metal table, slanting from head to foot,
imprinted with a herringbone pattern all emptying into a deeper one
which ran down the to the foot of the table. A large porcelain bucket
stood , to catch whatever might run from the table. The place was
neat. "I think you'll find pretty much what you need," said Lamar
Maddox, not without pride.
"Looks fine, fine," replied Carter Sauls. "Now all we need is
cadaver."
Maddox went into a back room and returned pushing a rolley containing
the boy's body, covered with a heavy muslin sheet. ^ blast of cold air
entered he room with him. "Had him in cold storage," said Maddox.
"He's not frozen, is he?" "Oh, no. It's only about forty derees back
there." The doctor had brought with him two cases; one a large black
leather bag; the other an even larger wooden box with leather handles
nailed to each end. He opened the box and began setting up a big
bellows camera and a tin flood lamp. Thought we'd get a few pictures
for both our files," he said to Will Henry. "I may do a book on
forensic medicine one of these days." Will Henry nodded. Lamar Maddox
and Frank Mudter lifted the corpse from the trolley to the table and
removed the sheet. Will Henry was again shuck by the youth and
vulnerability of the boy. He was lying in much the same position as
they had found him, and the undertaker straightened his limbs and
turned him onto his back. "Rigor's gone," said Maddox. Harmon Everson,
the hard-boiled newsman, see me frozen with piy. Sauls quickly took
several photographs of the corpse from different angles, including
close-ups of the wrists, the rib cage, the buttocks, the neck, and the
ankles. He began repacking the camera equipment into the wooden case.
"The boy was bound hand and foot and made to sit on something pretty
uncomfortable," the doctor said to Frank Mudter and Will Henry, "and
for quite a long time." Will Henry and Dr. Mudter exchanged a glance,
but said nothing. "He was also beaten about the ribs and upper arms,
but not, so far as I can see at the moment, about the face and head."
Unusual." Before Will Henry could question him further, the
pathologist opened his bag and began to arrange his instruments neatly
beside the sink. On the counter he placed three small scalpels of
different sizes, large and small saws, forceps, a pair of heavy shears,
scissors, and a large scalpel, the blade of which Will Henry nervously
estimated to be at least eight inches long. The doctor also set out
several gummed labels and a number of small fruit jars filled with a
colorless liquid. Finally, he opened a leather notebook and placed his
open fountain pen next to it. He began to pull on a pair of rubber
gloves. Will Henry felt uneasy about what seemed about to happen.
"Uh, Doctor, are you going to do some kind of surgery?"
Sauls looked at him in surprise. "I'm going to conduct a thorough
postmortem examination. I thought that was what you wanted. It's
certainly what you need. You don't even know how he died, yet."
"Well, he fell--""Maybe he died from that fall, maybe he didn't. He
could have died and then been thrown from that bluff. He could have
died in any of a large number of ways." Frank Mudterinterrupted.
"This is the way these things are done, Will Henry. This whole thing
will just be a great big question mark until we have a postmortem.
I've already told you ' about Carter's reputation in this field."
"Doctor, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interfere with your work. I guess
I just have a pretty sketchy idea of what goes on in these cases.
Please do whatever you think is necessary." Sauls smiled Slightly,
nodded, turned, picked up the large scalpel, inserted it at the point
of the boy's chin, and drew it firmly down th abdomen, stopping in the
scanty pubic hair. Harmon Everson made a kind of strangling noise.
Will Henry was too stunned to make any sound. Sauls made several quick
incisions around the neck and chest, then picked up the shears, clipped
the cartilages joining the ribs to the breastbone, and with both hands
pulled away the entire front of the chest, leaving the abdominal cavity
completely exposed, the boy's internal organs displayed. There was a
loud dripping noise as the corpse began to leak into tl bucket. Sauls
then cut around the lower jaw and fred the tongue muscle from its
moorings. He took hold of the tongue and pulled downward through the
open neck. Grasping 'the trachea and making deft motions with his
scalpel, he pulled the attached heart and lungs from the corpse and
dropped them into the sink. Will Henry said dully, "I don't think you
gentlemen need me for this," and repaired to the parlor of Lamar
Maddox's funeral home, closely followed by a rather green Harmon
Everson. The two men sank into the overstuffed furniture. , Everson's
muffled voice came from between his knees, where he had placed his
head. "Goddam butchers, all of 'em!" Will Henry was too weak to say
anything. There whs a quiet moment after Carter Sauls had finished
eating most of a fried chicken. Frank Mudter's house made tiny noises
mixed with the muffled ticking of a huge dock in the hall 92
way next to the dining room. A large crystal chandelier asta weak
light over the heavy dining-room table where the four men sat. Sauls
had insisted on a supper uninterrupted by any talk of business. He and
Frank Mudter had reminisced about their medical-sdool days and $auls's
football career. Dr. $auls finally heaved a deep, satisfied sigh and
began rummaging in a briefcase. "Frank, that colored woman of yours
knows how to fry a chicken. And I never had a better biscuit in my
life." "You appeared to enjoy it, Carter. You can leave a little
something for he ring the kitchen if you want to." "Hell, I may
mention he ring my will. Biscuits like that are a dying art." He
straightened up asheaf of notes and fished in a vest pocket for his
reading glasses. "Now--" He looked at Will Henry and Harmon Everson,
both of whom had eaten little and said less during the meal. Will
Henry still felt weak. "Fracture-dislocation of the cervical spine, at
the level of the second and third vertebrae." "We're laymen, Doctor,"
Everson said, pencil poised over notebook. "The buy died of a broken
neck, most probably suffered in the fall from the bluff." "Probably?"
"I wasn't there, Mr. Everson. I can only surmise from the available
evidence what happened to this boy. The injury is also consistent with
hanging, for instance, but there are no other signs of hanging, either
internal or external. If you'll permit me to continue without
interruption until I'm finished, then I'll give you a betteleducated
guess than you'll get anywhere else in the southeastern United Sates,
all right?" "Sorry, Doctor, do go on." "Thank you. I'll start at the
beginning and give you the best summary I can of what I think happened
to the boy. And I'll keep it colloquial for you, Mr. Everson."
Everson nodded. "The boy was tied by the wrists and ankles to some sort
of seat, something like an old-fashioned toilet chair, and beaten
repeatedly with some sort of heavy whip, probably a length of ordinary
rubber garden hose. At some time during this part of the beating, his
hands were untied from the chair and retied over his head, and the
beating resumed. I say this because there were fewer bruises on his
upper arms than on his rib cage, and tying his hands above his head is
the only way his arms could have been re from: Will Henry Lee moved
from the line of fire, so to speak. Also, either before or after the
beating, he was made to kneel and he was beaten or spanked with a board
or paddle. I've seen very similar markings and discoloration on boys
who have been through fraternity initiations. In fact, I've seen worse
on such boys. This was no initiation, though, no prank. This was an
interrogation." Will Henry sat upright. "Interrogation?" "Nobody
gets beaten with a rubber hose as a prank, and if the assailant's aim
is simply to cause pain, he could have caused more with a buggy whip or
a stick. The rubber hose is a police technique." "Police?" This time
it was Harmon Everson who sat upright. "I've seen it in Columbus and
one or two other, bigger cities. It's what you might call moderate
torture, to extract information as part of an interrogation. It's
painful, but it doesn't break the skin or bones. The victim can take a
beating one day and make a court appearance the next. It's illegal, of
course, and a policeman could be charged with battery if he were caught
at it, but cops don' like testifying against other cops, any more than
doctors like testifying against other doctors. "Incidentally, peaking
of the police, the boy's wrists may have been handcuffed rather than
tied. The marks on his wrists are somewhat different from those on his
ankles. Could have been metal instead of twine or rope. Although I
can't imagine how he could have escaped from his persecutor if he was
handcuffed. But let me go on. There are scratches on his legs,
indicating that he ran through some dense brun before his fall. His
feet were rather badly cut, too, although they were heavily calloused,
so I think he was probably running rather than walking just before his
death. By the way, I'd say he was a poor farm boy. A kid eighteen or
nineteen like that still with callouses on his feet. There were
blisters, too. He had probably walked some distance in shoes he wasn't
accustomed to. His hands were very rough, too, nails broken and some
red dirt under them he hadn't been able to scrub out. I'll bet you he
was doing fa ,rjn work only a day or two before he got into this.
"Where was I? Oh, he probably stumbled over the bluff while running,
rather than being taken there and thrown off. He landed near enough to
head first, breaking his neck and his left forearm and dislocating his
left shoulder. He didn't get up. "He hadn't eaten for somewhere
between twelve and twenty four hours, although he had been given some
water. It seems logical to assume that he hadn't been a captive for
more than twenty-four hours. I think that, apart from the damage
suffered in the fall, his injuries could be described as superficial
and not serious. There is no indication whatever that whoever beat him
intended to kill him or even seriously injure him, although a case
could be made that his captor could hardly afford to let him go free
for fear that he would inform the police. Also, we don't know what
would have happened next if the boy hadn't escaped. His injuries up to
that time may have merely been the preliminaries to something much
worse." Sauls shuffled through his notes in a silence that even Harmon
Everson did not feel inclined to break, as they all tried to picture
what had happened. "I think that's about it, except for one thing I'd
like to point out. As far as I can determine, all the blows he
received, both with the hose and with the paddle, were delivered in
equal numbers and with equal force to both sides of his body. That's
unusual. It would be more common if one side took more punishment,
depending on whether his persecutor was right-or let-handed. It
indicates to me that the beating was accomplished by only one person,
because two or more persons wouldn't be so neat. Given that it was one
man--or woman, we can't rule out a woman--I'd say he has an obsession
with orderliness, specifically with symmetry. He had to deal an equal
number of blows on each side. His life is probably full of expressions
of this symmetry thing. I'd be willing to bet he parts his hair in the
middle." Will Henry said, "I part my hair in the middle." "I noticed
that. In fact, if you weren't so new to the police job and if Frank
Mudter didn't know you as well as he does, I'd figure you for the chief
suspect, Chief." "What?" "My first guess would be that whoever did
this had a police background. The rubber hose isn't a common weapon.
Its whole purpose is to extract information, not to maim or kill. It's
the sort of thing that's passed by word of mouth from cop to cop and
police force to police force. Your average member of the public
wouldn't know about it and wouldn't have any use for it if he did. If
two fellows get into a knockdown, drag-out fight, they'll hit each
other with bottles or two-by-fours or whatever else is handy; but not
with rubber hoses. A rubber hose is the sort of
BooI otaE: Will Henry Lee weapon that's chosen coldly,
deliberately."
There was another silence, then Harmon Everson asked, "Was he sexually
assaulted?"
Sauls shook his head. "He wasn't sodomized, if that's what you mean.
There was no evidence of bruising in the anal passage and no semen
present. But there's sex with a capital S written all over this
thing."
"What do you mean?" asked Will Henry.
"I mean that whoever beat this boy up probably got a sexual thrill out
of doing it, enjoyed it, and if the boy hadn't got loose, it-might have
gone further. That sort of psychology isn't really my field, but there
are a couple of doctors in Europe could write you a book on the sexual
ramifications of this one incident."
"It's hard to believe there could be anything like that in a place like
Delano," said Will Henry.
The doctor took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Chief, when you've been a policeman a little bit longer, you'll get to
know that there is just about every possible kind of person in Delano,
or in the county, anyway. You'll get to look under the rock and see
what peculiar lives even perfectly ordinary people lead. I see it as a
doctor and especially in my work with the Columbus police and the
Muscogee County Sheriff's Office. I expect Frank sees it right here in
Delano, because people wilt tell a doctor things they wouldn't tell
their dearest friend." Dr. Mudter nodded agreement. Sauls heaved
another sigh and put down his notes. "There isn't anything in the
world that could happen in Columbus or Atlanta' or New Yrk or Paris,
France, that couldn't happen right here. Believe me, there isn't."
Twenty minutes later Will Henry arrived home to find Billy and Eloise
on the living room floor, playing with a golden Labrador puppy. Someone
had left it on the doorstep after supper, with a note reading, "A gift
from a friend for the Lee children."
That night Will Henry fell asleep quickly. A part of his mind knew
part of the truth, and the rest of him could not accept it. The
anxiety this condition produced affected him like a drug, and he slept
like a stone, afraid to dream.
THE BOY was buried in the city plot, a part of the cemetery set aside
for the indigent or the unknown.
Only Lamar Maddox, Will Henry, and the Baptist minister, Howard Abel,
attended; the two black men who had dug the grave did not seem to
count, although they removed their hats and assumed reverent postures
as Preacher Abel prayed for the receipt of th soul of the dead boy into
Abraham's bosom. Not the early hour, the numbing cold, or the
bleakness of the city plot inhibited the fervor of the minister as he
shut his eyes tightly, tilted his chin toward heaven, and let his rich
baritone roll over the bare earth toward the tall pines that watched
over the family plots with their brown grass and wrought iron fences.
"And we beseech thee, O Heavenly Father, find a place for this young
man in thy perfect paradise above, take him home to thee, and give him
eternal rest." Abel shifted his weight and altered his tone to one of
special pleading: "And we pray, dear Lord, for the parents of this boy.
Comfort them in thy secret way, and prepare them for the time when they
can no longer hope for the life of their lost son. Spare them needless
suffering and make them ready for the day when they can be reunited
with their child in thy heavenly host."
Will Henry huddled inside his pea coat and prayed for the
preacher to finish praying. The cold of the early hour made it
difficult to concentrate on the service, and he was becoming tense and
irritable as his thoughts began to shift from pity for the boy to
hatred for those who had beaten him, who had allowed this thing to
happen. Despite the depth of his personal religious feeling, he could
not bring himself to pray for them, and he felt guilty. "All these
things we ask in the name of thy son, Jesus Christ our savior. Ay-men."
Lamar Maddox stepped forward and touched a button on one of the four
metal posts around the grave, and the coffin began to be smoothly
lowered into the ground. Lamar watched carefully the inaugural
performance of this ingenious new piece of equipment. He would give it
its first large public display late ring the morning at a more
important and more profitable service. Skeeter Willis was waiting in
his car at the edge of the cemetery. "Morning, Will Henry. I saw your
gathering and stopped. What's up?" Will Henry climbed gratefully into
the warm car. "Well, Skeeter, looks like I've got a murder on my
hands." Skeeter did not respond. "Our paper boy found a dead body at
the foot of Hodo's Bluff yesterday momifig. Boy in his late teens. We
just finished burying him." Will Henry dearly had Skeeter's undivideo
aention. "Tell me all of it," Skeeter said. "Start at the beginning,
and don't leave anything out." Will Henry took the sheriff through
tl." events of the last twenty-four hours, again omitting only the
identity of his Klan source. "What do you think?" Skeeter asked. "I
don't know what to think," Will Henry said. "I don't put much stock in
the doctor's views about the kind of person that killed him. That
seems like the wildest kind of speculation to me. If the Klan had
anything to do with it I think this fellow I know would have told me or
at least hinted at it. I don't know anybody around here crazy enough
to do something like this. Foxy lives up there near where it happened,
and he's a little strange, but I can't see any fair reason for
suspecting him." "Foxy's not your man, Will Henry. Granted, he's a
little peculiar, but he's a good enough man. Not the Klan, either. In
spite of what you hear sometimes. No, Will Henry, I'll tell you what
happened, and I don't want you to think I'm jumping to conclusions.
I'm just talking out of my own experience and the experience of a dozen
other sheriffs I've talked to, Your killer's long gone by now. There's
a lot of fellows on the road these days, what with the weevil and the
times. Probably this boy was traveling with another fellow or two, and
he had something they wanted--not much, maybe a little money or
something---and they beat him up to get it, and he tried to run and
fell over the bluff. These hoboes are always killing each other,
fighting over money or whiskey or less. I'm not surprised the boy was
naked. I've known 'em to kill a man for his shoes, nothing more. When
they've been on the road for a while they start playing by their own
rules, don't care nothing for what's right any more, just living from
day to day." Will Henry felt oddly relieved. "Well, that sounds
pretty plausible. It hadn't occcurred to me, I'll admit. I'd begun to
think it was somebody here in Delano, and that really worried me." "I
don't think you have to worry about that. This fellow isn't going to
get caught, not for this, anyway. Somewhere down the line somebody' Il
do the same or worse to him, or he'll finally run afoul of the law.
But you're not going to catch him, Will Henry. I know you'd like to,
not just to get a featherin your cap," but because you're mad about
this. I know how you feel. Now, if you don't want this kind of thing
happening all the time, take my advice and don't ever let no hoboes get
a-jungle going around Delano. Just make sure they don't get off the
train. You let 'em start camping around here, and you'll have one of
these killings a week, you mark my words." "I see your point."
"Another thing, Will Henry." Skeeter shifted in his seat-and rubbed at
his nose. "About the Klan. I think you'll find it's best to leave 'em
be. Somebody calls you about a cross burning, you go out there in your
own sweet time and poke around the ashes with your toe and look
concerned and forget about it. They don't mess with nobody don't
deserve messing with, and they'll take care of things you can't
yourself sometimes. Like horsewhipping that fellow last year. He
needed it, and I couldn't do it; so they did it." Will Henry's
surprise must have shown in his face, because Skeeter reddened slightly
and went on, "There's some highly thought of people in the Klan, Will
Henry. They're all that's
Booc o: Will Henry Lee going to keep the niggers in line, and I've got
a lot of respect for anybody can do that."
Will Henry made an effort to keep his face expressionless and his voice
calm. "Skeeter, I don't hold with horse whippings or scaring innocent
colored folks to death with cross burnings, and I don't have much
respect for grown men who run around at night in bed sheets. If I
catch anybody at any of that in this town I'll have 'em in jail on the
best charge I can think of." He paused. "And you can pass that
message on to anybody who's interested."
Skeeter reddened further and began to fumble with starting his car.
"Suit yourself, Will Henry."
"Can you think of anything I should have done that I haven't already
done, Skeeter?"
"Nope, you've covered everything I would of. I don't think you're
going to catch any murderers on this one, though. Whoever did it is
long gone." The car's engine clattered to life,
and Will Henry got out..
"Thanks for coming down, Skeeter."
"Any time," Skeeter called back as he put the car into gear.
"Shit," the sheriff muttered under his. breath as he pulled away.
lO0 HI]I
FOR A WEEK nothing whatever happened in Delano to require Will Henry's
attention. He watched for speeders, checked locks, and patrolled
streets, but nothing occurred that could take his mind off the boy. The
story was run prominently in the Atlanta Constitution, and Will Henry
hoped that someone might read it and come forward to identify the boy,
but there was not a single phone call. He covered his steps again,
talked to the people who lived on the ridge near the bluff, examined
again the path to the bluff, and racked his brain to think of some
other sensible step to take, but he could not. As each avenue of
investigation proved fruitless, he turned more to Skeeter's theory of a
murder among hoboes; it made sense; it fit the facts in every respect;
but he could not drive the thought from his mind that there was a
killer loose in town, and there was nothing he could do about it. At
home he had always been a quiet but affectionate father and husband,
but now he was unusually silent, and the children tiptoed around him.
Carrie did not. She bore his preoccupation for a day or two, bustling
about the house in her accustomed manner, cooking, sweeping, dusting,
scolding children; then she had had enough. When the children were in
bed she removed his feet from the stool in front of his easy chair, sat
on the stool, and looked at him closely. "It seems to me that if you
are going
Boor ONZ: Will Henry Lee to be able to live with this job you are
going to have to maintain some detachment from it." "I know it, but
it's hard. Especially in this instance." He had told her little more
than he had told the newspaper. "You're new at the job, but it seems
to me you've done everything any policeman could do under the
circumstances. Would Skeeter Willis have done anything you haven't?"
"I asked him that. He said not." Will Henry also felt that Skeeter
had now withdrawn any help he might have offered, because of their
conversation about the Klan, but he did not say so to Carrie. "Can't
you find some peace in that?" "I know I ought to be able to, but I
haven't." "Then I think you ought to pray about it. I'll pray for
you, too." "Thank you, honey. I know that will help." "You haven't
been paying much attention to me lately, you know." " He smiled down
at her and pulled her into his lap. "Are the children asleep?" "Like
logs. "Will Henry finally found distraction from routine and from his
state of mind when court met in Greenville, the Meriwether county seat.
His testimony was required in the matter of the robbery of the Bank of
Delano, since he was the arresting officer of the O'Brien brothers. The
twenty-mile drive took; nearly an hour over a pitted, badly paved road
that was still the best in the county. Greenville was a pretty town by
Georgia standards. Dating from the 84os, it presented a handsome,
red-brick, white-domed courthouse set in a spacious square of neat
stores and green grass, and out on the La Grange road there were
graceful examples of antebellum architecture, set among carefully
tended azaleas and tall magnolia trees. It was one of those rare,
Georgia towns which conformed to the southern myth. The streets in the
square were twice the breadth of Main Street in Delano and offered
ample room for the mule-drawn wagons of farmers and the cars of local
merchants. As Will Henry drove into the little town, the square was
teeming with people, for the opening of court was a semi gala occasion,
offering an opportunity to see distant
neighbors, to window-shop on the square, and to ransact a little
business at the bank or at one of the cotton gins which still clung to
existence despite the pestilence of the boll weevil. Will Henry
thought, as he pulled into a parking space reserved for court officials
and the sheriff's department, that the lack of money showed in the
crowd. Clothes were clean but patched; the women looked longingly into
the store windows, but most remained outside; there were too many
children selling sandwiches and fruit and homemade preserves to an un
buying crowd; and the men stood about in groups, a vacant, sunned look
about them, talking, but not laughing much. Since the War Belveen the
States, as it was called in Georgia, these people had had little, and
had perhaps not had much before that. Only the land. During the boom
that had come with the Great War they had hoped for a umre; they had
worked harder and borrowed more for seed and equipment. Unused land
had been cleared and planted in more of the single crop, cotton. The
war ended, and with it the boom, and meanwhile, out of west Texas a
plague of Biblical proportions beganrnoving eas tat the rate of sixty
miles a year. They saw it coming. Deputations were sent who looked,
came back, and said, yes, the boll weevil was destroying cotton,
something must be done. But no one knew what to do. Some tried to
diversify, buying dairy cafle or chickens, but there was no mar-kef for
these producs, no economic system to con nec farmer and consumer. And
so, even when the weevil crossed the Chattahoochee from Alabama, men
were still planting cotton and hoping. Nobody but a farmer can
understand what it means to clear land, plow, plant, then come to
harvest and find nothing but dust in his hands and the note due at the
bank. Will Henry knew, as he picked his way through the crowd,
exchanging a greeting here and there, that all that stood betwcSen many
of these people and starvation was the fact that a prudent farm family
could produce much of what it needed, keep a cow and a few chickens,
grow vegetables and put them up for winter, pick berries and crab
apples and make preserves, make clothes from flour sacks and mend them
repeatedly. And there were quail, rabbit, squirrel, and 'possum for
the boys to shoot if enough preserves and sandwiches could be sold in
town to buy ammunition. Will Henry thanked God it hadn't come to that
for his family.
Boo ONe: Wil/Henry Lee o
He found Skeeterin his office, a place of oiled floors, cigar smoke,
and spitoons; it was filled with bewildered people waiting for justice
for their kin, wondering whether their husbands and sons would come
home with them that night or go with Skeeter to the county camp, and
how it had come to this. The two men went together into the
high-ceilinged courtroom, with its hard benches and yellowing paint,
and chatted idly up front as the milling throng filed in, blacks in the
balcony, whites downstairs. Skeeter excused himself and left through a
side door to find his prisoners, and Will Henry seated himself on a
front bench and waited to be called. He was not kept waiting long. A
derk bustled in, dumped a load of papers on his table, and yelled into
the din, "Orderin the court! The superior court of the fourth district
of Georgia is now in session, Hizzoner Roy B. Hill presiding! All
rise!" All rose, and Judge Roy Hill strode to his bench and rapped
twice. "Be seated. Call the first case." "The state of Georgia ver
us P. and R. O'Brien!" A side door opened, and the O'Briens,
accompanied by Skeeter Willis, entered, blinking in the sunlight which
was streaming through the room's large windows. They were directed to
face the bench, where they wefe joined by their attorney, Pope Herring,
a courthouse fixture for twenty years. "Read the charge." "It is
charged that on the first day of January, in the year of our Lord
nineteen hundred and twenty, the defendants, P. O'Brien and R. O'Brien,
did enter the premises of' the Bank of Delano in Delano, in the county
of Meriwether, in the state of Georgia, and did, by the use of force
and with firearms, unlawfully take money in the sum of seven hundred
and forty dollars and forty cents in violation of section five one five
four of. the penal code of Georgia!" "How do the defendants plead?"
asked the Judge, turning to Pope Herring. Herring stepped forward and
assumed an almost reye rent tone. "Your Honor, the defendants both
plead guilty to the charge as read, and, being unable to raise bail,
request immediate sentencing. In sentencing I would ask the court to
consider that these boys are from an honest farming family and that
neither has ever been in serious trouble before. I would also point
out that no one was injured in this incident and that very little
lO4 CHFS
damage to property occurred. When faced with arrest for their offense,
the defendants readily surrendered and offered no resistance, and I
submit that this incident occurred only because of a rare
overindulgence on New Year's Eve, the night before. The defendants beg
consideration of these circumstances and the mercy of the court." The
judge turned to the county attorney, Jesse Bulloch. "Does the state
wish to comment before I sentence?" Bulloch shuffled forward. "Yes,
Your Honor. The Upson County Sheriff's Office has advised me that the
defendants have on three other occasions been arrested on drunk and
disorderly charges and on one occasion have served thirty days in the
Up-son County jail on such charges." Pope Herring shot an
uncharacteristically sharp glance at the O'Briens, who blushed and
looked guilty. Bulloch continued. "I would also point out that the
car which they were driving and the weapons which they used in the bank
robbery were stolen and that a warrant for their arrest in Upson County
has been issued on charges arising from these thefts. The state
cannot, therefore, join in a recommendation for clemency in this case."
Are handed the judge ashe et of paper. 'lhis is a true copy of their
record of prior arrests and of the Upson County warrants." The judge
read the sheet of paper, placed it on his desk, and directed his
attention to the two boys, who stood with their hands cuffed behind
him, staring at the floor. "The defendants will step forward." The
boys moved toward the bench and looked sheepishly up at the judge. "The
court accepts the plea of guilty to the charge and accedes to the
request for immediate sentencing. After consideration of the defense r
eluest for mercy and the statements as to the past conduct of the
defendants by the county attorney, I sentence both defendants to twenty
years at hard labor in the county prison camp. However, in
consideration of the facts that no one was hurt, that no resistance was
offered to arrest, and the absence of any prior felony conviction, I
will suspend the last two years of the sentences, on condition of good
behavior." He rapped sharply with his gavel. "Next case." Skeeter
led the bewildered boys out of the courtroom, followed by their
attorney, and the clerk began to call the next case over a hum of
conversation in the courtroom. The whole process had taken less than
three minutes.
ONe: Wi//He Le
Will Henry sat, nearly as bewildered as the O'Briens. They ay at least
eihteen years of their lives or fi/teen minutes drunken foolishness. He
left the courtroom and drove back to his journey to Geenville wasted.
All the way back he the contrast between the imprisonment of the
CYBriens the continuing freedom of the unknown boy's murderer.
He murderer, Will Henry thought, and I am his pursuer.
to each other. I must find him, if it takes all of my life.
ABOUT THE TIME Will Henry left Greenville for the trip back to Delano,
Hugh Holmes left Delano for Greenville. They passed each otherin Warm
Springs and exchanged waves. Holmes had business at the courthouse
quite different from that of Will Henry. It was to be an important day
for Holmes---a milestone day--and it was typical of Holmes that he had
been preparing for it for the past ten years. Holmes had, on settlin8
in Delano, taken the trouble to learn how things were done, not just on
the county level, but also on the state level. He had begun to
perceive that there existed a complex pattern of relationships among
the county bosses, a small number of large Atlanta law firms,
small-town lawyers and newspaper editors, the railroads, and the
Georgia Power Company. The law firms controlled the communications
between the big-business community and the county bosses; the railroads
were principal clients of many small-town lawyers, a group which
dominated the state legislature; and the Georgia Power Company had
become a major advertise ring many small-town newspapers, running large
corporate advertising schedules and paying for their space in advance
on yearly contracts, thus giving them a sympathetic ear among local
editors. The platform upon which this network of relationships rested
was known as the County Unit System, established in the Recon Booc oE:
Will Henry Lee
st ruCtion year of 876 end designed to give the state's rural counties
domination over state elections. Each county was given two unit votes
for each representative it had in the General Assembly; thus, the 8
most populous counties had six votes each, the 3o next-most populous
counties had four, and the remaining counties had two votes each.
Holmes's own senatorial district comprised the counties of Meriwether,
Harris, and Talbot, also known as the Tri-Counties, which meent that if
he could establish firm political control over those counties he could
produce a county unit vote equal to that of, say, Fulton County, which
in-duded Atlanta, and enjoy commensurate political influence in the
state. Only a handful of men could produce six county unit votes on
demand, and Holmes meent to be one of them.
He would be aided in his quest by a condition he had helped bring
about; indeed, Holmes had almost singlehendly invented the tri-county
idea, although he was pleased to let people forget it. The three
counties had lacked sufficient population for each to support a county
fair, sg, Holmes, using the Deleno Kiwanis Club as his instrument, had
brought about the Tri-County Fair, held each fall in Delano, which
brought farmers and townspeople from more than two dozen small
communities to Delano to have their crops, animals, and recipes judged
and to fritter away a dollar or two on unaccustomed paid entertainment.
Holmes had also lent support to various athletic competitions among the
schools of the three counties, which fostered a feeling of community
end further nurtured the ti-county c cpt. It was this concept which
might give him the political clout he needed at state level in order to
further the economic, educational, and social well-being of Meriwether,
Harris, end Talbot counties, which was his long-term personal goal. It
was not entirely an altruistic goal, though Holmes was extremely dvic
minded; the Bank of Delano was the economic cornerstone of the area,
and what was good for the Tri-Counties was good for the bank.
And so, as Holmes entered the chambers of Judge Roy B. Hill, he was
ready to make his first visible move from beipg a merely influential
men to being an overtly powerful one, He was joining a coalition of men
which ran things in the Tri-Counties. It was typical of his way of
doing things that he did not seek admission to this group until he was
in a position to command it, end that he took pains to see that
commanding it was unnecessary. It was also typical o Holmes that he
was joining the coalition at the top.
Cms Present for the initiation were the judge, the county attorney,
Jesse Bulloch; the sheriffs of Meriwether and Talbot counties, Skeeter
Willis and Torn Erenheim; the representatives of Meriwether and Harris
counties, William ("Tiny") Estes and Harold Whitworth, both lawyers;
two newspaper editors, Harmon Everson of the Delano Messenger and Roz
Hill, a cousin of the judge's, of the Meriwether Vindicator. The
occasion was the confirmation of the candidacy of Holmes for the office
of state senator in the Democratic primary. Considering the
constitution of the meeting, this was tantamount to the appointment of
Holmes as the Democratic candidate, which was tantamount to election.
The current holder of the office was absent, being otherwise engaged at
a private hospital in Atlanta, which specialized in the conversion of
drunken citizens into sober ones, but Holmes was able to produce his
written regrets, along with a statement of disinclination to seek
reelection. Holmes's selection was unanimous, although at least two of
the other men present had coveted the nomination for themselves. As if
to dispel any doubts about their harmony, Holmes quietly announced hat
a complete repaying of Highway 41 from the Talbot County line at Delano
to the Coweta County line above Greenville would commence on the
following Monday, to be completed by the end of the year. This
announcement had the effect of producing respectful enthusiasm for his
candidacy in quarters where there had been only regretful acquiescence,
since no man or combination of men in the room had been able to achieve
this coup in more than four years of assaults on the state highway
department through every means at their collective disposal. When
Holmes further stated that every. mile of the repaying would be
accomplished by professional contractors without the assistance of
convict labor, respect turned to awe. The judge recovered first.
"Where, may I ask, will funds come from for this work?" "From the
governor's contingency fund," replied Holmes. "I've suggested that
this project should be used as an experiment to demonstrate that a
central state highway fund and competitive bids from contractors will
produce cheaper, higher-quality roac building in the state. The old
way of having each county responsible for its roads using chain gangs
just isn't sufficient any longer, now that we're making such a rapid
transition to the automobile. We need a proper state highway system,
now, and I'll
be making that a cornerstone of my campaign." There was ashifting and
murmering in the room which said, "Of course," as if the group had been
having weekly discussions on this very trend. Holmes restrained
himself from bringing up any other of his goals in the state senate. He
had already, with this single coup, established himself as the one
person in the group whom anyone would have to consult before doing
anything, and he knew this single idea would hold them for some time,
without his having to expend any more political ammunition. Holmes
left the courthouse that day with what he wanted, or at least, as much
of what he wanted as the group could give him. He began to look for
the rest of what he wanted among the crowd still gathered around the
square, exchanging a greeting here, shaking a hand there. It was not
too early to begin.
In late September the Democratic primary took place, and Holmes we more
than eighty percent of the votes cast, running on a platform of a stae
highway system, higher standards in education and better pay for
teachers, and more help and advice for farmers from the state
lepaxtment of agriculture. Shortly after the primary, a meeting of the
courthouse group was called, and driving to Greenville, Holmes was
annoyed by what seemed to be slow progress being made on the paving of
the road. Just north of Warm Springs he stopped his car to allow a
single lane of traffic to pass around a work site. Looking idly around
him, he was surprised to see a gangbf convicts swinging picks in a
drainage ditch beside the contractor's work party. Two of the men
looked vaguely familiar, but traffic moved on before he could place
them. He was nearly to Greenville before recognition came with a jolt.
They were the O'Brien brothers who had held up the bank, or rather,
they were pale shadows of the husky farm boys he remembered from the
day of their arrest. They were both pitifully thin and looked ten
years older. At the meeting Holmes accepted congratulations on the
size of his victory and made sure it had sunk in well bfo re changing
the subject. "Driving up here today, I saw a chain gang working on the
repaving of forty-one." He turned to Skeeter. "Why is that?" Skeeter
replied blandly, "Oh, the contractor said he could use some more muscle
down there. I obliged him." Skeeter tilted his
chair back and sucked on a toothpick.
The room became very still Holmes leveled his gaze at Skeeter and
waited for a moment before speaking in a tone that was quiet and cold.
"You will oblige me by seeing that all convict labor is permanently
removed from work on forty-one today." He looked around the room, then
zeroed in on Judge Hill. "Judge, I understand that your brother-in-law
was awarded the contract for the paving work." The judge nodded. "Tell
him today that he had better have a full paid crew back at work by
tomorrow morning if he wants to keep that contract. Tell him, too,
that he's behind schedule, and he's got thirty days to catch up. If he
has to hire extra men to do it, that's his problem."
Holmes once again addressed the group. "It was not easy to get twenty
miles of pavement for this county at state expense. I will not see the
plan for a state highway system fail because ground rules which I
myself set were violated. Am I perfectly clear on this point?" Skeeter
and the judge looked uncomfortable, but both nodded. Holmes turned
back to Skeeter. "And while you're speaking with the captain down at
the camp, you might mention lo him that I'll be paying him a little
visit next week to look at conditions down there. I might even have
lunch with the prisoners."
Skeeter's eyes narrowed. "Now, listen, Holmes, the way that camp is
run is none of your business, and--" Holmes cut him short.
"You had better accustom yourself to the idea that from now on
everything that happens in Meriwether, Talbot, and Harris counties ismy
business. And if you can't arrange my visit to the camp I'll make my
own arrangements. Clark Howell at the Atlanta Constitution might like
to send somebody along with me."
Skeeter reddened. "All right, all right. I'll tell him you're
coming."
The tone of the rest of the meeting was subdued. Afterward, Holmes
reflected that he had rarely given anybody a direct order about
anything, and he worried that perhaps he had used too much weight too
soon with the courthouse bunch. But he was angry that such an
important project had been jeopardized, and shocked at the appearance
of two men who had been in perfect condition six months before. He
wondered what he would find at the camp, and he dreaded the visit.
Booc ONR: Will Henry Lee l'x
THE Bi2ER WINTER of 1919-2o gave way grudgingly to spring, in fits and
starts. It was late March before the new season seemed in any way
established, and mid-April beforg plowing could be well underway.
Summer arrived well and truly in early May, and Will Henry was sorry.
He liked a long spring, with time to savor the cool nights and pleasant
days before entering the crucible of a Georgia summer. Not until May
did the pervading sense: of ineffectual ness finally leave him. The
tedium of traffic violations and routine patrolling had been broken
only by a cutting in Braytown. Will Henry had jailed the assailant and
watched Frank Mudter put thirty stitches into a crescent-shaped wound
that exposed the black man's skull, gleaming, Will Henry thought, like
a silver dollar in the light on the examining table. The victim, who
according to Dr. Frank's estimate, had lost two quarts of blood, had
hopped off the table and strolled easily from the clinic, cheerfully
promising to pay the doctor as soon as payday rolled around. Dr.
Frank had allowed that he never ceased to marvel at the amount of abuse
the black male could take without going into shock or, indeed, seeming
much worse for the wear. Shortly after the cutting, Will Henry's home
telephone rang late one evening. The caller announced herself as Mrs.
Smith and hurriedly asked him to come. Will Henry lost a moment
before
he remembered the Mrs. Smith at Maple and Poplar who had reported the
wife beating some months earlier. "He's doing it again," she whispered
in hal panic. "Please come right away, before he hurs her." Will
Henry pulled his pants on over his pajamas, strapped on his gun, and
ran for the car, doing his best not to upset Carrie. He drove fast,
unimpeded by traffic, taking the corners as fas tas the old Ford
allowed, fearful that he would not be in time. During the drive he
could think only of the lump of coal Butts had been holding last time.
The man could kill her with less. He screeched to a halt before the
Maple Street house and ran for the door. The scene inside was much as
before, domesticity undisturbed, except this time she was holding the
baby, holding it seemingly as a buffer between her sel and her husband.
She was obviously frightened and her husband was obviously angry, but
the only sign that anything was amiss was her swollen lower lip and a
bit of blood. Will Henry brought himself to a halt and took a deep
breath. "Mrs. BuRs, are you hur anywhere besides your lip?" The woman
shook her head. Her husband took a step backward looked worriedly ack
and forth from his wife to the chief. "Are any teeth knocked out? Are
you sure you're not hurt anywhere else?" She shook her head again and
this time dislodged a pair of tears, which rolled down her cheeks.
Tears of embarrassment more than anything else, Will Henry thought. He
sat her down and looked closely at her. "Now listen to me, Mrs.
Butts. I'm going to take your husband with me for the night--" She
stared to interrupt. "No, it's best that he come with me. Now, I want
you to put the baby to bed and then put some iodine on your lip where
it's cut. I don't reckon you need to see the doctor tonight. You come
and see me in the morning and let me know if you want to file charges
against your husband." She shook her head again, and he knew she would
never do it. He turned to the husband and said with a gentleness that
belied his anger, "Now you go and get in my car, and don't say a word."
He umed back to the woman, who seemed to be collecting herself. "He'll
be all right with me. Do you want me to get Mrs. $mith from next door
to help you?" She spoke for the first time, quietly. "No, I'll fix my
sel up.
Will Henry Lee xx5 be all right." He left her and went to the car,
where Butts waited quietly in the back seat. He drove back to the
jail, and not a word passed between them, but Will Henry felt exactly
the way he had the time before: he seemed to have trouble exhaling his
lungs were too full of air. He unlocked the front door of the jail and
allowed Butts to precede him into the building. Butts walked
unhesitatingly toward the cells. Will Henry unlocked the outer door,
then a cell door, and Butts walked in. They were alone in the cell
block. Will Henry hit him. The blow was delivered with his open hand
and struck high on the left cheekbone. Butts reeled slightly, but did
not fall. Will Henry swung again, this time with the back of his hand.
The blow straightened Butts, but still he did not fall or even attempt
to stay out of range. The beating "continued, deliberately, dancelike,
around the cell. Butts clenched his fists and damped his elbows
tightly against his ribs, but made no attempt to shield his face or
head; an involuntary hunching of the shOUlders was his only defense.
When Will Henry's right han :i began to hurt he switched to his left,
and still they moved together around the cell like dance partners with
the floor to themselves, mutual participants, each assigned his role.
When his left hand began to hurt, too, he stopped. Butts maintained
his clenched position, standing, with his shoulders hunched. Tears
were streaming down his face, and sobs racked him, air and spittle
hissing through his clenched teeth. "You won't do it again," WilPHenry
sai'panting slightly. Butts sobbed louder and shook his head,
hisvhole, tense body moving with it. "Not ever again?" Will Henry
asked, the way he might have asked Billy after a switching. Butts
shook himself again. His face was red and puffy, but there were no
marks on him. He would look perfectly normal by morning, bar a bruise
or two. Will Henry stepped out of the cell and locked it. As he
turned to switch off the light and lock the outer door, he-noticed that
Butts had not moved, was still sobbing. He turned off the light and
left. Driving home, he felt dean sed with none of the guilt that
remained when he punished his children. He felt, for the first time
since having taken the job, that he had seen his duty
through to the end, that he had done justice. He felt, at long last,
effective.
At home Carrie questioned him.
"That Butts fellow was beating his wife again. Nothing serious, he
didn't hurt her." He climbed into bed and snuggled against her. "He
won't do it again."
BooIc ouE: Will Henry Lee 15
WHEN' WILL HENRY and Carrie had left the farm, only Flossie's sister,
Nellie, and her husband, Jesse
Cole, had remained working there. Robert and Flos she Dunn had
followed the Lees to Delano, where Flossie gave
Carrie part-time help in the house and, in the remainder of her time,
began to establish a home baking business in her own kitchen. Robert,
unable to find steady employment, turned to yard work and soon garnered
half a dzen regul:mstomers, giving him a modest but dependable income.
:
Jesse and Nellie Cole, perhaps because of their temperaments, had not
been so fortunate as Robert and Flossie. Nellie lacked Flossie's
natural charm and combined considerable intelligence with a tendency to
speak her mind. Jesse's intelligence was the equal of his wife's, and
if he did not often speak his mind, his reserve could sometimes be
taken for sullenness. Jesse and Nellie Cole possessed between them
more dignity than was good for a black couple in rural Georgia in 92o.
They also possessed a son, Willie, who, even at the age of nine, would
have elidted a one-word description from most white people: "uppity."
Willie and Billy Lee had been playmates on the farm, and even Billy,
with a generous nature and a child's lack of prejudice, sometimes found
Willie a little hard to take. When the Lees left the farm, Jesse and
Nellie were secure for
a while, because the bank continued Jesse's pay so that the place
could be kept up until sold. When Hoss Spence leased the place and
installed a foreman in the house, Jesse's money stopped, and he went to
Hoss for work.
Hoss Spence farmed dairy cattle and, increasingly, peaches. He had
appeared in Meriwether County some ten years before with a pocketful of
money some said had been earned in the making and selling of corn
whiskey. He had bought land and had shown talent and shrewdness in
managing it and was now a principal supplier of dairy products to
Delano and was contemplating the building of a packing shed to process
his own peaches. He and his family were now prominent in the
community, the church, and, some said, the Ku Klux Klan.
Jesse drove to the Spence place in the buggy that had been his
father's, pulled by a small pinto horse he had traded a plowing mule
for three' years before. He inquired for Hoss at the kitchen door of
the big brick house and was sent to a nearby pen, where he found Hoss
overseeing the breeding of two of his herd. Jesse pulled up the horse
far enough away not to disturb the proceedings, got down, and stood by
the horse's head until the bull was done and Hoss noticed him. The
white man walked over, his hands in his hip pockets, stopped in front
of the horse, and began examining its teeth. "Morning, Jesse."
"Mornin', Mr. Spence." "Nice little animal."
"He ain't much good, but he get me 'round."
"You want to sell him?"
Jesse knew this was a test of his subservience. He could not flatly
refuse to sell the horse; that would be a breach of etiquette, an
insult. He did the best he could. "Well, suh, Mist' Spence, he ain't
much good, but my boy, he real proud of him. Nellie shoot me if I sell
him." The two men chuckled together. Apparently, Jesse had passed.
"You looking for work, Jesse?"
"Yessuh."
"I don't plant no cotton. Don't have no croppers." "Nossuh."
"You know anything else 'sides cotton?" Hoss picked up a hoof and
examined it.
"Well, suh, I grow up milkin' fo' cows evuh day of my life.
Boo from: Will Hen Lee zz7 My daddy wuz on of' Mist' Reynolds's place
ovuh Talbot County. He have fo' cows. I'se a pret' fair carpenter,
too. Fix things up 'round the place." "How about your boy?" "He
ain't but jcs' turn nine. His mama want him in school. But he chop
wood." "Nellie?" "Nellie jcs' 'bout the bes washwoman they is, yes suh
"Uh-huh." Hoss put down the hoof and stood up, stroking the horse's
neck. "Can't offer you much in the way of money, Jesse. Times is
hard. But there's a house empty over there." He pointed to a
crumbling shack a couple of hundred yards away. "Needs some fixing up,
but you say you're a carpenter. There's some scrap lumberin the tool
shed. Roof's all right, I'd say. You can have a quart of milk a day
and a pound of butter a week from the dairy. I grow my own wheat and
mill it over at Luthersville. You can have a sack of flour every
month. There's room for some vegetables behind the house and there'll
be some corn at harvest time and some peaches in the summer. Miz
pence'll give Nellie a few chickens that can scratch around your place.
All right?" "Yessuh." "My niggers work hard, do what they're told,
or I run 'em off, you understand me?" "Yessuh." Hoss began to stroll
back toward the main house. Jesse started to heave a small sigh of
relief, but Hoss cut him off in mid sigh ;
"Folks say Nellie's got as harp tongue. You see se keeps it in her
mouth, hear?"
"Yessuh."
Hoss continued toward the house, and Jesse turned the horse,
climbed into the buggy, and started back for his family and their few
things. He was sweating heavily, and his hands were trembling. Soon
the horse's trotting soothed him, and he reflected on his new job,
their new life. It wasn't a bad deal. He knew he wouldn't see much
money, but they could live. The mj, lk and butter was a nice thing. It
wouldn't be like working for Mr. Will
Henry, but if he could keep Nellie quiet and the boy out of trouble
they could live.
CHtS
IN MID-OCTOBER of that year Billy Lee spent a Saturdayafteruoon that he
would have cause to remember many times during the remainder of his
life, partly because it seemed to embody the best of a long series of
childhood Saturday afternoons and to represent them all in his mind,
and partly because he was introduced to something new and, in many
ways, disturbing. He spent the morning raking leaves, for which he
received his weekly pocket money, had a sandwich and-a slice of cake
from Flossie, because his father was too busy on Saturdays to come home
for a proper dinner, and then he went to town. Town was a single block
of Main Street, and it was only two blocks from his home, but for a
child of eight during his first year as a town dweller it could not
have been more fascinating if he had arrived from a great distance by
magic carpet. He began at the Delano Drug Company, on the corner,
where he splurged a nickel of his fifteen cents on a root beer, a
concoction made all the more exotic because he could watch it being
assembled before his eyes--a splash of syrup, a dash of milk, then
filled with soda water and, at the last moment, the handle reversed on
the tap to produce a thin, hard stream that whipped the top of the
drink into a creamy froth. He savored this over a copy of the Police
Gazette, borrowed from the magazine rack,
then carefully returned. Mr. Birdsong didn't mind if you didn't buy
them as long as you put them back neatly, and Billy was not about to
abuse this privilege, since it inflated his pocket money no end.
From there he went to another favorite place, McKibbon's Hardware,
which smelled wonderfully of iron and rope. There he spent some time
assessing the relative qualities of two dozen pocket knives and settled
tentatively on one with a bone handle and four blades. A final
selection would have to wait until he had saved the dollar and twenty
cents.
Then to the feed store, which was the cleanest-smelling place in the
world, with its powdery aroma of grain and flour. To Billy's mind, Jim
Buce's feed store was also Delano's answer to a big-city pet shop, for
there was a stack of deep trays holding dozens of baby chicks, which
were as cute as kittens, until they got bigger. He cupped one of the
fluffy creatures in his hands for a few minutes and wondered again how
anything so lovable could grow up to be a.chicken,
Finally, he dashed through the thickening shopping crowd to the post
office, where he peeked through the little windows of the boxes in a
private game to find the furthermost postmark. Birmingham was the best
he could do. Once he had found a New York postmark; on another
occasion, one from a place called Los, in California. He saved the
wanted posters for last, imprinting the faces on his mind and trying to
remember their crimes, so that he might someday recognize,a criminal
visage and turn the man in to his father.
From the post office he dashed across the street, nearly under the
hooves of a team of mules, and through the passage next to the
Toonerville Trolley, which was a real trolley car turned into a diner,
and came to the most entertaining place in all of Delano, Winslow's
Livery Stable. It sat behind the north row of Main Street stores,
perhaps fifty yards away, on a bluff which fell to the B&M railroad
tracks. Between the stores and the stables was a large open space, and
this was now rapidly filling yith wagons, which his father no longer
permitted to park on Main Street on Saturdays, and with perhaps two
hundred people, many of them leading or grooming mules, which would be
auctioned that afternoon. He was darting through the milling crowd
when he ran, forcibly, into Foxy Funderburke.
Foxy let out a loud grunt, then grasped him by his coat at
each shoulder and held him back at arm' length, a fierce scowl on his
wizened face. The scowl softened slightly. "Young Lee," Foxy said,
not unkindly.
"Yes sir," Billy panted." "Scuse me, I wasn'twatching where I was
going."
Foxy still held him, still stared at him. "How's your dog?" Billy end
Eloise had, at their mother's insistence, composed a thank-you letter
when the puppy had arrived.
"Just fine, sir. We named him Pepper, 'cause Eloise spilled some
pepper on him and he sneezed." Still Foxy held him. "He's on the back
porch right now, 'cause Mr. Winslow doesn't like dogs around at the
mule sales." Still Foxy held him and stared. "He's an awful good dog,
and we thank you for him."
Foxy released him but continued to watch him closely. "Do you know
about Labrador retrievers? Where they came from and all that?" Foxy
spoke flatly, as if he were thinking of something else.
"Nossir."
"They originated in Newfoundland and Labrador. The fishermen there
used them to help retrieve their nets in the cold water. They have
such thick hair that the cold water doesn't bother them, and they like
to swim. That's why they're such good duck dogs. Does your father
take you duck hunting?"
"Nossir, he doesn't like shotguns much. He hunts squirrels and rabbits
with a .22, though."
"Maybe I'll take you and your dog duck hunting sometimes." Foxy did
not wait for a reply. He took a deep breath and released it, then
walked away. Billy looked after him. He didn't understand Foxy
Funderburke. He didn't talk like other people. You didn't know what
you were supposed to say.
"Hey, Billy Lee!" A familiar voice spun him around.
"Hey, Willie!" Billy had not seen him since leaving the farm. The
black youngster had grown at lea stan inch but was still very slender.
"How you doing?"
"I'm doin' aw right Mama and Daddy's over to the buggy." '[They doing
all right?"
"Yeah. Daddy, he milkin' for Mist' Hoss Spence and fixin' up 'round
the place. Mama, she washin', and I chops a whole heap o' wood. How
you like it in town?"
"I like it fine. We got a new dog; he's a Labrador tri ever They used
to pull in fishing nets in Labrador. O1' Foxy Funder Will Henry Lee
to us. How you like it out at the Spences'?" "It's aw right We don't
git off much, but we git a whole lotta 'n stuff. O1' man Hoss whup me
onct fo' spillin' some milk. to had a fit, but I reckon I done had it
comin'. Daddy ' he reckon so, too." Willie Cole seemed older to
Billy; quieter. r thought he liked the change. "Hey, let's go watch
Farcell do the shoeing!" The two boys through the crowd toward the
smithy, which stood, not un spreading chestnut tree, but under a tin
roof at one side of They found a pair of nail kegs and settled
themselves out of the way, but in sight of the smith's hands and
Farrell Moran did not like little boys chattering and asking not on a
Saturday when there were a lot of mules to shod and gossip to catch up
on from the men who brought A man led up a mule, and Farrell tethered
it to an iron ring a post. He picked up a hoof and quickly pulled the
nails and the old shoe. He handed it to Billy with a wink, then the
hoof and, with deft strokes of a two-handled blade, cut away the excess
hoof as easily as a man pared a fingernail. Billy cringed inside his
collar, but the knife never seemed to hurt I lthe animals. Farrell
selected as hoe compared it to the hoof, exanged it for another, and
plunged it into the coals, pumping The bellows with his foot to make
the fire hotter. As the Shoe began to heat, he quickly repeated his
actions with each hoof. '
Billy and Willie exchanged a quick grin. Now came the part they t
'liked best. !/ Farrell retrieved as hoe with his tongs, placd 't n me
anvn' nd began banging it into the shape he wanted, sparks flying
Farrell he plunged the red-hot shoe into a trough of water, ana
, the boys laughed out loud. as the water hissed and bubbled. He it
ted the shoe to the hoof and nailed it home, clipping the ends Iof the
nails, which protruded through the hoof. He picked up
I 'another shoe from the fire and began banging again.
'! 5' "What about o1' Hugh Holmes getting' that road to Greenville
' paved by the state!"
I;: "What did Holmes have to do with that?" a fa.rn.er askyd.. '
"Shoot, where you been? He talked the state into pa yang tot ac whole
thing, and that was before he even got electeci;;
I: "You hear about that business with the county camp? some r ody
chimed in. "Mr. Holmes went up there and saw what they
was feedin' those boys and pitched a fit. Cap'n had 'em eatin'
fatback and dried peas three times a day! Mr. Holmes got the
commissioners to let the prisoners build 'em a chicken house and plant
some greens. And o1' Holmes just drops by now and then and has dinner
with 'em on the road and makes the cap'n eat with 'em, too, and you
know, they say those boys eating real good these days!" Everybody had
a good chuckle over that.
"Wonder what o1' Skeeter is doin' for pocket money nowadays, now that
he ain't rentin' convicts to nobody? Shoot, I remember when some folks
'round here had convicts picking their cotton when I was payin' niggers
to do it, back when there was some cotton to pick."
"They say peaches is the thing of the future."
"I don't doubt it, if you got the money to wait for the trees to grow
up. It's all right if you're Hoss Spence, and you got the land and the
money from a crop the weevil can't kill to see you through while the
trees are growin', but I'll tell you one thing, there ain't goin' to be
no little peach farmers around here, just big ones that can afford to
pack 'em their selves There was a murmer of agreement.
The boys watched another two mules be shod, then wandered off toward
the stables. The lofts were packed with new-mown hay, and they spent
the better part of an hour climbing as high as they could and jumping
into soft piles. They looked for peanuts clinging to the peanut hay
and ate them greedily, even though it was said that raw peanuts would
give you a stomach ache, just as green crab apples would. Gradually,
people in the stables led their mules and horses outside for the sale,
and it became quiet inside. Billy and Willie lay back in the hayloft,
temporarily exhausted from their exertions, and fell into a kind of
hazy doze, watching the shafts of sunlight penetrate the cracks in the
side of the building, playing on the dust that hung in the air.
The stable door opened a crack and closed again. Footsteps were heard
as someone walked to the center of the stable and stopped. There was
silence for a moment. Willie tapped Billy on the arm and put a finger
to his lips with an air of conspiracy. They would spy on whoever was
alone in the stable. The footsteps were heard again, and they heard
the creak of a stall door opening. It did not close. The two boys
rolled carefully onto their bellies and slid silently to the edge of
the loft, so that they could
see over the edge. They saw Foxy Funderburke leaning against the side
of the stall, in the shadows, illuminated only by stray : shafts of
light through the cracks. In the distance they heard
Winslow's voice rise and fall as he pled for a better price for a mule.
Foxy seemed to be fumbling with his trousers, and Billy wondered why he
would pee in a clean stall instead of behind the barn. But something
was unusual about Foxy's posture. His knees were bent, and he was
hunched over, rocking back and forth through a small arc. They could
hear his breathing grow quicker and deeper, and then there was some
sort of frantic movement in the darkness. Suddenly, the air was
pierced by a loud sound from Foxy, not words, but a sound. Billy
thought he must be ill and looked at Willie in alarm. Willie motioned
for him to remain still and quiet.
Foxy slumped against the side of the stall, and his breathing gradually
returned to normal. There was a flash of a handkerchief and the rattle
of a belt buckle; Foxy walked to the stable door, opened it a foot and
paused. He looked back into the stable, glancing about until suddenly,
his eyes seemed to lock with Billy's. Billy held his breath and
prepared to run. But Foxy did not seem to have seen lim, He stepped
outside and closed the door.
They waited until they were sure he was gone before speaking. To
Billy's surprise, Willie was laughing. "What's so funny? What was he
doing?"
Willie laughed out loud. "He jackin' off. :.Wlat you think?" "What's
jackin' off? .... "Don' you know nothin'? Well, I guess I better show
you." Willie showed him, and he tried it himself, but it had seemed a
different thing when Foxy was doing it. It had seemed angry,
and--Billy didn't know. Just angry.
2 THE EARLY 92os passed quickly for all of the Lee
'amily. They thrived, parents and children, in their community. Wilt
Henry became an established local figure in his job, as did Carrie in
church and community activities. Billy and Eloise made friends, did
well in school, and pleased their parents. They felt as if they had
lived in the town for all of their lives, and the town seemed to feel
the same way.
Holmes continued to improve his political position in the Tri-Counties,
and his solid local position helped him to establish himself as an
effective force in the state senate. A force of another kind appeared
in Meriwether County during this period, one which, in time, would have
a hand in making Holmes even more effective, and which would change the
face of the country. Will Henry was, by chance, the first to meet the
man, something the family would always remember.
The chief was leaving his regular afternoon coffee klatch at the Delano
Drug Company on a fine spring day in 924, when ashiny new Ford coupe
with the top folded down pulled into a parking space in front of the
drugstore. "Excuse me, there, Officer!" the driver called out to Will
Henry.
Will Henry walked to the car and said, "Yes sir, what can I do for
you?" He was greeted by a smiling, finely sculpted face on a man of
some bulk. A straw hat crowned the large head. Will
Boo! ONLY: Will Henry Lee
i. Henry expected to be asked for directions to Atlanta or Colum The
man's accent was dearly not local, not even southern.
looked familiar, Will Henry thought.
"i wonder if I could ask for your testimony on the quality of the
chocolate ice-cream sodas in that establishment?"
Will Henry laughed. "Well, if the testimony of my children is worth
anything, everything made in Mr. Birdsong's fountain is unsurpassed
anywhere."
"Well, that is excellent testimony indeed! I wonder if I could impose
upon you to go inside and order something for me?"
Will Henry hesitated a moment, then he saw the crutches propped in the
back seat. "Be glad to. What was it? Chocolate ice-cream soda?"
That's it." He handed Will Henry a quarter. "If you could just ask
the fountain clerk to bring it out when it's ready. I don't want to
take any more of your time."
"Not at all." Will Henry went inside, waited until the drink was
prepared, and' Brought it back himself, with the change.
The man accepted it and drew thirstily on the straws, while
Will Henry stood by, smiling. "Ahhhh, that certainly hits the spot."
He stuck out a hand. "My name is Roosevelt."
Will Henry accepted the hand, feeling a little foolish. "Of course, I
should have recognized you. I guess it was the hat threw me off. My
wife and I voted for you and Mr. Cox in 2920. Harding's not my sort
of man. We're Democrats. My name's Will Henry Lee. I'm a little
surprised to see you.. in Delano, Mr. Roosevelt. What brings you
down this way? ..... "My family and I have taken a house over at Warm
Springs.
We hope that the waters there might be good for what ails me.
Swimming, not drinking, you understand." Will Henry nodded. "Lovely
little town you have here. Rather like the name. Delano was my
mother's maiden name, you know; my middle name. Think I'll just
pretend it was named for me."
They laughed together. Will Henry found himself, somewhat
surprisingly, at ease with a man who had run for, vice-president of the
United States. "Welcome to Meriwether County, Mr. Roosevelt. I hope
your stay here is beneficial and that you'll come back to see us often.
Is there anything else I can do for you? The fountain clerk will come
get the glass if you'll just honk the horn."
"Thank you, Chief, there is something else you could do if I
could trouble you for just a minute. I expect you know a Mr. Hugh
Holmes at the bank? I wonder if you'd be kind enough to step over
there and ask him if it's convenient for him to join me here in the car
for just a few minutes?"
"Certainly." Will Henry crossed the street, went into the bank, and
stuck his head into Holmes's office, where the banker was poring over a
ledger. ""Scuse me, Hugh. Mr. Franklin D. Roosevelt himself is
parked ove ring front of the drugstore, and he'd like you to step over
there and meet him, if you have the time."
Holmes's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, yes. He's a friend of Clark Howell,
at the Constitution. Clark said he was coming down to Warm Springs.
You know he had a pretty bad case of infantile paralysis since the
election."
"I read about it in the paper."
"Clark talked him into coming down here for his health." The two men
left the bank, and Will Henry stopped and watched as Holmes crossed the
street, introduced himself to the man, then went around and got into
the passenger seat. The two men fell into conversation. Hugh Holmes
and Roosevelt seemed to be getting on like a house afire. Will Henry
thought what a pity it was that a man in the prime of life could have
such a brilliant political career cut short.
Boox from: Will Henry Lee 27 "IT WAS shortly after the first visit of
Franklin Roosevelt to Delano that the second murder occurred. Will
Henry, at least, thought of it as the second murder. He learned about
it, Zrnost casually, from Skeeter Willis, who dropped into his office
without notice one day. "A nigger found him early yesterday morning
hung up in a barbed-wire fence a couple of hundred yard from the
Columbus highway, over the side of the mountain." The Other side of
the mountain was in Talbot Count. "He'd ben shot in the back with what
Sheriff Gooisby reckoned was a .45 automatic. Little hole in his back,
big one in his chest where it came out. Don't know much more myself.
I saw one of Goolsby's deputies at a filling station in Woodland. I
been down to Albany to deliver a prisoner." "Was he wearing any
clothes? Were there any marks on him?" Will Henry had a terrible
sinking feeling already. "Don't know. You're not thinking it had
something to do with that thing of yours, when was itmtwo, three' years
ago?" "Four and a half years." Will Henry got up and put on his hat.
'2 think I better go talk with Jim Goolsby."
He found the Talbot County sheriff at the Talbotton courthouse during a
recess. Goolsby, an elderly man who had held
office for more than twenty-five years and looked fragile and worn, was
very pushed for time. "Sorry, but it's always like this when court's
in session." "What was the man wearing?" "A shirt and overalls, no
shoes. Feet was tore up a little. Looked like he'd been running. Run
into a bobbed-wire fence. Bullet went clean through him." "Were there
any other marks on his body?" "Huh?" The sheriff turned to a deputy.
"Carlton, are they back with that prisoner, yet?" Well hell, go see
what's keepin' 'em. The judge has already had to call a recess. He'll
pitch a fit." He turned back to Will Henry. "What was that about
marks?" "Were there any noticable bruises anywhere? Had his hands or
feet been bound?" Goolsby looked at him incredulously. "Good Lord, I
don't know. The coroner would ordinarily have done some kind of
examination, but he had a funeral to do in Villa Rica, so I just talked
to him on the phone. I put 'death due to a gunshot wound' on the death
certificate, and he signed it when he come back." "Can I have alook at
him?" "The dead feller? He's halfway to Waycross by now. There was a
letterin his pocket with a return addreSs on it,. I called the sheriff
down there, and the feller's daddy come up here with a truck and took
him home to bury this morning." "You got any suspects?" "Hoboes, we
reckon. We found an empty camp we didn't know about not very far away
from where the nigger found the body. He didn't have no money or
shoes, and I reckon that's what hoboes would take." "Do you have any
idea which way he was running?" The sheriff thought for a moment.
"The way he was hung on the fence he could have been running either
away from the highway or towards it. Hard to say. My guess was
towards the road, away from the camp." "How old was he, could you
estimate?" "His daddy said he just turned twenty-one, but he looked
younger than that to me. Listen, Chief, I'd like to talk with you some
more, but I'm due back in court. Was there anything else?" Will Henry
got the name and address of the boy's father and directions to where
the body was found. He thanked the sheriff for his time and asked to
be notified if anything else turned up on the murder.
Boo It owE: Will Henry Lee za9
The spot was easy to find. He had only to follow the tire tracks where
the sheriff's car had driven. They stopped at a barbed-wire fence on
the edge of a pasture. There was a scrap of cotton flannel still
hanging from the wire. Will Henry looked in the two directions in
which the sheriff had said the man might have been running. The
Columbus highway was in sight in one direction, and on a reciprocal
course was Pine Mountain. There was smoke rising from the trees half a
mile away. The smoke was from Foxy Funderburke's house. Will Henry
began to walk away from the fence, using the smoke as a mark to
maintain his direction. He walked slowly, looking at the ground. There
had been no rain for a while, and the earth was firm under the grass.
There were no footprints. He had covered nearly forty yards when he
found the cartridge case. He stuck a twig into the case and gently
lifted it without touching it with his fingers. It was a .45
automatic, its size left no doubt. There were smudges that might have
been fingerprints, but they were no longer identifiable. He had read
enough about fingerprinting to know th. He turned the case slowly on
the twig, willing it to give up some other bit of identifying
information, but it was bare of anything, even a maker's name. Only
the numerals 45 were visible'I-Ie turned and looked toward the fence,
measuring the distance in his mind. Forty yards, near enough. An
amazingly good shot for a weapon which had a reputation for being
difficult to fire accurately. He put the cartridge case in his pocket
and continued toward the smoke.
He entered the trees on the of her side ofd?e field and soon found the
camp, a clearing scattered with cans and bottles and with the remains
of a fire, cold. The smell of burnt garbage hung in the air. He
searched the ground carefully for several minutes,
but found nothing else of interest. Then he walked twice around the
perimeter of the camp to see if he could find signs of someone having
entered from another direction from that which he had come. There was
nothing. The woods were mostly pine, and a thick carpet of brown
needles had absorbed any footprints with out a trace. He could no
longer see the smoke because of the trees, so he walked back to his
car.
He drove to Foxy's house almost without thinking, nearly surprised when
he found himself parked in front. Foxy's azaleas were in bloom, and
the place was really quite lovely, with none of the cold foreboding of
his earlier visit, more than four years before. Foxy was a bit easier,
too, inviting him in and offering
him a chair with an air that was very nearly like courtesy. They sat
in cushioned wooden rocking chairs on either side of the fire-plae. On
the wall over the mantle there were a dozen rifles and pistols. One of
them was a .45 automatic. Will Henry tried not to stare at it. "What
can I do for you?" "Foxy there was as hooting about half a mile from
here, day before yesterday." "I heard about it." '"You see or hear
anything around that time?" "Not a thing." There was a long pause.
Will Henry hardly knew what else to ask the man. He looked up above
the mantelpiece. "That's quite a collection." He rose and reached for
the .45"May
I?"
Foxy jumped up and got to the weapon first. "Let me unload that." He
slipped the clip out and worked the action, ejecting a cartridge. Will
Henry noted that the pistol had been ready to fire. Foxy handed it to
him, butt first. It was oily to the touch. "Been fired recently?"
Foxy waved a hand. "They've all been fired recently. I take good care
of them." Will Henry picked up the clip from the mantlepiece, where
Foxy had laid it, and slipped out a cartridge. The name Remington,
along with the caliber, was stamped clearly on it. The brass was a
brighter color, too, than the artTidge in his pocket. "I hear this is
a hard pistol to hit anything with." "That's the case, I'm a good shot
with almost anything, but I just barely qvalified with that in the
army. Lots of-men never did." There was a silence again. "Think you
could hit a man at forty yards with this, Foxy?" "I doubt it. You
think I shot that fellow?" Will Henry handed the pistol back to him
before answering. "I don't have any good reason to think that." "Then
what are you doing here?" "You live nearby. I just thought you might
have seen or heard something." "Seems like you call on me every time
somebody gets himself killed. I can't say I like that much." "Just
doing my job, Foxy."
"Seems to me like you're doing more than that. This fellow was shot in
Talbot County, I believe. I live in Talbot County. Seems to me you're
doing Jim Goolsby's job. Jim's a friend of mine. I think he'd like to
know about this." "By all means. This is purely an unofficial visit,
Foxy. I'm sorry if I've troubled you." "The only thing troubles me is
that there have been two killings here and you've come to see me twice.
Well, I've got nothing to hide. You want to search my house?" "No,
no, Foxy, I'm sorry I bothered you. I--I do want to thank you again
for the puppy. The children just love him, we all do." "Don't mention
it." Will Henry drove away from the house feeling he'd made a fool of
himself. He went back to the station, wrote a note to Jim Goolsby
about how and where he'd found the cartridge case, slipped the note and
case into an envelope, stamped it, and put it with the outgoing mail.
There was nothing more he could do about this. It was out of his
jurisdiction, and there was nothing to connect the tw0killings, except
their proximity to FOxy's house, and that was just a coincidence. The
hobo theory held up even betterin this cas than in the last. He went
home and made a determined effort that evening to put the thing out of
his mind. He remembered how he had become obsessed with the last
killing and what it had done to him. He slept well that night. The
following morning he went to the office as usual, opened the mail, and
discovered that he, was depres....sd. He stared at the wall for a few
minutes, telling himself not-to get involved with this one; then he
picked up the telephone. "Estelle, could you talk to the operator in
Waycross and get me the names and numbers of all the funeral homes in
town, all the white funeral homes?" He hung up and waited impatiently
for her to ring back. There were four, and he found the right one on
the second call. "Underwood Funeral Parlor." "May I speak with Mr.
Underwood, please?" "Speaking." "Mr. Underwood, my name is Lee, I'm
the chief of police up in Delano, in Meriwether County. Could you tell
me if you're in charge of funeral arrangements for, uh, Charles
Collins." "Charles Collins is the father. Frank Collins is the
deceased."
"Yes, the young man who vas shot up in Talbot, County?" "I buried him
an hour ago." Will Henry's heart sank. He thought for a moment. "Mr.
Underwood, did you embalm the body yourself ?" "Yes, I do all my own
work." "Could you tell me, please, sir, apart from the gunshot wound,
were there any other injuries or marks on the body?" "Well, the feet
had some cuts and bruises, as if he'd been running barefooted." "Yes,
that sounds right. He had no shoes on when found. But was there
anything else, any sign of bruises on the body, as if the boy had been
beaten?" "No, nothing like that." Will Henry slumped in the chair.
He didn't realize how tense he had been. "Well, thank you for your
help, Mr. Underwood,
"There was something else a bit odd, though." "Yes, what was that?"
He was tense again. "Well, I didn't notice it until I was dressing the
body, but his wrists--his wrists were bruised, like he had been tied
up. There was some skin scraped off, too." "Mr. Underwood, I wonder
if you'd do me just one further favor. Would you write down a
description of the boy's injuries as you remember them, especially a
description of his wrists, and send it to me?" He gave the man his
name and address and hung up. He was elated, but why? What did he
have? Only one real connection between the two deaths, and all he
could do was pass that on to Jim Goolsby, along with the cartridge
case. He had nothing but his own reopened wound. He slammed his fist
down on the desk nearly hard enough to split the wood.
Booc o,: Will Henry Lee telephoned Sheriff Goolsby and told him about
the marks on the Collins boy's wrists and that he was Sgnding on the
cartridge case. Goolsby, as Will Henry had feared, was as miffed by
Will Henry's unauthorized investigation as he was glad to have the
meager evidence, and he did not take kindly to the interrogation of
Foxy, who had telephoned him immediately after the event. Will Henry
apologized profusely, pointihg out that his only interest in the case
was in the possibility of a connection with the earlier murder, and he
admitted that there was no significant connection, not one that any
reasonable law-enforcement officer could proceed upon.
He hung up thoroughly humiliated and more depressed than he had been
since the period following the first killing. Will Henry's depression
was anger turned inward, and before the day ended he found an outlet
for' his angerin Emmett Spence, son of Hoss.
Emmett Spence had been a troublemaker most of his sixteen years. As a
small child he had horrified his mother by burying two dozen baby
chicks up to their necks in the front yard and running a lawnmower over
them; on a later occasion he had managed to throw a switch in the M&B
railway yard that, had it not been discovered in the nick of time,
would have caused two
switching engines to collide. His father had taken a perverse pride in
many of these incidents, preferring to think that in committing them
the boy had showed "spunk." The local populace thought of Emmett as
not quite right in the head and tolerated him only because his father
was a rich man in a poor county.
On this evening, after supper, Will Henry received a telephone call
from Smitty, who ran the grocery store in Braytown, saying that a white
youth was breaking windows in the colored schoolhouse. Will Henry
arrived on the scene to find Emmett Spence firing through the school
winaows with a .22 rifle, while a group of black adults, who had been
attending a club meeting, huddled inside, trying to protect themselves
from flying splinters of glass.
Emmett froze when he saw the police car pull up; he was too frightened
even to run. Will Henry strode to him, yanked the rifle from his
hands, unloaded it, and battered it to pieces against a nearby
telephone pole. That got some of the rage out of him, but not all. He
whipped off his belt with one hand, grabbed Emmett wrist with the
other, and delivered a proper hiding to the boy, urged on by the
blacks, who had recovered themselves and come outside to watch their
juvenile tormentor running in a circle, chased by a wide piece of
leather and screaming like a frightened chicken.
Will Henry apologized to the people, promised them that the damage
would be paid for, and dumped the shrieking Emmett into the car. He
drove the three miles to the Spence farm, dragged Emmett out of the
car, and knocked on the kitchen door. Hoss Spence himself came to the
door.
Will Henry was breathing hard from anger and exertion. He shoved the
boy into his father's hands. "Hoss, I caught this boy of yours firing
a rifle into the colored schoolhouse, which was full of people at the
time. I broke that rifle into a lot of pieces, and I took my belt to
him. I should have locked him up and thrown away the key, but I'm
bringing him home to you instead. But I'm telling you right now, Hoss,
if I catch him at anything--and I mean any thin--again, I'll have him
under arrest, and he's big enough for the county camp now. Do I make
myself clear?"
"Shut up!" Hoss shouted at the boy, who was still sobbing loudly. "Now
you get yourself out to the barn, and I'll tend to you directly."
"Daddy!" the boy shrieked hysterically. "He whupped me in
front of all them niggers!" Hoss's eyes narrowed. "He whipped you in
front of a bunch of niggers?" "Yes sir!" "Get out to the barn right
now, or I'll knock your head off I" Hoss yelled. The boy fled. Hoss
wheeled on Will Henry. "You whipped my boy in front of niggers?"
"You're damned right I did, and I whipped him good! And I'll tell you
something else. If you aren't down at the city hall before the close
of business tomorrow with a checkbook to pay for the damage, I'll come
out here with a warrant, and I'll throw his ass in jail! Do you
understand me?" Hoss's face glowed nearly purple by the back porch
light, but he held himself in. "I'll be there," he said; then he
turned on his heel and started for the barn, unbuckling his belt as he
went. Will Henry watched him go, surprised at his own behavior. He
could not recall shouting at anybody in his adult life. As he drove
away from the Spence house, he could hear terrible screams coming from
the barn. Will Henry shuddered, his anger spent. "Lord, I hope he
doesn't kill the boy," he muttered to himself. "But I hope he 'an't
sit down for a month, either." And as he drove toward home, he again
felt the glow that came from having done justice, from having been
effective.
Cmm
JESSE COLE was wakened by Nellie at three-thirty in the morning; he
struggled into his clothes, half awake, while Nellie fried some bread
in fat for him. This had been the hardest part of coming to work for
Hoss Spence, this getting up in the middle of the night. He had risen
at dawn all his life, but cows demanded to be milked twice a day, and
that meant getting up at three-thirty, there was no way around it. He
ate the hot bread and drank milk from a tin cup. There was no cash to
buy coffee now, and Jesse missed his morning coffee mightily. Nellie
was asleep again before he finished eating. Willie never cracked an
eye.
He left the shack with a kerosene lantern and walked a quarter mile to
the gate across the Warm Springs road, where the herd waited patiently
to be let through to the dairy. He stood with the lantern while they
crossed the road, then walked slowly behind the cows, their bells
thudding softly in his ears. He was about as dose to sleep as a man
could get and still walk a straight line" nd he did not hurry the
animals.
The cows entered the dairy barn and went into their stalls like ladies
arranging themselves at an ice-cream social. Jesse milked his dozen
still half-asleep, resting his head against soft flanks while his hands
automatically coaxed the milk from the teats. He and the others
emptied their pails into the big, five-gallon cans,
BOO! ONLY: Will Henry Lee 37
and he drove the emptied herd back to its pasture, with the sun rising
before them, huge and red. Already the air was heavy and hot, and the
day promised to be a scalder. There were the cement floors of the
dairy barn to be hosed iown and disinfected, the stalls to be cleaned,
then the milk to be fed into the pasteurizer, cooled and bottled, while
a portion went into the big mechanical churn. By ten o'clock Jesse was
replacing a rotting door jamb at the main house, by now fully awake and
doing his carpentry steadily end skillfully. When Hoss Spence came
back to the house at noon for his dinner, Jesse was just finishing up
with the door jamb. He did not speak to Jesse, and the black man was
aware that something as wrong. He finished the work, packed his tools,
and started e for his own dinner, and as he left he was aware of Spence
ng at him. He had heard about the incident with Emmett and the chief
the day before, and he suspected Hoss's attitude had something to do
with the Cole family's having once worked for the Lees.
Jesse was stil' eating hen he heard Hoss's truck pull up out side.
"Jesse!" Hoss had a tenlency to yell when he was angry.
Jesse walked out onto the porch. The truck's engine was still running.
"Get in. I've got some work I want done."
Jesse swallowed what he was chewing. He was annoyed. He normally got
two hours for dinner and a nap, to make up for the early rising. What
did the man wart now? He reached for his toolbox on the porch.
"Never mind the tools. You won't be needing 'em." Jesse got into the
truck and sat silently while Hoss drove down a rough dirt road toward
the middle of the farm, then turned off across a field toward Pigeon
Creek. Hoss said nothing, but Jesse knew he Was mad as hell about
Something the way he jerked the truck around. They drove over a small
rise and started downhill. As they moved along there appeared ahead in
the distance a small forest of tall, topless tree stumps, bare of bark,
thrusting from water like elongated tombstones in a flooded cemetery.
They were headed for several acres of swamp that bordered Pigeon Creek.
Something inside Jesse recoiled. There were only two things on earth
that truly terrified him, water and snakes, and a swamp was the worst
possible combination of the two.
Hoss stopped the truck at the edge of the water, where there were two
truckloads of sandbags stacked, waiting for drier weather before being
fashioned into a levee which would allow the land to be drained. Hoss
got out and motioned for Jesse to follow him. The white man pointed
over the water.
"See that tall trunk there, and, on along, that one with the limb
sticking out?" The two stumps were about where the creek bank would be
in dry weather, and about thirty yards apart. "I want you to start
laying them sandbags between them two trees. I want 'em a in straight
line, stacked so they'll stay, you understand me?"
Jesse's breath was coming quickly now, and his words tumbled out.
"Mist' Spence, don't you reckon be better to wait fo' the creek go down
a il' bit fo' stackin' them bags down there?"
Hoss turned his head slowly and stared at Jesse. "I don't want no back
talk from you. I want them bags in there today."
Jesse was near panic now. "But Mist' Spence---" Hoss turned back to
the truck, lifted a double-barrelled shotgun from arck behind the seat,
broke it and looked at the twelve-gauge shells inside, then napped it
shut again. He walked back to where Jesse stood and stopped, the
shotgun held across his chest. "You and me are all alone down here,"
he said softly. "Now you start shifting them sandbags, or I'll blow
your fucking head off right where you stand." His eyes were bright
with something beyond anger.
There was something terribly wrong here, Jesse thought. He had done
nothing to bring this man down on him. Nellie had been awfully quiet
lately, and the boy had been on his best behavior. But he knew that
this man would kill him, so he turned quickly and lifted a sandbag to
his shoulder. Jesse couldn't count, but he knew it weighed nearly a
hundred pounds. He waded into the water and started for the tall tree,
picking his way carefully as the water deepened, feeling for a
drop-off. There was mud--soft, sucking mud--under the water, and his
own 220 pounds, plus the weight on his back, pressed him down into it
as he struggled on, staggering toward the tree. The water was only
waist deep when he reached the stump, and he heaved a sigh of relief as
he dumped the bag and guided it into place as it sank. He started back
for another bag, mosquitoes swarming around his head, biting every
exposed bit of flesh.
More than an hour had passed, and only ten bags had gone into place in
the deepening water, when Jesse saw the snake. He was struggling back
in water to his chest, and the reptile's head and wake appeared in the
corner of his vision, with three feet of writhing length following.
Jesse uttered a strangled cry and changed his course abruptly for a log
which stretched out from the water's edge, his arms flailing the water.
He was nearly to the log, and suddenly there was no bottom. His
forward progress took him away from his last contact with anything
solid, and the snake became unimportant. All he wanted was a hand, a
toe on something that would bear his weight. He surfaced, sputtering,
water spewing from his mouth and nose; he could see the shape of the
log through the liquid that filled his eyes, and he expelled all the
air from his lungs in a final, pleading scream. Before he could inhale
again, he was underwater, sinking, being drawn down by his sodden
overalls, his empty lungs robbing him of any buoyancy. Some spark of
survival instinct kept him from inhaling again as he Sank, and after
what seemed minutes of downward travel his foot touched a soft bottom.
With all his will he resisted struggling until both feet were on the
bottom and he had enough leverage to push off the mud. He shot upward,
and as he broke the surface, gasping and flailing, his hand came into
contact with something cold and hard, and he drew himself around until
both hands could grasp it, taking great gulps of sweet air and shaking
the water from his eyes. Then he saw what he had grabbed. SoVOwhere
behind him was the dreaded snake; beneath him was tl black Water; and
at the other end of the shotgun barrel to which he held so tightly was
Hoss Spence, braced on the log, with finger on the triggers. And all
around him the air hummed and bit and stung.
SOME WEEKS LATER Carrie Lee was ironing on her back prch, the coolest
place she could find, when she looked up to see Nellie Cole at the
screen door. She had not heard the black woman approach; nor had
Nellie knocked; she simply stood there, staring blankly ahead of her.
"Why hello, Nellie." She went to the door and brought her to a cane
chair next to the ironing board. She was clearly distraught. "Would
you like some iced tea? I was about to have some myself. It's awfully
hot this morning." Nellie took the glass and drank deeply from it.
Carrie sat down next to her. "Nellie, what's wrong? Why are you in
town the middle of the week?" Nellie took another swallow of the tea.
"Is it Jessie? Is something wrong with Jessie?"
"Yes'm. And now the words began to come. "Nearly 'bout a month ago
Mist' Spence put Jessie to work in the swamp. He been doin' the
milkin' and carpentin' 'round the big house, and they seem like they
real proud of his workin'. But one day he come and git Jesse, and when
he bring him back in the evenin' Jesse soakin' wet and shakin' and
cryin'. He won't tell me what happen, but pret' soon he git sick, and
Mist' Spence he wait three days fo' he call the doctor, and Dr. Wilson
from Warm Springs he come out there fin'ly and say Jesse git something'
from the skeeters in the swamp." She struggled for the name.
Booc ouE: Will Henry Lee ,4x
"Malaria?"
"Yes'm. Malaria, thas what Dr. Wilson say, and he make Mist' pence go
down to the swamp and spread oil on the water to kill the skeeters."
"How is Jesse now?"
"He git better after Dr. Wilson give him the medicine, but then he git
sick again, and Mist' pence he come down to the house this mornin' and
say we got to git off the place 'cause Jesse cain't work no mo'. Jesse,
he try to git up and go to work, but he cain't, and Mist' Spence he say
we got to git off the place right quick. I make Willie stay with Jesse
to keep him in the bed, an' I hitch up the buggy and come to town."
She had been staring ahead, but now she turned and looked at Carrie
with defeated eyes. "Miss Carrie, what we gon' do? We ain't got no
place to to. What we gon' do? We cain't go to Flossie. She ain't got
no room for a sick man and a boy. She got to do her bakin' to get by.
She cain't have nobody sick in the house when she bakin'. What we gon'
do?"
Carrie patted her arn and gave her some more tea. "Nellie, you just
sit here and cool off for a few minutes, and we'll see what we can do.
Don't you worry, now. It's all going to be all right. I'll be back in
a few minutes."
Carrie called Will Henry at the station, but he was out. She felt
something had to be done before the day was over. She was very angry
with Hoss Spence. It was shameful that he should treat his people this
way, that he difln't have the simple Christian decency to take care of
them. She cranke the instrument again and asked for Idus Bray's number
at his store. It was typical of Idus that when he set up his office in
a downtown building he should also run as hoe store in the extra space.
Never waste an opportunity to turn a dollar. Idus ran his business and
farming interests from a space at the rear barely eight feet square,
containing a roll-top desk, two chairs, and a hat rack, and he did it
all between waiting on customers up front. A stranger visiting the
store would have pitied the man, wondering how he could possibly make a
living in the tiny shop, not knowinff that Idus owned half a dozen
farms, a peach-packing operation, a majority holding in the telephone
company and that, on the side, he lent money at high interest rates to
people Hugh Holmes considered poor risks for the bank. He answered the
phone on the first ring.
"Idus, this is Carrie Lee. How are you?"
Bray was immediately on guard, remembering the large lump of cash
Carrie had extracted from him for the new pastorium. "So, so, Carrie.
How you doing?"
"Just fine. Idus" She stopped and rephrased the idea in her mind.
"I've got a little business proposition for you."
"How much is it going to cost me?"
"Not a thing, not if you've got a colored house empty."
"I might have. I'd have to check."
"I understand the city council has been after you to fix those houses
up."
"It was mentioned."
"Well, I've got just the man for you. Jesse Cole. Carrie's brother.
Used to work for us at the farm?"
"I know him."
"He's a first-rate carpenter; cost you a lot if he were white. He
needs a house, and I reckon he can work off the rent by fixing things
at the other houses."
"What's he doing now?"
"He's been working for Hoss pence ever since we left the farm, doing
carlntry work and milking. When he got sick, Hoss said he didn't need
him any more."
"He's sick, is he?"
"He's been sick, but he's getting better. Be up and around in no
time."
"I don't know if I've got anything just at the moment, Car-tie."
"His wife's a good washerwoman, too. I know Bess would be pleased with
her."
Bray was silent for a moment. Carrie knew his wife had been asking
around for a laundress. When he continued to be quiet, she knew she
had him hooked.
"Well, there is a place, on D Street, second house from the corner.
Might need a little work."
"Tell you what. Jesse'll give you a day a week for his rent, you
supply the materials to fix up his own place. Nellie'll do your
washing."
"Two days."
"Done, as soon as he's on his feet. Now, Idus, if you don' treat these
people right you're going to have to answer to me, you know that?"
Bray laughed out loud. "Carrie, I'm not about to bring tat on
myself."
Booc oqE: Will Henry Lee 3
Carrie hung up and took a couple of deep breaths. She went back to
Nellie and told her what she'd arranged. Nellie nearly fainted with
joy. "Now, Nellie, you drive back out to Spence's, and you and Willie
get your things loaded onto the buggy. Flossie and I will go look at
the house, and I'll send Robert out there for you and Jesse this
afternoon. Willie can drive the buggy in." Carrie and Flossie drove
out to D Street. The house was ash ambles but two hours of sweeping
and dusting made it habitable. The stove was all fight, and Carrie
gave a neighborhood boy a quarter to chop some wood and kindling.
There were two iron beds and a few sticks of other furniture, and
Carrie contributed some linens. By the time Robert returned with
Nellie and a very weak Jesse, the Coles had a home again, and Carrie
left feeling that a great weight had been lifted from her. That night
she related the whole incident to Will Henry. "You know why he did it,
don't you? It was that business with Emmett." Carrie was shocked.
"You mean Hoss was mad at you, so he took it out on' Jesse "What kind
of a man would do that?" "Hoss Spence's kind, I reckon." Carrie
continued to send groceries out to the Coles via Flossie until they had
somgmoney coming in. In a week Jesse was pottering around the house,
and soon after he was giving Idus Bray his two days a week on the other
houses. Idus seemed pleased, but Frank Mudter wasn't too optimistic.
"It's a bad disease, Carrie," he told her at clurch one Sunday. "It
comes and it goes, and you neer really g rid of it. If Jesse's lucky
he'll be able to make a living, but he's going to have a hard time.
I'll look after him for nothing, but there's not all that much I can
do. There's quinine and rest, and that's about it. And a man in
Jesse's position can't afford much rest."
AS THE 192os moved on, Franklin Roosevelt became a familiar sight in
Meriwether County, and in Delano in particular. Hugh Holmes continued
a series of personal conversations with the man in which, for the most
par, Roosevelt asked questions and Holmes answered. Warm Springs
agreed with Roosevelt, and flae improvement in his condition seemed to
whet his appetite for information about Georgia and the South. Holmes
and others were invited to Warm Springs for a steak supper whenever
Roosevelt arrived, and the banker sensed, perhaps before the others,
that Roosevelt, who almost certainly did not consider any of these men
his social equal, was seeking more than merely their company. His
questions in the private conversations with Holmes became more and more
pointed, and Holmes could only surmise that the man was planning an
attempt on the presidency in 1928, a fact which did not entirely please
him, for Roosevelt seemed to stand considerably to the left of Holmes
in his politics. The banker was caught between his personal attraction
and his philosophical antipathy for the man.
In the late twenties Holmes was a leader among a hundred state
legislators who sponsored a young lawyer from McCrae named Eugene
Talmadge to run against the incumbent state commissioner of
agriculture, one J. J.Brown, who had built for
Booc ONe: Will Henry Lee x45
himself something of a political empire at the expense0f the state's
farmers. Talmadge was a bit wild, but he was a mover, and he had
caught the imagination of the state's farmers, who needed entertainment
as much as they needed help from the state. Holmes saw a certain
kinship between Roosevelt and Talmadge, as different as they were in
background and philosophy. Ambition seemed to be their common
characteristic, and Holmes had little doubt that each was capable of
gaining much of what he sought. Now the little mountain against which
Delano nestled was aflame with fall, the oaks and sweet gums and the
occasional maple mixing with the evergreen of the pines and giving the
crisp air of early November a companion in color. Crops were in, and a
whiff of prosperity could be caught drifting in from the distant
economic boom that had the twenties of the rest of America roaring. The
mill was running three full shifts, six days a week, and the railroad
was hiring; the ring of cash registers was heard more frequently in the
stores on Main Street; at the bank, deposits were up, and Hugh Holmes
thought that an ex-school-teacher named Irwin Dixon should probably be
the bank's first vice-president. Because of this young man's
stewardship, Holmes could now take increasingly more frequent absences
from the bank for legislativ sessions, political meetings, and foreign
travel with Virginia; and when he returned, things were in order. If
prosperity was passing anyone by, it was Jesse and Nellie Cole and
their son, Willie. They existed precario .ts. ly, Jesse's illness
ruling their lives. Jesse managed Idus Br.y's two days a week, but
little more. Robert, his brother-in-law, steered handyman and small
carpentry work his way as often as possible, but too often Jesse would
accept or even begin a job, only to fall ill and not be able to finish
it. His pride prevented him from accepting pay for work he could not
finish, even though he might have devoted some days to it; Nellie was
often late when the white folks came to collect their-washing, and she
lost customers. Willie could find only occasional work, and then at
such low pay that he could not contribute much to the household. my
the kindness of Flossie and the concern of Carrie Lee kept enough in
the Cole household to keep body and soul together. Willie took his
father's old single-shot shotgun and killed a rabbit now and then, and
that was the only lean meat they saw, except when Carrie or the church
provided a turkey at Christmas and Thanks
giving. It made him feel good o be able to bring something to the
table, and such an event momentarily lightened the gloom that
increasingly surrounded their lives.
By the autumn of 927 Will Henry had found a kind of contentment, if not
peace, in his life. The two murders had receded into the past, and
time had mostly healed his personal, psychic wounds. Occasionally
someone would mention the first murder, and that would be enough to
remind him and send him into a mild depression for a day, but this
happened less and less often. The feeling of unease that Will Henry
experienced on a Monday morning in November had no basis in reason, and
he tried to put it down to the lingering effect of an already-forgotten
dream. But it had increased by the time he arrived at the police
station, and it did not dissipate as the morning wore on. Shortly
after eleven o'clock two strangers entered his office, and, with a jolt
of precognition, he knew who they were. They came to the window which
opened from the waiting room, a middle-aged man and woman, both thin
and worn looking, obviously dressed in their Sunday bes,. They might
have been brother and sister. Will Henry stood and went to the window,
placing his hands on the sill to keep them from trembling. There was a
terrible weakness in his bowels. He wanted to go to the toilet..
"Good morning, can I do something for you?" The man extended a hard,
dry hand "My name is Holt, Julius Holt. This is my wife." Will Henry
and the woman nodded at each other. "I'm Will Henry Lee. How can I
help you?" The man took a yellowed newspaper page from his pocket and
unfolded it. Will Henry willed himself not to look at it. "We've been
putting a new room on our house--I farm down near Americus, at
Plains--and we got some old newspapers from our neighbors next door to
put up for some insulation. We came across this article." "Why don't
you come around in here and have a seat?" He opened his office door
and arranged two chairs for them. When they were comfortable, he
forced himself to look at the newspaper page. The headline read,
"Youth Found Dead in Delano. Police Search for Identity." The paper
was dated the first week in February, 192o. "This sounds like it could
be our boy, James." He produced a photograph. "This was taken more
than eight years ago, but
Booc ouE: Will Henry Lee x47
it's the only picture we've got of him." There were three people in
the picture, all sitting on the front porch of an unpainted farmhouse.
The man and his wife were seated rigidly in chairs; the boy was sitting
on the porch at their feet, his skinny legs dangling over the edge. His
parents were posed with stern faces; the boy was grinning. There could
not be the slightest doubt who he was. "He left home at the end of
January, in x92o. The weevil had hit us pretty bad, and James had the
offer of a job in Atlanta. He never showed up for it. We never heard
any more from him. The law, uh, wasn't able to help us much." Will
Henry put the photograph down on his desk and took a deep breath. He
forced himself to look directly at the man. "Mr. Holt, Mrs. Holt,
I'm sorry to have to tell you that James is buried in our city cemetery
here." The woman gasped and clutched her dress at the throat. The man
looked as if he'd been struck. "Are you absolutely sure? Look at the
picture again." Will Henry turned to his desk and pulled a file from
the bottom drawer. With his body between the couple and the file he
quickly seledted a picture of the boy's head, one in which it looked as
if he were merely asleep. He closed the file, turned and handed the
picture to tl boy's father. "That's James, isn't it?" They both
looked at the picture carefully. Tears spilled from the woman's eyes
and rolled down her pale cheeks. The man looked as if he had been
struck yet again. "Yes, that's James," he said, and handed the picture
back to Will Henry. He put his arm around his wife and comforted hr
awkwardly: Then he turned back to Will Henry. "How did it happen?" :
Will Henry made an immediate decision to lie to them. "It was only a
few days after he left you. He fell from a bluff on the mountain over
yonder. It was at night, and a stranger wouldn't of known about it. A
newspaper delivery boy found him the next morning. He had no
identification on him. We thought he might have been traveling with
someone---a lot of people were on the road around then--and that they
might have taken his things." "Do you think somebody might have pushed
im off that bluff?" It was the first time the woman had spoken.
"There was no indication of that at all, ma'am. These .. . traveling
people he was probably with, they don't like to talk with the law much.
If one of their friends dies they divide what he has among themselves
and keep going. We're pretty sure that's what happened. No one would
have had any reason to kill
your boy." There was a silence, and he prayed they would accept the
story.
"I see," she said weakly.
"We'd like to take him home with us," said her husband. "We've got a
truck. Do you think you could fix that?"
Will Henry hesitated. He wondered if the cheap coffin would be intact
after more than seven years. "Why don't you folks make yourselves
comfortable here for a few minutes while I make some inquiries. There's
some coffee on the stove, and the rest room is over there. I'll be back
shortly." He went next door and telephoned Lamar Maddox, the
undertaker.
Maddox did not like the idea at all. "Will Henry, I don't have any
idea what's in that grave after all this time. I mean, that was a good
pine casket, but there was no vault, and that's not the driest part of
the cemetery down there in the city plot. And, you know, I'm real good
at burying 'em, but I've never dug one up. I don't know what we can
expect. Listen, you hang on there for a minute, and I'll come over
there and talk to them."
Maddox arrived at the station a couple of minutes later, a little
breathless. Afte'[ introductions had been made, he sat down and
composed himself into his most professionally soothing demeanor. "Now,
Mr. Holt, I know what a grievous shock this has been for you, but I
think we're going to have to look at this situation dearly. I
think--it's my most considered professional opinion, that you are going
to feel a lot better about this if you leave James to rest where he is
and let me erect a real nice headstone there in his memory. Now, don't
you think that would be the best thing to do?"
Holt and his wife exchanged a long look, and she shook her head. He
turned back to the undertaker. "Mr. Maddox, we ap-predate the advice
you're giving us, we really do, but we'd like to take our boy home with
us, and we'd appreciate it a lot if you could arrange it so we could do
it today. Will you do that, please?"
Maddox sighed and clapped his hands on his knees. "Well, if you're
sure that's what you want to do" He called Will Henry into the hallway.
"Listen, I don't even know what the law is on exhumations, but I reckon
nobody is going to object. Why don't I just write out a kind of order
and get the ]P to sign it, and then, well, we'll just have to see
what's in that grave."
Will Henry stood with the Holts at their truck, some fifty feet from
where the two blacks were digging, supervised by Lamar Maddox. He was
grateful for their silence, grateful especially that they had asked no
further questions. It was taking a monumental effort on his part not
to pour out the whole story, give them the medical report, take full
blame for not having caught the murderer of their son. He was tightly
wound, his jaws clamped together, his facial muscles hurting from the
wretched expression frozen into his features.
"Will Henry!" Lamar Maddox was calling from the grave side. He walked
quickly over to find the two blacks clambering out of the grave. "Take
a rope, and help us, will you?" They hauled until the top of the
coffin was at ground level. "Hold it right there? Lamar said. They
stopped, and Will Henry could hear water streaming from the 'coffin
back into the hole. "The casket's in one piece, thank the Lord, but
like I said, this isn't the driest part of the cemetery. Let's just
wait a minute.
Soon the driPPing sound stopped, and they manhandled the coffin away
from the grave, where the two gravediggers began to wipe the mud from
it with rags. The varnish was mostly gone, and the wood was pitted,
but Maddox was right, it was a sturdy casket. Holt pulled the truck
over, and the coffin was lifted onto ' the bed and the tailgate
fastened. Holt turned to pass some bills to Maddox, while his wife
looked forlornly at the casket; then he came and helped her into the
truck. He thanked Will Henry profusely for his help, then climbed in
an. drove away. As Will Henry climbed stiffly into his car the two
gravediggers were shoveling dirt back into the grave.
Will Henry went home for the noonday meal, but could not eat. Instead,
he went upstairs and stretched out on the bed. He felt as if he'd
opened the grave himself and filled it again. Every muscle ached, and
the ache went to the heart of him. He dozed.
He was awakened by the ringing of the telephone downstairs. Carrie
answered it. "Will Henry, it's for you," she called up to him. He
struggled from the bed, got his shoes on, and staggered downstairs,
hardly awake.
"This is Chief Lee."
"Chief, this is Ed Routon, out at the grocery store."
"Yes, Ed, what can I do for you?"
"Well, I hired a colored boy to sweep up this morning, and I
caught him going out with a ham and a sack of beans. I guess you
better come get him."
"All right, Ed," Will Henry replied, wearily. "I'll be there in about
ten minutes. Uh, who is the boy? What's his name?"
"His name is Willie. Jesse Cole's boy. Lives down on D Street."
BooI< one: Will Henry Lee 5
Store, Ed Routon was sacking some purchases for a woman and laying on
the charm. Will Henry looked around, but saw nothing of Willie. He
waited for Routon to finish with his customer.
"Hello, Will Henry. Sorry to have to get you out here." "That's my
job, Ed. Where's the boy."
Routon turned toward the rear of theodore. He chuckled. "Got him on
ice." He unlocked a large padlSck and swung open the thick door of the
cooler room. Willie sat on the floor, hugging his knees, trembling
violently. Will Henry shot a glance at Ed Rou-ton; the man avoided his
eyes. "Only place I had to lock him up."
Will Henry helped the boy up. He was surprised to find that he was
nearly six feet tall, though still thin. It had been a while since
he'd seen Willie. There was a swelling around one of the boy's eyes.
"Willie, you go out and sit in my ear and get warm. I'll be out there
in a minute." The boy left.
Ed Routon looked concerned. "He's going to run off."
Will Henry shook his head. "I know Willie. His folks used to work for
me when I was farming. He won't go anywhere. You roughed him up, did
you?"
Routon still wouldn't look at him. "Well, I got mad. I give the
boy a job, and then he starts walking off with a ham." Will Henry
nodded. "Ed, do you have to make a case a ain st him? His daddy's
been sick for a long time, and they've had a lot of trouble. You won't
have any more problem with him." Routon shook his head. "I've got to
do it, Will Henry. If I let him et away scot-free every ni erin
Braytown will be in here stuffing his shirt full of roc eries I have
to be hard about this, or they'll steal me blind. You understand. He
won't get much. Tell you what. I'll make the case on the minimum char
e. What would that be, petty theft?" Will Henry nodded. "That's a
misdemeanor. At least he won't o to the county camp. Thanks, Ed." He
walked out of the store and got into the car. Willie was still
shivering. Will Henry or in and turned the heater on. "Why did you do
this, Willie? You know what this is going to do to your mother." Tears
began streaming down the boy's face. "Thanksgivin' comin' up. We don'
have nothin' in the house." His voice was very small, but Will Henry
could tell it had chan ed. Willie was becomin a man." "You know you
could have come to us. Or to Flossie. Anyway, the church would have
got y'all a turkey at Thanks ivin ." Willie shook his head. "Mama say
we ain't on' take nothin' else from nobody no mo'. Mist' Routon jcs'
payin' me a dime a hour. Cain't buy nothin' wif' 'that." Will Henry
fished in his pocket and found two dollar bills. He stuffed them into
Willie's shirt pocket. "Now, listen to me, Willie," he said. "Don't
you tell your mother where you of this. You tell he you found an odd
job. Now, if you get this way again, I want you to come see me, and
I'll help. We wOn't tell anybody. Will you do that, now?" Fresh
tears welled up in Willie's eyes. "Yassuh. I do it. Yas-sub."
"We're going to have to tell her about this business with Ed Routon,
though. That's out of my hands. City court's tomorrow, and he's going
to see you're charged with petty theft. Don't worry, though, you won't
get sent to the county camp for that. Likely, you'll be sentenced to
some time in the city jail. I'll be around there, and you'll be all
riJt. Now you stop crying, and let's go see your mother." Will Henry
talked to Nellie on the front porch at the house on
O01 ON]]: Will Henry Lee
D Street. Jesse was inside, suffering through another malaria attack.
Nellie took the news in silence, but Will Henry could see that she was
angry and terribly hurt.
"Now, Nellie, I'm going to leave Willie here with you tonight. City
court meets tomorrow, and he'll have to be there at nine o'clock sharp,
hear? Mr. Routon has agreed to make the minimum charge, and that
means city jail instead of the county camp, so he'll be right here in
Delano, and you can come see him. It won't be for long."
She nodded, her teeth clenched, jaw muscles working.
"I've already given Willie a good talking to, and he got a pretty good
clout from Mr. Routon. He's learned his lesson, and he's getting too
big to spank, anyway, so you take it easy with him, all right?" She
nodded again. "Now, I'll see you both at nine o'clock tomorrow morning
at city hall. I'll send Flossie to stay with Jesse. You remember,
Nellie, that I'm leaving Willie in your custody instead of making him
spend the night in jail, which I'm supposedt0 do, and if you aren't
there on time I'll get in a lot of trouble."
"We be there, Mist' Will Henry," Nellie said. "And we 'preciate you
lettin' him stay home." But her eyes didn't meet his, and her mind was
somewhere else, in a dark and desperate place. From inside the house
came a noise, a loud moaning. "I got to see to Jesse," she said.
Will Henry drove back to the station slowly, his heart filled with pity
for Jesse and Nellie Cole. After all, their trouble, now this. And it
all went back to the Spence boy. His pity changed to guilt, and, on
top of the visit from the murdered boy's parents, it was almost more
than he could bear.
The telephone was ringing as he walked into the station. "Delano
police, Chief Lee speaking."
"Chief? T. T. Brown here."
The salesman from the police equipment company. Will Henry had seen
him regularly, twice a year, but Brown had never telephoned before.
"How're you, Mr. Brown?"
"Just fine, just fine. I'm due down there next week. Stop in and see
you, if I may."
"Well, yes, there are a couple of things I need."
"Reason I called, though, we got an order from Delano last week."
"I haven't ordered anything."
"I know. It's apparently from a civilian. We get them from time to
time, but we don't sell to the public. If somebody wants something
from our catalogue we tell 'em to order through their local police
department; that way we don't have any problem." "I see. Well, who
was it, and what did they order?"
"No name. Just got an order for two pair of handcuffs, with a money
order for the correct amount enclosed and a Delano post-office box
number for an address. Box eighty-two. Probably a child, we get that
now and then. They want to play cops and robbers, and they save up
some money and want the real stuff. Still, I thought you ought to know
about it. We've already returned the money order with a letter telling
them to go through you."
"Well, thanks for letting me know, Mr. Brown, and stop in to see me
when you're down this way." Will Henry hung up. He didn't know why
Brown had even bothered to call. The money had been returned, that was
the end of it. He doubted it anyone would be coming to see him to
place an order for handcuffs. He turned to other work. Anything to
occupy his mind. There was a letter from sonde women who wanted a stop
sign at their street corner. He marked it for the attention of Willis
Greer at city hall and put it in his out basket so he wouldn't forget
to take it over. At home that night he told Carrie about Willie's
arrest. "Poor Nellie," she said. "I'll see her name gets on the list
for a turkey. I'll have a word with Frank Mudter, too, and get him to
look in on Jesse. I'd go out and see her, but knowing Nellie, she'd be
embarrassed. It took a lot for her to come to me when Hoss Spence
threw them off his place. She doesn't like asking for help, not even
from Flossie and Robert. You know, I'm going to have to give some
thought to finding some regular work that she can do. Or maybe
something for Willie, though it won't help when word gets around about
this business at Routon's. She's tried so hard to keep him in school,
and he'll graduate next year, if she can just hang on. Flossie says
he's real smart. Head of his class." "I'll mention that to the judge
tomorrow; maybe it'll help." They ate their supper and talked a
little, but it was plain to Carrie and the children that Will Henry was
again in the grip of his private demon.
Willie got ten days in the city jail. His mother testified that he had
never been in trouble before and that he was a good student.
Boo ouE: Will Henry Lee x55
Will Henry testified that he had known the boy all of his life, that he
was a good worker, and that his parents had brought him up properly.
Willie himself apologized for his theft to Ed Routon, and Routon said
he had no wish to punish the boy unduly. Justice of the Peace Jim
Buce, who also ran the feed store, was sympathetic, but said that the
boy had to be taught some sort of lesson. So it was ten days working
on the streets under the supervision of the city manager. Will Henry
turned him over to Willis Greer for work as soon as the court had
adjourned. Robert drove Nellie home in the Lee's car, and Flossie was
designated by the chief to bring the prisoner his meals, for which the
city would pay. He would be the only prisonerin the jail.
Will Henry made his usual rounds without thinking, in a torpor of
depression. He returned to the station to receive his prisonex at six
o'clock. "How did it go today, Willie? What work did Mr. Greer have
you doing?"
"I clean leaves out of some drains under the street. It wudn't hard.
He say we do the same thing tomorrow."
"Well, it's only ten days. You'll be all done the end of next week."
"Yassuh."
Flossie brought Willie his supper and stayed to talk with him while
Will Henry went home for his own meal. He left the cell door open, and
reflected that Willie was probably eating a lot better than he would be
at home. Driving back to the station after supper, Will Henry had the
sudden notion that Willie would not be there when he arrived. But
Willie was the, staring out the window, the cell door still wide open.
Flossie had left. Will
Henry wondered why he had doubted the boy. "Everything all fight,
Willie?" "Yassuh. You gon' lock me up now?"
"Yes, you can settle in now. There's plenty of blankets, and I'll put
some coal in the stove before I leave. You should be real
comfortable." Will Henry closed the door and began locking it.
Willie rushed from the window and grabbed the bars, his eyes wide with
fright. "You ain't gon' leave me here by myself, is you Mist' Will
Henry? You ain't gon' do that?"
Will Henry reached through the bars and put his hands on the boy's
shoulders. "Now, son, I can't stay here with you all night. You've
perfectly safe here. It's all right."
Willie gYabbed Will Henry's wrists, and he began crying.
"Oh, no sub, I cain't stay here by myself! I'se skeered of it here!
Please, sub, Mist' Will Henry, don't make me do it! Don't leave me
here all by myself! Please!"
Will Henry hesitated. "Now, Willie--"
"Please, sub!"
Will Henry thought for a minute. He had a lot of leeway here. Nobody
had ever questioned his disposition of a prisoner. He made up his
mind. "All right, Willie, now listen. I'll let you go home at night
while you're serving your sentence. You'll come back here after work
every day and let Flossie feed you, and then you can spend the night at
home. But you have to promise me that you'll be at city hall every
morning at eight o'clock sharp to report to Mr. Greer for work. Now,
will you promise me that?"
Willie nearly wept again, this time for joy. "Oh, yassuh! I sho'
will! Thank you, suh!"
Will Henry drove the boy home and watched him run up the steps and into
his mother's arms. He drove away feeling better than he had in days.
WILL HEnRy was late to work the next morning, for the first time since
he had taken the job. It was nearly twenty minutes past eight when he
arrived, and there was someone waiting for him. A tiny old man with a
pack on his back and a bundle under his arm stood on the steps and
said, "Good morning to you, sir. Name's Dooley. I do basketwork,
itineranflike. Whenever I come to a new town I always visit police
headquarters first and offer my services. That way, when I start
knocking on doors the police know I'of out to steal the silver. Is
there any caning I can do for you, sir?"
Will Henry smiled at the man. "Matter of fact, there is. Kind of nice
to have somebody turn up just when you need them. Come on in." He
showed the man into his office and pointed at two sagging cane-bottomed
chairs. "How much for the two?"
"I'd be pleased to do them for nothing but the good will, sir."
"Suppose we call it a dollar for the both?"
The old man smiled and doffed his hat. "As you wish, sir." He slipped
out of his pack, tossed the bundle, which turned out to be strips of
cane, onto the floor, and set to work on the chairs with as harp knife,
sitting on the floor as he worked, humming tunelessly to himself. The
telephone rang. It was Skeeter Willis. "Morning, Will Henry."
"Morning, Skeeter."
"Had a call from the sheriff of Fulton County last night, an old
friend. Asked a favor. Friend of his wife's had a boy run away Sunday
after he got into a little trouble and ook a whipping. Sheriff figures
he might be headed for an aunt's place in Florida and thought he might
be hitchhiking down forty-one. He'd appreciate it if we'd keep an eye
out for him. You still there, Will Henry?" "Yes." He had been
thinking about another boy, on the road alone for the first time, gone
home, finally, with his parents in a box on the back of a truck. "Got
a description?" "Sure. Name, Raymond Curtis; age, fifteen, but looks
older; height, five feet nine inches; weight, one forty-five; hair,
brown; eyes, brown; has a one inch white scar on his chin; stutters a
little. Got that?" Will Henry jotted down the information. "I've got
it. When did you say he was last seen?" "Sunday afternoon, late. If
he's headed for Florida he'd be past you already, this being Wednesday,
but keep an eye out for him, all right?" "Sure, be glad to." "And
Will Henry, if you come on him call me instead of Fulton County, if you
would." Skeeter wanted any credit coming. "Sure Skeeter." He hung
up. /
He sat, elbow on desk, hand over mouth, like a man about to throw up,
frozen, staring across the room. It couldn't happen again. Why did he
feel this way? Just a runaway boy. Then he realized he was looking at
something familiar, something from a long time ago. His eyes focused
on what the little man, Dooley, was doing across the room. Dooley's
hands were flying about a chair, quickly weaving a seat of cane over
the frame. The other chair, stripped of its seat, stood next to him
bare, horribly naked, beckoning some memory. He went to his desk and
heaved open the heavy bottom drawer, dug into a pile of papers,
extracted the file he wanted. Setting the photographs aside, he turned
to the neatly typed report. It was there, in bare detail: "...
horizontal and vertical bruises, approx, eight-nine inches in length,
one inch wide, on buttocks..." But there was something not in the
report; something in Frank Mudter's dining room after an uneaten
supper; something said. Dr. Carter Sauls's deep voice came to him:
"He was tied to some sort of seat, something like
Bootc ouE: Will Henry Lee an old-fashioned toilet chair with nothing
in the middle .... " And now he remembered. His first visit to Foxy's
house.." nobody there.." in the kitchen, chairs being re caned one
still bare. The dog had frightened him at that moment, when she and
her puppies had made their appearance through the slot in the kitchen
door, scaring him half to death, obliterating the memory of the chairs.
He hadn't remembered when Sauls had brought it up. Something else
Sauls had said: the boy's hands were tied or, perhaps, handcuffed. He
picked up the phone and spoke a number into it.
"Post office, Pittman speaking." "George, this is Will Henry Lee."
"How you doing, Chief?"
"Fine. Tell me' something George, who has box number eighty-two?" He
already knew the answer.
"Foxy Funderburke. Got it last year. We've got a waiting list, you
know."
Will Henry thought for a moment. "Does Foxy pick up his mail every
day, George?"
"Never misses. In here every morning as soon as I've got it put up.
Except--"
"What, Gefirge?"
"Well, it's funny, but Foxy... hang on a minute, will you?
Will Henry waited, tapping his foot, knowing what was coming,
frightened.
"Yeah, just like I thought. Foxy hasn't picked up his mail since last
Saturday. Hope he isn't sik or something, up there all by himself on
that mountain."
"Thanks for the information, George."
"Sure, Will Henry, but what's this all about?" But the chief had hung
up.
Will Henry took a dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to Dooley.
"Would you mind finishing up ove ring the fire station? I've got to
lock up for a while."
"Not at all." Dooley gathered up his things and moved out the door.
Will Henry locked the door and' started to get into his car. The
telephone rang. He hesitated, then got into the car and drove away.
With some effort he kept himself from driving fast through the town. No
need to disturb people. Once past the last houses, he accelerated up
the mountain, climbing fast until he reached
the crest of the pass. There he stopped, forced himself to be calm, to
slow his breathing. He had faced Foxy twice on the occasion of murders
and got nowhere. This time he would do it differently. Instead of
taking the road across the mountain toward Foxy's, he turned right,
onto the Scenic Highway, and drove along the mountain's ridge until he
saw smoke rising. He pulled over to the side and got out. A few
hundred yards down the mountainside he could see a part of the roof of
Foxy's house. A puff of wind blew the chimney smoke in his direction.
Good. He would be downwind of the dogs. He started away from the car,
then went back. He unlocked the trunk, took out a 30-3 rifle and
loaded it. If it was still going on down there he might need it. He
pumped a round into the chamber, eased the hammer down to half-cock and
started down the mountain.
Boor ONE: Will Henry Lee x6x
HE MOVED DOWNWARD through a riot of color, trees at the peak of their
autumn, shimmering gold and flaming red, a carpet of the same hues
under his feet. He did nO notice the beauty which surrounded him,
thinking only of what horror he might find at the end of his walk down
the mountain. As he approached the house, he slowed and walked
carefully, wishing to make no sound that might disturb the dogs. Now
he could see snatches of the house thro.$gh the trees, log stacked on
log, the garage to one side, doors open, truck inside. The trees ended
in a clearing twenty yards from the house. The last yards before the
clearing he moved stealthily, from tree to tree to bush, always keeping
something between himself and the house. Near the edge he stopped and
looked at everything again. Quiet morning picture, nothing unusual,
smoke from the chimney, truck, garage. He sought to move around the
perimeter of the clearing and looked down for a quiet footing. He
stopped. Something wrong. Dirt on the leaves, on top of the leaves.
He knelt. Red dirt, clay. Leaves undisturbed. He raked aside the
leaves and dug at the earth with his hand. Black topsoil. Black
topsoil under the leaves, red clay on top. All wrong. He looked
around him. More clay, sometimes mixed with black dirt, scattered over
several yards. He turned his attention to the clearing. There. Ten
feet,
maybe, into the clearing, the leaves. A large patch had been
disturbed. He had to see. The patch was well into the clearing. No
shelter. He looked carefully from one window to the next. Nothing. He
stood up, crooked the rifle in his arm, and walked, as casually as
possible, toward the patch of disturbed leaves. From firm ground he
stepped into a soft spot, in the patch. He looked at the house again.
Still nothing. He raked at the leaves with his foot. Underneath,
black soil mixed with red, tamped with something, as hovel He forgot
the house and raked more leaves away. An outline. Six feet long,
maybe two feet wide. A hole dug, something buried, filled again,
tamped with as hovel extra dirt scattered into the woods to avoid a
telltale mound, leaves raked back over the raw earth. New. This
morning. He was too late. In the house, Foxy, exhausted, was shaving.
There was three days' mail in town, and he had to be presentable when
he went to collect it. He turned and reached for a towel next to the
window and froze. Will Henry Lee was standing in the back yard,
exactly on the spot, moving leaves with his toe, looking. Seconds
passed before he could move. Then he dropped the towel and ran,
barefooted, naked, into the living room, clawed at the .45 pistol on
the wall over the fireplace, ran into the kitchen, working the pistol's
action, just to be sure, ran past the wet spot on the floor, scrubbed
clean and drying, ran past the kitchen table, handcuffs, rubber garden
hose, rope, ran to the kitchen door, threw it open, dropped to one
knee, aiming. Gone. The clearing was empty. He could hear Will Henry
running through the woods, up the mountainside. He followed, running
hard, past the disturbed leaves to the edge of the clearing, into the
woods, stopped. He could no longer hear the steps. Lee had too much of
a start, and he suddenly remembered, with the chill, that he was naked.
He turned and ran for the house. Will Henry moved quickly up the
mountainside, nning a few steps, walking fast, climbing, thinking. He
had been too late. Too late. But now there was evidence to find, hard
evidence in the cold earth. Out of his jurisdiction. He reached the
car and tossed the rifle onto the back seat. He'd have to go to
Sheriff Goolsby in Talbot County, tell him, convince him. Foxy's
friend. No matter. When he heard what Will Henry had to tell him he'd
have no choice. A search warrant. He got the car started, turned
around, and roared down the mountain toward Delano, unaware
Booc ou: Will Henry Lee that Foxy had seen him. Foxy reached the
house, sweating in spite of the cold, grabbed clothes, shoes. He had
to reach Lee before he could tell anybody. Had to. He snatched a
rifle from over the fireplace and ran for his truck.
Will Henry unlocked the door of the station and hurried for the phone,
impatient while the operator connected him. "Sheriff's office." "This
is Chief Lee, in Delano. Let me speak to the sheriff, please."
"Sorry, Chief. He's in the judge's chambers in a county meeting. Be
in there the better part of an hour, I'd say." "Good. Who is this?"
"Deputy Simpson." "All right, Deputy. I'm on my way to Talbotton
right now. I have to see both the sheriff and the judge, and I want
you to be sure that neither one of them leaves until I get there, you
got 'that?"., ' .
"Yes sir." "You camp outside the judge's chambers and tell them this
is an urgent matter all right?" "Yes sir. I'll tell them as soon as
they get out of the meeting." Will Henry hung up. Willis Greet was
standing in the door. The city manager had a disgusted look about him.
"Where's my prisoner?" he asked.
"What?" ..: "Where's my prisoner? I came to lick him up this morning,
and he wasn't here. You take him someplace? I tried to call you a
while ago, but there was no answer." Damn Willie. "I let him sleep at
home last night. He was supposed to be at city hall at eight this
morning." "Well, he wasn't. I hope he isn't long gone, I sure need
the extra help this week. All the storm drains have got to be cleared
of leaves." "Well, look, Willis, I can't fool with this right now.
I'v,e, got to ' get down to Talbotton on some important business. I
don't think Willie would run off. He's probably out at the house on D
Street now. ' "Listen, Will Henry, I need him this morning bad. Can't
you go and get him before you go to Talbotton?"
Will Henry thought quickly. "Tell you what. It's on the way,
anyhow. You follow me out to Braytown, I'll get Willie, and you can
bring him back with you while I go on to Talbotton."
Foxy got the truck started, roared down the road to the gate, turned
left, and headed up the mountain. As he Rested the pass he suddenly
slammed on his brakes and pulled the truck to the side of the road. He
tried to think clearly for a minute. Sweat was pouring off him, and he
was breathing hard, his heart hammering against his chest. Not Delano.
Talbotton. Lee would have to go to Goolsby in Talbotton. He started
to turn the truck around, but something down the road stopped him. The
Delano polie car was turning off the road into Braytown, followed by a
ity truck. Foxy wrenched the pickup back toward Delano and Braytown.
He made the turn into A Street in time to see the two vehicles turn
right onto Bray Avenue. He followed at a distance and saw them turn
left, again, into D STe et He approached the intersection cautiously.
No one seemed to be about in the chilly weather. He turned into D
Street and stopped. There were only two houses there, one on the
corner, empty, and one at the end of the sreet. The two were separated
by a long empty lot overgrown with brush. He drove a few feet into the
street and pulled over. Up ahead he could see Will Henry Lee and
Willis Greer getting out of their cars and starting for the house. He
got out of the truck, taking the rifle.
In the house Nellie was sponging down Jesse's forehead and face. He
had had a bad night, but seemed quieter and more acid now. She and
Willie had had a struggle keeping him in bed, he in the grip of some
delirium in which Hoss pence apparently played a part, for Jesse would
mutter or shout his name from time to time.
Willie was worried. He was nearly two hours late being at city hall,
and he didn't want to get the chief into any trouble. "Mama, he quiet
now. I got to git to town."
Nellie spun around. "No! No sub! You gon' stay here where you
needed!" She seemed half delirious herself.
"But mama--" They heard car doors slam outside. "They done come to git
me, now. They gon' put me under the jail." "Willie!" It was the
chief's voice.
Nellie started for the door. "You stay here an' wash you' daddy's
face. I'm gon' tell him you ain't goin' no place She walked out onto
the front porch. The chief and the city manager
stood at the bottom of the steps.
"Morning, Nellie," said Will Henry, as pleasantly as he could. "I've
come to get Willie. He has to go to work."
Nellie was trembling with anger. "You ain't gon' take him. I needs
him here. His daddy sick."
"I'm sorry about that, Nellie. I'll send Dr. Frank out here this
afternoon. But Willie has to come with me, or he'll be in a lot of
trouble. You know that."
Foxy worked his way through the brush in the empty lot until he had a
clear view of things. Lee and Greer were standing at the bottom of the
steps to the house, talking to a nigger woman. Foxy wondered if the
chief had told Willis Greer anything. Probably not. Lee was talking
to the woman about taking her boy away. That's what Greer was doing
here. He dropped to one knee and brought the rifle to his shoulder.
He'd have to kill all three of them.
"No!" Nellie screamed at the top of her lungs. Inside, Jesse sat bolt
upright in bed. "No! You ain't gon' take him. You jcs' like the rest
of 'em! You ain't no better than Hoss Spence!" Jesse pushed Willie
aside and started for the door.
Foxy raised his rifle and drew a fine bead on Will Henry's right
temple. The chief was standing stock still with his hands on his hips.
It was an easy shot for somebody as good as Foxy. He took a deep
breath and started to squeeze down on the trigger.
Jesse burst from the house, wearing on a pair of overalls, his eyes
wild, as hotgun in his hands. Will lei'emy. turned to look at him,
his hands still resting on his hips. Ho opened his mouth to speak to
Jesse, who ran across the porch and pushed Nellie out
of the way. "Now, Jesse, you put--"
The shotgun roared.
Foxy watched in disbelief as Will Henry left his feet and flew
backwards through the air. The black man, dropped the shotgun and ran,
jumped off the end of the porch, and headed for the woods behind the
house. A black boy ran out the dor after him. The woman was screaming
something.
Before he heard the noise of the shotgun, Will Henry felt himself being
slammed backwards by something heavy against his chest, then everything
slowed down. He left his feet and floated briefly through space, then
struck the earth with his shoulders. He seemed to slide a long way,
bits of gravel and dirt scraping
against his shoulders as he landed. As he came to rest, the roar of
the shotgun filled his head, then he was looking up at the sky, and the
sky was filled with Willis Greer's face. He struggled for what seemed
like a long time to fill his lungs, which had been emptied by whatever
had hit him.
Foxy changed his position, swung the rifle toward the running black
man, took careful aim between the shoulder blades, then stopped
himself. He had no reason to be here with a rifle. Besides, he had to
find out if Greer knew. He started back toward the pickup truck,
running low through the brush. The black woman was still screaming.
Willis Greet was on his hands and knees, bending over Will Henry. The
center of the chief's chest was a mass of blood and pulp, an expression
of astonishment was on his face. He drew a long, gasping breath and
heaved it out. Bloody bubbles popped through the wreckage of his
chest, and he sucked in air again. Greet seemed in shock, didn't know
what to do. Foxy stopped his truck in front of the house and ran to
them, pushing Greer out of the way. He bent over Will Henry, a strange
expression on his face. "Can you talk, Lee? Can you speak to me?"
Foxy's voice was a soft purr. Then the pain hit Will Henry, and he
fainted.
In the woods Jesse stopped next to a small creek to catch his breath,
and Willie caught up to him. He grabbed Willie by the shoulders,
gasping for breath. When he could speak he said, "Listen, boy, we
cain't stay together." "But, Daddy, you sick, you cain't--" "No! You
listen. You go toyo Uncle Tuck in Columbus. He live at sixteen Camp
Street. Say that to me." "Sixteen Camp Street." "He take care of
you. I done kilt Mist' Hoss, and they gon' have the dogs after me fo'
long." "But, Daddy, it wudn't Mist'--" "Don't talk no mo'. Ain't got
no time. Now you run up that creek, right up the middle, 'til you get
to the top of the mountain, an' then you git to Columbus. Don't take
no rides from no white folks. You walk if you got to, and you go to
yoi Uncle Tuck. He know what to do."
Willie nodded. 'asuh." Jesse held him at arm's length for a moment,
then crushed him in his arms. Willie hugged his daddy. Then Jesse was
gone, running across the little stream in his bare feet and out of
sight into the woods. Willie watched him until he was out of sight,
then turned and started running up the middle of the creek, up the
mountain, away from Braytown and Delano, away, away. Will Henry dove
into the water, clean and straight. He opened his eyes and swam
downward. Underneath him the thick weeds moved as if in the wind, and
minnows darted here and there. He swam and swam, the cold water
delicious against his naked skin, streaming over his shoulders and
buttocks, stroking his penis, shriveling his scrotum. His lungs began
to ache for new air, and still he swam. He stopped and looked around.
Behind him the dog, Fred, was swimming, his four legs running through
the water, churning it into bubbles. Will Henry laughed out loud,
underwater, at the sight, expelling the air from his lungs. His feet
found he weeded bottom, and he pushed upward, aiming at a point in
front of the swimming dog. He broke the surface to his waist, gulping
air, reaching for Fred.
He sucked in air and opened his eyes. Carrie's fingers were in his
hair, Frank Mudter was sponging at his chest, Willis Greer, hat in
hand, looked on, wide-eyed, and Foxy stood at the foot of the
examination table, tense, his jaw working, sweat pouring down his face.
Carrie was weeping, trying to do it quietly. It was all clear to him,
every sound, every sob, every movement, every drop of sweat on Foxy's
face. He was numb, but when he inhaled the pain came in his chest. He
tried to speak, but it got worse. Frank Mudter drew back and looked at
him, followed Will Henry's gaze to Foxy, looked back at him with
curiosity. He was still trying to speak. The doctor leaned forward
and looked into Will Henry's face. "Can you speak, Will Henry? You
haven't got long, old fellow, I can't do anything for you." Will
Henry's lips formed a word, but no sound came out. He sucked in
another painful breath and tried again, his eyes still riveted to Foxy,
seeming to ignore Carrie, who held his head up in her hands. "Again--"
he managed to whisper, still staring at Foxy. He bit at another
breath, but t rattled from him in a long sigh.
Cmos
Darkness came slowly. He closed his eyes. He could feel Carrie's
clheek against his, her tears on his skin, her lips at his ear; she
loved him, she was saying.
He knew it, and e was glad
Book 'we: Sonny Butts
BILLY LEE' or more formally, Lieutenant Colonel William Henry Lee III,
Army Air Corps, was in a daze, a mixture of simple relief, intense
happiness, and equally intense fear. He was relieved that the Germans
would no loger be trying to kill him, having surrendered just that day;
he w, as very happy to be in the company of the girl he could just see
disappearing toward the ladies' room of the crowded London pub; and he
was terribly afraid that when shame back' She would not agree to marry
him. ": Billy had had what he would later come to tlaink of as a good
war. He had already earned a junior partnership in a large Atlanta law
firm when the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor came, but he had
unhesitatingly enlisted in the army, using Hugh Holmes's influence with
the Roosevelt administration to keep him out of the judge advocate's
clutches and get him into flight school. His age had kept him out of
fighters, where he really wanted to be, but bombers were the next bet
thing, and his maturity had helped him earn responsibility when, after
suffering ashrapnel wound in the seat of the pants on his thirty-eighth
mission, he was able to return to his squad ror as its executive
officer. By assigning himself to fly whenever his commanding officer
would look the other way, he had completed his fiftieth mission two
days before the European war ended.
But if that would seem like a "good" war later, all that mattered to
him now was that it was over and that he was alive and that, somehow,
he might talk this girl into marrying him. He made an effort to stop
rehearsing proposals and looked around for distraction; he would do
better if he had to improvise. It had always been that way in court. A
young infantry captain was slouched beside him, staring glumly into a
pint of warm beer. A cane was hooked over the bar at his elbow.
"Where you from, Captain?" The young officer looked up.
Billy thought he was probably a little drunk, but then so was he.
"Elmira, New York, sir."
"I guess you'll be going home pretty soon now."
"Yes, sir." He tapped the cane. 'his'll keep me out of the Pacific.
Nothing permanent, though. I was lucky."
"You don't look too happy about it. Aren't you ready to get back?"
"Oh, sure, I've got a wife and a kid I've only seen once. I'll find it
real easy to be a civilian again--even one with a limp. I was just
thinking, though, there'll be some guys who'll be sorry it's over." '
"Sorry not to get shot at any more?"
The captain looked up from his beer at Billy. "You're a pilot?" "B
17,s."
"You've killed some people in this war, then."
"Not much doubt about that."
"Did you like it?" "Flying bombers?" "Killing people."
"I try not to think about it. Dresden, especially. I have a hard time
not thinking about that."
"There are men who like it."
"Killing people?"
The captain shifted his weight painfully on his barstool and continued
in the careful way of speaking of a man who knows he's drunk, but wants
to be understood. "There was a man in my company, a kid, really, a
sergeant." He paused and took a deep breath. "I promoted him to
sergeant. In the worst of it during the Bulge he led a platoon when
his lieutenant bought it. He loved it."
"Leading the platoon?"
"Killing. He loved making other men die. I think it made him
feels" His words trailed off. Billy started to say something, to
change the subject, but the captain continued. "I found him .. . there
was this big shell hole, and he had these German soldiers, really young
kids and a couple of old men .. we saw a lot of that, it was all they
had at the end. There were eight of them in the hole, and I came up on
him; I heard his Thompson firing and thought he needed help. I saw him
shoot the last one. He was at least sixty." "Well, one man against
eight, he had to defend himself. They were armed, weren't they?" "The
one I saw him shoot, the last one, he was armed with a rifle with a
fixed bayonet, and there was a handkerchief, a white flag tied to the
bayonet. He didn't see me at first. He waited a minute; the man was
begging. And then he shot him. He was grinning while he did it. He
loved it." All eight of them." "It's hard to know what a man thinks
or feels at a time like that. It might have been different than you
think." " know 'gvhat he was feeling. His fatigues were wet. His
pants. He came in his pants. It was all just a big wet dream to him."
Billy win cec "Did you.." was he charged with anything?" "Before I
could do anything at all a mortar shell went off somewhere behind me. I
woke up in a field hospital. I was in England the next day. I don't
know if he's dead or alive, but I hope he's dead. At home they're not.
going to know what to do with somebody like that. He'd go Iack as a
hero. He was the most decorated man in the regiment, and it was all
because he loved his work. He'd been trained to kill people, and he
learned to like it. I think I suspected it, but I couldn't relieve
him; I needed him. All I could do in the end was to write to the new
CO from the hospital, and I don't even know if he got the letter."
Billy looked up and saw her picking her way back through the crowd. "I
hope he got the letter, Captain, and I guess that's all you can do,
too. I hope you'll have an easier time forgetting it than I've had
forgetting Dresden, and I vish you luck. Excuse me." He struggled
toward her and took her hand. "Let's get some air, okay?" They headed
for the door. There was a bench in the mews, at the bottom of the
pub's steps. They sat on the bench with their drinks; she pulled her
knees onto the seat and faced him. Her name was Patricia Worth
CHI]ErS
Newenam, and she was Anglo-irish. He had met her at a general's dinner
party at the Connaught and had shamelessly wooed her under the
general's nose. She was a WREN attached to Allied headquarters in
London, and they had spent every possible free moment together since
then. They had slept in each others arms in her London flat and in
country inns, but she would not make love to him. There was an old
boyfriend in the Royal Marines, a childhood sweetheart, and he thought
that must be the reason. He tried not to think about the marine. He
had pulled some strings and managed to visit her family home near
Kinsale, in County Cork, for a weekend. Her family were Protestants,
farmers for generations, who lived in a huge mn-down Georgian house set
in two thousand acres of Irish countryside. Her father was a small,
handsome man who was a splendid host, but wary of him. He had lost a
son and heir in the war and had only a remaining son and Patricia. He
did not intend to lose her to some passing American. Billy had told
him flatly that he would ask her to marry him if he survived the war.
"You're a nice enough fellow," Worth-Newenam had replied, "and you're
of the first to speak to me, as you might imagine. Colin Cudmore has
wanted her all her life, and if I have my way he'll have her. She was
brought up on a horse, and she loves this land. She'll not be happy as
an American lawyer's wife." "Mr. Worth-Newenam," Billy had replied,
looking him in the eye, "I know I'm a foreigner to you, and I can
understand how you must want to keep her here, but I love her, and I
can give her a good life. There's land in Georgia, too, and I think
that living in London has made her want more than just that. The thing
that neither you nor I really knows is whether she wants me. If she
decides she does, I hope you and Mrs. Worth-Newenam will give us your
blessing." "Since we love her, too, I don't see how we can do anything
else. I guess you'd better find out if she'll have you." Now he was
about to do that, and all he could think about was how unbearably
painful it would be if she didn't want him. The light from the pub's
windows shone on her auburn hair, and though her eyes were in shadow he
knew they were the same color. He took a deep breath and improvised.
"Listen, Trish, I think I want to be the president of the United
States. Do you want to be the first lady?" In the brief silence that
followed he wished he could see her eyes. Nothing else was moving.
Boole two: Sonny Butts "Oh, sure," she said, sounding oddly American,
"but how will Mr. and Mrs. Truman feel abo at that?" "I haven't
mentioned it to the Trumans yet, but Harry understands that any
American boy can become president, so I don't see how he can object."
"Do they promote thirty-three-year-old leftenant colonels directly to
president in America?" "There's a waiting period, usually. I thought
I might go into the Congress or maybe be governor of Georgia in the
meantime." "Right." "I mean, with my sterling war record and my wound
and everything, how could they deny me?" "Listen, buster, just because
you got shot in the arse for Uncle Sam doesn't mean anybody's going to
vote for you. Lots of other people got shot in the arse, too, you
knxw." "I love it when you talk dirty." "Don't change the subject."
"What was the subject?" "You were Proposingto me." "Oh, yeah. Did
you give me an answer?" "Yes." "What was it." "that was it." His
mouth fell open. She put a knuckle under his chin and closed it. "You
mean it?" "There are conditions." ," "Your bargaining position will
never be better. Name them." "First, you have to ask me properly."
"Patricia Worth-Newenam, I love you, I really do, and I want you to be
my wi/e and the mother of my children and all that. Will you marry
me?" "That was very nice. Second condition: I can't just be a
politician's wife all day long. You have to buy me a farm." "Anything
to bring in the farm vote." "I mean it." "I mean it, too. The farm
vote is crucial in Georgia." "Done, then." "No more conditions?"
"That's it for now." "God, but I love you, Trish." "I love you, too,
Billy Lee. Take me home, and I'll prove it."
AS they walked up the mews to find a taxi, she asked about the captain
in the pub. "War stories," he replied. "He told me the worst war
story I ever heard. You really going to marry me?" "If you promise
never to tell me war stories." "Conditions, always conditions."
He put his arm around her, and they walked up the mews very close
together.
avo: Sonny Butts 77
'
TOP SERGEANT Homer Butts, known to all as Sonny, stood in the sunshine
of an early spring day in x946, at rigid attention, on the baseball
diamond of Delano High
Thirty-ohe other Delano natives, all in army, navy, or stood in ranks
with him.
Sonny was bored. The banker, Hugh Holmes, was droning about service
and sacrifice and honor, and Sonny had had it to here with service,
especially, and all that other stuff, too. It when the tar was still
on; there had been some-to get your blood going, but 'or nearly a year
the most thing he had done had been to play poker while he waited,
waited to get out of the army.
iHis eyes swept the crowded grandstand, the part of it he see without
turning his head. They were here to see him, these other yokels.
Hometown boy--the most decorated sol-Georgia. Well, probably. He'd
damn near had the Medal damn near. Somebody had torpedoed him, though.
A ri end of his, a clerk in the company orderly, room had hinted as
Shit, if he'd had that one he'd be as famous as Audie Mur-maybe even
have a movie contract like Murphy. He was good-looking enough, he
knew, better-looking than Murphy, for sure.
He knew exactly how he looked, braced up on that baseball
field in that uniform the old German guy had tailored for vo cartons of
Luckies. Not as tall as he'd have liked, only five nine, but service
had put some weight on him; he was z75 now, If he'd had that extra 2o
pounds when he'd graduated from Delano High he'd have been a sure thing
for a football scholarship to Georgia or Alabna or Auburn. He'd had
the speed, but not the size, for college ball, the scouts had told him.
He would let the blond crew cut grow out. The girls were geling tired
of guys who looked dike soldiers. He'd get a couple of sharp suits
with the poker money, and there was enough for a good used car. A
convertible, maybe.
Sonny heard his name mentioned. Holmes was reciting his list of
decorations. Sonny uned out again, then snapped back, alert. Holmes
was saying something he wanted to hear.
"This morning the Delano City Council voted to give priority on all
city jobs to returning veterans, and among veterans, to those with
combat records," Holmes was saying.
Sonny clenched his teeth. The interview with Holmes the day before had
not gone well, he thought. Holmes disapproved of him in some way, was
suspicious of him. He'd known the feeling before; lis company
commanderin Belgium had given him the same uneasy feeling. Sonny
suspected the CO of torpedoing his Medal of Honor, even though the guy
was in a hospital somewhere and had been replaced.
Holmes continued, "Today I can announce that the first of these
openings has been filled by a veteran. From among the available
candidates, Sgt. Sonny Butts is being hired to fill a vacancy on the
city police force."
"Sergeant Butts, two steps forward, march!" The speaker was Billy Lee,
Colonel Lee, the highest ranking of Delano's more than two hundred
veterans, someone Sonny had known only as a high school athlete when he
himself had been in grade school.
Sonny stepped forward, and Holmes shook his hand. "Congratulations,
son. I hope you'll continue to make us proud of you. Report to Chief
Thomas at eight o'clock Monday morning."
'aank you, sir. I'll do a good job for you, sir." Sonny was weak with
relief. He had been worried sick about work. His only job before the
war had been jerking sodas and stocking shelves at the Delano Drug
Company, and his only other prospect, apart from the police job, was
the mill, and the thought of the mill depressed him. Now he had a job
that would continue to command the respect he had earned by his deeds
on the battlefield.
Colonel Lee formed up the group and marched them off the in single
file. As they passed through the fence next to the they broke ranks,
and people came and pumped Sonny;s and offered congratulations. As the
crowd thinned out, found himself confronted by a wiry, wizened figure
in the World War I uniform of a first lieutenant. The man had been his
hand for several seconds before Sonny recognized Jesus, it was Foxy
Funderburke.
"Sergeant, you've done a fine job for your country," Foxy was "and I
expect you'll do a fine job on the police force." "Thank you, sir,
I'll do my best." When he was a kid he was seared shitless of Foxy
Funderburke; they all were; he wasn't sure just why. Now here was the
old fart shaking his hand.
"And I want you to know that my experience is always available to you.
If you ever need any help, you just ask."
"Yes, sir, I sure will." What the hell was he talking about? What
experience? But before Sonny could wonder any further, the tightly
uniformed figure had spun about and marched away. Sonny stopped
himself from laughing out loud.
Back on the He.d another group of ex-soldiers was forming. They were
all black. Delano's black community was filling the stands. A few
whites hung about to watch. Holmes repeated much the same remarks and
singled out one or two men who had been decorated. Among them was
Marshall Parker.
Marshall, who had been i0 some of the heaviest fighting during the
D-Day invasion and had won a:bronze star, noted that there was no
mention of city jobs in Holmes's address to the blacks of Delano. Never
mind, though; he had saved his money, and he had plans. Before the war
he might not have dared to dream he could own a business, but his army
service had changed him as it had changed his black contemporaries, and
the war, he thought, had changed things for the better for all of them.
Holmes had encouraged him, had indicated that a loan might be
forthcoming for the right project.
As he stood in the sun and listened to Homes's speech and accepted
handshakes from the banker and Colonel Lee, Marshall Parker felt
something he had rarely felt before--optimism.
Hugh Holmes and Billy Lee sat in Holmes's study and sipped bourbon.
Billy laughed aloud. "You're pretty sneaky, you know. I never knew
you had a secret stash of whiskey in this room."
"Last time you were in this room, you weren't old enough to Knowo"
"Let's see, I was twenty-eight, I think." "Too young to be trusted
with my secret." "I'm flattered to be trusted with it now."
"Well, if anybody ever had any doubts about you, and I don't think many
folks did, your war record certainly has removed them. Your daddy
would have been real proud of you." "Thank you, sir."
"That's quite a girl you've got there."
Patricia was in the Holmes garden with Virginia, looking at azaleas and
such.
"I know it, believe me. She'd rather be in here with you and me now
than looking at flower beds, too. I'll have to square it with her
tonight by telling her everything we've talked about." "She's like
that, is she?"
"Yes, sir, and I'm glad. She's smarter than I am."
"You're a lucky man, then. She can help you a lot. I don't think her
being a foreigner will hurt a bit."
"Hur?"
"You are still interested in politics, aren't you?"
"more than ever."
"Good. Have you made any plans? You going back with Blackburn,
Hedger, etcetera, etcetera?"
"They want me. Partnership within a year, they're saying." "What are
you thinking of, Congress?" "It crossed my mind."
Holmes shook his head. "The way I see it, only one Atlanta area seat
is weak enough to change hands this year, and you've never lived in
that district. There are at least two good men, veterans, who've
already announced, and they both have roots there. You'd be at a big
disadvantage."
"That's true. I'd thought, too, about moving back here and running."
"Against Joe Collins? Forget it. Not even I could support you against
Joe. He's done too good a job for us, and he's a good friend of
mine."
"What do you think I should do?"
"Are you only interested in going to Washington, Or does Georgia
politics have any interest for you? What about governor,
eventually?"
c TWO: Sonny Butts "That interests me a lot." "Good. I think it's a
better goal, even if you want to end up Washington. The Senate's the
place, and Walter George is an man now. Good for a few more years, I
expect, and governor, even lieutenant governor, would be a better
springboard to pat seat. Mind you, not for another eight years. Old
Gene Tal--nadge is already running hard for one last shot at the
office, and win, I think. His health's not good, though. He might not
through a term. Melvin Thompson will probably be elected governor and
would succeed for the remainder of his if Gene died in office, but I
don't think he could be reelected his own hook. I think Herman
Talmadge will have it next By the time Herman finishes his term, you
should be about I'd think."
"Where do you think I should begin?" 'II think you should run for the
state senate."
"Which district?"
"l'his districd'
Billy swallowed hard. "You thinking of retiring?"
"I am. I'm seventy. I've been dealing with those scoundrels
thirty-five year. I'd stay on the state board of education and my hand
in a number of other areas, but I'd be ready to the senate if I knew I
were being replaced by the right
Billy was quiet. ; Well?" :
"It's a wonderful opportunity, Mr. Ilmes, but--"
"What's bothering you? You think Patricia might not want to in Delano
instead of Atlanta?"
"Oh, no. In some ways I think she'd prefer it down here."
shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Mr. Holmes, after died you were
about the closest thing to a father I had.
after Mama married Mr. Fowler, as good a man as he is, I
till felt closer to you, and I want you to know how grateful I am ifor
the advice you've given me over the years and your efforts on behalf
with the army and all--"
Holmes waved a hand. "Billy, you've never really needed my i help in
any important sort of way. You're going to rise to the top
: in whatever you decide to do. But I can help you now in many
': ways, and I want to. Ginny and I never had children, and I think
':':i of you as a son."
"Thank you, sir. I really appreciate that. But what I have to make
dear to you is that.." well, I have to be my own man right from the
start if I'm going to really be effective in government. Forgive me
for putting it bluntly, but I don't want to be elected to the state
senate to represent Hugh Holmes." Holmes grinned sheepishly. "Well, I
guess I'm a pretty pushy fellow sometimes, and I'll admit I'd hope that
you would pursue some of the same goals in the legislature that I did."
"I'm sure I would, sir, but you and I are going to disagree on some
things sooner or later, that's only natural, and I want you to
understand that I couldn't accept your help unless I felt free to
follow my conscience." "I have a feeling you have something spedfic in
mind." Billy shifted in his seat again. "I think the war has changed
a lot of things irrevocably. I think we're going to be in for some
upheavals in the South, things that a lot of Georgians are going to
find distasteful." "Billy, has the army turned you into an
integrationist?" "I think we have some painful transitions to make in
this state. Those colored boys out at the school this afternoon fought
and bled in the war just like everybody else, and they're entitled to
the gratitude of their community. A lot of them wre treated like grown
men for the first time in their lives, and they're not going to forget
it. They're just not going to accept things the way they were. And if
I'm elected to the state senate I'm going to be representing those
men." Holmes grinned slightly. "That was a very politic answer to my
question. Let me tell you where I stand on this. I think that for the
races to start mixing and 'intermarrying would be the worst thing that
could ever happen to this country, would ruin it. I don't want to see
us become a nation of mongrels. But I think our colored people are
entitled to things--education, work--just like white people, and I've
always taken care to represent them in the senate." "I know you have,
sir." "However, in spite of my views on miscegenation I know there are
some important changes coming. My concern in all this is to try and
prevent a confrontation which would be disastrous for all of us, white
and black. One of the major concerns of my life has been education in
this state, and that includes the education of Negroes, too. I
think--and if you ever quote me on this
we: Sonny Buttsa liar--we're going to end up being forced to
integratechools in the next fifteen or twenty years by the federal
govI'll hate to see it happen, but I'll do what I can while I to see
that it doesn't destroy our public education system. see, even though
we might not quite see eye to eye on question, we'll still have some
common goals, and I think l be able to work together." "I'm relieved
that you feel that way, sir, because I don't think could ask for or
accept your help if I had to fight you tooth and on this issue. I want
you to know, too, that I'm not going to any integration movements. I
want a careerin government, to have that you have to keep getting
elected. I'm enough of realist to know that." Holmes cocked his head
to one side and examined the young who sat across from him. "You know,
I think you might be ambitious than I thought." '"I think governor is
what I'll be aiming for. I don't want to You'll run for the state
senate, then? You'll have my , and I don't think we can anticipate any
difficulties." "Yes, sir, I will. And I can't thank you enough for
the opporI hope there's room for another lawyerin Delano." "You know
Harry Mix died three months ago?" "Mama wrote me about it." "The bank
hasn't appointed another counsel yet. You've got our work, so you'd
better start reaing up on your banking tuite the same as being a tri
attorney." "That's wonderful, sir. Thank you." "You'll get some work
from the mill, too." "Doesn't Blackburn, Hedger still represent them?"
"Oh, yes, but I've already had a word with Torn Delano. get whatever
they need doing locally and maybe some of ' trial work, too."
"Blackburn, Hdger won't like that, much." "They won't have to." "How
is old Delano, anyway?" "Eighty-two and still ruling with a steel-trap
mind and an iron hand. I reckon that between the bank and the mill
you'll get ten thousand a year in business. That ought to be enough to
get a young lawyer started." "That's business any lawyer would give
his eyeteeth for."
"You'll need an office. There's space on the second floor of the bank
building. Small, but it'll do for a beginning. You'll need a library,
too. You save any money in the service?"
"All my flight and overseas pay, plus some. I've got about eight
thousand in war bonds."
"Good boy. Still, you'll need more to get set up properly--you've got
to have a place to live, too, and since there was no building during
the war, housing is very short. I'd suggest we find you something
temporary; then you build. That'll show folks you're serious about
staying here."
"I've promised Trisha a farm, a working farm."
"Good, good. We'll find you some land hereabouts and work out a
mortgage. Farmer-lawyer is a hard political combination to beat in
this state." Holmes got to his feet. "I think this calls for another
drink."
"I'm having a tough enough time keeping my feet on the ground now."
Holmes began to pour for both of them. "Nonsense. Since you were a
small boy, Billy, your feet have never been anywhere but on the ground.
You're going to do well, boy, really well." He sank back into his
chair and looked at Billy appraisingly. "here's just a chance, with a
lot of luck, that you could go all the way." He sipped his bourbon and
stared into the fire. A tiny smile played across his lips. "The first
southerner since the War Between the States. Wouldn't that be
something."
As they drove home to his mother's house in his stepfather's car,
Patricia snuggled dose to him. "All right, then. Let's have a
report," she said.
"Well, it appears I've just been appointed to the Georgia State
Senate."
"Appointed? Don't you have to get elected?"
He laughed and put his arm around her. "Oh, I have to run. You're
going to get to meet every storekeeper and dirt farmerin the
Tri-Counties. But in this particular district one vote elects, and
I've already got that vote.
"All right, start at the beginning."
Booi TWO: Sonny Butts
SONNY sat at a table on the edge of the dance floor at Fletcher's, a
road house five miles north of Delano, and watched the gir. A
hillbilly band in cowboy suits was cranking out something mournful, the
whine of the steel guitar leading the way, and the floor was crowded,
but Sonny saw only the girl. Charlie Ward, Delano's only other police
officer besides the chief, sat at his elbow and peered at Sonny through
the thick glasses that had kept him happily out of the War.
"Jesus, Sonny, it's going to be great havitg you. on the force, it
really is. You and me together are going to snatch some folks sideways
in this town, you wait and see."
"Yeah, sure, Charlie." Sonny signaled the waitress for another Pabst.
He nodded at the girl as she drifted past in the arms of a beefy type
in a sailor's uniform. "Who is she?"
"The read head She's from La Grange. Name's Charlene something. Not
bad, huh?"
She was better than not bad. She was tall and, had her hair swept back
on one side with a flower behind her ear. Her angora sweater was
pulled down tightly over her breasts and secured at the waist by a
belt. "I love that," Sonny said. "I love slim girls with big tits."
He took as hort swig of the fresh beer and started toward the floor.
Charlie grabbed his sleeve.
"Hey, listen, that guy's got a mean reputation around here.
Cmm, s You better wait 'til she sits down." Sonny took hold of
Charlie's wrist and squeezed until the fingers opened. "Don't crease
the uniform, kid." "Sorry, Sonny, I just--" But Sonny was wading into
the crowd. He caught the girl's eye over her partner's shoulder and
held it as he approached them. She gave a little frown and rolled her
eyes sideways at the sailor. Sonny read the look. You're cute, but
watch it with this guy, it said. He stepped up to the couple and
tapped the sailor firmly on the shoulder. The young man turned and
looked at him, surprised. Sonny smiled. ""Scuse me," he said, in his
friendliest manner. "May I cut in?" The sailor's eyes narrowed and
his nostrils flared. "Fuck off," he said, and turned back to the girl.
Sonny grasped a fistful of navy uniform at the shoulder and turned the
man slowly toward him. The smile left his eyes. "I don't think you
understood me, swabby. The army is cutting in." The sailor looked him
up and down, took in the ribbons. He had a fw of his own. "What the
army is gonna do," he said, "is get cut up, not in." Fletcher, the
club's owner was suddenly present, towering over both of them, shoving
his big belly between them. He held a child's baseball bat in one
hand, its large end wrapped in black friction tape. "All right, boys,
the back door is right over there." He nodded toward a fire exit in a
corner of the room. "This discussion takes place outside." He slapped
the bat into his left palm for emphasis. "Right now." Sonny smiled
again. "Yes, sir, Fletcher." He motioned the sailor toward the door.
"After you, swabby." The crowd parted to let them through, then fell
in behind. The girl leaned toward Sonny as he passed her. Her eyes
were bright with excitement. "He's got a knife in his sock," she
whispered quickly. Sonny nodded his thanks. "Come on, honey, I need
an audience." As they moved toward the door Sonny slipped a ring from
his left hand to his right. The stone moed back and forth easily,
esposing the sharpened corners of the setting. He watched the sailor
moving ahead of him. Lots of hard muscle there; the guy had thirty
pounds on him, easy. No close stuff; stay back and cut him up; see how
he likes the sight of his own blood.
The sailor shoved the door open and started down the short flight of
steps to the parking lot, Sonny staying dose behind. The sailor was
starting to turn around. "Okay, soldier boy, how do you wantt"
Sonny, pushing off the bottom step, had started to swing as the man
turned. The blow caught him high on the cheekbone as he came half way
around, and his own momentum helped spin him to the ground, hard. He
started to his feet, swearing, but Sonny stepped quickly in and clipped
him above the left eye, sending him down again. Now the sailor noticed
that he was bleeding from both sides of his face, and as he rose his
hand went to his ankle and began to come up with the knife, switching
it open. Sonny took one long step forward and kicked him in the face,
like a football player going for the extra point. The sailor's feet
left the ground as he flew backwards. The knife fell from his hand,
and Fletcher stepped on it, but there was no need; the sailor lay where
he fell.
"All rig lt folks," Fletcher yelled to the crowd. "It's all over.
Everybody back inside, the band's only playing for another half hour."
He turned to Sonny. "You better scat before he comes to, or you'll
have' to kill him to stop him."
Sonny walked over to the girl, slipping the ring back onto his left
hand. "Give me the car keys," he said to Charlie, who was standing
beside her. She was breathing as hard as he was, he noticed.
"You're gonna comeback for m, ain't you, Sonny?" Charlie asked.
Sonny took the girl's hand and started for the parking lot. "Why don't
you get a ride with somebody, Charlie. I'll see you tomorrow. Don't
worry about the car." He handed the girl through the driver's door and
got the car started. "You're Charlene, right?"
"Charlene Pearl." She was still breathing hard. SO was he. "I'm
Sonny Butts." He spun the car out of the dirt parking lot onto the
highway and drove a few hundred yards to a dirt road that led to
Fletcher's catfish pond. She slid over to him and put her hand on his
thigh.
"You took real good care of Maxie, you know that? He never knew what
hit him." She was up close, breathing into his ear. Her hand moved up
to his crotch. "Hey, hey," she giggled.
"Take off your pants," he said, concentrating on driving fast.
She laughed and wriggled out of them. "And your sweater, and the
brassiere."
"Is that all, hon?"
He whipped the car into a little clearing off the road and stopped.
They got out, and the girl crawled into the back seat without a word.
onny unbuckled his belt and shed his pants and uniform tunic; then he
was on her and in her, driving, biting the big nipples, driving,
driving. They came together in less than a minute, noisily. Spent,
they lay in a heap on the back seat and fought for breath.
"It was the fight, wasn't it?" he said, finally, panting. "The fight
got you going."
"Oh, yes," she said, panting herself. "It got you going, too, didn't
it?"
"Yeah," he replied. "It always does. It does it every time."
BooI Two: Sonny Butts x89
HUGH HOLMES and Marshall Parker stood in the dim light of a disused
barn on the outskirts of Delano.
"What do you reckon you'll need to fix it up, Mar shall?"
"Mr. Holmes, I figure to patch up the roof and make the walls weather
tight and to put in a couple of potbellied stoves and otherwise get it
in shape to work in, that would take about fifteen hundred
dollars--that's with. me doing most of the work myself."
"How about tools and enough spare Iarts to get you started?" "Another
five hundred dollars, I reckon."
"And you've figured your expenses, your rent and things?"
"Yes sir. And he'll give me a option to buy it at three thousand
dollars. That's with just over two acres of land."
Holmes thought that sounded high, but it was a white man selling to a
black one, and if Marshall did well enough to buy the place the bank
might help him negotiate a better price.
"Marshall, I know you worked for Mickey Shelton before the war. That
where you learned how to work on gars?"
"Well, sir, I didn't do much for him except grease jobs and oil changes
and flat tires, like that. It was in the army I really learned about
vehicles. We didn't have a proper motor pool in my outfit, and we
found out we'd get things running a lot quicker if we did it ourselves
instead of taking them to regiment."
CHm
Holmes nodded. He could understand how an outfit that came to be known
as Eleanor Roosevelt's Niggers might have its problems getting help
from an all-white unit.
"Then after we left Italy and went to England to get ready for the big
invasion, we were stationed down in Cornwall, in the southwest part of
the country. We were living in tents and on ships hidden and
camouflaged up these rivers, and we had a lot of time on our hands, so
I started going down to this little village, St. Mawes, and helping
out this old gentleman, Mr. Pascoe, in his garage. I worked on
Austins and Wolseleys and even Jaguars. Course, they were real short
of parts, and we had to make do, and it was real good experience. I
got so I could fix parts you'd usually throw away. That'll stand me in
good stead around here right now, I reckon, since parts are still
pretty scarce, and most colored folks like to get things fixed 'stead
of replacing them."
Marshall did not mention the Sunday dinners at the Pascoes or the
sailing in Falmouth Harbour with their daughter, Veryan, or how, for
the first time, he had been made to feel like an equal by white people.
They still corresponded. Holmes had noticed that4VIarshall spoke more
like a white man than a black one and supposed that must have been the
result of his English experience. He hoped the man's speech wouldn't
caude problems for him.
"Good point. Tell you what, Marshall, we'll make you a loan of a
thousand d611ars to start--you say you've got some money saved up?"
"Yes sir, over two thousand dollars."
"Well, you put half of that in a savings account at the bank, and
you'll still be earning interest on it until you need it. Do you cnow
about that?"
"Yes sir. I got all the way through high school."
"And when you get on down the road a little bit, and we see how you're
doing in business, maybe we can let you have more money to help build
it up. That all right?"
"Yes sir, that's just fine, and I sure appreciate it, Mr. Holmes, I
sure do."
"Well, Marshall, you've always been a good fellow, and if you work hard
and build up something for yourself here in your garage, folks' Il have
faith in you, and you'll be surprised what they'll do for you."
Holmes'looked at his watch. "You come on down to the bank tomorrow
morning, and we'll fix you up. I've got another stop to make this
afternoon, and I don't believe I'll
get back before closing time."
Holmes left Marshall Parker at his new barn-garage and drove to the
other side of town. Idus Bray had shrewdly figured on a housing
shortage for returning veterans and had set up a trailer park on a
piece of his land there. Patrida Lee met him as he drove up to the
tiny box she and Billy were living in. Billy arrived as Holmes was
getting out of his car. There were greetings all around.
"Well, Miz Lee, how are you appredating Idus Bray's hospitality? You
enjoying your spacious new home?"
She kissed him on the cheek. "Mr. Hugh, he promised me land, a farm,"
she grinned, tossing her head at Billy. "And look at this-I'm living
in something the size of a stall in my father's stable. If Daddy could
see this he'd horsewhip my husband."
"Listen to her," Billy said. "We've only been home a week, and she's
complaining already. I've bought me self an Irish shrew, I have."
"Well," said Holmes, "we might be able to make a start geting Y Uout of
the grips of your wicked landlord. Come take a ride with me." He
looked at the rusty '38 Ford convertible Billy was driving. "Let's
take my car."
They drove north on Highway 41 for a couple of miles, then turned east
onto the unpaved Raleigh road for another two. Holmes turned off the
road and drove a hundred yards up a slight rise and stopped. Billy
stared ahead of them. A tall stone chimney stood alone on the little
hill. Cows grazed where the house had been. Oals, sweet g urt. s,
and a few pecans shaded the
Billy got out of the car silently and walked toward the chimney,
followed by Patricia and Holmes, carefully avoiding the cow pats He
stopped and looked around him.
"No shortage of fertilizer for the grass," commented Patricia. Billy
nodded at a pile of manure near her feet. "That near enough marks the
spot where I was born." He pointed upward. "Up one floor. Not
exactly a marble monument, is it?"
Patricia's mouth fell open. "This was your father's place? The cotton
farm?" She looked around her. "You never told me it was so
beautiful."
"To tell you the truth, I never remembered it as being beautiful. I
haven't been out here since I was thirteen. It is beautiful though,
isn't it." His eyes swept the trees and meadows. "My God."
"It's for sale," said Holmes.
"Who owns it?"
Holmes looked embarrassed. "Well, I do."
"You do?"
"I bought it from the bank. Hoss Spence wanted it, but your daddy said
to me once that he'd rather the bank have it than Hoss Spence. I
leased the grazing rights to Hoss after Will Henry died, but I couldn't
bring myself to sell it to him. He could never figure out why. He's
mad at me for it to this day."
"How much land is there?"
"Six hundred and forty-one acres. Your great-granddaddy owned more
than three thousand when the War Between the States started.
Reconstruction was hard. You can have it for what your daddy owed on
it, plus interest from that time. You'll be assuming his debt, sort
of. Works out to about twenty thousand. I reckon a house will cost
you thirty. Materials are short, but there's good timber on the place,
hardwoods. There's a sawmill three miles down the road. I know a
fellow over at La Grange has got a wrecking business. He's got a lot
of old brick. Pretty when it's cleaned up. We'll find you some cement
and copper pipe sone where Roofing's a problem, but we'll find some."
"Twenty thousand's too cheap."
"I'll have got a reasonable return on my investment. You forget, Hoss
has been paying me for the use of the land. The bank'll be getting
your mortgage business, ton. I'm no fool."
Billy looked at Patricia. "Say yes to Mr. Hugh, or I'll divorce you,"
she said.
He turned back to Holmes. "The bank has itself a customer." "There's
just one condition," said Holmes. "I want to make you a wedding
present of the brick. I want to give you something that'll last."
Billy started to protest. "Shut up, Billy Lee," Patricia said, then
put her arms around Holmes and kissed him, making him blush. "Thank
you, Mr. Hugh," she whispered in his ear. "Thank you so very much."
On the way back to town Holmes asked where Billy had found the Ford
convertible. Billy told him.
"You should have checked with me," Holmes said reprovingly. "Still, I
know a fellow could probably fix it up for you."
"I don't doubt it," Billy replied.
OFFICER SONNY BUTTS strolled out of the Delano police station and into
the bright June morning. This was his favor it time of day and his
favorite thing to do. He threw a leg over the big Indian motorcycle,
flipped out the kick starter with a toe, rose into the air, and came
down with all his weight. The engine roared the first time, and he
throttled back for a moment as he kicked up the stand and adjusted the
aviator sunglasses on the bridg of his nose. '-The black leather seat
was hot from the sun and felt good against his genitals as he pulled
smoothly from the station's parking lot into Main Street and headed
unhurriedly through the business district. People waved, and he waved
back or gave a little two-fingered salute from the bill of his cap, if
the recipient was a city councilman or a storeowner. At the traffic
light at Main and Broad, Hugh Holmes waved him to the curb. A young
man in a blue suit, very tall and skinny, stood with him. "Morning,
Mr. Holmes." Sonny was instantly on his most correct behavior. Holmes
always made him a little nervous. "Morning, Sonny. Meet the new
preacher at the First Baptist Church. Brooks Peters. Preacher, this
is Officer Sonny Butts, one of combat veterans, joined the police force
about three back."
"Glad to meet you, Sonny." The preacher sounded as though he really
were glad.
"Welcome to Delano, Brother Peters. My mother and I go over to West
Side, so we're not in your congregation, but maybe we'll get to hear
you at a revival sometime." Sonny knew exactly how to talk to Baptist
preachers, just as he knew how to talk to most kinds of people.
"That's a powerful-looking mao hine you're riding, there." "Yes, sir,
I guess it is. We picked it up for just about nothing at a war-surplus
sale down at Fort Benning last month. Only had seven thousand miles on
it. Real good buy for the city, I reckon. He shot a look at Holmes,
who said nothing, but gave a low grunt of indeterminate meaning. "Well,
Preacher, Mr. Holmes, I better get going on my rounds. Nice to meet
you."
Sonny pulled away from the curb and continued down Main, then up Second
to Broad and on up the mountain. At forty miles an hour the breeze was
downright cool. He felt wonderful. At the top of the pass he swung
across the road and parked in the shade of a billboard for the Bijou
Theater, advertising the current attraaion, T/ /3est Years of our
Lives. Sonny had seen the picture the night before and had identified
strongly with the Dana drews character; the former soda jerk who had
come back to his home town and been unable to find work. He felt
grateful again for his job. All through the film he had kept wanting
to say to Andrews, "Apply for a police job, you stupid bastard, then
you won't have any trouble holding onto your women."
He kicked the stand down and sat sidesaddle, waiting. A lone mailbox
stood not eight feet from where he was--Foxy Funderburke's mailbox, he
knew. He was surprised to recognize a piece of mail protruding from
the box. "Even though he couldn't read the whole return address, he
knew what it was, because he had opened an identical envelope at
headquarters only that morning. It was a catalogue for police
equipment. That guy was a real cop freak. The back bumper of his
pickup truck was studded with stickers and stars from various police
and sheriff groups that solicited memberships from the public. People
joined them because they thought they might not get arrested for
speeding if a cop saw the stickers. Before he could think further
about Foxy, a car flashed past the billboard doing at least fifty.
Sonny caught up with the ear before it had gone a mile. It was one of
the new '46 Fords, and it had a police-association badge
stuck to the rear bumper. Sonny pulled up alongside and waved the
surprised driver over. The man got out to meet him. "What's the
problem, Officer?" The man was grinning, friendly. "I'm afraid I
clocked you doing forty-five in a twenty-fivemilean-hour speed zone,
sir. Can I see your license, please?" "Sure." The man pulled out a
wallet and opened it. HiS driver's license was displayed opposite a
card with a big star on it, a police-association membership card. He
was still grinning. Sonny noted the license number and began writing
out a ticket. The man stopped grinning. "Say, didn't you see my
association card?" "Oh, yessir, and I want you to know how much we
appreciate your contributing to the association that way." The man
watched Sonny continue to write the ticket. "But don't members get
some kind of special consideration?" "Sir, we want to give you every
consideration we can. So if ygu'll just follow me down to the station
we'll try to have you on your way with the absolute minimum of
inconvenience." Sonny handed the bemused man his license and got on
the motorcycle. "Just follow, me, sir." He kicked the machine to life
and led the way. At the station the man paid a twenty-five-dollar bond
to Chief Melvin Thompson and left in a huff. "That's three this week,
Sonny," the chief said. "Sure you're not cutting 'em too fine? The
council likes the income, but the wouldn want to get a reputation as a
speed trap, like some f those south Georgia towns on
U.S. 2."
"No, sir, Chief. That one was doing a clear fifty, and I only wrote
him up for forty-five." "Okay, then. You mind the store for a while.
I'm going home for my dinner." It was only just past eleven, but the
chief had a bad back and liked a nap at midday. Sonny knew he wouldn't
be back before two. Thompsol was relying more and more on him to run
things, and that was just the way, Sonny wanted it. "Yes sir, Chief.
Enjoy your meal. Say, if I clean up that old roll-top desk, can I use
it regular?" The chief glanced at the disused piece of furniture
across the room, piled with old notices and circulars. "Sure, Sonny.
Time some of that stuff was cleared out of here, anyway." Sonny spent
half an hour sifting through papers, throwing
away most of them, then another ten minutes dusting and polishing the
old desk and oiling the roll-tup. Didn't look bad, when it was done.
He sat down and began rummaging through drawers. The debris of half a
dozen past small-town policemen filled most of them--notebooks, wanted
circulars, a rusty old handgun taken from some drunk years before, some
loose rounds of ammunition; various calibers. Sonny dumped it all into
a cardborad box.
In the bottom drawer, though, he found a neat bundle of flies, tied
with string. There was a note with them: "Files of Chief of Police
William Henry Lee, Deceased," it read, and was signed in an
indecipherable hand. Sonny was about to put the bundle on the chief's
desk for him to check before discarding, when the aged string broke
and, before he could recover, some of the files spilled onto the floor.
A corpse stared up at him from a photograph.
Sonny had seen many corpses in various attitudes, but he could not
remember ever having seen a photograph of one. There were several
photographs, in fact, taken from different angles. The id had been
beaten up. Sonny noticed a quickening of his pulse, then dismissed it.
He started to read a typed report dipped to one of the photographs.
When he finished that, he read another report, neatly handwritten on
ruled notebook paper. As he read, he referred frequently to the
photographs, connecting the boy's injuries to what had been written
about them.
He looked at the signatures on the reports. He had never heard of the
doctor, but he remembered the chief--Colonel Billy Lee's old man. He
must have been six or seven when that nigger killed him with the
shotgun. He remembered that the nigger had been tried two or three
times before they finally got the conviction to stick. It had been the
first execution in the electric chair; he remembered talking about that
at school.
He had no memory of them finding this kid, though. Shit, old man Lee
had had himself an unsolved murder on his hands when he died. How
about that? Sonny leaned back in his chair and had a sudden fantasy
about going around and checking for clues and solving this old murder
that went back to... when was it? 192o. More than twenty-five years.
There was no statute of limitations on murder, he knew that. Maybe it
was some solid citizen did it. A headline: "Butts Pins Murder on
Banker Hugh Holmes". He laughed aloud. He'd be a fucking hero all
over again, no doubt
Booc 'we: Sonny Butts about that. He stacked up the photographs and
the two reports neatly and was just turning to a second report in the
same handwriting when there was a commotion in e hallway outside the
office. He stuffed the bundle of files quickly back into the desk
drawermhe would keep them to himselfmand walked into the hallway to see
what was going on. His fellow officer, Charley Ward, was pushing a
black man, obviously drunk, down the hall toward the cells. It was a
local, "Pieback" Johnson, so named for his reluctance to do any heavy
work. The man was in jail overnight at least twice a month. Charley
gave him a kick to move him toward the cells faster. "Jesus, Pieback,"
Sonny said, "you getting tanked up in the middle of the week now? I
thought you was a Saturday night special." "Caught him panhandling
right in the middle of Main Street at high noon," said Charley. "Can
you believe that?" Pieback groveled his way into a cell, dodging
another kick. "Naw." suh, I ain't really drunk. I jcs' had a little
nip or two of Shine; I ain't what you'd call true drunk." Sonny
slammed the cell door, not bothering to lock it. "Well, you can just
get yourself true soberin there for forty-eight hours. The JP ain't
holding no special sessions for something like you." Sonny remembered
that Pieback had stayed out of the draft by showing up for his physical
drunk as a skunk. He'd been classified a 4-F because of his chronic
alcoholism. "You just sleep it off, and if you start snoring I'll one
in there and kick your ass up around your ears, hear?" Pi 'dback
flopped onto a bunk and heaved a deep sigh. He might have just come
home to his own bed after a hard day's work. Then somebody came in
about a lost bicycle, and there were a couple of phone calls, and Sonny
didn't get back to the old files. The boy's murder stuck in his mind,
but he had not read Will Henry's account of the second murder.
BILLY LEE sat on a Coca-Cola crate in the shade of a pecan tree and
watched his wife charm and bully a variety of carpenters and other
building tradesmen into doing things exactly as she wished to their
half-finished new home. He had forgotten, after nearly four years in
England, how hot it could be in Georgia in July. Patricia loved the
heat. She had been cold all her life, she said, and it couldn't get
too hot for her. In the distance he could see two black men repairing
a barbed~ wire fence,
He had not really had a hell of a lot to do with the planning and
building of the house, because his new clients, the bank and the cotton
mill, were working his tail off; because Holmes was marching him to
every Kiwanis, Rotary, and Jaycee meeting in the Tri-Counties, and to
every church social and barbecue they could find; and because Patricia
had said she didn't want him in the way. She had, to his astonishment,
produced a finely rendered set of plans for a two-story Georgian house
from her trunk, based on one she had known in England, and had
proceeded to assemble the materials and people necessary to construct
it in record time, considering the postwar shortages. Thus, in a few
weeks more, they would be living in a four-bedroom, three-bath
all out of proportion to their needs or income. When he protested, she
had, reluctantly, revealed to him that she had bit of money of her own,
that she would spend it as she and that she pleased to spend it on a
house they could live in for the rest of their lives, since she had no
intention of moving about like a gypsy. He had gone back to work and
campaigning and left her to it. Now, from far down the Raleigh road
toward Delano, a column of dust arose, led by a small dot of a car.
Soon it was visible as a police car, and it eventually turned into
Patricia's newly paved driveway and pulled up before the house. Sonny
Butts and Charley Ward got out. "Afternoon, Colonel," Sonny sang out.
A lot of people referred to Billy as colonel, and only partly because
of his military rank. In Georgia, as in much of the South, attorneys
were called had never known why. "Sonny, how are you?" He got up and
shook hands with both He had seen little of Sonny since their return
from the only an occasional glimpse of him patrolling on the motorcycle
or directing traffic. "Just fine, Colonel. That's going to be some
house." Sonny looked admiringly toward the structure. "Yes, well, my
wife never seems to do anything small. What can I do for you?" Sonny
handed him an envelope. "Got some good news for you. Fellow just
showed up a. Vthe station with a brand new Chevrolet for you. Said he
couldn't find you at your office or the trailer park, so he reckoned
it'd be all right to leave it with us. Here's the papers and keys. We
put him on the bus back to Atlanta." "Oh, that's great." He took the
papers. "Fellow I was in the service with has a dealership in
Atlanta." Billy had sent him a large deposit a month before and agreed
to take whatever he could get. "I appreciate your keeping the car for
me and coming all the way out here." "Glad to do it.
Anyway"--Sonny'nodded toward Billy's '38 Ford--"I wondered if you'd be
interested in selling the convertible. I been looking for one."
"Sure, come have a look at it." They walked toward the car. "Wasn't
much when I got it, but I've put some money into it--' a
ring job and some rewiring and four recaps. It's in good shape now,
except for a little rust here and there. Spare's not so hot, but it's
okay for a spare."
Sonny walked around the car, kicked the tires, asked some questions,
listened to the engine. They haggled, agreed on a price. Sonny wrote
a check. Patricia came down the temporary front steps and was
introduced to the two policemen.
"Sonny's just bought himself a snazzy Ford convertible," Billy said to
her.
"How much are you paying him to take it away?"
Billy looked pained. "He got it for a song. The two of them
sandbagged me."
"I'll miss it, Officer Butts. You take good care of it. Billy'll
never buy anything that romantic again."
"Don't you worry, Miz Lee. I'm going to fix it up even better." He
turned to Billy. "Who did the engine job for you? Mickey Shelton?"
"No, it was Marshall Parker, the colored fellow who opened up over by
Braytown. Did a good job, too. I recommend him. He's a lot cheaper
than Micky."
Sonny shook his head. "Well, I never knew a nigger could fix any kind
of machinery more'n a wheelbarrow. I hope you're right about him,
seeing as how I've bought the thing."
Billy looked at the ground. "Marshall's good. He was pretty good in
the-army, too, from what I hear. He picked up a bronze star at
Anzio." Billy wanted to change the subject. "I hear you were in the
Bulge."
"Yeah."
"Pretty rough, I guess."
"Only for those guys who couldn't take it. I didn't have no problem.
We got along without Eleanor's Niggers."
Billy could feel his anger rising. "Hope you like the car, Sonny. Stop
by the office tomorrow, and I'll give you the registration."
"Sure thing, Colonel." Sonny got into the Ford and drove away,
followed closely by Charley Ward in the police car.
"Funny," said Patricia. "He never even noticed you were annoyed about
the way he talked about Marshall Parker."
"Yes, he did," Billy said, looking down the road after Sonny. "He was
putting the needle in. I knew guys like him in the army.
oolc Two: Sonny Butts They liked to see just how far they could go
with you. He no' riced
Sonny turned off the Raleigh road onto Highway 41 and we the two miles
to Delano at seventy-five miles an hour. He i took his hands off the
wheel for a moment and noticed that it vibrated slightly at that speed.
At sixty it was solid as a rock.
Shit, he'd have gone another two hundred for the car if Billy Lee had
pushed him. Stupid bastard. As he app'rached the city limits he saw a
sign he hadn't no",
riced before: "Parker's Garage--repairs on all makes & models.
Billy Lee had said the nigger was a lot cheaper than Mickey Shel ::
ton. Sonny whipped into the bare dirt space before the converted barn
and killed the engine. He could see a pair of feet sticking iout from
under an old Plymouth. He got out of the car and walked inside. ,
from under [ : "Be with you in just a minute, inc voice came rr i:the
car, Sonny waited impatiently for a moment, then tapped me "sole of -ne
of the protruding shoes with his foot.
i "I 11 t wire you )u / I an edge in the voice. Sonny didn't like that
from a nigger' After i. another moment's wait Marshall pushed himself
from under the t -:- --ds with a rat what can i c o tv, y
;, up, wiping m\* ttm.. , o' - eakin , "You know Sonny glared at ,mm
tora secona t wr, ' to balance wheels?" " i how " o. ii Marshall
waited a beat before reply.ng, evenly." "Su-re-d..... I "Well, I got a
little shimmy in the front enct at at, out
It tive. figure it's balandng job."
:i' Marshall looked at the convertible. "You buy Colonel Lee's
"I
balanced the wheels on it last week, xou m gnt nav
I.,-.:
bring it back in the morning I'll check the front end alignment. I'm
gon' be tied up 'til this evening on this job." Sonny flushed. "Whose
rattletrap is that, anyway?" "Smitty's." Smitty ran the grocery store
in 8ray town "Well, you just call up Smitty and tell him you otta work
on Police Officer 13utts's car. He can come back tomorrow." "I
don't-have no phone yet--they bringin' it next week--and, anyway,
Smitty's mama is sick up in Atlanta, and he's got to go up there
tonight and carry her home. NOW, it ain't onna hurt it to drive it
tonight the way it is, and if you bring it back in the morning I'll do
the best job I can on it. Tell you What, I'll pick it up at the police
station and fix it and have it back to you by dinner time if it ain't
nothing serious and I don't have to order no parts." Marshal] knew
Sonny was getting mad, and he didn't want any problems with a uniformed
policeman who was also carrying a gun, so he said all this as
placatingly as he could manage, considering that he was getting pretty
mad himself. "You know," said Sonny, "I thought I'd see what kind of
work you do and maybe let you do all my servicing for me, but I shoulda
known better. I reckon I just better take my car on over to Mickey
Shelton where I know it'l] get done right." He turned and started for
the car. Now Marshall had to make a real effort to hold himself in.
"Well, I 'preciate you coming to me, and I wish I could fix it right
now, but I promised this man his car. I done all the work on that
convertible, you know, and couldn't nobody do it no better, I reckon."
Sonny got to the Car and opened the door. He turned back toward
Marshall. "Shit. "You'll be back to sweeping floors and fixing inner
tubes for Mickey $helton in a month, anyway. I don't know why I even
thought I could do business with a nigger." He slammed the door,
started the car, reversed into the road, and burned rubber driving
away. Marshall stood in the door of his ga rase his jaw clamped
tightly shut, looking after the angry policeman. Annie, his wife, came
out of the little office cubicle at the back, where she had been
working on the books. "You shouldn'ta made that man mad, Marshall.
You know what we been hearing 'bout him. He can make us a lot of
trouble."
"Shoot, gil, I was just as polite as I could be to that white boy. You
heard every word of it." "You know how to talk right to white folks.
You coulda been talking to a colored man the way you was talking to
him." "Listen, I'm a businessman now. I don't have to go Unde Tommin'
nobody no more. He can't do nothing to us. Don't you worry about it."
He knew she would worry, anyway. Sonny was still angry when he got
back to the station. He'd fix that nigger. He'd get him in his jail
some Saturday night, and he'd fix him.
ON AN EVENING in early August two meetings were held in Delano. Their
purposes were disparate. In an apartment over the garage of Dr. Frank
Mudter, his son, Dr. Torn Mudter, hosted a group which included Billy
Lee, Bob Blankenship, the new owner-editor of the Delano Messenger;
Ellis Woodall, owner of a radio shop; and Brooks Peters, the new
Baptist minister. They were all young and all veterans, with the
single exception of Peters, who had been too underweight to pass his
physical. This was not their first meeting. Since returning from the
war they had been laying plans to establish their generation
politically in Delano and the Tri-Counties. For more than four years
virtually every healthy adult male between the ages of eighteen and
thirty-five had been absent from the community, and the natural
progression of the young into positions of influence had been halted.
Now, at the approach of the first state-wide election since the end of
the war, they were working hard to make up for the lost years. Their
efforts were not without resistance from an establishment that had
hardened in their absence. Among their group and among the candidates
they supported, only Billy Lee seemed reasonably sure of election, and
that had made him their unofficial leader. Now he called them to
order. "Okay, gents, let's hear what's going on out there."
Bob Blankenship spoke up. "Why don't you start by telling us where you
think the state-senate race stands?" "Well, Mr. Holmes seems to think
we're okay. Ward is a nice enough fellow, but he's not well known
outside of Talbot County, and he was a 4-F, that's not helping him any.
He could edge us out in Talbot, but we think we'll take Harris and
Meriwether without too much trouble. God knows I've shaken hands with
every man, woman, and mule in he Tri-Counties at least twice. Lucky we
don't have any Republicans to worry about; the primary is tough enough
without having to fight it all over again in a general election. Bob,
you're about as objective an ear as we'll get. How're we doing in the
other races?" Blankenship, as hort heavy man in his early forties, had
bought the newspaper from Harmon Everson some six months before, and
had quickly settled into the town. "The way I see it, we'll get one
seat on the city council pretty sure; maybe the second one, too, if we
work hard. I think Torn is in better shape than Ellis right now,
because everybody knows his daddy. I think we'd be safe in putting
more of our effort behind Ellis in the five weeks we've got left. We
ought to make a real effort with the American Legion boys. They could
turn it for us." "That's okay with me," said Torn. "What about the
sheriff's race?" James Montgomery, a veteran from Greenville, the
county seat, was challenging Skeeter Willis. Bob Blankenship spoke
again. "A toss-up, I reckon. James has got the veteran vote for sure,
b Skeeter's got a lot of friends in this county." "A lot of enemies,
too, I'd think," said Billy. "A lot of people suspect he's in the
bootleggers' pocket, and everybody knows about the black-market stuff
during the war." Torn Mudter chipped in. "Yeah, and a lot of people
were buying stuff from him, too, stuff they couldn't get anywhere else.
They might be grateful to him." Blankenship looked thoughtful. "You
know, I haven't really written a lot about what went on during the war.
Maybe a good, strong editorial on the black market--no names, mind
you--might stir up enough guilt in some folks to sway their votes
toward veterans." Brooks Peters spoke for the first time. "Speaking
as one ac-quaihted with folks' guilt over their sins, I think that just
might
work. In fact, it might be worth a whole series of editorials. A
little repentance at the polls could go a long way next month. By the
way, the last Sunday before the primary, I plan to lean pretty heavily
on our debt of gratitude to our veterans in my sermon. Having been a
4-F myself I don't think it'll look too self-serving." Peters felt
keenly his guilt at not having been in uniform. Billy spoke again.
"Brooks, I think that's a good idea, but ou%e got to be careful. You're
the first preacher the First Baptist Church has ever had under the age
of forty, and I can tell you that in the deacons meetings, when we were
deciding whether o call you, there was a lot of harrumphing going on
among some of the old boys. You can go just so far with them, and
the'll be on your neck like a dog on a coon." "Billy, I made my
decision about that when I accepted the church's call. I decided I was
going to do the job the way I felt it ought to be done and then take
the consequences. I told the board of deacons that, too, you may
recall. You were there, lqow, I think I established to their
satisfaction that we don't have any theological differences, but I told
them then that I expected to conduct-the day-to-day affairs of the
church without undue interference gladly hearing advice, but reserving
my decision on whether to take it--and that I would preach my sermons
according to my conscience and my perceptions of what the
congregation's needs were." He tilted his chair back and grinned.
"Right now I perceive that the congregation needs some veterans helping
to run things in this town and this county, and I'm going to tell them
so." "As long as you know what kind of opposition you're going to
have." "I know I'm going to have Idus Bray calling me up and telling
me to keep my nose out of dvic affairs, but he's already tried that,
and he didn't get anywhere. I was real lucky that I had a professor at
the seminary who got fired from a church in similar circumstances, and
he gave me a pretty good education in church politics, and as long as I
have the support of people like you and Torn on the board of deacons
and the veterans and younger people in the congregation, I figure I can
weather whatever storms I have to." "You know you have our support,"
said Billy. Torn nodded. "We've formed a ministerial association in
town, too. There are eight churches in town with full-time ministers,
and we're
meeting once a week to see if we can't kind of coordinate ourselves on
some points--youth programs, opposition to Sunday picture shows, and
civic improvements being among the things we're already talking about.
I'll see if I can't get some of the others to make some timely remarks
before the primary." "Good, now let's get down to some specific items
and see if we can't use them to scare up some votes. I think the
paving of the new Fourth Street extent ion is something a lot of folks
are pretty hot about. They're all complaining about the mud when it
rains and the dust when it doesn't." The group ran through their list
of issues and opportunities for another hour and a half and then began
to make adjournment noises. Brooks Peters held them back for another
moment. "I wasn't going to bring this up until I knew more about it,
but maybe it's something we should all keep our ears open about." He
had the group's attention.. "Jim Parker--you know him, he's the
janitor at the church--Jim has hinted to me that there's something
wrong down at the police station." "He's Mdrshall Parker's daddy,
isn't he?" Billy asked. Peters nodded. "How do you mean 'wrong'?"
"Well, Jim.won't say much--he may not trust me completely yet, and he's
pretty tightlipped anyway--but I gather it's something to do with
race, with some colored prisoners being mistreated." "Mistreated by
who?" Bob Blankenship was showing particular interest now. Possitlle
news story. "As I say, I don't know much, b" it seems to be going on on
weekends or at night, so Melvin Thomas wouldn't be around then. That
just leaves Sonny Butts and Charley Ward." There was silence for a
bit. Finally, Ellis Woodall asked, "So what do we do?" "I don't guess
there's much we can do, now, with the information so vague, but I
'think we all ought to keep our ears open, especially with the colored
people we know. We don't want anything bad going on down there."
The other meeting, taking place simultaneously, was held in a tar-paper
shack just off the Scenic Highway atop Pine Mountain. It was lit by a
naphtha lamp and lubricated by two cases of Blatz beer. There were
eight men at the meeting, among them Emmett Spence, dairy farmer, son
of Hoss; Tommy Allen, shoe
repair-shop owner; Mickey Shelton, garage owner; and Sonny Butts,
police officer. It was Sonny's first meeting as a full member after
his solemn initiation into the Ku Klux Klan. Although the meeting
lasted as long as its counterpart in the town below, most of its time
was taken up with an opening prayer and a lot of talk about fishing,
guns, and' dogs. The business agenda was short and was concisely
phrased by Emmett Spence. "It's about time we started doing something
about our nigher soldier boys," he said, and belched. There was a
chorus of assent. "Any ideas?" Mickey Shelton had an idea. "Marshall
Parker," he said, flatly. "He's their number-one boy. We bring him
down and we bring 'em all down." "Whatsa matter, Mickey?" a voice
chuckled back at him. "Off Marshall takin' too much of your business?"
There was other laughter. "You goddamned right, he is," Shelton shot
back. "He ain't got no overhead out there in that shack, and he's
fobbin' off used parts on hi customers, too. He's hit me for about all
of my nigger business and some white, too. Hugh Holmes loaned him the
money to get started up, and he's taking his car out there. So is
Billy Lee and some others I could mention." There was a jumble of
remarks. Sonny Butts silenced them. "Mickey's right. Marshall's the
ringleaderin Braytown. He's getting them all stirred up about
registering to vote. If we can put him out of business the rest of
'emil fold." Emmett Spence proposed a solution: "Let's burn the black
bastard out." There was a general murmer of agreement. Tommy Allen
stopped it, abruptly. "No! We can't go burning anybody out. Burning,
horsewhipping, all that's out. We'll just end up in a lot of trouble
ourselves, and we'll get the whole town stirred up against us." Sonny
spoke up. "Tommy's right. We've got to do this legal." "How do you
mean, legal?" asked Emmett. "I can't tell you right off of the top of
my head, but let me think about it a little bit, and I guarantee you
I'll find a way to get Marshall in jail." Sonny paused for emphasis
and looked around at the lamp-lit faces. "And once I get him in jail
he won't be a problem to nobody no more." He winked at them. "I
guarantee you."
A few minutes later, a couple of miles down the highway, a railroad
cross tie fastened to a utility pole was erected in a clearing beside
the road overlooking the town. The whole had been wrapped in burlap
bags and soaked in kerosene. Somebody tossed a burning newspaper at
it.
Down in the town, Billy Lee and his group were leaving Torn Mudter's
house. Brooks Peters, about to get into his car, glanced up at the
mountain. "Oh, my Lord," he said. The others turned and looked up at
the flaming cross, floating in the night above Delano. Billy Lee was
the first to break their silence. "That," he said, "is all we need."
CHI!S
"SO, why is this man--what's his name?--why is he such a character?"
"Funderburke."
Patrici Lee and Eloise, Billy's younger sister, Were driving through
Delano in Patricia's "new" '41 Ford station wagon, which Hugh Holmes
had found for her. Eloise had married a young man before the war, and
he had been killed in the Pacific early on. She now worked in her
stepfather's store, Fowler's. "And he's called Foxy?"
"His real name's Frands, but I've never heard anybody call him that. He
looks kind of like a fox, I guess. Kind of pointy faced."
"How old a person is he?"
"I don't know, really. Old. It's hard to tell, exactly. Between
fifty and seventy, I guess. I remember him mostly as a child. All the
children were afraid of him."
"Why?"
Eloise laughed. "Oh, no good reason. It's not as if he ever did
anything to anybody. You know how children are. He just became kind
of an ogre to us."
"I know. I remember people like that from my own childhood. There was
a man, a neighbor, who terrified me. When I came back later, when I
was all grown up, I sat next to him at a dinner party, and he was
charming. How did you know Funderburke had a litter of Labs?"
"He's raised them for years. He gave Billy and me a puppy
when we were little, before Daddy died. We could never figure : out
why. Did I tell you he was there when Daddy died?" "No. At the
actual deathbed?" "Yes. In fact, it was Foxy who brought Daddy to the
doctor's office, along with a fellow who was the city manager at the
time. He just happened along right after Daddy was shot. I remember
Mama mentioning how scared Foxy was. She was surprised, because he
always had made such a point of his service in the First War, but he
was nearly hysterical, just barely in control." "Well, I suppose the
circumstances were pretty awful." Patticia turned into Broad Street
and started up the mountain. "Yes, I don't think Mama has gotten over
it to this day, even after marrying Mr. Fowler She has a different
sort of marriage, I guess, more like just good friends. I don't think
anybody could ever take Daddy's place." "From what I've seen of Mr.
Fowler, I'd say your mother has done very well." "Oh, she cegainly
has. He is a fine, fine man, and everybody has enormous respect for him
in the community and the church. He's been a deacon practically since
he moved here in ... twenty-eight, I guess it was." Eloise pulled her
knees onto the seat, turning toward Patricia. "You've been in Delano
for six months, now. What do you think of it?" Patricia looked
thoughtful. "It's funny, I'm more surprised by the similarities than
the differences. Oh, the landscape's different, and the heat
certainly, is and the houses are different, but apart from accents a
lot of the people-here seem very familiar. Mr. Fowler reminds me of
my father in a way, and your mother is very much like an aunt of mine.
I think farmers must be much the same everywhere. Even the race thing
doesn't seem all that foreign. The white attitude toward blacks here
is much the same as the British attitude toward the Irish, especially
before the revolution." They crested the pass and started down the
other side of the mountain, toward the turnoff to Foxy's place. "One
thing I can tell you, Eloise, if that comparison holds true there's a
lot more resentment among your Negroes here than shows. You mustn't
believe that because they kowtow to you, they like it. They're people,
just like the Irish are people, and if you don't pay more attention to
being fair to them you could be in for an awful time. Ask the British.
I try to get Billy to understand that." Eloise pointed. "It's just up
here on the right." A sign appeared, "F. Funderburke, Breeder,
Labrador Retrievers, By appointment only," and a phone number. "I
called ahead. Word is he doesn't like unexpected visitors." Patricia
turned into the road and drove up the side of the mountain.
Sonny was covering the police station at noon, which, with Chief
Thomas's proclivity for a long dinner hour still ran from eleven to
two. (2harley had been covering lately, but Sonny had sent him to eat.
Sonny had wanted a nap, but now he found himself restless and bored. He
was wondering how to pass the time, when he remembered what was in his
bottom desk drawer. In a moment he had the files on the murdered boy
spread out on the desk. He skimmed the two reports, the medical
examiner's and Will Henry's, then turned to the other files. They were
routine, day-to-day stuff for the most part, but then he came across a
letter, poorly typed on the stationery of Underwood's Funeral Home of
Waycross, Georgia. It was addressed to Chief Lee, of the Delano Police
Department and was brief:
Dear tr: In answer to your request via long distance telephone today
about Frank Collins, deceased, the following are the details as best I
remember them, which is good, since I only embalmed him last night.
Frank appeared to be killed by as hot in the back from a heavy firearm,
which shot went aH the way through him. As to other injuries his feet
had some cuts and scratches like he had been going barefoot over rocks
or rough ground. His wrists had marks like dents going aH the way
around and some skin had been scraped off. I would say he might have
been tied up right before he died. I didn't notice anymore injuries on
the body.
Yours very sincerely,
C. V. Underwood, Proprietor
Sonny quickly noted that the naked boy's wrists showed such marks, too.
But who the hell was Frank Collins? There was no report here on a
Frank Collins. He shuffled quickly through the papers. There was no
report, but he found some loose pages of notes.
7/o/24
Rep. from S. Willis. Man on fence. Goolsby says one shot .45
Sent body Waycross. Checked area nr Columbus hi way found
fence, hobo j." .45 casing, no markings. Spoke F.F. Has .45, shells
marked. Spoke Waycross, promised description. Sent Goolsby casing. He
and F.F. mad. Happened Talbot. No more go on! How many more?
The last words were heavily penciled and underlined, as if the writer
had been angry. The notes fit the letter from the Waycross
undertaker. It wasn't too tough to figure out that there had been a
second murder, this one.." four years, nearly four and a half after
the first one, but this one was in Talbot County. Sonny knew a hobo
jungle near the Columbus highway. He had knocked a couple of heads
together and cleaned it out a couple of times. It was off his turf,
but dose enough to be a problem. The chief didn't like hoboes around.
Goolsby was sheriff in Talbot County years ago. F.F.? Foxy
Funderburke's house was near that jungle. Chief Lee must have been to
see him, and he had a -45, but what was that about the shells? The
casing he found had no markings. That was the sort of casing somebody
might use who was loading his own ammunition. Somebody who shot a lot
and didn't want to pay retail for shells. But Foxy's shells tad had
markings. Sonny quickly scanned the reports of the first murder.
There was no mention of Foxy Funderburke specifically, but it did say
that Chief Lee had questioned the residents of houses near where the
body was found. Foxy's house wasn't all that far away. Lee must have
talked to him. In hs notes on le second murder Lee had said that F.F.
was mad. Why? Did hE object to being questioned when two murders
happened less than half a mile from his house? He was the cop freak,
wasn't he? Always wanted to help the police? Why was he mad? Sonny
opened his top right-hand desk drawer and took out an oily rag wrapped
around an object. He removed a German Walther P-38 pistol. He slipped
the dip out, emptied it, replaced it, and worked the action to eject
the round in the firing chamber, then rewrapped the pistol in the rag.
He heard Charlie Ward shuffle in the front door, coming back from
lunch. He got up and walked past Charlie in the hallway and out to the
motorcycle, slipping the P-38 into a saddlebag. "Cover for a while,
Charlie," he called back. "I got to go see a man about a dog." He
switdied on the ignition and kicked the machine to life.
PATRICIA'S CAR reached the top of its climb and began to desaend
slightly. As it rounded a curve, she could see the house, with its
trees and neatly planted flower beds and lawn. Foxy Funderburke was
standing on the front stoop. As they neared the house, he left the
stoop and waved them around to the back of the house.
Patricia had a brief moment to watch the man as Eloise greeted him.
Wiry, neat, a closely cropped fuzz of hair on a rather large head. She
thought he looked a bit like Mahatma Gandhi, but with smaller eyes and
as harper nose. His nickname was apt, and not just because of his
physical appearance. He seemed instantly clever, alert, fox like He
was awkward when she extended her hand. She really must make an effort
to remember that southern American men were not accustomed to shaking
hands with women. She looked about and remarked on the absence of
kennels.
"I never keep more than two bitches," Foxy said. He walked to a small,
low shed built onto the back of the log house and lifted the hinged
roof. Inside were two compartments, both with access to the house, one
containing three sleeping puppies. As he did so, their mother appeared
through a flap cut into the back door of the house and approached the
visitors affectionately. Foxy picked up the three puppies and set them
on the ground.
of them immediately began to worry their mother for milk. The third,
who was smaller, sat and looked expectantly at them. Patricia laughed
and picked up the puppy. "He's the last male i've got left. The other
two are bitches. Were you wanting a male or a female?" "A male, I
think. My, he looks the way I feel when I wake up." "Oh, he's perky
enough when he gets going. I think he'll be small, more like the breed
in the British Isles. Ours are bigger." "I don't mind that. He'd fit
into the car more easily." She held him up and looked at him. He
licked her nose. She put him on the ground and walked away. He
quickly tottered after her. Memories of other puppies briefly made her
homesick. "He's cute as a bug," Eloise said, laughing. "He reminds me
of the one you gave us a long time ago, Mr. Funderburke." Foxy
nodded. "We sure got to love that dog. He lived to be fourteen." "I
came prepared to bargain with you Mr. Funderburke, but I'm afraid'll
have to pay whatever you're asking. I'm smitten." "Well, I guess
fifteen dollars'll do." "Isn't that a bit low, now?" "Well, he's the
run tnt of the litter, after all. Seems to take to you." Patrica
wrote him a check, made her good-byes, and turned toward the car. She
stopped with a start. The policeman Sonny Butts was standing at the
corner of the house. He tipped his hat. "Sorry to scare you Miz Lee.
I just coasted down the hill, and I guess the cycle didn't make much
nois. Miz Eloise, how're you?" "Fine, Sonny. You scared me, too."
"Sorry 'bout that. I'll have to start making more noise, I guess." He
shot a look at Foxy and noted that he, if anything, looked more
surprised than either of the women. Worried, too. "I've just got a
little business with Mr. Funderburke. I can come back if I'm
interrupting anything." "Oh, no, Sonny," Patricia replied, "I've just
bought myself a puppy, and we're on our way home now. You go right
ahead." The women drove away and left the two men staring silently
after them. "How you doing, Mr. Funderburke?" Sonny made a point of
not sounding overly pleasant. He wanted to see how Foxy would continue
to react. He had purposely cut the engine of the motorcycle and
coasted the last, downhill part of the road.
"Just fine." Foxy was perspiring, which wasn't too odd, considering
the warm day, but he was breathing a little fast, too. "Uh, what can I
do for you?"
"Well," said Sonny, stretching it out, watching Foxy, "I just need a
little information, and I thought you might be in a position to help
me." He waited for a beat, then turned to the motorcyde and slowly
unbuckled the saddlebag. He removed the bundle and walked back to
where Foxy stood. He kept his voice flat, toneless. "I thought you
might be able to tell me something about this." Foxy looked at the
oily rag nervously. Sonny unwrapped the pistol and handed it to Foxy,
butt first.
Foxy took the pistol as if it were a rattlesnake. Then he suddenly
relaxed and licked his lips. "P-38. Walther. Good weapon." He
removed the dip and worked the action to be sure it was unloaded. "Nice
example. Want to sell it?"
"What do you reckon its worth?"
"Well, there's Lugers all over the place these days; but you don't see
many P-38's. I've got one, but it's the only one I've seen up to now.
I'd give you forty dollars for it."
"Well, no, sir, I didn't really come out here to sell it to you. I
just wanted to get your opinion. From what I hear you're the authority
around here." Sonny was smiling now, turning on the
Foxy grinned slightly. "Well, I've owned a few handguns in my time."
Sonny looked around. "Nice place you've got here. First time I've
been out here."
"Oh, well, let me show you around. I've got a few weapons around the
place you might like to see, too." Foxy was completely at ease now.
"No, sir, thank you, I appreciate it, but I've got to get back to the
station and spell Charley." Foxy seemed relieved, he thought. Sonny
thought he liked him better nervous. "I'd really love to see your
place some time, though. Tell you what, one day when there aren't too
many speeders coming over the mountain, I'll just drop in and surprise
you."
That did it. Foxy was all tight again. "Well, uh, I'd appreciate a
little notice. I, ah, get pretty busy around here now and then, and
I'd 'predate it if you'd give me a call first. Be sure I'm
available."
"Oh, yeah, sure Foxy, I could probably do that." Sonny
we: Sonny Butts 2x7
to the first name easily. He felt he was on top in this COnversation,
and he wanted to stay there. He wanted to keep Foxy nervous, too.
"Fine, that's just fine." Foxy put his hand on Sonny's shoulder and
walked him toward the motorcycle. "Be glad to have you out here
sometime. Just give me a call. I'm in the book." Just before Sonny
cleared the little rise and started down the mountain, he glanced over
his shoulder. Foxy would be watching him leave, he knew it. He was
right. There was something going on with that guy. Nothing urgent;
he'd just check on him now and then, ask around, maybe drop in again,
unannounced. Maybe he was COnnected to those old murders. That was a
long time ago, though; why would he be nervous about something that far
back? Then Sonny felt his skin crawl, remembered something, something
in Chief Lee's notes. What was it he said? "How many more?" That was
it. He had underlined it. More murders? But therweren'Lany more
murders, not in the files, not that anybody knew about. Not that
anybody knew about. Jesus.
Ci-imrs
BILLY LEE was just leaving for work when the phone rang in the trailer.
He sank down in the dinette seat,
where he could have a view of the house. They had moved the trailer
out here as soon as the electricity and phone had been hooked up, so
Patricia could be there all the time during the finishing work. He
picked up the phone on the fourth ring.
"Hello?"
"Is that Colonel Lee?" A man's voice.
"Yes, this is Billy Lee." The voice was familiar, but he couldn't
place it.
"This is Marshall Parker, Colonel, at the garage. How are you today?"
Billy laughed at himself. He hadn't recognized a familiar voice,
because he had identified it as white instead of black. "Morning,
Marshall, I'm just fine. How's business?"
"Just fine, just about all I can handle. I'm putting on some help next
week."
"Well, that's good news."
"Yes sir. Uh, Colonel, I think I've got a problem. I wonder if you
could stop by here on your way to town for a minute?"
"What's the trouble, Marshall?" He looked at his watch; it indicated
7:45. He had a board-of-directors meeting at the bank at 8:00.
' "Well, sir"--Billy noted an odd caution in Marshall's voice--if I
explain it here. Can you come by?"
"Is it urgent, Marshall? I've got a meeting at the bank at eight. it
wait until a little later this morning?"
"Well, ah if you could just stop by here for just a minute you be a
better judge of that than me. I, uh--" He stopped and Billy could feel
tension in the silence.
"Sure, Marshall, I can stop by for just a minute. It's right on t way
in." "Thank you, sir, I sure appreciate it." The relief in his voice
obvious.
On the drive into Delano, Billy wondered about Marshall's eluctance to
talk on the telephone. Was somebody there with him who inhibited his
conversation, or was he worried about operator? Delano still didn't
have dial phones, and all calls were placed by operators. As he pulled
up in front of the garage, he was relieved to see that everything
appeared normal. The front doors were' wide open, and Marshall came
out to greet him.
"I'm sure glad you could stop by here, Colonel." Marshall pointed to
the rear of the building. "Could you step back here? There's
something I, want to show you."
They walked out of the main building into a small storeroom back. Billy
immediately noticed that a window pane was broken. The frame was new
wood, unpainted, and stickers still the other panes. "You had a
visitor in the night, Mar
"Yes, sir, I believe I did." He indicat ri two cardboard boxes on the
floor.
"Have you called the police? What did they take?"
"Well, sir, it's not what they took; they didn't take anything as far
as I can tell." He walked over' to the boxes and pulled back the flap
of one. "It's more like what they left."
The box was a container of twelve Mason jars. Their shiny new tops
gleamed in the morning light. "You taking up canning, Marshall?"
, Marshall removed one of the jars from the ox. It was filled with a
clear liquid. He handed it to Billy. "No, sir. I'm not taking up
canning. I'm not taking up this, either."
Billy unscrewed the top of the jar and sniffed the contents. "Whew!
That's powerful stuff! You a drinking man, Marshall?"
"Well, my brother-in-law gets down here from Atlanta 'bout
CHI BIS
once a month, and he always brings me a bottle of Early Times. That's
the only drinking I do."
Billy leaned against the door jamb and scratched his head. "Well, it
looks like somebody's made you a gift of about a two-year supply You
know somebody in this business who might be using your place for some
temporary storage?"
Marshall looked at him and shook his head. "No, sir, I sure don't."
"Well, why would--" Billy froze in mid-sentence. "Uh, oh." He looked
at his watch. "Listen, Marshall, let's get this stuff in my car--you
do that, will you? Just stick it in the trunk. I want to make a
couple of phone calls."
Billy found the phone book and called a number "Melvin? This is Billy
Lee. How you doing?... Good .... Yes, she's fine, working hard on the
house. Listen, I wonder if you could meet me down at the station?
There's something I need to talk to you about .... Right now, 'bout
five minutes .... Good." He called Holmes and explained that he would
be a little late for the board meeting; he'd get there as soon as
possible. Then he started for the car. "You'd better lock up,
Marshall, then come on and ride with me."
On the way into town Billy asked a few questions. "Marslall,
anybody got anything against you?"
"I don't think so, I really don't."
"Haven't had any arguments with your neighbors or customers or
anybody?"
"No, sir. I've been getting aong real good."
"Nobody unhappy about the way you fixed his car, anything like that?"
"No, sir! When I fix something I guarantee my work!"
"Course you do." Billy thought for a minute. "You had any problems
with any white folks?"
Marshall started to speak, then stopped. "Well--"
"Better tell me about it, Marshall, we haven't got much time." "Sonny
Butts might still be mad at me, I don't know." "Sonny? What've you
had to do with Sonny?"
Marshall told him about the incident with Sonny's car. "I would have
been glad to work on it; I even offered to come get it when I was
through with Smitty's car, but he wouldn't listen; he just went off.
You reckon this is something to do with Sonny?"
Billy said nothing. They were at the police station, now, and
his car and got out. "Come on in with me, Marshall." two men entered
to find Charley Ward all alone. He seemed to see them. "Hey, Colonel,
you're up early." He looked quickly at Mar' What can I do for you?"
Before Billy could answer Chief Thomas shuffled into the room looking
sleepy. "Morning, Billy, Marshall. Well, what's the problem, Billy?"
Billy walked him out to the front of the building and opened car trunk.
He pulled out a jar and handed it to Thomas. Looks like somebody broke
into Marshall's garage last night and left two dozen bottles of the
finest moonshine, Melvin. What do yot make of that?" Thomas took the
jar and laughed aloud. "Well, that's sure a ; new one on me. Folks
usually take stuff when they break in, not You're sure a honest man,
Marshall." He winked at Billy. somebody had left that at my house I'm
not sure I'd of turned it in. You could have yourself quite a party
with that much shined' He-laughec[ again. "You serious about this,
Billy? That ' really what happened?" "Marshall called me about half
an hour ago, just as soon as he found it. He didn't know what to do
with it, so he called me. Somebody broke a window in the back of his
place and left this I there." ;. Thomas scratched his head. "Well,
I'll come out there right now, and we'll take a look at it. I don't
know what the charge would be if we caught somebody, though. not as
though anything got stolen." "Well, there's breaking and entering, and
I guess if you found out who it was you could make a pretty good case
for possession. They couldn't get it there without possessing it."
They unloaded the illegal whiskey and locked it in a cell, then
proceeded to Marshall's garage, Billy's car leading the way, the chief
following in the police car. As they came in sight of the garage,
Billy said, "Well, now," and pointed ahead. i:
Marshall was speechless. Parked in front of the garage were two
sheriff's cars and the Delano Police Department motorcycle. As they
pulled to a halt, Billy could see the padlock and hasp! hanging from a
splinter of the front door. As they got out of the car he could hear
somebody trying to raise the sheriff's car on the radio. He thought he
could recognize Charley Ward's voice. Billy ili: Walked into the
garage, followed by Chief Thomas and Marshall.
He could hear voices from the back room. "Hello back there!" he
shouted.
Skeeter Willis, two deputies, and Sonny Butts all spilled back into the
main garage. Skeeter recovered first. "Billy, I've gota search
warrant here."
"Well, Skeeter, you better serve it, I guess."
Skeeter walked over to Marshall and shoved the paper at him. Marshall
unfolded it and started to read.
"Have you conducted your search yet, Sheriff?" Billy asked
innocently.
"We're... we were just in the middle of it."
"Keep going, by all means."
Skeeter motioned his deputies back to work. Melvin Thomas was next to
speak. "Sonny, how'd you get in on this?"
Sonny was ready. "Well, Chief, I was just going off duty this
morningml had the night shift, you know, sirmand I got a call from
Sheriff Willis. He said he had a tip that there was some whiskey being
sold out of here, and he wanted the department in on the search as just
a kind of courtesy, I guess. So I came on out here. e just got here a
couple of minutes ago. I didn't call you, because it didn't seem like
a big thing. I hope I did the right thing, sir."
"Well, yes, if Sheriff Goolsby called you, you did the right thing.
Wasn't any need to call me on a thing like that."
The two deputies reported back to Skeeter. One of them shook his head.
"Sheriff, there ain't no shine around here unless its buried."
Skeeter nodded and turned to Billy. "We had this call; we had to check
it out. Looks like there's nothing here." "It's down at the police
station," said Billy. Skeeter looked confused. "How's that?"
Chief Thomas spoke up. "Billy and Marshall turned in two cases of
white lightning to me a few minutes ago. Marshall says somebody broke
in here last night and left it here."
Skeeter snorted. "Well, that's pretty smart, Marshall. You must of
knowed we had a tip."
"If Marshall had wanted to hide the stuff, he had plenty of time," said
Billy. "Instead, he called a lawyer and asked advice on what to do. He
took my advice and turned it in to the police. I think that
demonstrates his innocence in this. Somebody planted it here and
called you. That's pretty dear, I think."
Skeeter flushed and looked at the ground. "Yeah, maybe." looked up at
Marshall. "And maybe we just oughta keep an on you, boy." Billy
interrupted Marshall's attempt at a reply. '"i think you'd time better
trying to find out who wanted to put the an innocent man, Skeeter."
Skeeter signaled to his men. "All fight, let's get outta here. : work
to do today." He nodded to Billy and Chief Thomas. "See you, gents."
In a moment the two sheriff's cars were gone. Sonny spoke. "Well,
Chief, I reckon I'll go home and get some sleep if you don't need me."
"All right, Sonny, I'll finish up here." Sonny left, and the chief
made a cursory inspection of the broken window. "Not a more I can do,"
he said. I'll destroy the whiskey and make L note in the logbook about
this, but unless you've got some idea about who might have done this,
Marshall, I can't do any more." Billy, out of the chief's line of
vision, shook his head at Mar "No, sir," Marshall said, "I don't know
who would want to do it." The chief made his exit and left Billy and
Marshall alone.
i "Marshall, you've been getting some of Mickey Shelton's business
since you opened, haven't you?"
"Yessi, I guess'I've got a lot of his colored trade. He was i:'
charging too much. i:
"Some of his white trade, too?" ?
Marshall nodded. "Yes sir, t guess sot
:;
"Well, that's what you're supposed to Io in business, I guess.
I sure won't advise you to stop doing that, but I tell you, Mar hall,
I'd be real careful where I stepped for a while. Mickey Shel ton and
Sonny Butts are pretty tight, I think, and I wouldn't be surprised if
one or both of them was at the bottom of this thing.
you just walk the straight and narrow. Don't get drunk, don't drive
too fast, don't get into any arguments with anybody. ':
There've been some rumors about Sonny, and you don't want to let him
get you in jail. You see what I mean, dor't you?"
"Yes sir, I do. I'll watch my step." Billy nodded. "And listen, if
you even so much as get wind ; of anything else like this, or if you
have any problems, you call me right away, hear? You did the right
thing this morning." "I'll do that, Colonel, and I'd like to pay you
for your time." ;. "Well, I think my wife's station wagon could use a
grease job
and an oil change. That ought to just about do it."
Marshall grinned. "Yes sir, you tell her anytime, just anytime."
Billy left and hurried to the bank for his meeting. On the way he
thought about Marshall. He would not like to be in that man's shoes
right now.
time about rising, as was his custom. When he had shaved arid dressed,
he went to the kitchen, looking forward to what he would find there.
He felt the tiles first with his hand, then tapped them with a heavily
shod foot. Dry. Firm. Foxy was delighted. He ate his breakfast
quickly, anxious to finish with the floor. When he was done, he took a
stiff brush and scrubbed down the whole surface to remove any vestige
of dirt or cement lit from his work, then attached a hose to the
kitchen faucet and rinsed the floor. He watched delightedly as the
water swirled, then inexorably flowed down the deverly slanted surface
to the drain he had installed in the center.
The stains in the old wooden floor had bothered him for years, and now
he was rid of them for good. There would be no new stains, either. The
glazed surface of the tiles would prevent that. Everything would
disappear down the drain. Forever.
His task complete, Foxy went to his closet and pushed back the clothing
hanging on the rack to expose another rack behind the first in the
deeply built enclosure. From half a dozen things hanging there he
chose a neatly pressed shirt and trousers of tan tropical gabardine and
draped them across the bed. He dragged a stool over and, reaching to
the back of the shelf above the rack,
retrieved a peaked cap of matching material. He chose a black woolen
necktie and from a box at the back of his sock drawer took two badges.
He fixed one to the cap and pinned the other carefully to the shirt.
Both badges bore the legend Chief of Police.
Foxy felt good about today. He had had a couple of false starts,
lately, suspects who hadn't panned out, who'd been expected somewhere
by somebody. Then Sonny Butts's visit had shaken him for a couple of
days; he'd had to regain his confidence. Now that was back, and the
pressure, which had been building for a long time, was nearly
unbearable. He knew that because of the pressure he would have to be
extra careful not to make mistakes. The need to ac had done that to
him before, had made him careless in his excitement, and he must not
let that happen again. He was in control; he must stay in control.
Balancing need against control was the essence of his crusade.
He stared longingly at the uniform. He wanted so much to wear it away
from fle house, but he controlled the urge. It was too dangerous. He
would think of the preliminaries as undercover work, in plain clothes.
He had his badge and gun and handcuffs, anyway, should he need them.
He left the house, double-locking the door. He wished, too, that he
could have a proper police ear, with a black-and-white paint job and a
siren. The pickup would have to do.
Foxy was, in fact, a deputy sheriff of Talbot County. Goolsby had
sworn him in properly and given him a badge. Honorary deputy, Goolsby
had called it, but there was nothing about honorary in the oath, nor
did the badge-differ from' that of other, full-time deputies. When
Goolsby had retired, then died, nobody had ever asked him for the badge
back. Everyone had forgotten. Everyone but Foxy. The badge had come
in very handy.
Foxy knew he would make an arrest today, he felt it in his bones. He
fought back the pressure. There must be no escaping. He had not had
an escapee in a long, long time. He was too experienced for that now.
He knew his work.
As he drove toward the main road, he began to anticipate. He fought
the urge; he was superstitious about that; if you anticipated too much
something might go wrong. He thought about the questions he would ask.
He liked making up the questions.
None of his suspects had ever known the answers.
for the opportunity to worship which we have just enjoyed, and fox the
food we are about to eat which thou hast given us. We thank thee for
our children, Billy and Eloise, for Billy's deliverance from the war
and his return to us, and for the strength thou hast given Eloise in
her grief. We thank thee, especially, for our new daughter, Patrtcia,
and for the love she has given us. We ask thy blessing on this dat of
rest and for the days ahead. Give us strength to serve thee eh day of
our lives. We ask these things in the name of thy son, Jesus Christ.
Amen."
' H.W. Fowler performed each of his life's duties thoroughly and with
care, and he did not exclude a blessing said over a Sun day fried'
chicken dinner from these attentions. He would no more have recited a
pat prayer than he would have skipped church or a revival meeting.
He had not the slightest difficulty in thinking of things for which to
thank God; he found his life full of such tl)ings. He felt a visceral
pleasure in the gleam of the mahogany dining table and the sparkle of
the Waterford chandelier overhead, and in the heft of the sterling with
which he now ate. He had chosen none of these things, but he had been
thrilled to be able to allow his wife to choose them. His greatest
personal satisfaction came from his ability to provide for his family,
for his church, and for a long
line of Baptist preachers who had found their meager stipends swelled
by clothing from his store or cash from his pocket shyly pressed upon
them. He was happy to have his family about him, his wife, his
stepchildren, and his daughter-in-law, but he was worried about Billy.
There had been something of a void in his life since Billy had become a
man and moved beyond his benevolence, and since he could no longer buy
him bicycles or send him to law school, he could only worry. "Billy,
I've been hearing some talk about this business with Marshall Parker.
Eloise, will you pass the gravy, please?" "What've you been hearing,
Mr. Fowler?" They all called him Mr. Fowler, even Carrie. "I was
selling a man a suit yesterday, and I heard two women talking over
behind one of the dress racks. Emmett Spence's wife was one of them. I
never liked that girl much. Never liked Emmett much, either. Maybe
they deserve each other." "What did Sylvia Spence have to say about
it?" "Oh, she was going on about you having a 'nigger practice, as she
called it." "Well, Sylvia's got a big chip on her shoulder, I guess.
Emmett managed to stay out of the draft because he was a farmer--" "A
farmer's son, maybe. Not much of a farmer." "That's the truth. But
he and Sylvia seem to be real touchy about veterans, and, Lord knows,
they've got no love for colored people. Word is, Emmett's in the Klan.
Could I have another biscuit, Mama? .... "I've heard that." "So I
guess Marshall Parker represents all the things they hate most--a
Negro, and one with a good war record and a good business. You're not
worried about my helping Marshall out, are you?" "Goodness gracious,
no. I think Marshall's a good boy. His daddy's been working at the
church for years, and I think he got brought up right. I let him have
a charge account when he got out of the service, and he's paid his bill
better than most white folks. I'm glad to see a colored boy working
hard and doing well, too. It just bothers me to hear folks trying to
tear you down that way. Pass the chicken, Carrie." "Well, you can't
please everybody, not even in politics. If I've got to have enemies
I'd just as soon Emmett and Sylvia Spence
Carrie Lee Fowler spoke up. "Now, Billy, you shouldn't have I man for
your enemy if you can help it." "Mama, I feel the same way, but what
should I do to make Spence my friend. What do you think I should
do?"
Carried laughed wryly. "Well, you've got me there. I guess anything
you might do to make Emmett your friend might get you in trouble with
the Lord. Can I serve you some more corn, Mr. Fowler?" Patricia
looked puzzled. "I don't undrstand why the Spences hate blacks so
much." "Well," said Billy, "from what I hear, Hoss Spence di.d."t ::
have much, came from a family of dirt farmers, folks that night I have
had to compete with Negroes for sharecropping. Folks like ii that
sometimes hate Negroes because they feel they're a threat to : their
vrosperity. I guess maybe Emmett just inherited that wew of things
from Hoss. I expect his children will inherit it from ihim. It's a
shame' that sort of feeling has to go on and on. There's no reason for
it."
Mr. Fowler spoke up again. "Billy, what do you reckon that
Was all about, out at, Marshall's?"
Well, it's pretty clear to me that somebody wanted to see if Marshall
in a lot of trouble."
"Who do you think?"
"Unless Marshall has a problem with somebody I don't know about, and I
think he'd tell ma if he did, then it seems to me that
;! MickeY Shelton would make a good candlate. Marshall's giving him
some unwanted competition, I guess. I think Sonny Butts could be mixed
up in it, too. He and Marshall had some sort of argument, so Sonny's
mad at him, and Sonny's in a position to handle the police side of a
situation like this."
Mr. Fowler nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised. Sonny's always been a
little tOO slick for my liking. He knows how to butter folks up, but I
wouldn't trust him much. He ran up a big bill at the store, and I had
to stay on him to collect it. I th, ink he thought I
ii was just going to mark it 'paid' because he's a policeman. I got
that impression. I tell you, I'd rather have Marshall Parker for a
customer than Sonny Butts."
Billy grunted. "I'd rather have Marshall Parker for a police man than
Sonny Butts, to tell you the truth. In fact, I suggested to Hugh
Holmes that the city hire a colored policeman, one of the
23o CHm VS veterans. A majority of the actual peacekeeping the police
do is in Braytown, anyway, and I think a Negro could do a better job
over there." "What did Hugh say?" asked Mr. Fowler. "He seemed to
think it was a good idea, and there was even some sympathy for it at
the council meeting, I gather, but there was only enough in the budget
to hire one new man, and they picked Sonny Butt. Melvin Thomas thought
it might be a good idea, too, and he told me that when there was a need
for a fourth officer he'd consider recommending hiring a Negro. I
don't think Sonny would like that, though." "Does it matter what Sonny
likes?" Eloise asked. "It matters to Melvin. He thinks Sonny has
been doing a great job, and I guess he has with the traffic and such."
"Does Melvin know about the beatings at the jail, do you think?" Mr.
Fowler asked. "Brooks Peters talked to him when he first heard about
it, and Melvin listened, although he didn't seem to think there was
much to it. Sonny holds that he just uses necessary force, and that
drunks get rowdy and have to be handled. There was other incident last
night, apparently, although the man wasn't seriously hurt. Old Jim
Parker came to Brooks about it bef fore church this morning, and Brooks
is going to talk to Melvin again tomorrow." "Will that help?" asked
Eloise. "It's not going to get Sonny fired, but if Brooks can stir up
Melvin enough, at least it might put a stop to whats been going on.
It's not as though there was enough evidence, witnesses and all, to
prosecute Sonny." "Melvin's a good man," said Mr. FoWler. "He'll do
what's right." "Oh, he's a decent enough fellow," said Billy. "I just
wish he was smarter. He lets himself get manipulated by Sonny ButtS."
"That Butts family has never been much good," said Carrie. "His
mother's nice enough, poor thing, but Sonny's daddy was always a
problem. He was a drinker, and Will Henry had to put him in jail once
or twice."
Across town, on the other side of the M&B railroad tracks, in Milltown,
at the corner of Maple and Poplar, another family was having a Sunday
fried-chicken dinner, a smaller family.
c two: Sonny Butts
"Oh, Sonny, I'm so glad to see you. I wish you would come see me more
regular."
Sonny Butts wiped his mouth and sat back. "Mama, you
I'm on duty all the time. I wish I could get by here more ten, but a
lot of times when I'm off, you're at the mill, you i,.""know. Boy,
that sure was good chicken."
"You look so nice in your uniform, Sonny. I'm real proud of i '.rou.
Mrs. Smith next door said she saw you on your motorcycle ':ithe other
day and you looked so dashing. That was what she aid, dashing. Your
daddy would be proud of you, too, if he was live.
"Yeah, like he was proud of me when I was playing ball. I bet got
thrown out of half the games I played, the old rummy." "You shouldn't
talk that way about your daddy, Sonny."
"I don't know why you stand up for him, Mama. He never have you
nothing but a hard time, and he beat up on you 'bout very' time he got
drunk, which was regular." Sonny ground his
teeth.
"Beat.tp on me, too, until I got big enough to do some-about it." Sonny
remembered with some satisfaction the t time he had hit his father.
The man had wilted like a flower,
had never laid another hand on either of them again while
'was around. He drank nearly all the time, though. "Well," his mother
replied weakly, "In the beginning he was
I mean, he never did any of that before you was born." "You think he
got that way because of me?"
"It was like he was jealous of you, kind of. I don't know. I
it."
"Well, you're better off without him, I can tell you that."
His mother began to clear away the dishes. She still misses
Sonny thought. He shook his head. The telephone rang, she went to
answer it.
Carrie found the buzzer under the carpet, and Flossie came to take the
dishes away. "Nox, who'd like some peach cobbler?"
Patricia glanced at Billy and smiled. "That sounds just won-i den Cul
but... I'm afraid I'm going to have to star watching my weight."
Carrie laughed. "Sugar, you're too thin as it is." Her eyebrows shot
up. "Unless--?"
Billy laughed aloud. "Well, Mama, I guess you better start getting
used to the idea of being a grandmother."
"That's right," Patricia said. "Next April. It's going to be a boy, I
can tell." In the excitement that followed no one heard the telephone
ring. F]ossie came back in. "It's for you, Mr. Billy." Billy left
the room. "When did you find out, Trisha?" Eloise asked. "Just
yesterday, when Torn Mudter confirmed it." "Is everything all right?"
asked Henry Fowler worriedly. "I mean, are you all right?" He was
already thinking of what he could do for a grandchild. "Of course, Mr.
Fowler. Happens every day, you know. Nothing to be concerned about."
"Well, I'm just so happy, Patricia," Carrie said, beaming. "We're
going to enjoy having a baby in the family. I'm just so pleased for
you and all of us." Billy returned to the room. Patricia noticed
immediately that something was wrong. "What is it, Billy?" They all
turned and looked at him. "That was Hugh Holmes. Melvin Thomas
collapsed and died on the steps of the Methodist Church about an hour
ago, right after church." "How awful," Carrie said. "He was such a
nice man." Billy stood with his hands in his pockets, looking out a
window. Patricia wrinkled her brow. "Is there something else, Billy?"
He nodded. "Some of the council members got on the phone right away.
Sonny Butts has been made acting chief of police. Mr. Holmes thinks
they'll make it permanent tomorrow."
"WHEN SONNY walked into the Delano police station after Melvin Thomas's
funeral on Tuesday morning, he felt Ilk& a king newly crowned. The
council had voted to make him chief of police the preceding day,
although the announcement was bing withheld until Thursday, partly out
of respect for the dead and partly because the Delano Messenger was
published on Thursdays, and that was a convenient way to announce his
permanent appointment. :.
He had a girl, Millie, on loan from the ety manager's office to &nswer
the phone and handle the radio until he could hire another officer, and
she was at work as he entered. He looked around the station room for a
moment. The place was already the way he wanted it. Thomas had been
content to let him arrange the station room, and Sonny was satisfied
that he had done it efficiently. Now what he wanted was to get at the
old man's office--now his office.
"Millie, I've got some work to do for a while.. Don't call me unless
its real urgent, okay?"
""Sure, Sonny." She giggled. "I mean, Chief."
: He had been screwing her once a week for three months. Too bad there
wasn't a sofa in the chief's office. Maybe he could wangle one. He
went into the office, closed the door, and leaned /tgainst it for a
moment. He was breathing hard with excitement.
Things had worked out so much better than he could ever have dreamed
they would. After a whole war of being pushed around, first by NCOs,
then by officers, now be' was in charge. He had wanted a battlefield
commission, but it had never come. Now he had better than a
commission, he had a command. He was fucking Eisenhower, was what he
was. The office wasn't much---a small room that had been added onto
the original building, furnished with a desk, a filing cabinet, a hat
rack, and three wooden chairs. But it was the first office he had ever
had, the sort of office a company commander might have had in the army.
He walked around it slowly, looking into a filing cabinet, shuffling
through the stack of papers on the desk. Christ, what a mess! Thomas
had never let him get these files, this room, organized. He opened the
top drawer of the filing cabinet and started. Two hours later he had
filled two large cardboard boxes with old files, circulars, papers, and
just plain trash. The desk top was clean as a whistle except for a
telephone and a calendar. He sank into the desk chair and opened a
drawer. The drawers were all that was left. began filling a smaller
box with the old man's stuff--an electric razor, a Parker pent a
pistol, some personal bills, a few photographs of his family--there
wasn't a hell of a lot. Then he emptied each drawerin turn on the desk
top and filtered through everything to find out whether it was personal
or police stuff and whether it was important enough to keep. There were
a few file folders, He put those aside for last. At noon he sent
Millie out to get him a sandwich, then he propped his feet up on the
desk, ate his sandwich, and read through the files. They went back a
long way. Thomas had been a sergeant on the Columbus police force when
he had been hired to replace Will Henry Lee nearly twenty years before,
At first, it seemed to Sonny, Thomas had been enthusiastic about his
job and had stuck to the routines of a trained officer from a bigger
town. The files were mostly collections of information on the same
type of crime--there was a folder on stolen cars, for instance--and
notes that, in cooperation with the state police, car thieves who had
been working the area had been arrested and convicted. There was
another file on a string of burglaries that had taken place over a
period of months in the thirties, and a similar concluding set of
notes. The files seemed to have been kept as much for sentiment as for
records.
In the late thirties and during the war years, though, the files , have
been kept more erratically, and there were fewer Thomas must have been
getting tired of the work by then, thought. The last of the folders
was one marked "missing Sonny took a long swig of his Coca-Cola and
opened
There were a dozen circulars put out by the state police, be-in the
late twenties and continuing into the war years. were arranged more or
less chronologically, as if they had simply added to the file as they
had come in, the more re-ones on top. Each sheet had a photograph,
usually a family shot or a portrait by a two-dollar photographer, or,
where was no photograph, simply a detailed description. The ; persons,
he noted, were all male and white. Nearly all of were very young. As
Sonny flipped through them, he no-that the further down the stack he
got the more attention to have been paid to the circular. While the
more recent :iones on top were without notations, the older ones
ha-.d--Cam ii.!tnents and underlinings, mostly related to where me
suvJect been seen. Greenville, Woodbury, and Waverly Hall had all on
various sheets, and there were notations: jungles" or "seen
hitchiking." Sonny viewed the lack of on the later circulars as
typical of Thomas's waning in his job as the years wore on. There were
no reports of any of the subjects' having been located. Clearly,
though, Thomas had been interested in these miss-young men, at lea stat
first. He had obviiUsly checked the iungles and asked some questions,
maybe showed the pho'tX)graphs around. Sonny picked up a pencil and
started through ithe more recent circulars, underlining as Thomas had.
When he had finished he found a road map and a grease pencil and
started i'. marking the towns where the subjects had last been
reported. Five of the twelve had last been seen some distance
away--Ma-! con, Carrollton, places fifty or more miles from Delano.
He rei moved them from the stack and did not mark them n the map.:.;."
The remaining seven were represented by marks that formed an i. uneven
circle. At the center of the circle, roughly, was Delano. He read the
seven circulars again. Five of them contained the supposed direction
of travel of the subjects. In each case those last seen north of
Delano had been traveling south; those seen South of the town had been
traveling north. The likely route for
each of them led through Delano. Sonny picked up the phone and called
a fellow he knew at the state patrol in Atlanta. "Hey, Tank, this is
Sonny Butts." "Hey, Sonny. Congratulations. Hear you got chief."
"Thanks, yeah. Nothing anybody couldn't do with good looks and hard
work." "Shit." "Listen, Tank, I need you to look up something for me
in the missing-persons files. Would it be pretty easy to find some old
stuff?" "We got 'em indexed by name and date of disappearance up
through last month. You got that information?" "Yeah." Sonny read
him the names and dates. "How long you reckon?" "Well, I finished my
dinner. I'll do it now and call you back in a few minutes. Anything
special you want to know about them?" "Just whether they ever turned
up." "Call you back." He read through' the five circulars again. All
the subjects were between sixteen and twenty-one years old. All were
under five feet nine inches tall and slight. Four of the circulars
displayed photographs. There was a sameness about them, Sonny thought,
an innocence. He got up and went to his old roll-top desk in the
station room and took the bundle of Chief Lee's old files from the
bottom drawer. Back in the office he untied the string and fished
through the folders until he found the photographs of the corpse. He
chose the one that looked most lifelike, nearly as if the boy were
sleeping. He placed it on the desk next to the four circular
photographs. A shudder ran through him. The phone rang. "Sonny?
Tank. All your boys are still open files. Never found. Course, that
don't mean a lot. They could all be in South America. Just means we
never got no results from the circulars, and the families never
reported them found. You got something on these cases?" Sonny thought
for a minute before answering. "Naw, Tank, I ain't got nothing. They
just turned up in a file in Chief Thomas's desk, and I wanted to know
whether to throw 'em away or not. I 'preciate you looking 'em up for
me." "Yeah, sure. Course, we don't usually hear much on these
missing-persons things 'less it happens within a week or two of
l'"Le disappearance. I guess you can throw 'em away. No use dut ; up
your files."
"Yeah, Tank, I'll do that. Stop by here and see me some time. I'll
get you drunk and laid."
"You know it, buddy." They hung up.
Sonny discovered that he was sweating, more than could be by the heat.
He had something here, he was sure : it. Trouble was, it was all so
cold. If it was new and fresh, that
I be different, he might turn up something. He would be patient for a
while. If what he thought had been going on was happening, all he had
to do was wait. Wait and watch. an eye on the old son of a bitch. He
would do that.
BILLY LEE and the Reverend Brooks Peters called on
Hugh I-lmes at home the evening after the funeral of Chief Melvin
Thomas. Holmes settled them in his study and offered them some iced
tea. The presence of the preacher precluded the offering of anything
else. There was some small talk, and then Billy came to the point.
"Mr. Holmes, it looks like we might have a problem with Sonny Butts."
Holmes showed no surprise. "You mean about the beatings?" "Yes sir."
"Well, so far I haven't heard anything that couldn't be construed as
the reasonable actions of a police office to protect himself." "We
think there's more to it than that." "I didn't say I believed what I
heard. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a lot more to it."
"Didn't the rumors come up at the council meeting on Monday, when Sonny
was confirmed as chief?" "They came up. Matter of fact, I brought
them up. I suggested that we leave things as they were, with Sonny as
acting chief, until we had an opportunity to look for a more
experienced man. There was no. sympathy for that view at all. In
fact, a number of voices spoke up for more hard handling by the
police. They reck a'wo: Sonny Butts it would keep crime down in
Braytown."
Brooks Peters spoke up. "There was another incident last Sat
"Billy mentioned it to me on the phone Sunday, when I called tell him
about Melvin Thomas."
"Did that come up at the council meeting?"
"It got mentioned, but I take it that nobody is willing to make
complaint, and there weren't any witnesses--not any that against Sonny,
anyway. That's the trouble with like this. There's nobody on the spot
to determine and Charley Ward are exceeding the proper lim-their duty,
nobody except the victim, anyway."
"But something has got to be done about this, Mr. Holmes,"
said, with some passion. "There's enough resentment of the Negro
community without something as bla-this going on."
Holmes nodded. "i agree with you. Something's got to be and if you'O
suggest, a course of action with a reasonable
I'll follow it. But I can't go down to the council bring charges
against the chief of police based on nothing than rumors or, at bests,
the testimony of a colored man who arrested for drunkenness and doesn't
like the way he was
"Mr. Holmes is right," said Billy. "We've got to have a case will
hold up in court before we can get the council to act on Sonny. The
dty doesn't have any established proce-for dealing with a situation
like this--no ecific regula-and no committee or review board to handle
an charge, the way a big city might have." He for a minute. "Mr.
Holmes, is there some informal we might use to bring pressure on the
coundl, or directly Sonny?"
Holmes shook his head. "Not unless you could bring public to bear, and
I tell you public opinion isn't going be on until there's a lot of
less-disputable evidence than you now. Sonny's riding high right now.
He's orgamzed the the police department works, he's personally brought
in a t in traffic tickets, and he looks just like the model of a police
officer should be, and that counts for a lot with opinion. No, sir, I
think you're batting your head against wall right now."
Billy and Brooks were both quiet. Peters rattled the ice cubes in his
glass impatiently. "We've just got to think of something," he said.
Billy took a deep breath and spoke. "Maybe it's the colored community
that's got to do something."
Holmes looked up. "How do you mean?"
"I don't know, exactly, but I think I'll have a word with Marshall
Parker about this. They've got that colored veteran's group that meets
regularly. Maybe they can come up with something."
Holmes looked alarmed. "You're not suggesting they try to fight fire
with fire."
"Oh, no, sir. The last thing we need is a Negro Klan. I think the
suggestion of what to do ought to come from them. If they could gather
enough evidence against Sonny would you present it to the council?"
"Of course, but it's got to be strong and completely above board. Don't
you let those boys go thinking of some way to try to trap Sonny into
something. That would backfire right in their faces."
Brooks Pete stood up. "Well, that sounds like a good idea to me,
Billy. You talk to Marshall, and then let's get together again and
talk about this. Mr. Holmes, thank you for the iced tea. I'll see
you in church Sunday."
Holmes shook hands with the preacher. "Well, I hope we can get
something done about this, Brooks, and I'll help any way I can." He
turned to Billy. "Can you stay for a few minutes? I've got some bank
business to talk to you about."
They said their good-byes, and Holmes went immediately to his concealed
liquor cabinet. "Can I force some whiskey on you?"
"You sure can. Bourbon and a little water."
Holmes mixed the drinks and made himself comfortable again. "Billy,
we've got problems."
"At the bank?"
"No, I mean politics problems." He pushed an ice cube around his drink
with a finger. "I don't know if you ought to get involved with
Marshall and his colored veterans any more right now."
"I haven't been involved with them at all. Oh, I know most of them,
but the thing with Marshall and his moonshine problem was the only
thing I've been involved in."
-we: Sonny Butts
"I know, but you get your car fixed out there, too, and--" rt': "blow,
wait a minute. You get your car fixed out there, too, It. and we both
do it because Marshall does good work, isn't that 'right?" In "Of
course, and I'm not suggesting you ought to start going [91 to Mickey
Shelton. I just think you ought to leave things as they lie until
after the primary. There's only three weeks to go, you
"What have you been hearing? You must have heard some thing to worry
you."
"I have. This whole relationship with Marshall is getting all out of
proportion, and it's hurting us. There's some question in my mind of
whether we could carry Talbot County right now, and Harris County isn't
looking too good, either. I
: think you're all right in Delano and Manchester and Greenville,
but if the smaller communities and the farmers in Talbot and
Harris go the other way, this thing could get too close to call."
"What do you think'I ought to do?"
"Well, first of all I think you ought to make a big effort over the
next three weeks to get out into Talbot and Harris and shake and answer
st)me questions." Billy winced. "Boy, I thought I'd covered that
every which6' way. i:,?"You have, but you're going to have to do it
ag.am.
iii Billy s,ghed. "All right, III get 9ut there st,.tmg tomorrow ,:.
morning. : "Secondly, I think you ought to stay out of this thing
with
Sonny Butts and stay away from Marshall and his veterans until
'after the primary."
ii! "That bothers me," Billy said. "I think something ought to be
done about Sonny, and Marshall's people have been working to more
colored voters registered in Braytown, and I think I owe whatever help
I can give them."
:i: Holmes leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
Billy recognized the stance as one that the banker adopted when
I? he wanted to drive a point home. "Billy, I'm not suggesting for i a
moment that you should betray the trust of Marshall and those boys. All
I'm saying is that you sould wait until after the primary, at least,
and probably until after the general election, be fore you get any
further involved there."
"But I'm not all that involved. I--"
"It isn't a question of how involved you are. It's a question of how
involved you are perceived to be. There is no point in going out and
creating opposition for yourself where there was none before. If you
want to help the colored community you can do it a lot better if you
are elected. How can you help them if you lose?"
"I've already told Brooks I'd talk to Marshall."
"And you should. But Brooks is kind of a hothead, and you shouldn't
let him push you into something at the wrong time. Timing counts for a
lot in politics, and if you want to get things done you have to pay
attention to it. Believe me."
Billy rubbed the back of his neck for a minute, and gulped down the
rest of his drink. "All right," he said.
"And just let the Sonny Butts thing lie for a few weeks. Maybe we'll
get lucky, and he'll make a mistake. Give him enough rope-you know."
Billy nodded.
The next morning, driving to his office, Billy passed Marshall Parker's
garage jus4 as Marshall was opening up. The black man waved at him and
signaled for him to stop. Billy waved and drove past. By the time he
reached his office, he was nearly sick with shame for having done so.
He telephoned the garage.
"Marshah? This is Billy Lee. I had already driven past your place
this morning when it occurred to me you might have wanted to talk to
me. I'm sorry, I had a lot on my mind."
"Yes, sir, I did want to speak to you for just a minute. We're having
a little get-together, our veterans and the wives early this Saturday
evening. I was wondering if you could just come by and say a few words
to us. It's at the Galilee Church, out on the highway."
Billy was gripping the telephone so tightly that his knuckles were
white. "Oh, my gosh, thank you Marshall, but I'm going to be somewhere
down in the depths of Talbot County Saturday night. Mr. Holmes thinks
I need to get down there and mend some fences. We've still got another
three weeks for me to speak to them. I'll call you next week."
"Yes, sir, that'll be fine." There was disappointment in his voice.
When Billy hung up he felt worse than before he had called.
vo: Sonny Butts
IN THI HEAT -f Saturday afternoon, Sonny Butts stepped from the last
rung of the ladder onto the hemp matting of the high-diving board at
Pine Mountain iPool. He looked idly around the handsome, bell-shaped,
flag-pool, built in the thirties by the Civilian Conservation and his
gaze stopped at a blanket occupied by two gifts. He had been watching
them from a distance for an hour, as he in the sun and surreptitiously
drank beer from paper cup. beverages were prohibited in Franklir'"D.
Roosevelt ark.
One girl was fairly tall and slender and had ample breasts. She wore
her hair pulled back into a ponytail. The other was shorter and
heavier and had cropped blonde hair and powdery, freckled skin. Boyish
Rut nice, Sonny thought. He had noticed i. the sort of attention the
two girls had been paying to each other, slowly rubbing oil on each
other's bodies, tickling, giggling. They made Sonny remember two girls
in Belgium and what he thought must have been the wildest night of his
life.
When he was sure they were watching, he walked to the end of the diving
board and stopped, flexing his shoulder and leg muscles as if to loosen
up. He took a couple of practice springs to
: the board, then sauntered back and took up his position. He counted
the steps, one, two, three, rose, and came down on the
board. As he gained height he arched his body and fell backward into a
perfect half gainer, his brown body and blonde hair flashing in the
sunlight as he parted the water, making hardly a splash. For the next
fifteen minutes he worked his way through a repertoire learned in many
idle hours as a lifeguard, while the high school kids who had been
using the board hung back and watched in awe. The girls were watching,
too. They must be from Columbus, he thought. He'd never seen them
before. On his way back to his blanket he passed close to the girls
and stopped, feet apart, hands on hips. "Hi," he said, careful to
include them both. "I've got some cold beer over yonder. Why don't
you girls come over and help me drink it?" "Mmmmm," said the tall
girl. "Maybe in a few minutes." "Sure," said the shorter girl. She
seemed to appreciate being included in the invitation. He went back to
his blanket, stretched out in the sun, and waited, sipping his beer.
He dozed for a few minutes, and when he woke they were gone. He sat up
and looked around. The girls were walking toward the chain-link fence
that separated the pool area from the oods beyond. He wondered where
the hell they were going. The girls' can was in the other direction,
and the fence was eight feet tall. Then he saw the shorter girl step
up to the fence and tug at it, revealing a gap. She held it for her
friend, and as the taller girl stepped through, she looked toward Sonny
and flashed him a smile. The two girls disappeared into the woods.
Sonny grinned. He'd been around; he knew what they were up to. He
waited five minutes, then gathered up the beer and started for the
fence. In the woods he-found a path and padded along it, taking care
to be quiet. A quarter of a mile along he saw a pair of sunglasses
lying next to the path. He bent over to pick them up, and as he
straightened he saw the top of a stone chimney behind a little rise
through the trees. The glasses belonged to the tall girl, he
remembered. He left the main path and followed another, slightly
overgrown, toward the chimney. As he came silently to the top of the
rise he saw that the chimney belonged to a disused barbecue pit which
sat in a small clearing with a couple of picnic tables. He sucked in
his breath and held it. The tall girl was spread-eagled on her back on
one of the picnic tables. The other girl was standing over her,
stroking her breasts and belly. They were both naked. The tall girl's
eyes were
c two: Sonny Butts and Sonny had approached from behind the other
girl, so did not see him. He stood, tensely, and watched. The short
leaned over her friend and bit her nipples, which immedi-' came erect.
Then she kissed her way slowly down the girl's and along the insides of
her thighs. The tall girl moaned opened her legs wider. Sonny bent
slowly and set the beer down, then slipped out of ; trunks and jock
strap. He was fully erect, huge. The girl now knelt and slowly spread
her friend's vulva, str ok-with her tongue. The tall girl came
suddenly, making little and rolling her head back and forth. Both
their eyes were now. Sonny walked softly over to them and placed one
on the tall girl's belly, pinning her to the table, and the in the back
of the short girl's neck, locking his fingers her short hair. They
both started, but the tall girl was in too a state to care what was
happening, and he had a firm on the short one.
"Hey, now," he crooned to the short one, "why don't you let you car
suck this instead?" He thrust his swollen into her face. She pushed
it away and began getting to her
"No!" she said, backing away, assuming a fighting stance, thick,
muscular legs spread and slightly bent.
"Okay, okay," Sonny said, trying to placate her. "You just on there
for a minute, and we'll have a real fuck, but right think your friend
needs it more." He turned to the tall girl, was trying to sit up, and
pushed her bak down onto the She attempted to close her legs, but he
was already be-them. He stepped in, guiding his penis with his free
him the short girl clenched her fists, stepped forward upward as hard
as she could.
At the moment Sonny pushed into the girl the feeling of the tight, heat
of her was overtaken by another, overwhelming,
Sensation, the fiery shock of his testicles being driven hard up his
pelvis. He screamed and fell back onto the ground, into the fetal
position, clutching his crotch.
"Come on!" the short girl hissed to her friend. "Get your stuff on,
and let's get out of here." She was already half way into her own
bathing suit.
The tall girl began struggling into her clothing. "Jesus, he'll
kill us! Are you crazy!" Sonny continued to yell with every breath.
The short girl stepped behind him and kicked him again, this time in
the kidney. He screamed again and fainted. The girls ran. He came to
in a few moments, but he was still in excruciating pain. He vomited a
couple of times, and it was half an hour before he could get to his
feet. The bitches had taken his bathing suit, but he found his
jockstrap. He was filthy from rolling on the ground and cleaned
himself up as best he could using the beer. He walked slowly and
painfully up the path. He needed ice, he knew, but he dreaded the
thought of holding it to his balls. The woods stopped a few feet from
the pool fence, and he saw that they had left his suit hanging there.
It was late afternoon now, but there were still people about. He
cursed the girls for putting him in this humiliating position. He
waited for another haft an hour before finding a moment when no one
seemed to be looking, then he dashed for the fence, retrieved his suit,
and got back behind a tree, whimpering at the effort. He got back
through the fence, limped to the pool, and sank gratefully, into the
icy spring water. That would keep down swelling even better than the
ice would. In a few minutes he felt better, well enough to walk without
limping noticably. He wrapped his blanket about him to hide the
bruises around his kidney, went to the dressing room, and got his
clothes on. He thought about looking for the girls, but he had no idea
where they were from, didn't know what kind of car they were driving,
didn't even know their first names. Still sick and rembling with anger
and humiliation, he climbed gingerly into his car and headed back over
Pine Mountain toward Delano. He got a pint of whiskey out of the glove
compartment and started to drink. When he got back to his
boardinghouse he went through the back door to his room and collapsed
on the bed. He dozed fitfully for the rest of the afternoon, waking
now and then to take a pull on the bottle. His anger, like hot metal,
cooled and shrank into something cold and hard, and a terrible pressure
began to build inside him. As it began to get dark outside, he
remembered it was Saturday night. He got up, found another pint of
whiskey and, still dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, drove to the police
station. When Sonny entered the station room, Charley Ward had his
c ?wo: Sonny Butts ropped up on a desk, dozing. Sonny kicked his
chair, send-him spinning across the room, nearly capsizing. "Jesus,
Charley whined, getting to his feet, "you scared the shit of me."
"Listen, you're lucky it was me and not some council mem
"Yeah, well, there wasn't nothing happening."
"Well, you get your ass in the patrol car. You and me are make
something happen."
MARSHALL and Annie Parker stayed on at the church for a fe, minutes
after the veterans group had wound up their Saturday picnic and
dispersed. Marshall raked the small grounds, and Annie made sure there
were no paper bags or cups left lying around. Since the event had been
held on church grounds there were no beer bottles to worry about.
They drove back toward Delano at twilight, sitting dose together in the
car. "We have a pretty good week this week?" Marshall asked.
Annie smiled. "Sure did. You had that ring job, and Smitty paid off
his bill. We took in nearly two hundred dollars, and I
reckon a hundred and fifty after overhead." 'q'hat's our best week so
far?" "So far."
"I saw in the paper there's a sale on down at Fowler's. You think I
could make you buy a new dress?"
She laughed. "You might could."
Marshall drove on toward downtown Delano. "Looks like o1' Junior's
going to work out all right, don't it?" Junior Turner was Marshall's
new employee.
"Yes, and I'm sure glad we got him. Now you can stop working at
nights."
"I guess I can get home a little bit earlier. You know, he can
I can, except maybe rebuilding some of those ain't so scarce now, so
that don't matter much." "He's a nice boy, too. Folks like him."
"You know, honey, if anything should go and happen to me, could run it,
with you keeping the books." "Something going to happen to you?"
"Well, you know, if I got in a wreck or got sick or something.
have to think about things like that. You'd have my G! in too."
"I don't even want to talk about that, Marshall. You too young like
that."
"Now, honey, you have to think about the worst could hap-sometimes. If
it happens, I want you to go see Colonel Lee. straighten things out
for you. You hear me?"
She put her head on his shoulder. "All right, now. That's about that.
Talk to me about something else. Talk to me building a house."
He talked to her about. building a house all the way to town.
Hnry Fowler stood on the sidewalk in front of his store and up and down
Main Street with some satisfaction. It was o'clock, and still the
block was busy with cars, wagons, and
A reasonably cool evening and the late-summer sales keeping folks out;
he could judge that it would be ten-thirty he closed. Not like the
Christmas season, when he'd often t open until midnight, but still
good. He saw ars hall Parker his wife drive past looking for a parking
plae and waved at They continued down the hill and out of sight in
their
As he turned to go back into the store, he saw the police car, Ward at
the wheel, cruise slowly past. What caught his Sonny Butts was sitting
in the pas-er seat wearing civilian clothes, not a uniform, a T-shirt,
in This offended Fowler's. sense of propriety. He would com-to the
first councilman who came into his stor. Sonny st something to a girl
walking the other side of the street. Fowler left the sidewalk in
dis
Shortly, Marshall and Annie Parker appeared in the store,
Fowler waited on them himself, flattering Annie on her of a dress and
helping her talk Marshall into a new shirt
and tie for himself. Fie took some pleasure in seeing a young couple
so obviously happy and prospering in the community. It surprised him
that he found himself thinking of them in just those terms, not
considering their color, as a couple like Billy and Patricia.
Fowler waved aside Marshall's check and charged the purchases to their
account. As he bade them good night, he looked forward to having them
as good customers for many years to come. The next time he saw Jim
Parker, he would have to mention to him what a fine boy he had
raised.
"Turn around. Drive back up Main Street." They were at the grammar
school, and Sonny had not found what he was looking for. Charley
obeyed. As they started up the hill in front of the post office, Sonny
suddenly said, "Ahhhhhh, look at that." He nodded to his right.
Marshall Parker and his wife were walking down the hill carrying some
packages. Sonny looked at his watch, then up and down the street. It
was after ten, and the Saturday night crowd on Main Street had thinned
markedly. This downhill end was, deserted except for the two late
shoppers. "Pull over, Charley." They got out of the car.
Sonny motioned Charley behind the couple and walked toward them,
smiling. "Evening, Marshall." His venice was casual, even polite.
Marshall and Annie stopped. "Evening," he replied tonelessly.
"I'd like a word with you, Marshall."
"Go ahead." Annie was clutching at his sleeve.
"Well, I think it might be better if we talked about it down at the
station."
"What's this all about?"
"We got some new information about that moonshine out at your place.
Why don't you send your wife on home with your stuff. We'll see you
get a lift after while." Sonny could see the tenseness in the nigger.
His wife was scared stiff.
Marshall hesitated for a moment, then turned to Annie. "Here's the car
keys. You go on home and wait for me. I'll be on later." She was
wide-eyed with fright. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
"Call Colonel Lee," he whispered without moving his lips. He stood
back and looked at her. "Go on, now. It's going to be all right.
These men just want to talk to me for a
bit." She took the keys and hurried to the car. Sonny stood without
moving on the sidewalk and waited for to drive away. As he heard the
car pull out, he said, "You son of a bitch. You're mine now." His
eyes flicked over and Charley hit Marshall hard from behind his
blackjack. Marshall staggered forward, reaching for then fell to his
knees. "C'mon, Charley! Get the goddam cuffs on him before he We
can't do this on Main Street, for crissakes!"
Annie drove as fas tas she dared and tried to keep calm, but breath was
coming rapidly and in gasps. She made it home little more than five
minutes and ran for the door, leaving he ring the car. She grabbed the
telephone book and it fruitlessly. Then she remembered that the Lee
number would not yet be in the book. She snatched up the receiver.
"Operator." "Please, ma'am, can you give me Colonel Lee's telephone
number out to his new house?" "Sure, Annie,"--the operators knew
everybody--"they're in the trailer out there. The number is 20-W. You
want me to ring it for you? "Oh, yes, please rna' ami The phone rang,
then rang again. Annie stamped her foot in impatience. Five rings. No
answer. "No answer, Annie, but they could be ove ring the new house.
got a loud bell outside the trailer. I'll rjfig a few more
The phone rang ten times, fifteen. "Looks like they're not at home,
Annie. Billy's probably out somewhere. Better try later." "Thank
you, ma'am." Annie collapsed into a chair and tried to think. Then,
in rapid succession, she tried Hugh Holmes's and Brooks Peters's
numbers. No answer from either of them. In desperation she ran for the
car and started back to town.
Marshall Parker came to, face down on the back set floor of the police
car, his hands handcuffed behind him, Sonny Butts's foot on his neck.
The car squealed to a halt, and Marshall heard the front door open and
close. In a moment the two policemen were dragging him roughly from
the car. He was still dazed, but he knew he was at the police
station.
CHIEFS Billy and Patricia Lee were returning from Talbotton, where
Holmes had arranged a barbecue at the home of a supporter. Patricia
was driving and had pulled ahead of the Holmeses shortly after leaving
the event. Billy was slumped in the passenger seat, tired, but not
sleepy. "What do you think of all this campaigning, all these country
people?" "Well, it's hardly a new experience, you know. Nobody loves
politics better than the Irish. Being the candidate's wife is new,
though, gives one a different perspective." "How so?" "I'd never
thought much about the differences in the ways people react to
politics. At home, everybody talked about it, and some were more
interested than others, but standing next to you at these gatherings,
like tonight, I can see the differences." "Go on." "Some are just
there for the fun of it, for the party. Others support you personally,
maybe because you're a veteran or because they knew your father or your
family, or because you're Hugh Holmes's candidate. Others want
something. They're putting their support in the bank now, and they're
going to want to have something in return later. I wonder how much of
a problem that will be for you." "I've talked about that with Mr.
Holmes. Most of those who want something later don't have anything
definite in mind, now. They want to have an in just in case, and the
things they want will be small--help with some state department,
something like that. They'll be easy to accommodate." "What about the
ones with larger expectations?" "I don't know how large their
expectations can get with a state senator. If I were running for
governor, they might want all sorts of things. Still, I'll help them
if I can, I guess, unless they want something they're clearly not
entitled to, and then I guess I'll turn them down." "I'm going to
remind you that you said that one of these days." He grinned. "Okay."
"By the way, have you thought about what we'll be doing on election
night?" "Lord, no. You think we ought to have a victory celebration
or something?"
She laughed. "Well, if Mr. Holmes's concerns about the elec mean
anything, planning a victory celebration might be
"You've got a point, there. Still, he thinks we can pull it off much
trouble. He just doesn't want to say it out loud cocky." "Why don't
we have a housewarming, an open house?" i' He straightened in his
seat. "Are you really that far along with the place?" "Not far enough
along for a proper housewarming, but the will be essentially finished
by then. We can clean out the and wait until afterwards to finish the
floors. That way, will get a good look at the house, and we won't have
to worry about their tracking mud in. We can have the refreshments
outside and let them wander around the house at will. If 'tit rains,
we can all go inside and stand around." i "Sounds good to me. Maybe
we can get somebody to phone ' in the results fom eachlistrict during
the evening." He lay back again. Tey were over the mountain now, and
driving through town. Patricia saw a car; apparently in a hurry, run a
stop sign ahead of her, crossing the street on which she was driving.
"That looked like Annie Parker," she said. Billy lifted his head, but
the car was gone. I "Just Annie," she said. "I didn't see Marshall."
Billy lay back, again. "Yeah, well, she's,pro!ally picking him Up
somewhere. He looked at his watch. The' stores might still be open.
I'll bet Mr. Fowler is." Patricia laughed. I'll bet he is, too."
They continued toward home.
Brooks Peters and his wife left the Rialto Theater after seeing a
rerelease of Guadalcanal Diary. At the entrance they ran into Dr.
Torn Mudter, who was alone. They walked together for a block, before
separating to go to their respective homes. "You were in the Padfic,
weren't you, Torn?" Pet;rs asked. "Yeah. Hospital ships during the
island invasions, then when we had essential control of an island,
regimental field hospitals ashore." "Was it bad?" He nodded. "A lot
worse than in that picture. I don't think
anybody can ever make a picture that'll show it as bad as it really
was." "You get shot at any?" "lNe had kamikazes on the ships, and a
strafing once in a while ashore, usually a single plane, but nothing
like the guys on the beaches took. It amazes me to this day that
troops could go up a beach like that. It was both inspiring and
frightening. I still don't think that people at home have any idea of
the resistance those boys met. The Japanese simply would not give up,
wouldn't surrender. INc'd invade an island with twenty or twenty-five
thousand lap troops on it and end up taking two or three hundred
prisoners. It was unbelievable." 'ri expect your experience out there
has got something to do with your enthusiasm for veterans' rights."
"Sure has. I figure that after what those boys went through--and
that's what they were, boys--they're entitled to the best their country
can give them." They said good night at a corner and parted.
Annie Parker d ove slowly past the police station, then turned around
and parked. The police car was there, so she knew, at least, they
hadn't taken Marshall out in the woods someplace and shot him. She
tried to think what to do. She had already called everybody she could
think of except Marshall's father, lim, and she didn't want to frighten
him. IN hat could he do anyway, that she couldn't? She decided to go
into the station. There was no one in the station room, and she stood,
uncertain what to do. She was afraid to go looking around a jailhouse.
Then she saw a button and a sign asking visitors to ring. She pressed
the button and heard the bell answer somewhere at the back of the
station. There was silence for a minute or two, and as she was about
to press the button again, she heard a door slam down a hallway and
footsteps approaching. Charley Ward rounded a corner and stopped as he
saw her. He was sweating heavily, and his uniform was wet around the
collar and under the arms. "What do you want, Annie?" He was nervous,
she thought. "I came to get Marshall," she said, her voice trembling.
Charley laughed. "Shoot, Annie, Marshall's already asleep. We got to
talk to him some more in the morning. He ought to be home for Sunday
dinner. You go on home, now. We'll bring him
to: Sonny Butts 255
the morning." "What you have to talk to him tonight for? Why's it
have to be on Saturday night?" She was gaining courage now. But
Charley suddenly turned ugly. "Listen, I told you to get home, didn't
I? Now, unless you want to get locked up for obstructing an officer,
you just get on home, right now." She nearly took him up on it,
insisted on being locked up ith Marshall, but if they were both in
jail, who would know i:where they were? Who would help them? She
turned and went lout of the station. Back in the car she derided to go
home and get on the telephone again. Those folks had to come home
sometime. She'd call all night if she had to.
DR. TOM-MUDTER felt the intense exhaustion that depression brings. The
film had brought back too much of his war; he should never have gone to
see it, but he had been lonely. He was a bachelor, there was a
shortage of women his age in Delano, and there were times when he just
could not spend the evening alone in his tiny garage apartment behind
his father's house and clinic. He was about ready to begin building
his own clinic, and he looked forward to the activity. His parents
were old now, and his father was looking forward to retirement. Dr.
Frank had only kept the practice going so that Torn could have it after
the war. Half asleep already, Torn got slowly into his pajamas. He
switched off the bedside lamp and stretched out on the bed with a groan
of relief. It was a warm night, but a breeze blew through the open
windows. As he was about to lapse into unconsciousness, he heard a car
door slam, then another, then voices from the street. He held himself
back from the brink of sleep and hoped against hope that the voices
would go to the house next door or the one across. He did not think he
could face a Saturday night cutting or such, not the way he felt. The
loud buzzer brought him immediately upright. It always had that effect
on him, even when he was expecting it. He had installed the buzzerin
his apartment, led from a button at the
Book two: Sonny Butts clinic door, so that he could take night calls
without disturbing his father. He pressed a button beside his bed
which lit a small sign at the clinic door saying "doctor coming" and
str ggled into his clothes. Perhaps three minutes passed before he
could dress, 'let himself in through the back door, walk through the
darkened clinic, switch on the front-porch light, and open the door.
The three figures who stood at the door were black lighted by the porch
light, and for a moment he did not recognize any of them. The one in
the middle was bent half over and was being supported by the other two.
One of the others was dressed in a khaki uniform, without a hat, and
for a moment he thought the man was a soldier, but then he recognized
Charley Ward. "Evening, Doc." The voice belonged to Sonny Butts, who
was not in uniform. "We got a customer for you here." The man in the
middle gave a grunt and threw his head back, and the light fell on the
nearly unrecognizable face of Marshall Parker. Both eyes were swollen
nearly shut, and there were cuts on his forehead he cheeks. His nose
was broken. "Good God!" The doctor took an involuntary step backward,
then recovered himself. "Bring him this way." He walked rapidly down
the dark hall wa and switched on the lights in the examination room,
thinking ahead. If the man was that badly beaten he probably had
internal injuries, as well. Torn went immediately to the sink and
started to scrub his hands. The two white men struggled into the room
with their charge. "Put him on that table," the dbctor callecover his
shoulder. "What happened?" "We were questioning him, and he started
fighting with us," Sonny said quickly. "Then he tried to grab a knife
that we had taken off another prisoner, and Charlie had to shoot him."
Torn whirled around. "Shoot him?" He walked quickly to the table and
ripped open Marshall's shirt. "Jesus Christ in heaven." "Hell, Doc, I
had to do it," Charley Ward whined. "He woulda killed Sonny." "Yeah,"
said Sonny, "he was fighting like hell." He pulled up his shirt to
reveal a large bruise over a kidney. "Look what he did to me. He
kicked me in the nuts, too. You wanta see the damage?" "I've got all
the damage I can handle right here. Now both of you get the hell out
of here." He turned back to his patient, who was unconscious, and felt
for a pulse. Weak and thready. Profuse sweating. He ankd m the table
to elevate the lower body. The man was clearly already in shock.
Sonny ce and looked over his shoulder. "How bad is he hur?, Torn
turned and shoved him backwards wiM his elbows, trying to keep his
hands clean. "I told you to et out of here you stupid son of a bitch,
now move it! Et all the way out of my clinic, odd am you, and shut
Mine door behind you! his is out your hands now." As he pushed Mere
into Me hallway and shut Me door, he caught a strong whiff of alcohol.
He went back to Me table and began checking for wounds. One small,
neat entry wound, midline, upper abdomen. He got a p on 1Vlarshall and
turned him onto one side. Large exit wound, left flank, ne Me kidney.
Not mudn blood from eith wound. He rolled him onto his back again and
felt Me abdomen. l las sive internal bleeding. The bullet, judging
f-from the placement of Me entry and exit wouds, had hit and probably
nicked the aorta. Torn looked helplessly around the little room,
wishin for a trained amy surgical team Even if he woke his father he
would have too little help and too little time. Iviarshall suddenly
groaned loudly and sat up, clutclning his middle. Torn turned and
quickly drew morphine into a syringe, found a vein in the man's arm and
iniected it. Almost immediately lVlarshall began to rdax and Torn was
able to male him recline again, lie bent low over lVlarshall and looked
into his face. "Open your eyes, 1Vlarshall, open your eyes and listen
to me." l,{arshall slowly opened his eyes. Swollen they were, Torn
could hardly see them. "Don't fall asleep, lVlarshall, listen to me.
Can you hear me? Can you talk?" ] 1ars hall nodded and swallowed.
"Yeah." "] 1ars hall there's nolning l can do for you, except give you
morphine, and I've already done at. You're going to die, friar-shall,
you've oy got a few minutes. I wish I could help you, but l can't. Do
you understand me?" after a pause viarhall nodded again. "Yes."
"Listen, l lars hall I can't save you, but if you'll tell me what
happened--tell me Me fru{6--1 promise you I'll see that the right thing
is done. Tell me what happened, lVlarshall." l lars hall began to
speak. His breaMing was shallow, but his words were intelligible.
Torn held his head and listened, trying to memorize every word. "}vie
and Annie was at l 1r. Fowler's
bought her a dress .. . Butts and Ward stopped me on the street.." want
me to come to the station.." something about the moonshine .. . next
thing, I'm in the jail, handcuffs .
Butts beat me... beat me bad.. I said take off the handcuffs I'd fight
him... Ward took them off, held a gun on me..
I knew they was going to kill me... I grabbed a knife .. . not my
knife.." they shot me... Annie.. where's Annie at?"
"She's not here yet, Marshall, she'll be here, don't worry. Did you
ever hit Butts or Ward?"
"No, sir.." never once.." my hands were behind me."
"Did you do anything that might make Butts and Ward have to arrest you?
Tell me the absolute truth, now, Marshall."
"No, sir.." bought Annie a dress, that's all.." ask Mr. Fowler. My
hands was behind my back, and they beat me He's crazy, Butts is crazy.
Annie .. "Marshall drifted off, and Tom let him go. He sat by him for
a few minutes more, monitoring his pulse, until Marshall's breathing
became irregular, then stopped. 13Io pulse: Torn pulled back a swollen
eyelid. No pupil contraction. He listened for a moment with his
stethoscope. Marshall Parker was dead. He noted the time, then began
looking for pen and paper. He found a pen, but no paper, and went to
the reception area
' to look for a pad in his secretary s des . Sonny and Charley were
sitting in the waiting area. Sonny was idly flipping through a
magazine. "Hey, Doc, how's he doing?" he asked.
"I thought I told you to get. out of here.":
"Listen, now, I got a prisonerin there-'you know."
"Yeah? What's the charge?"
"Resisting arrest," Sonny said easily.
"That's only a secondary charge. What was the charge you arrested him
on?"
Sonny froze for a moment. "Now, listen, Doc--"
"Come on, Butts, let's hear the charge. What was it?"
Sonny was clearly in a corner and thinking as fas tas he could.
His face hardened. "I don't have to discuss official police business
with you. It'll all be in my report."
"Yeah, I thought you'd say something like that. Now, go on, get out of
here."
"What about my prisoner?"
"You don't have a prisoner anymore. He died a couple of minutes
ago."
"Gee, that's too bad." "You said he kicked you in the crotch. Show
me." Torn Switched on a desk lamp on his secretary's desk and swiveled
it toward Sonny. "Come on, drop your pants." Sonny unbuttoned his
jeans, held his penis aside and stepped close to the light to display
his bruised scrotum. "Okay, let's see the kidney area again, in the
light." Sonny buttoned his jeans and pulled up his shirt. "What time
did this happen?" Sonny looked at his watch. "Oh, not long before we
brought him in here. Say, half an hour, forty-five minutes." "You're
lying, Butts. Those bruises are hours old. I don't know where you got
them, but Marshall Parker didn't give them to you half an hour or
forty-five minutes ago." Charley Ward spoke. "Jesus, Sonny, what's
going to---" "Shut up, Charley," Sonny said. "You just keep your mouth
shut. He don't know what he's talking about." "We'll see about that,"
Torn said. "Now the two of you get out of here. I've, got a
postmortem to do, and you've cot a story to make up. And it would be
really stupid of you to trand leave town." He turned on his heel and
left them standing in the waiting room. He had phone calls to make and
work to do.
[ooc TWO: Sonny Butts THE PHONE was ringing as Billy got out of the
car, the loud, outdoor bell echoing over the farmland and the nearly
finished house. He caught it, somewhat breathlessly, on the fifth
ring.
"Hello." "Colonel Lee, this is Annie Parker. They got Marshall down
to the jail." The words rushed out.
"Annie? What was that again?" "That policeman Butts and that other
org'got Marshall down at the jail, and I'm afraid what they might be
doing to him. Can you go down there, Colonel? I sure would appreciate
it."
"Of course, I'll go down there, Annie. Tell me what happened
She told him as quickly as she could of Marshall's arrest and her visit
to the police station.
"I'll go right now, Annie, and I'll call you as soon as I find out
what's happened. Now, don lt you worry, I'm sure Marshall's all right.
He's probably asleep, just like Charley Ward said." He hung up and
turned to Patricia. "I've got to go down to the police station. Sonny
Butts has arrested Marshall Parker, and Annie's frantic. I'll be as
quick as I can." The phone rang again.
"I'll get it," Patricia said. "You go ahead."
He was already in the car when she ran out.
CIxEvs "That was Torn Mudter. Don't go to the jail. Go to the
clinic. Marshall's there. Sonny Butts and Charley Ward brought him
there with a gunshot wound." "Is he all right?" "He died a few
minutes ago." Billy rested his forehead on the steering wheel. "Oh,
my God in heaven, Trish. Marshall wanted me to meet with his veterans'
group tonight, and I wouldn't, if I had been there this wouldn't have
happened." She opened the car door and. took his head in her hands.
"Now, you listen to me," she said. "This isn't your fault. You did
what you could to protect Marshall, and this just isn't your fault.
What you've got to do now is find out what happened and do something
about it. You go on to the clinic, and I'll go to Annie. Go on, now."
He started the car. "You're right, I've got to do what I can now. Call
Marshall's father, it's Jim Parker, should be in the phone book. Tell
him as much as you know, and ask him to meet you at Annie's. Tell him
I'll come out there and tell them everything as soon as I've seen Torn.
Don't let them come to the clinic. Tell them to wait there for me."
She nodded. He pulled away from the trailer and started for Delano,
driving fast.
Billy sat with Brooks Peters and Torn Mudterin the waiting room of the
clinic. Torn had toId them everything, reading from the notes he had
written. He had confirmed the severed aorta and the cause of death as
massive loss of blood and shock. "Have you told anybody else about
this?" Billy asked. "I reported it to Skeeter Willis." "What did our
good sheriff have to say?" "Sonny had already called him about it. He
said he'd look into it tomorrow, but it sounded pretty straightforward
to him." "Sounds like we're not going to be able to depend on Skeeter
to do a serious investigation." "Maybe we ought to go to the state
police or the Georgia Bureau of Investigation," suggested Brooks.
Billy shook his head. "We can't expect any help from them until we can
demonstrate that local and county authorities are mishandling the
investigation. Even then, they're going to do their best to stay out
of it, you can depend on that." "One more thing," Torn said. "I've
taken a sample of Mar
shall's blood. I'll send it to a lab in Atlanta in Monday morning's
mail, and we'll know for sure if he had been drinking." "Good idea,"
said Billy. "I have a feeling we're going to need all the evidence we
can get if we're going to do anything about this." Brooks Peters
looked up, surprised. "I would have thought that the deathbed
statement would be all we needed." Billy shook his head. "In some
circumstances it might be enough, but what we've got here is a Negro
prisoner killed by a white policeman who claims he did it in the line
of duty. Marshall's statement is a start, but we're going to have to
back it up with everything we can find." "Do you mean you think that
Butts and Ward might get away with this?" "That's exactly what could
happen, Brooks. I think we can get an indictment easy enough, if the
blood test and other evidence back up Marshall's story. I mean, the
county prosecutor, Bert Hill, is a good gnougtx fellow, and if there's
evidence, he'll present it to a grand jury. There's one meeting now.
But we're going to have a mighty hard time getting a conviction. It's
hard to say whether Bert's heart is going to be in a trial like that,
and a smart lawyer on Sonny's side will play hard to a white jury on
the black-white thing. A trial is going to be touch and go." "So what
do we do?" asked Torn. "I think we start by letting Skeeter Willis
and the prosecutor know that we're not going to let this thing dty up
and blow away, that we expect a thorough investigatiorkand a strong
presentation to a grand jury. The first step is an indictment."
"Well, I can give them medical evidence about the nature of his
injuries, apart from the gunshot wound. He'd clearly been beaten
badly, and he'd been handcuffed. And we'll have the lab test, assuming
he was sober." Billy nodded. "That's fine. In fact, why don't you put
the whole thing in writing as soon as possible." Peters spoke up.
I'll call a meeting early tomorrow morning of the ministerial
association. We've got nine ministers, and I might be able to get them
stirred up." "That's the sort of thing we need," said Billy. "I'll
talk to Mr. Holmes, too, and see what he can do quietly behind the
scenes. We should fill in Bob Blankenship tomorrow, so he can have as
full a story as possible in Thursday's paper. That might help stir
up public opinion. Anything else?" Torn and Brooks shook their
heads. "Well, I guess we've done all we can here. All that's left is
to break the news to Annie and Jim Parker. I'm not looking forward to
that. Brooks, will you come with me?" "Of course, but I think I ought
to call Preacher Wright, too. They're going to want their own
minister." Brooks made the call, and they broke up, agreeing to meet
the following afternoon to compare notes on their various efforts.
At the Parker home everyone knew the moment Billy and Brooks walked in
that Marshall was dead. Billy told them, as gently as he could, what
had happened and what he, Peters, and Mudter hoped to do about it. "I
can promise you," he said to Annie and Jim Parker, "that Butts and Ward
are not going to just walk away from this." He meant what he said, but
later, at home, he admitted his worst fears to Patricia. "This is
going to be hard, Trish, and I want you to know what's ahead, because
you're going to hear about it from everybody, and what you'll hear may
not bear much resemblance to what really happened." "How do you think
this is going to affect the election?" she asked. "Mr. Holmes isn't
going to like it much, but I'm not going to worry about that any more.
This might have happened because I was too worried about getting
elected, so except for the commitments I've already made and can't
gracefully get out of, from this moment I'm through campaigning. I've
said all I have to say, and I think folks know where I stand. They can
take me or leave me, but I'm going to spend my time for the next few
weeks doing everything I can to see that Sonny Butts and Charley Ward
go to jail for as long as possible. I don't think I'd be able to live
with myself if I didn't do that."
BIILY CALLED Hugh Holmes early on Sunday morning, and they met before
Sunday School. Holmes listened without expression to Billy's account
of the events of the night befQre. Billy kept looking for a reaction,
but found none. Finally, when the lawyer had told him everything,
including the steps he proposed to take, Holmes spoke. "Billy, there's
no advice I can give you that would do you any good. A bad thing has
happened, and you feel morally bound to do something about it. I can't
advise you not to do what you propose, even though it might cost you
the ect ion I think you understand the political risk you're running,
don't you?" "Yes, sir, I do." "Well, then, damn the torpedoes, and
I'll do my best to minimize the damage." "Thank you, sir, I appreciate
that." Billy left Holmes's house relieved that he had the banker's
support rather than his opposition.
Brooks Peters was on the phone at seven on Sun'lay morning, and at
eight the Delano Ministerial Association met in his dining room. He
told them what had happened, and they prayed together for a few
minutes. When the meeting was over, he had their unanimous support for
a resolution addressed to the city
council in the form of an open letter. He preached the sermon he had
planned for that Sunday, and at the end he read the resolution,
viraally at the same moment that it was being read in eight other
churches, as agreed. The resolution read, "It has come to our
attention that the death of a prominent member of our Negro community
has occurred as a result of an incident at the Delano city jail. We
call upon the city council to conduct a thorough investigation of this
incident to determine whether the police officers involved were acting
properly in the line of duty, and whether the death of this man was
justified." It wasn't a very tough resolution, Brooks thought, but
under the circumstances it would serve the purpose. There would be
talk of nothing else at Sunday dinners all over Delano.
Early Sunday afternoon Billy telephoned Bert Hill, the county
prosecutor. Hill had already heard about the killing. "Skeeter Willis
called me half an hour ago. He's already been down there and taken a
statement from Butts and Ward, and he says he'll have a ?eport for me
tomorrow." "Bert, did he give you any idea of what the statement
consisted of ?" "None at all. He didn't make an arrest, though. That
ought to tell you something. Mind you, I'm not going to rely entirely
on Skeeter's report in deciding whether to pursue an indictment.
Billy, do you think you could do me a favor and take some statements
from the other people involved? Annie Parker and the doctor and
anybody else who has any information?" "I'll be glad to, Bert. Torn
Mudter is already writing up his report." "That would really help me
out a lot. This grand jury is probably going to be finished up this
week, and I know you want a quick resolution to this situation." "I
sure do, Bert. We all do down here. I'll take statements tomorrow
morning and have them typed and to you by evening. There'll be three
witnesses: Annie Marshall, Torn Mudter, and H. W. Fowler. They'll
appear on request; you won't have to subpoena them." "Good. That'll
save time. I'll tack this business on the end of their work load.
They should get to it this week, but it's possible
it could run over to next Monday or Tuesday." "Thanks, Bert." On
Monday morning, Sonny Butts and Charley Ward met with the city council,
a meeting called at the request of the police officers. As soon the
meeting had been called to order, Sonny was given the floor. Dressed
in a freshly pressed uniform, he stood erect before them, commanding
their attention. "Gentlemen, Officer Ward and I asked for this meeting
because of rumors circulating in town about an incident that took place
at the police station on Saturday night. This morning I want to read a
statement to you which describes the events of Saturday night." There
was a general nod of agreement. Sonny began. "Last Saturday night, at
approximately ten o'clock, Officer Ward and I approached one Marshall
Parker on Main Street. We wished to question him informally about
events which occurred some weeks ago when a report of illegal whiskey
at his place of business was telephoned to the sheriff's office.
"Parker became hostile and abusive, and it became necessary for us to
subdue and handcuff him before removing him to the police station and
book fng him on a charge of assault. The station logbook will show
such a booking. "At the station his handcuffs were removed and
questioning proceeded, but Parker remained hostile and became violent
and wild. Officer Ward and I tried desperately for ever al minutes to
subdue Parker, using reasonable force, but is we were about to handcuff
him he produced a knife and came at me. Officer Ward then had no other
alternative but to draw his service revolver and shoot the prisoner.
"Even after he had been shot once in the abdomen, Parker continued to
fight, but we were able to subdue him. We then took him immediately to
the office of Dr. Thomas Mudter for medical attention, where he died a
short time later of his wound. "We wish to stress that at no time did
we use other than reasonable force in dealing with the prisoner, and
thaa firearm was used only when-all other methods had failed.
"Immediately after the incident I informed Sheriff Willis of what had
happened and requested an immediate investigation by his office. He
has informed me that his investigation supports
my actions and those of Officer Ward, and that his report has been
forwarded to the county prosecutor. "Since that report is still
subject to grand-iury action, Officer Ward and I request that Officer
Ward and I not be required to comment beyond this statement until the
matter has been solved by the grand jury. This will protect our legal
rights in the meantime. "We further request that the city council
delay any further action in this matter until the grand jury has met on
it." Sonny knew before he finished that he had them. By taking action
first, before they did, he had effectively stalled them. Within a
matter of minutes the council had voted to suspend the officers only if
indicted and fire them only if convicted. Now he had to worry about
the grand jury, and that worried him a lot.
Billy had finished taking statements from Annie Parker, Torn Mudter,
and Mr. Fowler and was waiting for them to be typed, when he heard of
the council's decision. He had thought the least that-would happen was
that Butts would be fired, but now it would take an indictment just to
suspend him. Billy had lost the first round without throwing a
punch.
Booc vvo: Sonny Butts
0 BOB BLANK ENS P sat alone in the offices of the
Delano Messenger and pounded out a final sentence to a blistering
editorial on his Remington Noiseless. The editorial would cap the
front-page story of Marshall Parker's arrest and death at the hands of
the Delano police. It was the first 'time since he had bought the
paper that he had run a front-page editorial, and he looked forward to
the commotion it would cause. ;
He stacked the pages neatlYln his out tray, from which they would be
collected the following morning to be set in type, and switched off the
desk lamp. The newspaper office was now lit only partly by the street
lamp.
Blankenship stretched and took a deep breath. He loved the smell of
ink that permeated his place of work. It smelled, well-professional.
He rolled down his sleeves, retrieved his seersucker jacket from the
hat rack in the corner, checked the lock on the front door, and walked
out the rear entrance. As he turned to insert his key in the back-door
lock, hZ heard the scrape of as hoe on the gravel of the alley behind
him. As he turned to see who was there, something hard was rammed into
the small of his back, shoving him against the door.
"Ain't no need to turn around," a voice said, low and menacing. "Just
stand right there if you don't want to get blowed in
half." A hand took him by the back of his shirt collar and moved him
roughly away from the door, against the brick wall of the building. He
heard the sound of other feet. "Go on in there and see what you can
find," the voice said, apparently addressing someone else. Blankenship
heard someone open the door and enter the building.
"Look, we've got maybe fifty dollars of classified-ad money in a tin
box under the front counter. Just take it and go, okay?" He said it
without moving. He was being pressed hard against the brick.
"You just shut up, Blankenship."
He was quiet. After a couple of minutes he heard the second man
walking toward the door.
"Looka here," the second voice said. "A front-page editorial. How
'bout that." Blankenship heard the paper being ripped to shreds.
The gun was pressed even harder into his back. Oh, Jesus, he thought,
they're going to shoot me right here. A weakness started to come over
him, and his bowels felt loose. He sagged against the wall, but the
hand at his neck held him straight.
"Now, you listen here," the voice said. "There ain't going to be no
editorials, you got that? You take sides with the niggers and you
won't write nothing no more, 'cause you'll be dead. There ain't going
to be no editorials, and what you write better sound right to white
folks, you hear me?" the gun jabbed him in the back harder.
Blankenship nodded, weakly.
"What's that? Speak up."
"I hear you," Blankenship said.
"No editorials?"
"No editorials, no sides. Don't shoot me, please."
The hand yanked him away from the wall, shoved him through the back
door into the building, slammed the door, and locked it behind him with
his key. "We'll be looking for the paper on Thursday to see what you
print, you hear? And if you don't want your brains blowed out, you
don't say nothing to nobody about this." He stood still until he heard
footsteps away from the door and, a moment later, a car door slamming
further down the alley. An engine started, then faded away.
Blankenship sat down heavily at his desk and reached for the phone. He
banged on the receiver to get the operator to answer
faster, then he stopped and hung up the phone. Who was he calling? The
police? The sheriff? The phone rang, and he picked it up. "Mr.
Blankenship, this is the operator. Did you want to make a call? I'm
sorry, I was tied up on long distance." "No," he said wearily. "I
don't want to make a call. Never mind." He hung up. Who would he
call? Brooks Peters? Could a Baptist preacher help him? Billy Lee?
Who would Billy call? What could he prove? Nothing. He hadn't
recognized either of the voices. He was ashamed of the fear he felt.
He had spent most of the war editing a camp newspaper for basic
trainees at Fort Dix, New Jersey. Nobody had ever pointed a gun at him
before. He rested his head on the desk in the crook of his arm, like a
schoolchild taking a nap. On Tuesday, Marshall Parker was buried at
Galilee Baptist "the little frame building in the countryside bordering
Braytown. Billy and Patricia, Eloise, Henry and Carrie Fowler, Brooks
Peters, Torn Mudter, and Hugh Holmes were the only white face in
attendance, a pew having been reserved for them. Annie Parker
conducted herself with the same stoidsm she had shown since the moment
she had learned that Marshall was dead. Marshall's father, Jim Parker,
wept quietly through the serHolmes, who hod attended: any black
funerals in his time, was surprised at the restraint shown by the
congregation, which into the outdoors. There was none of the wailing
and eh display of grief he had expected. A heavy sadness seemed
congregation. Billy Lee could not have flt worse if he himself had
been the murderer. Late Thursday afternoon, Patrida Lee answered the
phone at the new house. The extent ion had jus been put in. "Is that
Miz Lee?" It was a woman's voice, white, country. "Yes, this is
Patricia Lee." " hey gon' come out there tonight." "What? Who's
coming out here?" The woman's voice sounded very far away, and
frightened. "I don't want you to get hurt. They gonna burn it; he said
they
Cmrs gonna burn it." "What? Burn what? Who is his' "It ain't
nobody. I just wanted to tell you. I don't want nobody to ge hurL" The
woman hung up. Patricia put the phone back on the radle and looked at
her watch. Nearly five-thirty. Billy had gone to Greenville to talk
with Bert Hill; then he was speaking to the Rotary Club in Warm Springs
on the way back, after that there was a meeting at somebody's house.
These were meetings he had committed himself to long before. If she
called him he would cancel and come home immediately. She didn't want
that. He needed to be campaigning, if things were as dose as Mr.
Holmes thought they were. She left the house, got into her car, and
drove to Delano. She parked in the alley behind McKibbon's Hardware
and went in. She walked to the sporting-goods department. McKibbon
finished with a customer and followed her. "Hey there, Patricia. How
you doing? You looking for something in a fishing rod?" "I'm He, Mac.
I'm looking for something in as hotgun He went to the glass gun case
and slid it open. "Something for Billy? His birthday or something?"
"Something for me, thank you. Billy hates shotguns." McKibbon peered
at her over his glasses. "For you ?" She laughed. "Mac,. I've shot
more birds than you've had hot dinners. Let's have a look at the
twelve-bore, there." "The double-barrel?" He fished it from the rack
and handed it to her, looking doubtful. She broke the gun, peered down
the barrels, hefted it, held it against her shoulder, and aimed.
"That's a Browning, prewar. Fellow sold it to me last month. It's in
real nice shape, real light, too." "Well, it's no Purdy, but it's all
right, I suppose. How much?" "Have to get a hundred and twenty-five
for that one. You picked the best one in the store, right off."
"Throw in a couple of boxes of shells and done," she said. "Fair
enough, I reckon." She began writing him a check. "Let me have a box
of num-her-nine bird shot and one of double-aught buckshot." He
plunked the boxes down onto the counter. "Double-aught, huh? You must
have some pretty big birds out there on your place."
Booc 'we: Sonny Buts "The biggest," she said, crooking the shotgun
under her arm and scooping up the shells, "white-sheeted
yellowbellies." "Huh?" She paused at the back door. "And Mac, if you
tell Billy I bought this, I'll come back and use it on you."
He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Mum's the word, Patricia.
Mum's the word."
It was just past eleven o'clock before she heard the cars. She hadn't
really believed they would come, but she was glad they had. She was
mad as hell. She slipped out of and behind the darkened trailer, as
the cars turned into the drive and stopped, dousing their lights. They
didn't need the headlights, because she had turned on every light in
the new house, including the outdoor flood lamps that illuminated the
drive. She knelt behind the trailer and set both boxes of shells on an
upturned cemefit block. She loaded with the number-nine bird shot and
snapped the gun shut, slipping off the safety. She stretched out
prone. The double-aught buckshot stood open and ready, just in cas
they came at her. She could see the men now, lighting torches. My
God, they were really wearing bed sheets, she thought. How absurd.
The men, eight of them, spread out and walked abreast up the newly
planted lawn. They stopped short of the driveway, and one of them
stepped forward of the others. Billy Lee," he shouted, "come out and
answer the justice of the Klan." Patricial judged that about sixty
yards separated them from her. She cradled the shotgun in her left
hand, her forearm vertical, her elbow well planted. She aimed low at
the speaker and squeezed off a round. The shot scattered, as she had
thought it would, and the leader and one other man caught some pellets.
There was a roar of cursing and yelling. She shifted her aim to the
right a bit and fired again, peppering another man. They were running
now, one of them clutching at his backside. She stood up and quickly
reloaded. She stood at the corner of the trailer and fired both
barrels into the air. The noise was tremendous. She managed to reload
and fire two more rounds before they were able to reach the cars and
tear out of the drive. She sat down on the steps of the trailer. She
was trembling,
she noticed, but she had neverin her life felt more jubilant. She did
not notice another car drive past, driven by Ralph McKibbon of
McKibbon's Hardware, who was laughing so hard he was crying. On the
front seat beside him was an unplugged pump shotgun, loaded with
buckshot, which he was glad not to have had to use. He could not wait
to tell his wife about this. After a few minutes Patricia went into
the trailer, cleaned the shotgun, and hid it and the shells. When
Billy came home she was in bed reading. "Hello, how did it go?" He
leaned over and kissed her. "Pretty good, I guess. Sorry to be so
late. The meeting after the dinner dragged on a little." "Did you get
any questions about the police thing?" "One. All I could say was that
it would go to the grand jury, and we'd see what happened there. As a
lawyer, I can hardly let myself get in a position where I'm seeming to
go outside the legal process." "I suppose not." "Did the Mgssenger
come? I want to see Bob Blankenship's editorial." "It's on the
kitchen table. I haven't had a chance to look at it myself." Billy
retrieved the newspaper and searched the front page. There was as hort
article in the bottom right-hand corner laying out the bare facts of
the case. There was no mention of Marshall's statement to Torn Mudter.
Confused, Billy looked for an editorial inside, but found nothing. "I
don't understand this," he said. "Bob took all these notes and
promised to run a big editorial. He was mad as hell when the council
didn't suspend Butts and Ward. I'm going to call him." "It's a little
late, isn't it? Why don't you talk to him in the morning?" "Dammit,"
he said, "I was counting on Blankenship to help get opinion stirred up.
There's no chance of that now. Bert Hill says the way his calendar is
moving, it's going to be Tuesday before this reaches the grand jury,
and the paper doesn't come out again until next Thursday." "And
Tuesday is election day." "Yeah."
FOXY UNDER BURKE hated to go to town on Saturdays. The streets were
crowded, it was difficult to find a parking place, and it was hard to
get waited on in the stores. But this Saturdayhe had a broken toilet,
and he had to have a part from town. After circling the block twice,
he found a parking spot in front of McKibbon's Hardware.
He was right, the store was crowded. Rather than wait for help, he
began rummaging about, looking for the plumbing he needed. ' "Lord,
Harry, you should have seen it." It was Ralph McKibbon's voice,
coming from behind a row of shelves. "Earl Timmons's sister-in-law is
a nurse over at LaGrange hospital, and she said four fellows showed up
there at one o'clock Friday morning, said they'd been in somebody's
watermelon patch, all of 'em had a butt full of bird sho, more or less.
They didn't give their right names, but she recogmzed one of 'em--it
was Emmett Spence!" He dissolved into laughter, then re, covered
himself. "Lord, if Hoss ever hears about it, he'll kill that boy!" He
was overcome again. Foxy moved on down the shelves until he found what
he wanted. Another ten minutes passed before he could get somebody to
charge his purchase, and Foxy was getting more fidgety by the minute.
He had been hunting for some weeks now, without suc
CHZS
cess. Every time he spotted a likely quarry, there was something
wrong--somebody nearby or something. He had actually picked up two
boys, but they had revealed in their conversation that they were
expected shortly somewhere, and he had reluctantly let them out of his
truck. The pressure was building unbearably now, and he was afraid
he'd rush into something and make a mistake. He couldn't let that
happen.
He was out of town and over the mountain before he saw the boy. Foxy's
heart leapt. He slowed down and coasted, taking a long look at him
before stopping.
"Hey, there, son. Where you headed."
"Florida, sir," the boy answered, smiling. "You going that way?"
"Well, that depends on how much of a hurry you're in."
"Oh, I'm not in that much of a hurry. I'm kind of enjoying the
trip."
"Nobody's looking for you to be down in Florida, then?" "No, sir, I
reckon they're not."
Foxy smiled. "Well, if you don't mind waiting just a little bit whil I
run by the house, I might give you a ride all the way to Daytona Beach.
That do you?"
"Yes, sir! That sure would!"
"Get in, then."
The boy got in, and Foxy drove away. He had not seen Sonny Butts
coming up the mountain, driving toward Delano in his ol'l car.
Sonny's mind was on his own problems, and he paid little heed to Foxy.
It would be some time before he remembered.
At church on Sunday morning Brooks Peters preached on the subject of
justice, and no one in attendance could have doubted his purpose.
Brooks stood at the Church door and shook hands with the members of his
congregation as they left. Some, Billy noticed, had words of
encouragement for the preacher, others muttered a brief greeting and
hurried out. Billy noticed that Patricia seemed to be drawing a lot of
attention, too, and not a few broad winks. "What's all that about?"
he asked her.
She seemed momentarily flustered, then said, "Oh, word's getting around
that I'm pregnant." "I thought the whole world already knew about
that. Lord
knows, I've been telling everybody." They had Sunday dinner with the
Fowlers; then Billy joined Brooks Peters and the other veterans at Torn
Mudter's. Billy opened the discussion. "I've talked at length with
Bert Hill about the grand jury. He says he thinks there's a good
chance for an indictment. There certainly wouldn't be any question
about it if Marshall Parker had been white, but there are some crusty
old rednecks on the grand jury, and Bert won't make any firm
predictions." He paused and looked around the room. "I don't see Bob
Blankenship here. Anybody know what's happened to him?" Brooks Peters
spoke up. "Something funny going on there. First, Bob backs out on
running an editorial about Marshall in Thursday's paper, then he goes
to his in-laws' in Brunswick today. Looks like he's not with us any
more." "I can't believe he'd change sides," said Billy, shaking his
head. "I think somebody's been bringing pressure to bear on Bob. I
couldn't get him on the phone all day Friday, and when I went b, the
newspaper office, he had already left for Brunswick. Strange. Anybody
else having problems?" There was a general negative muttering. "I'm
surprised that nobody fas said anything to me," said Brooks Peters. "I
guess having the ministerial association behind me has helped, but
folks have long memories. Those who are against what I've been saying
from the pulpit will get around to letting me know about it sooner or
later." Billy leafed through someotes. "Okay, status on the races.
From what I can gather we're in pretty good shape for the city council.
James Montgomery in Greenville is neck and neck with Skeeter Willis for
sheriff." Torn Mudter spoke up. "Skeeter has been mending fences and
keeping his head down. He went to a lot of trouble to seem to be doing
the right thing in the Parkerincident, but he's backing Sonny all the
way." "Right," said Billy. "About what we would have expected.
Skeeter's no fool. Well, in my race, Mr. Holmes thinks we're ' down a
little. We'll be lucky to pull it off." "Oh, I don't know, lilly,"
said Brooks Peters. "From what I hear, things are looking up for you."
He was smiling slightly, and so were some of the others. Billy was
puzzled. "You know something I don't?"
Brooks sat back, looking smug. "Oh, it's just what I hear. You're
going to the fair tomorrow night, aren't you?"
The Tri-Couny Fair opened its week's run the following day. "Sure,
we'll be there. I guess every other candidate in the area will be,
too. Can't pass up an opportunity to shake that many hands."
"How did your meeting go?" Patricia asked. They were driving home
late Sunday afternoon.
"Well enough, I guess. Brooks and some of the others seem more
optimistic. Seems he's been hearing something, but he wouldn't say
what."
Patrida blushed. "Ah, Billy--"
He turned and looked at her. "Yep?"
"There's something.." oh, damnit, I'd better tell you about it before
you hear it from somebody else!"
"Tell me about what?" He felt vaguely alarmed.
"Well, Thursday night, while you were in Warm Springs, we had some
visitors at the house."
"Visitors?"
"The kind in bed sheets."
"Are you talking about Klan, Patricia? Are you kidding me?" "No, they
dropped by, all right."
"Well, what happened? What did they do?"
"They... ran, mostly."
He stared at her for so long he nearly ran off the road. "Trish, come
on, tell me what the hell happened. 'e
"Well, I had this telephone call--anonymous--Thursday afternoon. A
woman, somebody's wifee I think. She said somebody was planning to
burn the place."
Billy whipped the car to the side of the road and stopped in a spray of
gravel and dust. "Why didn't you call me?"
"You had your speech, and I thought you needed to go." "All right, all
right, so what happened?"
"Well, they arrived, all right, all in their ridiculous bed sheets,
with torches, and marched up to the house. I waited behind the
trailer."
"You waited behind the trailer," he repeated tonelessly. "Then what
happened?"
"I, ah, dispersed them."
"Yeah? How did you do that?"
Booc 'we: Sonny Butts "With as hotgun "What?" "Well, it was only bird
shot," she said defensively. "I didn fire any buckshot. I was saving
that for if they came at me. They never did. They ran." "Where did
you get as hotgun "I bought it. At McKibbon's." "Ralph McKibbon sold
you as hotgun She whirled to face him. "And why the bloody hell not?
I'm damned good with as hotgun I grew up shooting on my father's land."
"But Trish, you can't go shooting shotguns at people. Was anybody
hurt?" "Of course, they were hurt! You think I'd miss with a shotgun
at that distance?" "Jesus Christ, did you kill anybody?" "No, just
wounded some pride, I think. I heard this morning' that.somebo:ly
answering the description of Emmett Spence turned up at La Grange
Hospital with three other men and some story about stealing
watermelons. They had an amount of birdshot tweezed out of their
arses, I believe." "Jesus Christ. I don't believe it." He shook his
head. "My wife taking as hotgun to the Klan." "Well, it needed doing.
You'd have just tried to reason with
He began to laugh, and she jointed in. They became hysterical, rolling
about the front seat of he car, tears running down their faces. It was
some minutes before Billy could speak again. "So that's what all the
winks and nudges were about at church this morning. That's what Brooks
was so amused about, too, I guess. God, I wish I'd seen it happen.
Emmett Spence, for God's sake." They both began to laugh again.
THE DOG woke Foxy, nuzzling him behind the ear. He jerked upright for
a moment, looking sharply about him, then relaxed and ]ay back on the
grass again. A light breeze wafted over the back yard, stirring the
pines over Foxy's head. He stretched/luxuriously, feeling pleasant and
secure. It. was Monday afternoon, and the boy was holding up very
well, even seeming to like it once and a while, Foxy thought. It had
been quite a weekend, and the boy was good for another day, at
least..
Foxy got up, put on his uniform cap, and went back into the house
through the kitchen door, whistling a little tune.
Sonny was up, bouncing on his toes, in high spirits. He had already
had a couple of snorts; he had never felt so good. He stopped by the
station house to make sure Charley Ward was awake and on duty. Charley
was on nights for the week.
"Hey, Sonny."
"How you doin', sport?"
"You're looking real sharp tonight. Gonna take in the fair?"
ou better believe it, buddy. You stay on your toes tonight, hear?
Don't go screwing up right now."
"Listen, Sonny, about tomorrow--you think we're gonna come out of that
grand jury thing okay?"
"Charley, I told you a hundred times, there ain't a thing to about.
Emmett Spence's daddy is on that grand jury, and of his friends. They
ain't never going to do a thing to a for killing a nigger. So you just
suck up your guts and still for another twenty-four hours, and we'll be
in the dear. but smooth sailing."
"Gee, I sure hope so, Sonny, this whole thing worries me
Sonny spun around. "Shut up, godararait! I'm sick and fucking down.
have to watch his temper. He was as nervous as Charley, wasn't about
to show it. He'd blow off a little steam at the and tomorrow he'd be
terrific.
On the way he stopped by the hotel and paid the porter ten pint of
Early Times. Fucking nigger, charging that price. He'd have to do
something about him and his bootlegging business later on, when things
had quieted bi
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, where did all that come from?" Paointing
through the windshield at the bright lights rides as they approached
the fairgrounds in the September "Did the Kiwanis Club buy all that?"
Billy laughed. "No, no, that's a traveling carnival. The Ki-Club
sponsors the fair, and they arrange all the exhibits award prizes, but
they hire a 'traveling carnival to provide and games. They get a ct of
the proceeds, I guess."
"I was expecting something like an English village fete, I sup-a lot of
mince pies and pin the tail on the donkey." "Don't worry, there won't
be any shortage of pies. I'm judg-a contest, remember? And, by the
way, don't forget to ask for
"You said you'd never eat my cooking again as long as you live."
"And I won't, not as long as we can afford a cook. But the don't know
that, and they'll be flattered if you ask how do it." "Will there be
any livestock?"
"Sure there will, a whole building full. Dammit, why didn't I think to
get you a job judging cattle. You know as much about tt as anybody
here, and the farmers would have loved it."
"Maybe I can buy a few head for the farm. We're going to need a
bull."
They bought tickets at the gate and entered the first of the exhibit
buildings, wandering up and down the rows of displays, the pickles and
pies, the science exhibits from the school. They shook hands and
flattered exhibitors and accepted congratulations on their coming
parenthood.
They ran into Hugh Holmes and Dr. Frank Mudter. Dr. Frank wasn't
holding up as well as Mr. Holmes, Billy thought. He looked quite
frail. Holmes called Billy aside.
"What do you think about the grand jury tomorrow?" "Touch and go, I
think. If we'd had some kind of a break, some witness besides
Marshall's statement, something else on Butts and Ward, maybe, we'd be
in a better position. What do you hear on the election?"
Holmes smiled. "Your wife's marksmanship is the best thing that's
happened yet, you know. That's the stuff legends are made of. That
story will stand you in good stead for more than just this election.
Makes me wish I'd bought Ginny as hotgun forty years ago."
"I didn't buy her that shotgun. She bought it herself. She never even
told me about it 'til it was all over."
"Just as well. You'd only have stopped her."
"That's what she said."
"You know Hss Spence isn't exhibiting any livestock this year? First
time since we started the fair. He's really humiliated over this thing
and mad as hell at Emmett."
"Couldn't happen to a nicer fellow. I hope Emmett can't sit down for a
month. I wish Hoss wasn't'on the grand jury, though. He won't do us
any good."
A little girl came and tugged at Billy's sleeve. ""Scuse me, Colonel
Lee," she said. "My mama says it's time for you to judge the pies."
"Careful," grinned Holmes. "A wrong step there could cost you the
election."
Billy gathered up Patricia and followed the child to the exhibit of
pies. For twenty minutes he wandered among them with a fork, testing,
judging, licking his lips, and rolling his eyes. Patricia, at the
edge of the crowd that had gathered to watch, could hardly keep from
laughing aloud.
Finally, he stood before the crowd with a pie in each hand
them. "Only my political enemies could have put in this position the
night before an election," he said, and laughed with him. "I believe
Abraham Lincoln once himself in this situation when he was running for
Con-in Illinois, and I surely do wish I could remember what it did
about it." The crowd laughed again. "I'm faced here the best peach
pie I ever tasted and the best sweet-potato ever tasted, and I'm
supposed to choose between them. It Billy looked up and saw Sonny
Butts, in civilian clothes, through the building toward the midway. He
brought mind back to his task. "The peach is such a beautiful fruit,
and, of course, it's the of our state, and Meriwether County produces
more than any county in America, so I guess a case could be that a
decision against the peach would be downright unpatriotic. That being
the case, I hope you can all appreciate what it'n act of poli,cal
courage I'm committing when I say I just have 'dgive it to the sweet
potato, because any cook who starts out th a sweet potato starts out at
a terrible disadvantage. Anyy who can make something as ugly as a
sweet potato taste as as this pie just has to get the blue ribbon." He
kissed the flushed winner on the -c'ek, presented the ribbons, and
fled. "That was very slick, Patricia said, when she caught up with him
outside the building.
I!
"Never mind that. Did you get the?cipe?" t "Both of them," she
laughed, trifirnphantly holding up two B scraps of paper.
I'
"Let's go look for a bull for you, before the lady who baked the peach
pie catches up with me."
Sonny floated down the midway in a haze of bourbon. He winked at the
girls, joked with their boyfriends, rode the rides, and rang the bell
with the mallet. He had never felt like this, never, he thought, and
he had never felt so horny, either. He had been out of action for more
than a week, while his bruises from the encounter with the two girls at
the pool were healing, but he was fine now. More than fine. When he
saw the girl he had an instant erection. She stood on a midway stage
with two other girls, doing some mild dancing to a record that blared
over loudspeakers. The girl was
young, dearly not more than eighteen or nineteen, but tall and big
breasted, just Sonny's type. A hawker droned on about the show inside,
and male customers started to file into the tent behind the stage,
leaving half-dollars with the hawker. A couple of beardless youths
were cheerfully turned away. Sonny flashed his badge at the hawker and
strolled into the tent.
Almost immediately, a man appeared at his elbow. "Could I have a word
with you, Chief?" He nodded toward a flap at the other side of the
tent.
Sonny went with the man.
"Listen, Chief, this is our first night, and we want to give the boys a
good show, you know? But we don't want any problems." "Sure, sport, I
get you. I'm here for the show, myself."
"Ah, that's just fine," the man said, and Sonny suddenly found a wad of
folded bills in his hand. "I hope you'll pass that on to your favorite
local charity. I'm sure you have some fine youth organization that
could use the help." He winked slyly at Sonny and left the tent.
Sonny rejoined the crowd. The show began, to the hoots and hollers of'
the audience. The three girls worked methodically through their
dances, teasing, stripping, but not all the way. Each ducked into the
wings at the climactic moment, leaving the crowd begging for more. Then
the hawker appeared and started a pitch for the "insider's show," and
most of the men paid another fifty cents to sta.
There was no stage, simply a two-by-four separating men from girls. Now
the girls came back and bumped their way dose along the fence, just out
of reach, naked except for G-strings and pasties. Then they worked in
even closer, allowing a feel here and there.
The young girl stopped before Sonny, dancing just for him. She came
dose and allowed him to get an arm around her waist and his hand under
the G-string for a moment before slipping away, grabbing briefly at his
crotch. Then the show was over, and after a lot of fruitless calls for
an encore the men slowly filed out of the tent. Sonny stayed,
unsatisfied, throbbing all over.
He ducked under the two-by-four and walked quickly to the flap where
the girls had disappeared. He found himself outside, behind the tent,
facing a small trailer. The manager, the man who had given him the
money, was quickly beside him.
"Can I help you, Chief?"
l/ "Where's the girl?" Sonny demanded. lt;' "Well, she's resting 'lil
the next show Come back for that e Glad to have you.
i. I think I'd like a little private show, is what I'd like. Where
she?"
t. i'NoW look, Chief, the girl's awful new at this, and besides",
jhe s married, just been married a co-u, ple of months, you know?
[fe slipped his through Sonny s and began steering him ack into the
tent. Listen, I tell you what, come on back around when we close down
for the night, 'bout twelve, and I'll
[ntroduce you to the little brunette, remember her? You'll have a al
good time, believe me." " Sonny jerked his arm free and headed for the
trailer. Not ter, and not the brunette," he said. "The tall one, and
now."
le opened the trailer door and stepped in. The girl was sitting at
tiny dressing table in a dirty terry doth bathrobe, eating choc Iolat,
e,.s from a box. " "Hey, ere sweetheart Sonny purred, walking toward
her.
B "You don't want to go ruining your figure with all that candy."
B The girl stood up and backed away from him. The robe fell
B.open to reveal a large, beautifully formed breast. She quickly
$natched it shut anded it. The manager was quick into the
?ra,i!er behind Sonny. "Cherry, this here's the Delano chief of
!"pol!,ce,d uh, he admired your performance, and--"
"Get Him out of here, Jimmy," the girl said quickly.
"Now, Cherry, you want to be nice to the chief, this being your first
and all." ' nit : Yeah, said Sonny, unbuttoning his pants, "be nice to
me, Cherry."
The girl turned and pushed open a window behind her.
"Danny!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "Danneeee!"
The manager was trying to quiet her and get Sonny out of the trailer
when the door was yanked open and as hort heavily muscled young man
barged in. He looked at Sonny. "Okay, Hiram,
the show's over, now get your ass out of here." He grabbed Sonny's arm
and started dragging him toward the door. Sonny whipped out a
blackjack and swung wildly at the young man,
grazing the bridge of his nose. He tripped and fell down the trailer's
short steps into the sawdust, and Sonny was all over him.
"Hey, Rube!" the man screamed, shielding himself from the blackjack
with his arms as best he could. "Shut up, Danny," the manager
whispered loudly. "The guy's a cop! He's the fucking chief of police,
for crissakes!"
Billy and Patricia were walking down the midway with Torn Mudter when
they saw people running toward the lower end of the fairgrounds. They
followed quickly am came to the edge of a crowd of at least fifty
people. There was something going on, but they couldn't see well.
They burst onto the midway, swinging wildly, Sonny using the blackjack,
the manager holding back a group of carnival workers who had responded
to Danny's call for help, saying, "Stay out of it, the guy's a cop, and
Danny's on his own." Sonny was in a kind of frenzy. He was taking
some punches, but the blackjack hurt where it hit. His opponent was
bleeding heavily from the nose. Sonny stayed back, jabbing with his
left hand, keeping the man away from him, using the blackjack with his
right. He loved the feel of it when the leather billy struck home. He
used it on the man's upper arms and on his ribs, he didn' twat him
going out too soon; this was too good. Danny fell to one knee, and
Sonny lashed out with his foot, catching him under the chin, unaware of
the crowd quickly forming around him. Danny sprawled backwards, and
Sonny followed, kicking the semiconscious man wherever he could, in the
ribs, in the face. Something wonderful was welling up inside Sonny,
something more powerful than anything he had felt since the war. He
was on the verge of release, when suddenly he was yanked backward by
the collar and sprawled, full-length, in the sawdust. He was back on
his feet instantly, the excitement pouring from him; then he stopped.
Colonel Billy Lee was standing between him and his victim. "That's
enough, Sonny," the colonel was saying quietly, but urgently. "Give me
the blackjack." Sonny looked around him and saw the crowd for the
first time, looking at him in horror. He tried to speak, but failed.
Finally he was able to say, "Resisting arrest." The colonel took the
blackjack from him and flung it away. "Butts!" Another voice from
behind him. He turned and faced Hugh Holmes. "Now, listen to me. I
want you to go home right now." Sonny started to speak again, but
Holmes waved him
"No, I don't want to hear it. You just go home and stay I'll talk with
you tomorrow." Sonny looked around at the crowd again. Women were
hus-their children away from the scene. No one was saying a They were
just staring at him. He realized that his fly was and he quickly
buttoned it. He flushed. The front of his was soaking wet. He turned
and started up the midway, the crowd gave way before him. He was
confused. It must booze. He had to go home and think.
While Torn Mudter bent over Sonny's bloody victim, Billy the policeman
half walk, half run, up the midway, but was not at the fair. He was in
a London pub on WE listening to a young infantry captain tell him a war
story, worst war story he had ever heard.
HIDLMES put down the phone. Billy realized that it was the first time
he had ever seen the banker truly angry. "that's the last one," Holmes
said. "The full city council will meet at noon tomorrow." "Do you
think there's any chance at all they'll back him?" Billy asked.
"They'll back him over my dead body," said Holmes, and Billy felt that
they might finally be about to see the last of Sonny Butts. Holmes got
up and poured Billy and Patricia a drink. They had arrived at his
house only as he Was finishing with his calls. Holmes sat down again.
"I've got the carnival manager to agree to press charges for assault
and battery, if necessary, though he was afraid to do it at first, and
he told me Sonny extorted some money out of him to let him keep the
hootchykootchy show open, too. If the council shows any resistance at
all to getting rid of Sonny I'll plunk down that complaint on the
table, and we'll see what happens then. In anticipation of Butts's
going I've already asked the governor for some state-patrol help while
we look for a replacement." Patricia spoke up. "I suppose it doesn't
matter, now, what the grand jury does." "Oh, yes, it does matter,"
said Billy. "Butts has to go to jail,
or maybe to a mental hospital." Holmes looked surprised. "You think
he's crazy?" "Didn't he look crazy to you tonight? The man's a menace
to dvilized society. He's got to be put away." Holmes took an
unusually large pull at his bourbon. "Billy, I owe you an apology."
"How do you mean?" "It's my fault that this thing has gone so far. I
had a lot of reservations about Butts from the beginning, and I should
have spoken up." "You had no way of knowing what would happen." "No,
but when the rumors about the beatings down at the jail started, I
should have known they were true, I should have stepped in. Marshall
Parker would still be alive today if I had done something about that
early on." Billy shook his head. "No, sir, you can't blame yourself."
Billy could not absolve himself, though. If he had been quicker to
underfiand, if he had taken responsibility sooner .... Well, he would
have to live with that; he would have to find a way to make up for it.
Sonny was late getting to the station. He was hung over as hell, and
Charley would just have to work a couple of extra hours. He wondered
why Charley hadn't been on the phone, complaining. But Charley wasn't
at the station. When Sonny walked in he found a uniformed state-patrol
sergeant sitting at Charley's desk. "Chief Butts?" The patrolman
stuck out his hand. "Morning, I'm Dave Barker, from the La Grange
post. My commander sent me down here to give you a hand, seeing as how
you're short an officer. I relieved your other man, Ward. Hope that
was okay." "Yeah, sure, uh, Dave." He motioned toward his office.
"I'll be in here if anybody needs me." He started toward the door.
"Oh, Chief." "Yeah?" ' "There was a message from a Mr. Holmes about
half an hour ago. He says you're to be at City Hall at twelve-thirty
today for a city council meeting, without fail. He says just to wait
in the city manager's office until they're ready for you." The
patrolman seemed to avoid his eyes and turned quickly back to his news
Sonny stood frozen in the doorway. "Yeah, okay," he was finally able
to say. He went into his office and closed the door.
In Greenville, Bert Hill called the case against Sonny Butts and
Charley Ward before the grand jury. His first witness was Annie
Parker.
"Annie Parker, you are the widow of Marshall Parker?" " essir."
"What did your husband do for a living?"
"He had a garage. He was an automobile mechanic." "His own business,
was it?" "Yes sir."
"Where did he get the money to start this business?"
"He saved most of it up in the army, and he borrowed some of it from
Mr. Holmes at the bank."
"Marshall served in the army, did he?"
"Yes sir. He got some medals, too. The biggest one was a Silver Star,
in Italy."
Hill le that sink in with the grand jury for a moment, before
continuing his questioning.
Sonny sat at his desk 'for nearly an hour, staring straight ahead of
him. He had to think of something, had to think of a way out of this,
but his mind wouldn't work. He dug a bottle out of a desk drawer and
took a long pull. After a moment, he took another one.
"Mr. Fowler, what is your business?"
"I have a dry-goods store in Delano, on Main Street." "Were you
acquainted with Marshall Parker?"
"Yes sir, he was a customer at my store, a good customer, paid his bill
on time every month. Better than a lot of white people,"
There was a small stir among the grand jurors. Bert Hill was sorry
Fowler had said that. He hurried on to his next question. "Did
Marshall Parker come into your store on Saturday night a week ago?"
"Yes sir, he did. He and his wife, there,"
"Did you smell any liquor on Marshall Parker?" "No, sir, I did not.
He was as sober as I was." "How would you describe his frame of
mind."
"He was in a real good mood. He said he'd had his best week since he
opened his business, and he wanted to buy his wife a new dress."
Booic two: Sonny Butts In the back of the room Annie Parker began to
cry. It was the first time she had let anyone see her cry since
Marshall's death.
Sonny paced the office like a caged animal, thinking, thinking. He
needed a good arrest, something to make him look good to the city
council, but what? Traffic tickets wouldn't do it this time. He
thought about the porter at the hotel, the bootlegging business. Not
good enough. Besides, half the council probably bought liquor from
him. Sonny needed something bigger, more important. The phone rang in
the station room. The patrolman stuck his head in the door.
"Phone for you, Chief."
Sonny snatched up the instrument. "Chief Butts."
"Hey, Sonny, it's Tank Talbot, up in Atlanta."
It took Sonny a moment to concentrate. Oh, yeah, Tank was in
sate-police headquarters.
"Yeah, Tank, how you doing?"
"Not bad. Listen, you know those missing persons cases you called me
about a little while back?"
Sonny sat up straight. "Yeah, sure, what about them? You got
something new on 'em?"
"Naw, not on them ones, but I got a fresh one for you, might be down
your way."
"Yeah?"
"There'll probably be a bulletin in your morning mail, but I
thought you might miss it."
"Yeah, Tank, thanks a lot." Son'ay quickly found the bulletin in the
mail on his desk. Tank read aloud from it.
"Name, Harvey Charles Mix; age, seventeen; five eight;
hundred and thirty-five; blonde hair; green eyes; no scars or markings.
Sounds like them others, don't it?"
"Sure does, Tank. Got anything else?"
"He's from Chattanooga; his folks think he might be headed for
Florida."
"That might bring him through here, all right."
"Damn right, listen to this. This is new. He called home Fri day
night, and his daddy got the operator to check on it. He called from
Newnan."
"That's forty miles north of here."
"Right, and if he was hitchhiking to Florida he'd have to take
Highway 41 south, there's no other road, and that brings him right to
you."
"Fhat sounds good, Tank. Anything else" "That's it." "Okay, I'll
check it out and let you know if I find out anything." Sonny hung up.
His hands were trembling. His mind flashed through the file in his
bottom drawer, the missing boys, the circle of marks around Delano,
Foxy's nervousness when he visited unannounced. Then Saturday morning
came back to him. Somebody getting into Foxy's truck over the
mountain. He tried to remember. Did he see a blond head? Yes. Yes!
He quickly slipped the bulletin into the file and started for the door.
Optimism flooded through him now. This was all he needed. Before the
day was finished, he'd be a hero again. They wouldn't be able to lay a
finger on him. He charged through the station room, startling Sergeant
Barker. "Be back in a while, Sarge," he shouted over his shoulder. In
the parking lot he paused at his car and turned instead to the
motorcycle. It started on the first kick, and he roared up the hill
toward Broad Street, revving flat out through the gears. Barker got,
to the front door in time to see him take the corner at Broad Street
and turn up the mountain.
"Dr. Mudter, have you attended dying men before?" "I was a medical
office ring the army, in the Pacific, the island invasions. I saw them
by the hundreds." "Those that were able to speak before they died.
What did they have to say." "They had messages for loved ones. If
they felt guilty about something they wanted to confess." "Has it been
your experience that men in those circumstances tell the truth?" "Yes,
it has. Why would a dying man lie?" "Did you feel that Marshall
Parker told you the truth?" "I very definitely did. I told him how
important it was for him to tell me the truth. He knew he was
dying."
Sonny flew up the mountainside, over the crest, and down the hill to
the turnoff to Foxy's house. He shifted down and drove more slowly.
The motorcycle could be very quiet at low speeds. Further up the dirt
road, at the top of the hill, he cut the engine and coasted silently
down toward Foxy's house. It appeared around a bend, seeming quite
normal, its flower beds and trees laid out in perfect symmetry. He
bore down around the house,
Boole ?wo: Sonny Butts heading 'for the rear. Beyond the detached
garage he could see something, someone.
As Dr. Torn Mudter finished his testimony, Skeeter Willis entered the
grand-jury room and whispered something to the prosecutor. There was a
brief exchange between them, and Bert Hill nodded. Skeeter went to the
door and beckoned to someone. A tall, thin black man entered, and
Skeeter pointed him toward the witness chair. He was sworn in, and
Bert Hill addressed him. "Walter Johnson, is that your name?"
"Yassuh. They calls me Pieback, though." The man was sweating and
trembling slightly. "What is your occupation?" "Well, I cuts some
grass and does some odd jobs." "Where were you on Saturday night, a
week ago?" "I was in jail, suh." "In the Delano jail?" "Yassuh."
.
Sonny got off the motorcycle, walked as quietly as he could to the
corner of the garage, and looked around. Foxy was standing with his
back turned, some ten yards up the hillside, stripped to the waist,
leaning against as hovel There was a mound of fresh red Georgia earth
beside him. He was sweating profusely.
Sonny felt like a balloon that had been filled with an intoxicating
gas. He stepped out from behind the garage. "Hey, there, Foxy baby!"
" Foxy whirled, astonished, his eyes bulging. Sonny threw back his
head and laughed loudly. "Hey, I didn't mean to scare you, buddy.
Just paying another friendly little call. Told you I would, didn't I?"
He laughed again. Foxy looked wildly about him. He seemed to be
trying to gather his wits. Sonny threw up a hand. "Hey, now, buddy,
don't get nervous on me. Just a friendly little call. Am I
interrupting something?" He began to walk slowly up the hill toward
Foxy, who began backing away. "Hang on, there, don't run off on me. I
want to see what you're planting there." Sonny continued up the
hillside. He looked quickly around to be sure that Foxy had no gun.
He walked past the mound of earth and stopped, looking down into
H
the hole. The corpse of a teenage boy lay pitifully before him; the
eyes seemed to stare at Sonn 's belt buckle. "Well, looka here," he
said, half over his shoulder to Fox, half to himself. "Look what we
got here." He threw back his head again and laughed wildly. "Foxy,
you old fart, do you know what you've done? You've went and saved my
ass, do you know that?" lie looked around him. "And when I get some
nig ers up here with picks and shovels, I bet you're gonna make me
fucking lie put his hands on his hips and rocked up on his toes. A
rush of joy pounded through him, and he had a split-second fantasy of
some sort of presentation ceremony, where Hugh holmes and Billy Lee
were pinning a big medal on him. He rocked back on his heels and up on
his toes again, sucking in a hue breath, and then the back of his head
seemed to explode. The wind flew from him in a garbled noise, and he
pitched forward into the yawning red hole before him. Foxy had
swiveled nearly a full 36o degrees in swinging the shovel, and he sat
down abruptly, his legs in a tangle, the long-handled shovel over his
shoulder. Sonny swam in a sea of black-and-red semiconsciousness for
what seemed like several minutes, unable to sort his thoughts or make
sense of what had happened to him. Then he was suddenly brought to a
level of alertness by something striking him sharply across the
shoulders. He opened his eyes, trying to orient himself, and pushed
upward just far enough to focus on a pair of dead eyes six inches from
his own. He realized he was lying face down in the grave on top of the
boy's corpse. He was struck again from behind, and this time he
noticed dirt trickling down around his neck and onto the body beneath
him. Christ, the old bastard was burying him alive! He struggled to
get his arms beneath him in a better position to rise, and as he did,
Foxy stepped into the grave, straddling him, and ripped his service
revolver from its holster. Sonny, still struggling, heard the pistol
being cocked, but never heard the explosion that followed the bullet as
it smashed into the back of his skull. Nor did he feel the pistol land
on his back, nor the earth that followed it.
Billy could see Patricia standing behind the house, waving to him, as
he tramped across the pasture, the dog at his side carrying a stick in
his mouth, begging for Billy to throw it once more. Patricia was
holding her hand to her head as if it held a phone. He walked slowly
across the last few hundred yards to the house, in no hurry for news.
He had gone out at midmorning, taking a sandwich and a bone for the
dog. He had relished the solitude and the company of the retriever,
knowing that he had done all he could do on every front, that
everything now depended on others. He had walked over his fields and
through his woods---places he had not known since he had last walked
this way with his father. He had thought a lot about his father during
the day, wished he could be here, wished that Will Henry had lived to
see the grandchild that would be born the following spring. Wished he
could tell him the things he had learned as a man, things he could not
tell Mr. Holmes, nor even Patricia--not yet, anyway.
"Will you hurry up, for God's sake!" she shouted across the last
hundred yards. "It's Bert Hill, in Greenville."
He wped htseet on a burlap bag at the back door of the new house and
walked over the bare floors and through the empty rooms to the front
hall and the phone.
"Billy?"
There was regret even in the way the man spoke his name. "Yes,
Bert."
"Billy, the news is bad. I'm sorry, I've been had on a platter."
"What happened, Bert."
"Skeeter fed me a witness at the last nute, and I bought it, and put
him on."
"A witness? Who?"
"Do you know a colored fellow called Johnson? Pieback Johnson?"
"Sure, he's the town drunk. One of 'em, anyway."
"He claimed to have been in jail that Saturday night on a di'unk charge
and to have seen everything. He backed Sonny's story to the hilt. The
grand jury wouldn't indict."
Billy sank down onto the marble floor. ,
"Billy, you there?"
"Yeah, Bert, I'm here. Look, there was no way to see that coming; it's
not your fault."
"I still feel rotten about it, though."
"Butts is going to get fired anyway, he beat up a guy at the fair last
night, and Holmes took it to the council. I'm sure he'll be
able to dump Butts."
"He'll still be a free man, though."
"Yeah, but at least he won't be a cop any more. Nobody'd ever hire him
again after what's happened. We might even be able to get him on an
assault with a deadly weapon. He had a blackjack. There's some talk
about extortion, too."
"Anything I can do, Billy, please believe that. I'd love to nail the
bastard."
"I'll let you know after I've talked with Holmes, Bert." "Any news on
the election yet.;"'
Billy looked at his watch: 'he polls close in half an hour, at eight.
We're having an open house down here after that. We'd love to see
you."
"Thanks Billy, but I'm whipped. This isn't the best day I've had for a
while."
"See you soon, then."
Patricia was standing next to him. He told her the news. "Never mind.
Mr. Holmes called earlier, said he had good news. He ought to be here
in a few minutes. Why don't you get changed?"
It was half past eight before Holmes and his wife arrived, and a number
of guests were already drinking punch and wandering through the nearly
completed house. He pulled Billy aside into what would be Billy's
study.
"First of all, I know about the grand jury. Bert Hill called me. It's
as hame but it probably isn't going to matter much after what's
happened."
"What happened at the council meeting
"It went well. There was a resolution to fire Butts. There was no
reason to do anything about Charley Ward until after we heard from the
grand jury, but I had a little talk with him this afternoon, and he's
quit, resigned."
"What about the carnival manager? I've been thinking about that. Those
people will be on the road again next week, and we'll have one hell of
a time getting him back here to testify."
"It looks like that won't be necessary. Sonny Butts took off this
morning?"
"Took off ?"
"Left town, apparently, ran. Damndest thing, he didn't go in his own
car; he took the police motorcycle!"
we: Sonny Butts 297 i "But that doesn't make any sense. Why would he
do that?" "The way I figure it is Butts was so scared about the grand
and about the council, that he didn't wait around for the he just
bolted. But the state patrol has been to his place, he apparently
didn't take anything with him, clothes or any "But if he were going to
try and run for it he'd surely take he could, and he wouldn't run on
something as conspicu-as a police motorcycle. That would be completely
crazy." Holmes shrugged. "So is Sonny Butts." Billy nodded. "You've
got a point there. He must have just [ his cork." "That's what I
think." Holmes grinned. "And if he ever does up, he'll have to face a
charge of stealing the motorcycle."
Some time later Holmes was called to the phone. Billy as he stood in
the hall and talked. Holmes returned to bare, living rq ... om, and
called for silence. "Ladies and Gentle-as you may have heard, there
has been a Democratic pti: mary in the state of Georgia today, which is
as good as an As a result, you will, early next year, experience a in
your elected officials. I have some results here." He small notebook.
"Sheriff Skeeter Willis has been reelected." There was a murmer of
disappointment. "In the city council races, Ellis Woodall and Dr. Torn
Mudter have be elected, you veterans will be glad to hear, and, perhaps
moremportant to those here, state-senate seat heretofore occupied by
your humble servant been handily won by our host." He raised a hand
toward and Patricia. "Senator Lee, come over here and make us a
apeech."
' That night Billy and Patricia dragged their mattress from the trailer
over to the new house, up the stairs, and into the master bedroom.
Billy opened all the windows to let. in the cool night air, and they
slept in each other's arms. Billy woke in time to watch the sun rise
over the woods and fields behind the house, and though he was no more a
farmer than his father had been, he felt that he had returned to the
land. He tiptoed down the stairs, walked to the trailer, and,
rummaging in his tiny desk, found the family Bible. He opened it
and ran his finger slowly down the generations of his people to the
point where his marriage to Patricia was recorded, and to the blank
space where his child's name would be written.
He walked back to the house, into his new study, and placed the Bible
carefully on the walnut mantelpiece. Then he climbed the stairs,
crawled into bed with his wife, and quickly fell asleep again.
Tucker Watts
I AI INDIAN SUMMER DAY gave way to the cool of an early-autumn, New
England evening in 2962. As the sun sank into theea, the small group
moved closer to the driftod fire they had built on the beach at Gay
Head, on the island Martha's Vineyard. The women were getting ready to
steam ms and left the men to their conversation, which, as always,
ncerned politics. "All right," one of them said. "Let's nt labor the
point. Let's t assume for the sake of argument thalhe does decide to
dump ndon. Who do we want, and why?" "You mean who does he want,
don't you?" "No, I mean who do we want. He's going to ask, you mow, d
we'd better have an answer when he does." "A southerner or a
westerner," somebody said. "Yeah, but a liberal southerner or
westerner," somebody reed. "I didn't know there were any."
"Comparatively speaking, then." "Yeah." The conversation continued for
a few minutes, and names re bandied about. "Those are the names I
heard before the convention, before don," said the senior man, the one
who had first asked the
question. "Isn't there somebody new, fresh, that we haven't
considered? Can't we apply some imagination to this problem?" "How
about the lieutenant governor of Georgia?" Heads swiveled. The voice
belonged to a member of the group who had not yet spoken at all.
"What's his name--Lee? Well, that's imaginative, David. Tell us why,"
said the senior man. Kass was New York, Jewish, NYU, instead of
Boston, Catholic, and Harvard. It intrigued him that the suggestion
had come from that quarter. "Okay," said Kass. "Forget for a moment
that he's only a lieutenant governor and not nationally known. I'll
get to that in minute. He's an interesting man." "What's his
background like?" "Born on a farm, son of a failed coon farmer who
became a small-town chief of police and got shot gunned for his
trouble; Andy Hardy upbringing, law school, the war. Bomber pilot in
England, pulled down a DFC and a purple heart. Not exactly lo9, but he
got a B-27 that was all shot up and the crew back in one piece when
most guys would have abandoned. Married an Irish girl he met in
London, one son, good law practice, cattle farmer. He established a
reputation early on for defending blacks in tough cases." "Now he's
beginning to sound interesting." "Several terms in the state senate,
effective there, in spite of a reputation for being soft on
segregation. Ready for this one? Supported JFK for vice-president at
the '56 convention." "Applause, applause. Prescient, wasn't he?" "Not
exactly. Elected lieutantant governor in '59, supported Lyndon in
'6o." "Oh, shit." "Not necessarily. He came over quickly when we got
the nomination and worked his ass off in the general election, when
people like Herman Talmadge were sitting on theirs. Instrumental in
our taking Georgia." "That's better." "Moderate to conservative on
fiscal matters. You don't get elected in Georgia if you're not. But
he's been a leading voice of moderation and compromise on race issues.
Pushed for better jobs for blacks, backed desegregation of public
facilities. There's a story, apparently true, that his wife once
fought off a bunch of Klansmen with as hotgun
"No kidding? That's terrific. Imagine what you could do with in a
', he wouldn't pass for a flaming liberal in Mas. but he'll do, for a
southerner."
like you've been doing some research on him,
Maybe you can tell us why he went with Lyndon in '6o, he supported JFK
for VP in '56?" "Remember a guy named Hugh Holmes?" "Uh, something
with Roosevelt, wasn't he?"
"Informally. Roosevelt saw a lot of him on the Warm Springs
Apparently had a lot of respect for him. Anyway, Lee is a of Holmes,
and Holmes and Lyndon have known each for a long time. I suspect that
influenced Lee's judgment at time. He's firmly in our camp now,
though." "How's he come off, personally?"
"He's no redneck. Pleasant southern accent, dean-cut, forty but looks
younger, in good shape---tennis player. Dresses
He's no intellectual giant, but he's bright. Well , knows a few
politidans in England and Ireland through wife's family."
"Is the wife Catholic?"
"No, Protestant family. Goes to the Baptist Church with him.
the cattle farmer, apparently, and good at it. Handsome good
campaigner."
"Okay, what's the catch. Booze Women?"
"Light drinker, straight arrow, 'from all accounts. If he fools he
knows how to keep ituiet."
"Does JFK know him?"
"They've met a number of times. Got along. Bobby spent a with him in
Atlanta during the campaign. He was im
"Sounds too good to be true."
In the firelight, Kass could be seen to grin. "Did I mention he's a
brigadier general in the Air National Guard? Com-. an air-transport
group." "Come on, David, you're making this up." "I kid you not."
"Barry Goldwater would shit in his pants. Okay. what's the
' isn't he better known?"
'me catch is, he's only a lieutenant governor. Can you name lieutenant
governor of any state except Massachusetts?"
CHI 1$
"No, now that you mention it. So how does he overcome that?" "He runs
for governor in '63. Georgia governors are elected in off years. But
there's still a catch." "Yeah?" "The race question has hardened up
now. If he runs as a liberal he'll have a tough time winning." "And if
he backs off on race we can't use him." "Right." "What do you think
are his chances?" "No better than even right now, and they could get a
lot worse. A wrong move, a misstatement, and he's down the tube."
"Then why are we even talking about him this early?" "You asked. And
he's worth it." "What can we do to help him?" "I'll have a look in
the pork barrel." "Careful, now, we don't want to put some
congressman's nose out of joint. Tell you what. S nd his file to me
Monday ,"norning--I'm assuming you've collected a file, or you wouldn't
know so much--and I'll slip it to the boss when the time is right."
"Okay." The senior advisor grinned. "Oh, David?" "Yeah?" "How does
he get along with Georgia'slews "Just dandy." "I thought so."
BILLY LEE arrived at his office in the Georgia Capitol shortly before
nine, having picked his way through the heavy traffic from Dobbins Air
Force Base in Marietta. It was mid-November, and his group had been on
alert, ready to be called to active duty, since mid-October, when the
Cuban missile crisis had taken place. Billy had been working since
that time to ready his unit for call-p, and he was relieved to be going
back to a normal schedule, aw that the crisis had abated.
His mail was stacked neatly on his desk in two piles, one of letters
which his secretary, the formidable Sarah, had opened and screened, and
one of those which appeared personal or of sufficient importance to be
seen first by him. He was continually amazed at her uncanny ability to
decide in which stack a letter belonged. He could not remember her
ever having erred in that or any other regard, and he once again
blessed the day that the Georgia dvil service had disgorge, her into
his office on the occasion of his inauguration.
He hung up his overcoat, turned to his desk, and was immediately
transfixed by the sight of a pale, green envelope resting on top of the
"private" stack. He had received one or two letters from the president
before, routine notes prepared by some anonymous White House staffer
and, probably, signed by a machine; what struck him about this one was
that it had been addressed
by hand, and not the perfect hand of a top-notch secretary.
He picked it up and stared at it for a moment. It had been addressed
to his home and forwarded. He had not been home for a month. He
gingerly opened the envelope and unfolded the paper.
Dear Billy
I heard on the grapevine that on the recent inspection tour the o9th
came out head and shoulders above any other ANG group in readiness.
I've sent my official thanks to the unit, but I wanted to let you know
personally how much I appreciate your doing such a fine job. I know it
took you away when the legislature was in session, and I'm glad we
didn't have to call you to active duty in the end.
Next time you're up this way, let me know you're coming, and let's get
together for a chat.
With best regards, Jack Kennedy
Billy read the letter again, then placed it carefully in his brief cas.
He was astonished that the man had taken time to write the note, and he
was giddy with flattery. He had been hearing a lot from the
administratior, lately. That fellow Kass had been down in early
October, and if Billy had read him correctly, he could expect an
endorsement, perhaps even personal campaigning from the president when
he ran for governor, although nothing had been promised, and the man
had made it clear that the administration was looking to him for
progressive action in race matters. Kass had also brought him
confirmation of some mass-transit money for Atlanta from the federal
government, something the city had not hold to get for months. The
governor was still wondering how Billy had done that. Billy hadn't
done it at all, really. It had just fallen into his lap.
He was pondering all this when Sarah came on the intercom, and if he
hadn't been preoccupied, he might have paid closer attention to the
telephone conversation which followed. "Chief Breen on the line,
Governor."
"Who?" He struggled to concentrate on the name.
'he chief of police. Of Atlanta. You asked his help a few weeks ago,
remember?"
"Oh, sure, put him on." It had been more than a month since he had
talked with the chief.
"Morning, Chief."
Book TRE: Tucker Watts' Morning Governor. You asked me a few weeks
ago to keep an eye out for a man for you, a chief for Delano." Breen
never wasted time with pleasantries. "Yes, Chief." Billy was
surprised to hear from the man. They had bumped heads a couple of
times on the question of more black officers on the Atlanta force.
"I've come across a man who seems very well qualified. He's a major in
the army, commands the MP unit out at Fort MePherson. Retiring next
month." "Retiring? How old is he?" "Only in his early fifties.
Joined real young, apparently. He applied to us, but we have a policy
of promoting from within, and we couldn't offer him anything anywhere
near the level he'd want. I mentioned Delano to him, and he seemed
interested. He's from Columbus, originally, and knows the town from
driving through." "Sounds like an interesting fellow. I'd like to meet
him." "I'lLsend a man over with a rsum& he left with me, and your
secretary can set up an appointment for hims" "Sounds good. What's the
man's name? Ah, "Billy heard some papers shuffle. "Tucker Watts."
"Chief, I appreciate your remembering about this." "Oh, glad to do it,
Governor, glad to do it. Any time." As they hung up, Billy thought the
chief had delivered his last statement with a lot of relish, more than
he would have expected, but his mind was again occupied by the signals
coming out of Washington, and he th0'ught no more about it. He buzzed
his secretary. "Sarah, Breen is sending over a sum on a major out at
Fort Mac named Watts. Will you set up an appointment with the man as
soon as possible, please? It's about the job in Delano." "Certainly,
Governor. Mr. Holmes is calling from Delano." He picked up the phone.
"Mr. Hugh, how are you?" He knew why Holmes was calling, and he was
relieved that Breen had called first. "I'm just fine, Billy." He
sounded fine, too, Billy thought. The man was, what--eighty-six,
eighty-seven? He was still chairman of the state board of education,
still chaired the city council, and still ran the bank. His wife had
died of a stroke in x948, and the event had seemed to concentrate his
dedication to work. His only concession to age was a hearing aid.
"Billy, I'm sorry to bother
you, but we're beginning to hurt for a new chief of police down here.
Have you heard anything from your sources?"
"Yes, sir, I have. Chief Breen of Atlanta has recommended an MP major
who's about to retire from the army. I'm seeing him tomorrow."
"Good, All of our force down here are pretty young and inexperienced.
None of 'em is really responsible enough even to be an acting chief.
The city manager is tearing his hair out, How soon you reckon we can
get this fellow?"
"Well, now hold on, I haven't even talked to him yet. Breen says he's
good, though, and he expressed an interest in the job."
"Tell you what. We've got a council meeting at six o'clock on
Friday. You coming down this weekend?"
"Yes, first weekend in a month."
"Well, if you like the looks of this fellow, why don't you bring him
down here to meet the council? We're ready to move; if he's any good,
we'll take him. Might even pay a couple of thousand more than we'd
planned on."
"Sounds good to me. I'll call you as soon as I've talked with him and'
let you know if he can come. How's Patricia? You've seen more of her
than I have, the last few weeks."
"Thriving. Will, too."
"Glad to hear it. See you this weekend, then."
Billy hung up and mopped his brow. He'd almost dropped the ball on
that one. Imagine being saved by Breen, who didn't even like him,
much.
SAR'S VOICE came over the intercom. "Governor,
Major Watts is here to see you." !i
"Askhim to wait for just one minute, would you,
Sarah?" He had not had time until this moment to look over the !rsum6
Chief Breen had sent him, but from what he saw now, B:the man had an
outstanding record. Enlisting at age seventeen, he had finished high
school, earned a degree while in the service, and attended a number of
military police courses, in addition to the FBI training program for
police o;icers. Billy immediately thought that he would never find a
city policeman so well qualified who would take such a job as that in
Delano. He wondered why Major Watts was interested; then he remembered
Chief Breen's remark about promotion from within, how it would be
difficult to hire Watts into a police force at a level in which he
would not be overqualified. At least Delano could offer the job of
chief. "Send him in, Sarah." ' As Major Tucker Watts strode into
Billy's office and toward him, Billy was immediately struck by a number
of things: the man's size, for he was six feet three or four, well over
two hundred pounds; his bearing; his confident manner; the rows of
ribbons on the perfectly pressed uniform. Most of all Billy was
Struck, forcibly, by the color of the man's skin. He was black.
During the ime it took to make inreoducl'ions and shake hands, Billy
fought the wfid urge to laugh aloud. Breen, from his office at city
hall, had fired an ironic arrow into the air which, Billy felt sure,
could be seen at this moment protruding from his back.
"Major, I want to thank you for taking the time from your duties to
come and talk with me." After a year of baiting Breen about an
insufficient number of blacks on the Atlanta police force, Breen was
inquiring, through the presence of the man before him, about the number
of blacks on the Delano police force. Billy wondered whether Breen had
also called the press, whether they were waiting outside his office at
that moment.
"Thank you for seeing me, sir. I was glad to come."
The major's speech was precise, perfectly enunciated. There was the
musky, black intonation, but it seemed very un southern almost West
Indian. Billy thought it a pleasant sound.
Billy glanced at the man's rdsumi'I see you're out at Fort Mac. Been
there long." He was beginning to overcome the distraction of what
Breen had meant as a practical joke. He wanted to kno, more about
Major Watts.
"I'm just finishing up a two-year tour. My last one, in fact. I'll
complete thirty years this month."
"How did you get to know Chief Breen?" Watts seemed completely at
ease. Billy wondered whether he knew why Breen had sent him.
"I command the MP detachment at Fort Mac. We liaise closely with the
Atlanta police. I'vemet him several times in the line of duty."
"Like him?"
There was a tiny pause before Watts spoke. "I'm sure he's a competent
police chief."
Billy smiled slightly. "Yes, I'm sure he is." He glanced at the
rdsum. "You saw combat in the war?" "Yes, sir. 76st Tank Battalion."
"I've heard about the outfit."
"Yes, sir. Eleanor Roosevelt's Niggers."
"That's the one. We had a man from Delano in that outfit." "Who would
that be, sir?" "Marshall Parker."
"He wasn't in my company."
"You were in Korea, too?"
Tucker Wat 311
"Yes, sir. That was when I transferred into the military po "You're
married, I see. Any children?"
"No, sir. We married late."
Billy shifted in his seat. "Let me be direct with you, Major. I
no doubt that you are very well qualified for this job by
' i and experience, but let's talk about temperament. We're about the
job of chief of police in a small southern town.
a black policeman in Delano. There are bound a lot of pressures
involving race. Do you think you could that?"
"I've thought about the problems involved. What you have to sir, is
that an army base, wherever it is, is a small town. The army is
disproportionately southern. I serve white southern officers, and
white southern boys serve I can't say that the situation has never
caused friction. think, for instance, that if I had been white I'd
probably be a colonel by now instead of a major, but I've never had any
handling that. Ten years ago I was a master sergeant,
I can't really complain about promotion. I've always had
out-efficiency reports from white southern officers, and I think
there's a white boy who's ever served under me who say he was been
treated anything but fairly."
; "Well, you'd have a force of six men, all white and all south-em.
Handling them would be your very first problem. Tell me, sort of
social life do you have ir the army? Do you think could adapt socially
to a place here virtually all the black are less well educated and less
affluent than you?"
Watts smiled, revealing white, even teeth. "That's the first my wife
asked me. But I reminded her that we're not all social, anyway. We've
gotten used to moving every couple like everybody in the army, so what
friends we have are pretty scattered. If we want a big night out we go
to the officer's club, and living in Delano we'd still have PX and club
privileges g and Fort Mac. We've always talked about buying place in
the country when we retire, and that would mean a life, too."
Billy nodded. "Well, there's no shortage of country around
Delano. What sort of money do you think you'd need?" "What's the
budget for the job?" "About ten thousand."
"I think that would do us very well. I'd have my retirement pay, too.
I'd like to think that if I did a good job there would be more later."
"I should think there would be. There are some insurance benefits,
too, I think." "That's fine, but what would concern me most would be
the budget for the department and my authority as chief. I don't want
to run a force that isn't properly equipped and manned--that's a losing
game--and I'd want absolute authority to hire and fire." "Well, those
seem like reasonable requests to me, but you'd have to take them up
with the city council." Billy gazed across the room at a painting of a
sailing ship. He had begun to see an opportunity in Tucker Watts.
"Major, would you be available to come down to Delano on Friday
afternoon? There's a council meeting at six o'clock." "Yes, sir, I
could do that." "Let me talk with a couple of people, and I'll get
back to you tomorrow, then." He stood up and stuck out his hand.
"Thank you, Governor, that will be just fine." When Watts had gone,
Billy picked up the phone and began dialing Hugh Holmes's number at the
Bank of Delano. He broke the news as gently as he could. "I don't
know. about that, Billy. We've talked about hiring a black policeman,
as you know, but a black chief?" "Mr. Holmes, I want to bring him
down there on Friday, and have the council meet him." "Well, I guess
we owe you that, Billy, after you've taken the time to find this
fellow. Do you want them to know he's colored?" Billy thought for a
moment. "Yes, but not until they arrive at the meeting. You're
meeting at six. I'll try and have him there at six-thirty. All
right?" "All right, son. Do you think the press will get wind of
this?" "I don't think so, but if they do, everybody will come off a
lot better if they've given the man a hearing." "I suppose so." Billy
hung up and made a mental note to ask Watts to be sure and wear his
uniform.
Tucker Watts left the meeting with the lieutenant governor half elated
and half afraid. Might this really happen? If it did,
Booz REII: Tucker Watts 3x3
could he bring it off? He tried to imagine what might lie ahead, but
all his excited mind could conjure up was the image of a tightrope
stretched before him, so high that it was impossible to see what lay
below. He knew that he would not hesitate to walk it if the
opportunity came. He was drawn irresistibly toward it, helpless to
stop himself.
Delano. Of all the places in the world, Delano, Georgia.
TUCKER WATTS hated lying to his wife, because she read him so easily.
He had thought carefully about how he would explain things to her, in
order to keep the lies he would have to tell her at an absolute
minimum. As soon as he came into the house he went into the kitchen,
where she was preparing dimer, and mixed them both a gin and tonic.
"I had an interesting job interview today," he said, squeezing lime
into their drinks.
"Oh?" She knew already just how interested he was. "With the
lieutenant governor, William H. Lee." "A state job?"
"No. You remember a little town called Delano?"
She furrowed her brow.
"You remember. We've passed through there driving back and forth to
Columbus. You always say how pretty you think it is."
"Oh, that one. Yes, it is pretty. Is the job there?"
He nodded. "Chief of police."
Her eyebrows went up. "What does the lieutenant governor have to do
with that?"
"It's his home town. He's helping them find somebody.
Breen on the Atlanta force recommended me."
"I thought Breen didn't like colored folks."
"He doesn't. I don't think he told Lee I was colored."
Booc TREE: Tucker Watts She laughed. "That must have come as quite a
shock." "Didn't seem to. I think he's going to recommend me to the
city council." "Is Delano someplace you think we ought to go?" "Well,
look at it this way. We already know by now that I'm not going to get
hired at any sort of rank by any big-city police force because of
seniority problems, and I'm too old and too mean to start somewhere as
a patrolman." "Lord knows that's true." "Careful how you agree with
me." He slapped her on the bottom. "Mmmmm. Do that again." "Later.
Now, we're looking to retire, right? But we both know I need to work
to keep from going crazy. Well, this might just give us everything we
want. We can buy a few acres in the country near town, and you can do
some gardening. We might even build us a house if things work out."
"Be.ng chief of police isn't exactly retirement, is it?" "Shoot, I can
run that department left-handed, once I get the little white-boy cops
to understand who's boss. Nothing happens in those little towns that
even gets you out of bed more than a couple of times a year." "How
about money?" "Pays ten thousand, and with our retirement pay and PX
we could live right well, you know?" ,"You,ake it sound good."". She
paused. "Is there something you aren t telling me about it?" Jesus,
the woman was psychic. "What's not to tell? You know I know. Lee
wants me to go down there and meet the ity council Friday evening."
"You think they'll hire a colored fellow?" "I don't know, but I figure
Lee wouldn't want me to go down He re if he didn't think so. He's
going to run for governor next year, you know, and it would be a
featherin his cap with the colored vote, to have a black chief in is
home town." Guess so. Don't you have an aunt or a cousin "Aunt. I
haven't seen he ring years. Don't even know if she's still alive."
"Well, if it looks good to you it's all right with me." She opened the
oven and took out a meatloaf. "Drink up your drink; supper's about
ready."
AS THE Delano City Council convened on Friday night, Hugh Holmes found
himself wondering at exactly what point he had begun doing things
Billy's way instead of the other way around. Early on, he decided,
while Billy had still been in the state senate. The boy had always
learned quickly. Now Holmes found himself leading the charge in a
delicate matter, trusting Billy's judgment entirely. He had not met
this Major Watts, but he knew that Billy wouldn't be bringing him to
this meeting if he didn't fully expect Holmes and the rest of the
council to approve his appointment.
"Did you know I was black before you met me?" They were driving south
in Billy's car, a state-patrol vehicle leading the way and another
state trooper following behind in Tucker Watts's car.
Billy smiled. "No, I didn't. I think that was Chief Breen's idea of a
joke."
"You seem to be taking his joke seriously."
"Oh, I'm not taking you to Delano to waste your time, Major. I think
you could be very good in this job."
"Do you think the city council is going to agree with you?" Well,
there's a man named Hugh Holmes preparing the way for us. They're
going to have a hard time disagreeing with him. He's been on that
council since there was a council, and he
-m: Tucker Watts how to get his way." "How did he get convinced?"
"He isn't convinced, but he's impressed with your record, to talk with
you about it. He'll convince the oth-to listen, too, I reckon. Did I
tell you that my father was the chief of police in Delano?"
"Back in the twenties. He was killed in the line of duty, when went to
get a young boy who was serving as hort sentence in all . He let the
boy go home for the night, and he didn't up the next morning. His
father was in a malarial delirium came out with as hotgun Thought he
was somebody else,
"m sorry to hear it." "It was a long time ago. My mother took it
pretty hard, but wrote a letter to the governor asking him to pardon
the feiHe should never have been convicted in the first place. He w,
as out of. his head at the time." "That must have been tough on your
family." "Yes, but not as tough as it was on the fellow's family. His
He ran. It was stupid, but he was charged an accessory. My mother was
trying to get the charges against him, when he was killed, hit by a
truck ove ring Hitchhiking, I think. The father was finally sent to
the chair, in spite of my mother's efforts. It was a tragic
busiCouldn't happen today, at lat I hope not." They were both quiet
for afc minutes. Tucker turned to him "You mentioned a fellow in my
outfit in the war, Mar "That's right." "I heard about him at a
battalion reunion, I think. Didn't he hot at the jail?" "That's
right. He was beat up by two police officers and then He told a local
doctor about it on his deathbed--Dr. Torn meet him tonight at the
cguncil meeting--and the of us and some others tried to get the cops
convicted for it, get an indictment. One of the cops resigned the
other one ran. Damndest thing, he stole the disappeared." "On a
police motorcycle? I wouldn't have thought he'd get far on that."
"We thought he had some help, that he must have been planning it. He
ran before we heard from the grand jury. Never been heard from, as far
as I know."
"Sounds like the Delano Police Department has had a pretty turbulent
history."
"Oh, it's been pretty quiet for a long time now. The Parkerincident
made the city council much more sensitive to the treatment of black
prisoners. I don't think there have been any serious abuses since that
time. Hugh Holmes has always kept a pretty dose eye on the police. He
felt very badly about having had a hand in hiring this fellow Butts,
the one who disappeared. I think his attitude will stand in your
favor." Billy opened his briefcase on the seat between them and fished
out a large buff envelope. "By the way, Mr. Holmes sent these up. The
departmental budget and an inventory of equipment. He thought you
might like to look it over before the meeting."
Tucker began reading through the material, and they were quiet for the
remainder of the trip.
Holmes began the meeting by asking that all other business be
postponed, in order to address an important matter; then he began a
recital of attempts, all unsuccessful, to hire a qualified chief of
police for the town. For a moment he felt iran sported to another
council meting more than forty years before, when he had made
substantially the same remarks. Then his mission had been to get the
council to hire a farmer to be a policeman. Now it was to persuade
them to give a black applicant a hearing.
He read through the man's r&sum&, and as he did a murmur of approval
and enthusiasm ran through the meeting. Then he told them, bluntly,
that the man was black. This announcement was greeted with silence.
"Now, before we get into a discussion of whether it is appropriate for
Delano to have a Negro chief of police, there are some things I would
like to say." Everyone settled back to listen to him. "There are a
number of points we have to consider that are new, that have never been
necessary to think about before. You are all aware that, at the last
council election, a Negro candidate ran and was nearly elected. I
believe a colored candidate will be elected at the next election. Now,
I am not saying that we should consider hiring a colored chief because
we might someday have a colored councilman. I bring this up as an
example of changes
TH: Tucker Watts 319
coming to us. I believe that many of these changes are
It is only a matter of time. I also believe that we can easier to
accept without unnecessary conflict antidpating them. Enough said
about that. I think you all me." The council members knew that
Holmes, as of the state board of education, was talking about the of
Delano's public schools.
"Now, let me be even more pragmatic. This community is in an
energetic, and so far fruitless, search for new in
It is likely that any new manufacturer we are able to at will come from
a northern state. They want to come south
I believe you are all aware that earlier this our first new piece of
industry that the deal fell through, at least in part because the com t
had a key production employee who was colored, and they found another
community where they felt he and his family settle in better. I
checked into this, and I discovered that the other community was no
more integrated than ours is, but there were some highly visible
Negroes employed by the and this bore weight. I "Looking t it from
another point of view, it is historically large majority of violent
crimes, of felonies, in Delano by colored people, and if there is to be
an effective program in this town, it will have to begin in
I think there exists the possibility that a colored police chief might
be more effective in implementing such a program white chief. we have
to consider Billy Lee and what he means to I think it is no secret that
Billy will run for governor next year, and I think you know what his
election could do for Delano." There was an affirmative stir among the
council and Holmes knew he had them. "This is going to be a difficult
race for Billy. He will be running at a time when things are a state
of flux. He will be running on a platform of orderly and tonight he is
bringing us am opportunity to show that orderly change can work. I
think we owe it to Billy to give i this man careful consideration."
Holmes took a deep breath and, as casually as he could manage, played
his last card. "Now, I am not asking this council to accept this man
sight unseen or because he is colored. What I am asking is that we
consider him on the basis of his record and on
our impressions of how he might behave in a sensitive job, and I would
like to put that in the form of a motion. Do I hear a second?" Dr.
Torn Mudter seconded. "In favor?" A chorus of ayes. "Opposed?"
There was silence. He had left the unconvinced councilmen an
opportunity to object to the man, but he had effectively removed race
as a subject of discussion. Now the council could reject Watts only if
they found him personally wanting in the interview. Holmes knew from
what Billy had told him that this was unlikely. It was 6:3o. He rose
and went to call Billy and Major Watts into the meeting. Tucker Watts
sat comfortably and looked around the conference table. He had been
answering questions for half an hour. He had outlined his military
record, his police training. He had been respectful in his answers and
addressed each of the councilmen as "sir," without being servile. After
years of dealing effectively with white commanders, this came naturally
to him and without resentment. He had made the men feel comfortable
and unthreatened. He had been asked to leave the room and had been
called back after only a couple of minutes. Now the old man, the
banker, Holmes, spoke. "Major Watts, the job pays ten thousand dollars
a year, plus a city empi6e's insurance program and pension. Will you
accept the job?" "Mr. Holmes, Gentlemen, I'm honored to be offered
the job, and I believe I would like to accept it, but there are some
points I think I should cover first." Holmes nodded. "Go aheai." "I'm
satisfied with the terms you are offering me personally, that is, if I
can expect salary increases if I am effective." "You can." Holmes
already had another two thousand dollars in hand, approved by the
council. "I would want it stated in my contract that I have full
authority in the department with regard to personnel and expenditures."
"You mean you want to be able to hire and fire?" "Yes, sir." "You
realize this will be a sensitive matter." "I hope you will trust me to
exercise good judgement and to deal fairly with personnel, but I could
not function without corn Boo zma: Tucker Watts 3al plete
authority."
Holmes nodded. "And what was that about expenditures?" "I want to
agree an annual operating budget with the council, and I want authority
in my contract to make expenditures in accordance with the budget,
without further council approval. So much for personnel, so much for
equipment--but I decide which personnel and what equipment."
Holmes looked around the table and saw no disagreement. "I think that
seems reasonable."
"I've looked through the departmental budget and equipment list, and I
think you're not too badly off. I think you can get by for the time
being with the six officers now on the payroll, but they're underpaid.
I think an additional three thousand dollars in the personnel budget
would bring salaries up to a good standard and improve morale. I also
think the department is going to need a full-time clerk, but I won't
know for sure until I see the state of the paperwork."
Another half hour passed before Tucker worked through his list of
requests and reached agreement with the council. Billy spoke for the
first time. "Gentlemen, if you'll all trust me as an objective party,
I'll draw up a contract. I have notes on what you've agreed."
"That should be all right," said Holmes, noting no dissent. "Major,
when do you think you could start?"
"My retirement date istthe second of December. I should think, if we
can find a house, I could start by the fifteenth. Is that soon
enough?"
"That will be just fine. I might be of some help to you in finding a
house. Now Billy, if you and Major Watts--perhaps I should say Chief
Watts---will excuse us, we have some other council business to attend
to." Hands were shaken all around, and Billy and Tucker left. Holmes
turned back to the group. "Gentlemen, if it's all right with you, I'll
write up something for the paper. I'd like to hold the news until just
before Watts arrives, and I think it would be bes if we kept his color
quiet until that time. Agreed?"
Billy and Tucker shook hands in the cold night air outside city hall.
"Well, Chief," Billy said, "congratulations. If there's any~ thing I
can do for you to help you get settled just call me at the
Capitol or at home. We're in the book." 'qhank you very much,
Governor. I appreciate your bring me into this. Chief Breen is going
to be a very unhappy man." Billy laughed. "Oh, I hope so. I'll send
you a contract to look at first of the week." The two men parted.
Tucker made as how of looking for something in the glove compartment of
his car to give Billy time to drive away first. Then he started his
car and drove away in the opposite direction--not toward Atlanta, but
toward Columbus, to a point where D Street turned off the Columbus
highway. I-Ie followed D Street pasta number of ramshackle houses and
stopped at the end of the street, in front of a house which seemed in
better repair than the others, which had even been painted white. Fie
switched off the engine and sat quietly in the car, looking at the
house, until it began to get cold in the car. lin ally his heart
pounding and his breath coming quickly, he got out of the car, climbed
the front steps, and knocked on the door. I-Ie looked around hn in the
frosty moonlight; it was so much the same. The door opened, and Nellie
Cole peered into the night. "Yes? Who is that?" Tucker looked at
her, clutching her quilted bathrobe about he ring the cold. I-Ie took
off his hat. "Mama," he said, "it's me. I'm home." Nellie looked for
a moment as if she had received an electric shock. Her hand went to
her mouth. "WilLie? Is that you? Is it WiLlie?" Fie put his arms
around her and held her tightly. "Yes, Mama, it's me." Willie Cole
was home; BOOK TH REI Tucker Watts 323 \
ON SUNDAY Billy, Patricia, and son Will Lee played host to H. W. and
Carrie Fowler and Eloise Lee for lunch. This meal which was always
fried chicken when at the Fowlers', was always roast beef and Yorkshire
pudding when at the Lees'. Wine was not served, only in deference to
the Fowlers. It seemed to Billy that, after an absence of a month, he
drew as much sustenance from the presence of all the living members of
his family as from the excellent food before them. He watched as they
chatted among themselvS: young Will, fifteen and still boyish and
slight, with his mother's dark red hair; Eloise, still a widow and
indispensable in the management of both Mr. Fowler's store and Billy's
campaign organization; Mr. Fowler, plumper and grayer, but seemingly
otherwise unchanged for twenty years, though he was now seventy-five;
Carrie, the same age, but infinitely older, suffering always from an
undiagnosed illness Billy felt to be his father's death; and Patricia,
still beautiful, still alluring, aging slowly and improving like a fine
wine. They spent a drowsy hour together, shuffling through the Sunday
papers, before the Fowlers excused themselves to go home for their nap.
Eloise left with them. It began to rain. Hugh Holmes arrived, and
Billy met him on the steps with an umbrella and brought him into the
study, where Patricia had coffee waiting. Will excused himself to work
on a school project.
Billy went to a cupboard under a bookcase and brought out an unopened
bottle of brandy. His liquor was not as carefully concealed as that of
Holmes, but it was concealed nevertheless. "Patricia's father sent us
a case of this for Christmas. He always allows six months for anything
to be shipped." He broke the seal and uncorked the bottle. "It's a
Fine Champagne x928. I'm not waiting until Christmas."
"I concur in your impatience," said Holmes, reaching for a glass. He
sniffed the brandy and tasted it. "This is definitely an old man's
cognac, my boy. I don't know if you're ready for this."
"I'll take a chance," said Billy. He sat back and sipped his brandy.
"Well, now that you've set us on the road to perdition by sending us
this COlored gentleman for the police force---"
"Now, now, now. This is a good move for the city, and you know it very
well."
Holmes took a large sip of the brandy. "I suppose it is, but I
know where it's leading, and I'm afraid."
"There's nothing to be afraid of."
"It's ch/nge, I guess. I never thought I'd be afraid of change---not
change I could control. That's what bothers me. This thing has begun
to control us, instead of we it. It's the first time in my life I've
had the feeling of having to run to keep up."
Billy looked into his. brandy glass and knew that no reasoning would
make it any easier for Holmes. This was too fundamental. "You're
doing the right thing," he said finally.
"The right thing under the circumstances, I suppose. I guess that's
the best you can do when you're running to keep up." He heaved a deep
sigh. "Now, what's this business with the White House?"
"Not much business to it," Billy said. "Just the mass-transit money.
That came by an unusual route. Apart from that it boils down to one
visit from a presidential aide--David Kass, his name is---and one
personal note from Kennedy. But I can't help feeling something's
stirring."
"Could be," Holmes said, rather sadly. "There's all this "Dump Lyndon'
business in the press. Maybe it's true."
"You know, if he asked my advice not that he's going to--I'd say keep
him on."
"So would I, but then I'm not John Kennedy. Neither are you. He can
do it if he wants to, and nobody can stop him. He'll be
reelected with any vice-president he wants. Who's going to beat
Richard Nixon? Barry Goldwater? Not likely. He's annoyed &t not
being able to get so much past the House Rules Commit tee. Dealing
with Congress is supposed to be Lyndon's great strength. Maybe
Kennedy's blaming him for the problem." "Maybe. I think they're just
different sorts of men. Not comfortable with each other. Suppose all
this does mean something. How should I handle it?" "Handle what?
There's nothing to hanlle unless they become direct. All you can do is
continue business as usual. I think business as usual for you is
compatible with the aims of the administration, anyway." Holmes sipped
his cognac. "Tell me, would you have brought Tucker Watts clown here
if you hadn't thought the White House staff was keeping an eye on you?"
"Yes," Billy said without hesitation. "I think he could be a really
good thing for the town, for the state. If he works out, it could show
a lot of other small communities that they have nothing to fear from
giving their blacks responsible public jobs." "And if he doesn't work
out?" "I don't think it would be that much of a problem. A small
hitch. Unless he failed publicly in some important way, if he turned
out to be dishonest or made a complete fool of himself. That could set
things back quite a lot." "It could set you back quite a lot. This
election is going to be a near thing. You can't afford a public
embarrassment. That's why I did some further checking on9lajor Watts."
Billy looked at Holmes in sur pre he was suddenly tense. "How did you
do that? More important, what did you find out?" "A friend in Dick
Russell's senate office had a word with somebody in the Pentagon who
went through his record." "And?" "It seems Tucker Watts was something
of a problem for the army in his youth. He went in as a kitchen
helper, you know. Never even went to basic training. He did a lot of
hell raising, it seems, got into some fights. Fortunately for him the
army didn't pay much heed to blacks fighting amongst themselves. He
managed to stay out of the stockade, but he was broken twice, once from
corporal, once from sergeant, during the thirties. It wasn't until the
war broke out and he got into a Negro combat unit that he seemed to
take hold. After that his record was excellent. His early problems
were overlooked when they needed leaders in his
Cms unit. And after Truman desegregated the services he was in a good
position for promotion." Billy heaved a sigh of relief. "I thought
for a moment you had come up with something really bad." "No, he's
apparently all he seems to be. I have hopes for him. I'm not looking
forward to telling six young whim policemen that they have a new,
black, chief, though. All of them have been in the service. I hope
that will help them adjust to the situation." The doorbell rang.
Patricia, who had seemingly been dozing in her chair, got up. "I'll
get it." Billy slapped his knee. "That will be this reporter--new
fellow down here with the Atlanta bureau of the New York Times. I told
him he could drop by for a talk this afternoon and completely forgot
about it. His name is John Howell, Trish." Patricia left the room and
returned shortly with a slender, sandy-haired man in his lam twenties.
Billy made introductions. Holmes shook the young man's hand. "Well,
I'll leave you gentlemen to it. Rainy Sunday afternoons make old men
sleepy." Patriciashowed him out while Billy showed the journalist to a
chair and offered him coffee and brandy. He accepted both. "This
weather is more like New York than what I expected in Georgia," he
said. "How long have you been down here?" "Just a couple of weeks. I
appreciate your seeing me on a Sunday. I was down in Columbus on
something else, and it was on the way back." "Not at all." Howell
opened a stenographer's notebook and produced a ballpoint pen. "I'm
really just after background. Being the new boy, I need to get around
the state and meet as many people as possible. That was the legendary
Hugh Holmes, was it?" "In the flesh." "His name seems to keep coming
up, no matter who I'm talking to. Is there anybody in the state he
doesn't know?" "Probably not." "I spent two years in the Washington
bureau before coming down here. He wasn't unknown up there. For that
matter, neither were you." "Oh?" "I had lunch with a guy at the White
House before I left. David Kass. He suggested I see you early on.
Tell me, what do
?XRE: Tucker Wattstlou think of the rumors about Kennedy dropping
Johnson from" the ticket in '64? We can go off the record about this
if you like.l' Billy hoped he didn't show the jolt he felt at the
question. as the White House planting rumors about him? Howell hadn't
lite said that Kass had mentioned him in that regard, but the plication
was there. "I'm perfectly happy to be on the record but that," Billy
said smoothly. "I think Lyndon Johnson has l[l%n a tremendous asset,
both in the campaign and in the vice residency and I expect he'll
continue to be that kind of asset on the Democratic ticket in 1964. I
certainly hop so. t - "You think Kennedy will stick with Lyndon,
then?"
t "The President hasn't confided his views on that subject to me. Or
on any other subject, for that matter. The lieutenant
I B:ernor of Georgia sits a long way from ,t, he White House. I'm i t
mnazed you would even ask my opinion. ' i l "You have no contact with
the White House, then?"
"My wife and I had dinner there early last year, an intimate I: little
group of about seventy, as I recall. We had a Christmas card l from
the first family.
It
How about David Kass?"
"He was down here on some business or other a few weeks i tago and paid
me a courtesy call. The governor was out of town. ": I bought him a
cup of coffee."
I "He seemed impressed with you." it
"He must've liked my coffee."
To Billy's relief Howell dropped h subject of the White
House and moved on to his gubernatorial ambitions. Billy admitted his
interest but did not commit himself. The conversation i wandered over
a wide range of subject matter for more than an hour; then, as Howell
was making to leave, Billy had a thought.
"There's something coming up that might interest the Times ."
Howell opened his notebook again. "Shoot."
"You'll have to hold it until the middle of next month, and I'll have
to ask you not even to talk about it until then."
Howell paused. "I don't know."
"You can read about it in the Consh'tution then."
"All right, all right." Billy told him about the appointment of Tucker
Watts, the whole story from Chief Breen's phone call to the present,
asking only that the story not be attributed to him. Howell scribbled
rapidly, asking an occasional question.
"Will this be an exclusive?"
Billy shook his head. "I'll have to give it to the Atlanta papers on
the day, but at least you can run it simultaneously. You'll have time
to talk with Watts, too."
Billy walked the journalist to his car with an umbrella and bade him
good-bye. On his way back into the house he reflected that at the
White House they might get around to the Atlanta Constitution now and
then, but they saw the New York Times every day.
BY TUKER'S retirement date of December 2, 1962, a contract between
himself and the dty of Delano had been agreed and signed, and a chief's
badge sent to him by Holmes via Billy. Holmes had also sent him a
clipping from the Delano Messenger announcing his appointment to the
job and giving a detailed summary of his military career. Tucker was
amused that no photograph illustrated the announcement. He visited a
uniform store and outfitted hself, bought a .38 service revolver, and
had a laminated identification card made.
On his retirement day there was a small party for Tucker and Elizabeth
at the Fort McPherson Officer's Club. Tucker was given a Rolex
wristwatch and Elizabeth a set of gardening tools, the best the post
exchange had to offer. They were very pleased. The base commander had
some nice things to say about Tucker's work, and then, suddenly, they
were civilians. That evening, as they were trying to get used to the
idea, Hugh Holmes telephoned.
"Major Watts?"
"I guess it's just plain Watts, now."
Holmes laughed. "Chief Watts, I reckon. I've got a house I think you
ought to have a look at. Can you and your wife come down here
tomorrow?"
"I expect so. Do you want us to come to the bank?"
"The house is on the north side of town, about three miles out. Why
don't we meet there?"
"All right."
"After you pass through Warm Springs you drive for about ten minutes,
and you'll come to a country grocery store and barbecue stand on the
right-hand side of the road."
"I remember that. Smoky's it's called, isn't it?"
"That's the place. Just pasta big dairy farm. You'll see a lot of
cattle. Well, after the barbecue stand it's the first road to your
left, a dirt road. There's a mailbox says "Worth' on it. The house is
about a quarter of a mile from the road. Say, about ten o'clock in the
morning? That too early for you?" "No, that'll be fine." "Good, see
you then."
They drove to Delano in bright, cold weather, enjoying the ride.
Elizabeth was excited, and Tucker knew the place would have to be
really unsuitable for her not to want it. They had never owned a
house. A few minutes past Warm Springs they came to the gate to the'
Spence farm, and had to stop for a herd of dairy cattle crossing the
road. They were coming from milking, Tucker knew. He had walked
behind them so many times with his father. He felt a prickle of
something as he looked up the hill at the Spence house and the shacks
beyond. Anger? Fear?
Past the barbecue stand they found the Worth mailbox and turned into
the road. The house soon appeared from behind a grove of pecan trees.
It was flame, white, with green shutters; not large, but not small,
either. Hugh Holmes was standing on the front porch, rubbing his hands
together.
"Come in out of the cold," said Holmes. "I've got the heat running. It
should get warm shortly."
They walked slowly through the house. A living room, separate dining
room, three bedrooms, one of which could be a den, large country
kitchen. Out back were a garage and another outbuilding which had once
been a barn.
"Worth built this house in the early thirties. He was farming then,
but not long after that he went to work for the railroad. Retired this
year. He and his wife bought an apartment down in Panama City. Moved
last month. There's a little over five acres with the place. Hoss
Spence, the dairy farmer up the road, bought seventy acres from Worth,
but he didn't want to give him
THREE: Tucker Watts 33x i for the house, so Worth held that back,
along with the on this side of the creek, yonder. The property's
bounded the creek, the highway, and the railroad right-of-way, back the
trees. You get a couple of trains a day, but apart from re tty quiet."
"What's he asking?" "Twenty-eight. I think he'd take twenty-five."
"How's he feel about selling to black people?" "All he's'worried about
is selling. He replaced the coal fur with a heat pump a couple of
years ago. There's a well and a septic tank. Worth was pretty handy;
kept the place up. You could find some boys to pick the pecans on
shares. There's half a dozen peach trees over there, too. Keep you in
preserves and ice i "How about financing?"
"I can fix up twenty thousand for twenty years. at six percent.
That'd leave five down."
Tucker looked at Elizabeth. She was practically wbratmg.
love" it," she said. i' ' Well, you can tell Mr. Worth he's got a
buyer, Mr. Holmes."
"That's just fine. If you want to give me five hundred in ear nest
money we can dose next week. A lawyer here has got his power of
attorney."
Tucker wrote him a check. Holmes handed him a bunch of keys. "There's
a front-and a back-door key there. You'll have to figure out the
rest. I've got to get back to, the bank, so I'll leave you with your
new place. Worth says that whatever's here goes with the place. I
think there's a lawnmower and some other stuff.
I think you got a good buy."
"I'll start to work on the fifteenth, then, as agreed."
Holmes grinned. "You're already on the payroll. Take the time until
the fifteenth as a Christmas bonus. Come see me whenever you like; let
me know if I can be of any help."
Holmes shook hands and left them. Elizabeth ran around the house,
looking into do sets She came back with a broom and a dustpan. "Come
on, Tuck, let's get it cleaned p."
He laughed at her. "Why don't we figure out what we have to do to the
place, first." They walked through the house. The paint was mostly in
good shape. Elizabeth didn't like the wall paperin the master bedroom.
Tucker pulled at it, and it stripped off easily. "Why don't we just
paint in here?" Elizabeth said.
"Okay with me".
"Well, don't just stand there, go buy some paint."
"Right now? We don't even own the place yet."
"Just as good as," she said. She picked up a piece of the wallpaper
and pointed at a cream color between flowers. "Get a gallon that's
exactly this color, and brushes and all that. By tonight we can have
this place ready to move into."
Tucker kissed her and left the house, turning onto the highway and
driving in a leisurely fashion toward town in his brand new Oldsmobile
98, a retirement present to themselves. As he crossed the bridge that
marked the Delano city limits, he slowed to thirty-five. To his
surprise, a police car pulled up next to him and the driver motioned
him to pull over. There had been no flashing light or siren.
Tucker pulled over and sat quietly in the car. The police car stopped
ahead of him, and a large sandy-haired young policeman hefted his bulk
out of it and approached. Instead of stopping, he walked slowly all
the way around the car, looking it over. When he finally arrived at
the driver's window, Tucker pre sd a switch and the window slid
silently down. Tucker sat slumped in the seat, looking straight
ahead.
"Well, now," said the young cop, "electric windows, too.
Boy, this sure is some car you got yourself."
Tucker said nothing.
"This is your car, of course. You didn't just swipe it out of
somebody's driveway, did you?" It wasn't quite a question. "Okay,
sport, outta the car."
Tucker slowly turned his head and looked at the policeman. "What for?"
he asked evenly.
An astonished look came over the cop's face. "What for? Why, because
I told you to, that's what for."
Tucker shook his head. "That's not a good enough reason. I
',asn't speeding. You've got no cause to believe I've committed any
crime."
The cop stared at him incredulously. He reached to his side, pulled
out a large pistol and pointed it at Tucker's head. "How about this?
Is this a good enough reason? Now you get your black ass out of that
car, you son of a bitch, and do like I tell you."
Tucker uncoiled himself from the car and stood up, towering over the
policeman. He was wearing a blue suit and a necktie. The cop patted
him under the arms for a gun, then stepped back and bolstered his
pistol.
"Why, don't you ask me for my license and registration?" asked.
"I'll ask the questions here, boy. Now, lemme see your Ii Tucker gave
them to the cop, who glanced at them. "Awright, Marvin", said the cop,
"I'm going to get back in car and drive down to the station, and you're
going to follow real easy like Tucker's name was written on the
license as Watts, in the military fashion. "Then we'll see whether own
this car. And by the way, I clocked you doing fifty-five a
thirty-five-mile-an-hour zone." "Homeshit". "You mouth off to me one
more time, and I'll blow a hole in : me? Now you get in that pretty
new car and follow and don't you evan think about going anywhere else."
The oung man hitched up his pants and walked to his car. Tucker : into
his car and followed him to the police station. There ... were two
other police cars parked in front of the sta and when the policeman and
Tucker entered the building, were three other office ring the main
room. One was talking the telephone, his feet up on a desk, picking his
teeth; the two were running around the room shooting at each other
pistols. "Whacha got, Tub?" the one on the telephone called out.
"Speeding, resisting arrest, Bobby. Maybe a stolen car." Bobby turned
back to the phPfie. "Listen, honey, I gotta go colored gentleman on a
nilmber of charges. I'll be by there noontime. You keep your motor
running, hear?" He got to his feet, stretched and yawned, ambled over
to the waiting area from the squad room, a form out of a drawer. He
tugged a ballpoint from hi shirt and looked at Tucker, bored.
"Awright, high roller, name?" ,.:!
Tub slid the license and registration across the counter. "His Bobby.
That's nice, ain't it? Marvin." "My name is Tucker Watts," said
Tucker, tossing his open badge and ID card onto the counter. "But you
can me chief."
Hugh Holmes left the bank and headed for the police station with some
trepidation. He had been putting off meeting with the members of the
police force to tell them about their new chief,
but time was growing short now. It was time to spread the word, and
the police station was the place to start. As he approached the
building, he acquired a queasy feeling in his stomach. Tucker Watts's
shiny new Oldsmobile was parked in front of the station, along with all
three police cars. Holmes hurried through the entrance, but stopped in
the entrance hallway when he heard Tucker's voice coming from the squad
room. The new chief was not actually shouting--indeed, he was speaking
at a quite normal volume--but there was an edge in his voice which made
Holmes not want to interrupt him. Instead, he leaned against the wall
and listened. "I noticed in your records that you have all served in
the armed forces at one time or another. Good, because you will all
know what I mean when I say that this police force is a military
organization and from this minute forward it is going to be nm like
one. Do you understand me?" There was an affirmative mumble from
several voices. "Do you understand me?" "Yes, sir!" "That means
military courtesy, military bearing, and, for the time being, military
procedure. It is very clear to me that none of you knows the first
goddamned thing about police procedure. We're going to change that,
but for now military procedure will do. Just pretend that you back in
the army and that I am your commanding officer. If that doesn't work
for you, pretend I'm God. Do you understand me?" "Yes, sir!"
"Starting right now, nobody on this force has any rank at all. You're
all patrolmen. There is no seniority. I'll decide, based on your
performance, who will get promotion and responsibility. Which one of
you is Strickland?" "I am, sir." "You were an orderly room derk in
the army, a buck sergeant, is that right?" "Yes sir." "Then maybe you
have, at one time or another, made out a duty roster?" "essir." "All
right, I want you to make out a duty roster for the six men on this
force. I want one man in the station to handle the phone and the
radio, and I want two cars in motion at all times, is that clear?"
"Until I come on full time duty, every man will work seven a week,
with thirty minutes for lunch--no cofbreaks. Shifts will rotate--every
man will pull both day and duty. All leaves are canceled. Anybody who
calls in sick the hospital. You got all that, trick land "essir." "And
make sure that information is communicated to the two itru Cers not
present, who I assume .e home sleeping because were on duty last night.
If there s any deviation from those ct ions I'll have your ass, tx)v,
and the ass o the deviator.
weeks, and around town, too. Don t any of you, let me catch you in an
unguarded moment. Is that understood?" Bi' "Yes, sir!" ;
"Now, I'm going down to the hardware store and buy a E';bucket of
paint, and I'm comin back down here at noon sharp. B $tricidand' you
take the first station shift and schedule the others from there. When
I get back I want to see at roster posted and this place looking like
an army orderly room, and everybody else cbc on the street. B; Holmes
heard footsteps crossing the squad room and Tucker's voice again,
quieter.
"Now, you. Which one are you?"
I "lViurray, sir.""
"Newton Murray?" . "Everybody calls me Tub, sir."
"Well, Newton, that nickname is soon going to be a thing o the past.
What do you weigh
"About two-fifty, sir." "You're a liar as well as a bad police
officer, Newton. You weigh closer to three hundred. Well, Newton, I
want you to see your doctor today and ask him for a diet and a
prognosis on how much weight he thinks you can saely lose per week.
You bring it to me here tomorrow, with a note from the doctor. I'll
give you an exercise program at that time. We're going to make a new
man of you, Newton."
"Yes sir." "And another thing, gid rid of that .357 magnum you're
hauling around. The standard sidearm on this force is now a .38
service revolver with a four-and-a-hal-inch barrel, and I don't want to
see any pearl handles, either. You're lucky I didn't take that
cannon away from you and feed it to you, Newton. That little pat down
you gave me was no body search, and you never even knew about the .38
in my glove compartment. And when you bring a citizen in here on a
speeding charge you better have something to back it up."
"Yes sir."
Holmes winced. Had Tub Murray arrested Tucker Watts? Good God!
"Any questions?"
Silence. Holmes strolled into the squad room. "Good morning,
Gentlemen. I see you've met your new chief. Officer Strickland,
would you please telephone the Messenger office and ask Bob Blankenship
if he could come over here with his camera right away? Thank you.
Chief Watts, I've had the telephone connected at your new house." He
handed Tucker a piece of paper. "Here's the number. Worth has
accepted your offer on the place."
"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Holmes. The wife is just delighted." He
looked at the phone number and handed it to Strickland. "Memorize
this, and see that everybody else does."
Holmes and Tucker chatted briefly; then Bob Blankenship arrived. He
took a photograph of Holmes shaking hands' with Tucker, with the
patrolmen in the background. "Bob," said Holmes, "if you'd just run
that in Thursday's paper I think that would communicate some additional
information about our new chief. You might just mention, too, that
Chief Watts paid his first visit to the police station today to meet
his force, and that a good time was had by all."
'-' EARLY on the morning of the fifteenth of November, Billy was
awakened by a telephone call from the Associated Press in Atlanta,
which was closely followed by calls from Time, bewsweek, the three
Atlanta television stations, a Columbus station, the Washington Post,
and the Los Angeles Times. After that he persuaded Patricia to take
all the calls, except one from Hugh Holmes.
"Billy, all hell has broken loose," said the banker.
"I know, they've been cling me, too. I talked with three or four of
them and then stopped taking calls. The story was in the Constitution
this morning, I'm sure you've seen that, but it was the New York Times
story that attracted all the attention, I suppose."
"I haven't talked with any of them, yet. What do you think I should
do?"
Billy thought for a moment. "Mr. Holmes, I think the best thing to do
would be to call the Associated Press in Atlanta and announce a press
conference at, lt's see .. . say, one o'clock. They'll get it on the
wire right away. That'll give the TV people time to make the six
o'clock news. I'd do it at e police station with you and Watts, and
I'd make sure that all the patrolmen are out on duty. It's hard to say
how they'd react having a mico-phone stuck in their faces and asked how
they like their new chief."
"All right, but I want you there, too, Billy. I hope it goes well.
The council members are going to be pretty nervous about this." I'll
be there, and I think you ought to present this to the councilmen as an
opportunity to get some favorable publicity for Delano. That's what it
is, you know. I had no idea it would stir up as much interest as this,
but now that it has, you should make the most of it. Tell you what,
why don't you get the secretary of the chamber of commerce to put
together some press kits-just a brown envelope with one of those
brochures that Bob Blankenship printed up, and a map of the city. Hand
them out to whoever shows up. Don't forget to call Blankenship. He can
do a story for the Messenger about all the attention Delano is
getting." "Sounds like a good idea. Anything else?" "Might be a good
idea to instruct all of the patrolmen to politely decline to answer
questions and to refer the press to you, just in case some reporter
hunts one of them down." "Right. Why don't we meet in the chief's
office about :45." "Fin." Billy hung up and turned to Patricia. 'his
thing has mushroomed into something a lot bigger than I ever expected."
"Is that good or bad?" "We won't know until we see what sort of press
this generates." "Good luck." At the police station Billy shook hands
with Tucker. They had not met since Tucker had signed his contract.
"I hear you're getting settled in real well, Chief." "Yes, sir, our
furniture's all down, and we've done a little redecorating. The wife
can't wait 'til spring to get a garden started." "Have you met many
people yet?" "Mr. Holmes took me up and down Main Street this
morning, and we met all the merchants. Lot of people on the street,
too." "The TV people are already at work," said Holmes. "One crew
followed us the whole way and interviewed whoever they could get their
hands on." "I understand you had an unexpected introduction to your
Tucker smiled. "I guess you could put it that way." "Any problems
with them?"
-RE: Tucker Watts
"One or two haven't decided yet whether they can handle it,
: of them seem to be getting used to the idea."
"I saw Tub Murray in the drug store the other day. Looks like lost
some weight."
"He'll be losing some more, I expect, if he stays with us."
Holmes looked at his watch. "Well, it's one o'clock. The quad room's
full of folks. We'd better get out there."
Billy was delayed in town giving personal interviews at his law office,
long enough to miss the six o'clock Atlanta news, but he got home in
time for the NBC network report. He watched as
Huntley gazed into the camera and said, "There has been much turmoil in
the South as old laws and customs have given to the new and court
orders have enforced integration of schools and public places. But one
small southern town has taken an unexpected step, entirely of its own
accord. Delano, Georgia, a town of about six thousand people just a
few miles fom Warm Springs, Where Franklin Roosevelt vacationed and,
finally, died, today hired a black chief of police."
Tucker's face filled the screen, filmed at the press conference, as
Huntley's ,oice continued: "Tucker Watts, a Georgia native who recently
retired from a thirty-year army career, became the first black chief of
police in any town of the Old South. He seemed to think it was pretty
routine."
"I've received a courteous welcome from the people of Delano that I've
met, and I don't antidpte any special difficulties in doing my job
here," said Tucke"' in response to a reporter's question.
"City-council chairman, and one-time Roosevelt confidant, Hugh Holmes,
said that Watts was by no means a last resort."
"Quite to the contrary," Holmes said to a reporter, "Mr. Watts was the
most highly qualified candidate we could find for the job. We have a
very high-quality community in Delano, and we want the best public
servants we can attract, just as we want the best new industry we can
attract." ,
Billy started as his own image filled the screen and Huntley talked on:
"This all came about, apparently, because of this man, William H. Lee,
the lieutenant governor of Georgia, a likely candidate for governor
next year who has a reputation as a moderate and an active peacemaker
in racial matters. Delano is his home town, and it was he who
suggested that Watts be hired."
"Chief Was ne hilly recommended and was obviously Well qualified by his
experience in the military police, and I was very pleased to recommend
him to the city council," Billy heard himself say. Then there were
quick cuts to other faces, shot on Main Street, and their comments. "I
read in the paper that he has a lot of experience, so I guess it's all
right." "He has a fine war record, from what I hear, and he was an MP
for a long time. I think we ought to be glad to have him." "if he can
do the job, who cares?" Then Patrolman Bobby Patrick's face appeared.
Someone had hunted down a cop, after all. His expression was sour. "I
don't have nothing to say about that," he said, and drove away quickly
in his patrol car, the camera catching his hurried departure. Huntley
came back onto the screen. "The White House Press Office issued a
statement today commending the Delano City Council for its hiring of a
black chief and hoping the town's action would serve as an example to
other communities, both southern and northern, surely the first time
the White House has ever taken note of the hiring of a small-town
policeman. More news after this." Billy turned to Patricia. "I don't
believe it," he said. 'q just don't believe it. I spent the afternoon
with a reporter from Time, and with John Howell, the fellow from the
New York Times who was down here a couple of weeks ago. It was his
story that kicked all this off, and he wants to do an article for the
New York Times Magazine, to run after Tucker has had time to do the job
for a while." Patricia snuggled up to him o the couch. "All this
should be a big help in the governor's race, shouldn't it." "It seems
that way, now, but all this favorable stuff is just going to harden the
resistance of the people who are against me, anyway, and make them
tougher to beat. I'd sure like to know how this is sitting with the
undecided voters." "It can't hurt with the White House, though, can
it?" Billy slumped into the leather cushions. "Not unless it goes
sour in some way." "In what way?" "I'm not sure. But the whole
situation, as good as it looks, makes me nervous."
Booc THRE: Tucker Watts '"
TUCKER'S second morning on his new job was quieter. As soon as he had
checked the roster and confirmed that all his men were at their
assigned duties, he turned to the filing cabinets along the back wall
of the squad room. He had planned to wait before going through the
files, but he had an unreasonable urge to look through them for a piece
of paper with his old name on it. He had no idea if Will Henry Lee had
kept records of arrests, but he had; to find out. If it existed, such
a document would be the only written record anywhere that Willie Smith
had ever lived, and for his own peace of mind he must destroy it.
Patrolman Wendell Bartlett, known to all as Buddy, was doing his tour
as radio operator. "Chief, was there something special you were
looking for?" Buddy Bartlett was a fair-haired, sunny-faced man in his
mid twenties who looked younger. Of all the patrolmen, he alone had
shown something most resembling a desire to be helpful to his new boss,
and Tucker was g?teful for it. Of necessity, though, Tucker felt he
must keep some distance until he was sure of all his men. "No,
Bartlett, nothing special. I just want to see how they're set up."
Bartlett rose and crossed to the cabinets. "I'm afraid they're pretty
much a mess. There was a fire here six or seven years ago,
and stuff just got thrown out the windows, and a lot of it got wet.
Whoever rescued it just threw it into the new filing cabinets any which
way. The files after about I95o were in colored folders, so they were
easy to find and sort, but everything before that was in plain manila
folders, and there it sits, right back to the beginning of the town, I
guess. If we ever needed to find something specific we'd have a real
hard time doing it."
Tucker grunted. "I guess we would at that."
"Everything from 95o is cross-indexed by name and crime." Bartlett
pulled open a file drawer to demonstrate. "On every arrest we fill out
the form in duplicate and file one copy by last name and the other one
by the charge. If there's more than one charge we file it under the
most serious one."
"We really ought to have a copying machine so that we can file multiple
charges," Tucker mused. There was a footstep in the entrance hallway,
and he turned. A tall elderly, heavyset man in tan gabardines and a
Stetson hat was standing at the counter. He took off his hat and ran
his fingers through a thatch of snow-white hair.
"Mottling, Buddy."
"Morning, Sheriff. I don't reckon you've met Chief Watts yet. Chief,
this is Sheriff Willis."
Tucker would have recognized Skeeter Willis anywhere, in spite of his
age. He was probably ten years older than he looked. "Nice to meet
you, Sheriff," he said, sticking out his hand. "I would have gotten up
to Greenville to see you sooner or later, I expect, but I'm glad you
drcpped by. Can we get you a cup of coffee?"
Skeeter shook the offered hand as briefly as possible. "No thanks,
I've got business to tend to.""
"What can we do for you?"
"I hear you got a fellow, Wilkes, in your jail."
Tucker looked at Bartlett. "Yes sir," the young officer said. He went
to a filing cabinet and retrieved a folder.
"I want him on a liquor charge," said Skeeter. "I found a still on his
land, the other side of Warm Springs."
Tucker took the folder from Bartlett and glanced quickly at the record.
"He got ten days from city court for reckless driving and damage to
city property. He's only done six. Have you got a warrant with
you?"
"Does that matter?" Skeeter was looking impatient.
"Well, if you can show the justice of the peace a warrant, he
;erved. Then I can release him,
you can arrest him."
"Look, why don't you just turn him out here, and I'll take off your
hands. I don't want to have to make another trip here to get him."
"Sheriff I'd like to help you, but I can't release him without
That would be illegal. And if you took him without warrant and got a
conviction, he'd have a basis to overturn it appeal--improper arrest. I
think everybody'd be a lot better if you got a warrant and then saw the
JP."
Skeeter was now red in the face. He leaned forward and ested his palms
on the counter. "Now, listen, boy, I don't care long you was a MP,
you're doing business in my county and if you don'twatch out how you
talk to me you're gonna !lind out just what that means."
Tucker said nothing for a moment; then he spoke quietly, and his voice
dropped to a dark rumble. "Sheriff Willis, you're welcome to a cup of
coffee and a place to take the load off your feet. Any time. But if
you want somebody in my jail, you're going to have to show me some
paperwork. That's the way business gets done in my jurisdiction."
Skeeter's face turned a darker shade of red. He turned on his heel and
walked out without a word.
"Whew!" whistled Bartlett. "I've never seen old Skeeter that mad
before."
"He made an unreasonable demand. I couldn't accommodate him."
"I know it, Chief, but that man's been sheriff in this county longer
than anybody can remember, and he's somebody you want to get along
with.
"I'll meet him halfway."
"Well, sir, I hope you get the chance. You can believe me when I tell
you that he's not gonna let that pass."
"I appreciate the advice, Buddy, I really to." Tucker was impressed by
the boy's concern and found his statement easy to believe. Just to
cover himself he telephoned the justice of the peace and casually
informed him of Skeeter's request, his own refusal and his advice to
the sheriff. Then, after thinking carefully for a moment, he called
Billy Lee and explained the incident.
344 CHt Billy heard him out, then said, "Buddy Bartlett is fight,
Tucker. You watch yourself. I think you were right to call me rather
than Mr. Holmes about this. If you have any problem with Skeeter, you
call me right away, whether I'm at a home or in Atlanta, hear?" "I'll
do that, Governor, and I appreciate your concern." Foxy Funderburke
didn't know what to do about the Kudzu. He had tried everything. Like
many southerners, he had looked upon the broad-leafed, i.vylike vine as
an ideal, almost miraculous, ground cover. It had been imported from
the Philippines in the twenties and touted as an agricultural cure-all.
The state had planted it along roadsides to cover the bare red-clay
banks where roads had been cut through, for both beautification and
erosion control. The trouble with kudzu was that it didn't know where
to stop. It climbed the banks and took over adjacent fields, choked
out crops, and covered trees, utility poles, and eventually houses. It
was said that the home of the Alabama man who had first brought the
vine into the country had finally been eaten by kudzd. Poetic justice,
Foxy thought. Foxy had desperately needed ground cover on the clearing
behind his house. He had hauled in topsoil, even gravel, and still the
rain ran down the mountainside and took the soil with it. He had had
nightmares about what might be uncovered there. So he had turned to
kudzu, and now he regretted it bitterly. He had hacked away at the
stuff for two years now, barely saving his garage, and although it
looked dead in the wintertime, he knew it would resurrect itself in the
spring and threaten the house. Foxy was nearly eighty now, and
although he was remarkably healthy and strong, he was weary of his
annual physical contest with the kudzu. Burning it out seemed the only
answer. He poured the gasoline into a three-gallon insecticide
spreader, slung the tank over his shoulder, walked up the incline, and
began spraying. Tucker took a quick turn up and down Main Street after
lunch, noting the number of nonworking parking meters. He had already
heard from a couple of merchants about the problem--people were parking
in the same spot all day, some of them store employees, taking parking
space from shoppers. He would have to move on that one quickly.
At the corner of Main and Broad he flagged down Tub Murpatrolling in a
squad car, and got in. "Show me the town, he said. They drove around
for half an hour, and started to try and program some proper police
procedure patrolman's work. As they stopped at the intersection Fifth
Street and Broad, a tan Cadillac passed, headed up the
"Notice anything about that car?" Tucker asked. Murray looked
perplexed. "Well, he ain't speeding." Tucker reached above the
driver's sun visor and took down a of stolen cars, received that
morning from the Georgia Patrol. "Tan '62 Caddy, stolen in Atlanta
yesterday. Hang and let's look at him." Murray turned up the mountain
and accelerated. "Easy, now, let's don't scare him just yet." Tucker
peered at car as they began to catch up and consulted the list. "Right
icolor, wrong license plates. Well, he could have swapped with
somebody along the way. Okay, Newton, let's see you handle like I told
you. I'll back you up." Murray switched on the squad car's flashing
lights and gave the siren switch a quick on and off. The driver's head
jerked as he looked into the rearview mirror. He pulled over and
Murray i in behind him. The patrolman got out and walked to the
driver's window. Tucker got out and stood by the squad car, his hand
near his pistol. He could hear Murray politely asking for the driver's
license and registration. Some papers were passed through the window.
Murray lookeki at them, comparing the dexiption on the license with the
driver, then walked to the rear of the car and checked the license
number against the registra-lion. He handed the papers back and walked
back to the squad car. The Cadillac moved away and continued up the
mountainside. "College kid from Columbus, on the way home for the
weekend. His daddy's car. He matched the license description and the
plates matched the registration." "That's just fine, Newton. Now you,
see how easy that was? Nobody got rousted, nobody got mad. Your blood
pressure's okay, and the citizen is on his way, right?" "Yes sir."
Murray was subdued, but seemed proud of his performance. "What's that
up there?" Tucker pointed up the mountain. Black smoke was boiling
over the treetops. "Let's take a look."
Murray pointed the car up the mountain, and as they neared the crest of
the pass they could see that the smoke was coming from the other side.
"Looks like Foxy Funderburke's place," said Murray.
Tucker picked up the microphone and instructed Bartlett to call the
fire department. "Step on it, Newton, we won't wait for them."
Murray gunned the car over the mountain, turning right into Foxy's
private roadway. Tucker had never seen the Funderburke place, although
he had heard about it as a boy, and he was impressed when the house
with its neat flower beds came into view. "Looks like the fire's out
back," he said. "Follow the road around there." They could hear dogs
barking.
As they rounded the house they could see a blackened Foxy Funderburke
beating at the flames with a burlap bag. A garden hose lay on the
ground beside him, apparently abandoned in favor of the burlap. Foxy
looked at them in surprise and relief.
"There's some more bags in the garage, there, grab some, quick!",
The fire was spread over a quarter of an acre of ground behind the
house, and a couple of pine trees were already on fire. The two
policemen jumped from the car; Murray ran for the garage, but Tucker
went to the trunk of the car and found a fire extinguisher. He skirted
the burning area quickly and directed the bottle at the trees while
Murray beat at the flames near the kennels. Tucker was thinking they
should probably let the dogs out, when he heard the fire
truck'ssiren.
Twenty minutes later the fire was extinguished, but an oily pall of
black smoke hung over the place. Foxy was grateful to the policemen
and firemen, but seemed anxious for them to leave. Tucker immediately
felt himself in the presence of a man with something to hide, a
policeman's instinct developed over long experience. He looked about
the place at the house, the garage, the kennels. It all seemed so
perfectly normal, except for the burnt ground. What could an old man
like Funderburke have to be so nervous about? His mind flashed back to
a day in his childhood, a Saturday afternoon spent with Billy Lee at
the livery stable, an image of a much younger Foxy in a dimly lit
stall, watched from a hayloft by two boys.
Still, that was irrelevant. Maybe he was interpreting Foxy's concern
with nearly losing his house as something completely
c TIn, SS: Tucker Watts
As he and Murray drove down the mountain to the
Tucker thought he might come back to the Fun-again, just for a chat. It
just didn't feel right. "They'll send him a bill," Murray said.
"What?"
"He's outside the city limits here. Outside Meriwether really. The
Talbot County line is right at the city limits, the top of the
mountain. He's not entitled to fire service.
him a bill."
0 BILLY SPENT most of his time before Christmas in
"Delano, seeing to his law practice. There would be little for him to
do in Atlanta until the state legislature convened after the new year.
In mid-December he was working in his office in the bank building, when
there was a gentle knock on the door. Hugh Holmes stuck his head in.
"Busy?"
"Not too. Come on in. Can I get you a cup of coffee?"
Holmes settled into a chair. "No thanks. I just wanted to touch base
with you, find out what's happening."
"Well, in the month since Tucker Watts was appointed, I've had about
thirty speaking invitations."t He thumped a stack of correspondence on
his desk.
"Where from?"
"Just about everywhere but Georgia."
"I'm not surprised. We've had a couple of strong nibbles on some new
business for the town, too. An outfit from Pennsylvania that makes
work clothes is thinking pretty seriously about us." He paused. "The
Tucker Watts thing is going to help you nail down the black vote, but
it remains to be seen what the white vote is going to do."
"To tell you the truth," Billy said, "I don't think it's going to cost
us much there. Mullins has already got the hard-core anti-integration
vote sewed up." State Senator Jackson Mullins would0
x-mE: Tucker Watts principal opponent in the Democratic primary the
follow; September. 'true. It's the middle ground that's going to
things. If Mullins can scare some of those bad enough, or can make you
look bad enough, you'll be in trouble." i Billy knew Holmes well
enough to know that he had somespedfic in mind. He waited for the
banker to go on. "Skeeter Willis is a big Mullins man, you know,"
Holmes
"I know." "I've had some indications that Skeeter and Mullins may be i
up something." "Something to do with Tucker?" Holmes nodded. "You
know about the run-in at the police and Skeeter." ,
"Tucker called me about it right away. I told him to let me
immediately if Skeeter gave him any problems."
"That's good, but I have an idea that when Skeeter moves, going for the
home run. Remember the thing with Marshall in '46? When somebody put
the moonshine in his
"I sure do. Skeeter and Sonny were in that together, I
"Not much doubt about it. I think Skeeter might go that way what is it
they call it at the picture, show
"Framing."
"That's it. Skeeter'Il try to frame hi nif he can."
"I'll have a talk with Tucker, tell him to be especially careful."
"He'd better be. Skeeter's already had somebody in the state running
background checks on him, his childhood in Cogot a call." Holmes
shifted in his seat. "Did you know that Tucker is Nellie Cole's
nephew?"
Billy sat up. "Are you serious?"
"Tucker's mother was Jesse's sister. They think that after shot your
daddy, when he and the go);, Willie, ran, that ght have gone to them.
It seems logical. He was killed by that truck ove ring Alabama, and
Columbus is on the way." "Well, I'll be damned. He never mentioned a
thing about it to me. I told him about Daddy on the way down here,
when he came to meet with the city coundl."
Course that's nothing against him. Even if Tucker's family
Cmos hid Willie, they're all dead now, and Tucker was only a couple of
years older than Willie. That was nearly thirty-five years ago." "I
don't see how Skeeter can make anything of that, do you?" "No,
especially since Skeeter never even bothered to go down there looking
for Willie." "I guess nobody ever really looked for him. He was just
an innocent bystander to the whole incident." "Not entirely innocent.
Technically, anyway, Willie had escaped from jail. Will Henry wouldn't
have gone out there if he hadn't been looking for Willie." "You know,
it's just as well Willie's gone. We played together a lot as children,
when Daddy was still farming. I didn't see much of him after we moved
to town. I hate to think what could have happened to him if they'd
caught him and laid some of that on him." "Skeeter sure isn't the sort
to have gone light on him, if he'd of caught him. Are you going to
mention this to Tucker?" Billy was quiet for a moment. "I don't think
so. I'll just tell him to be extra careful with Skeeter. There's no
point in embarrassing him. He wasn't under any real obligation to
bring up a connection with something that happened so long ago. I
can't say that I blame him." Holmes got up. "Well, we'll leave it at
that, then. I better go get some work doBe." Billy sat for a while,
thinking about Willie Cole. He hadn't thought about Willie for a long
time. Willie Cole sat a mile across town in his mother's living room.
"Did they ask specifically about. Willie Cole or Tucker Watts?" he
asked. "Both," Nellie said. "But they seemed to mostly want to know
whether you might have hid out at Tuck's and Sarah's in Columbus. It
was like they wanted to blame you for hiding... yourself. I told them
I never heard another word from Willie after he ran, not 'til I heard
he got killed ove ring Alabama." "Well, now, listen; don't you worry
about this. There's a birth certificate for Tucker Watts in the
records down at the Muscogee County Courthouse, and I've got a
thirty-year military record to back up that identity. No photographs
and no fingerprints exist for Willie Cole. I'm four inches taller and
a hundred pounds heavier than the last time anybody saw him.
don't care anythin about Willie Cole. Whoever's doing : Watts around.
They might be trying , Lee look bad. I'll talk to him about it." "Have
you told Elizabeth yet?" The two women had met the last time two weeks
before. "No. You're still Aunt Nellie, and I think it's best if we
keep that ,." Tucker hadn't told Elizabeth, simply because he whatever
how she might react. Her unpredictability charmed and puzzled him. He
left the house and headed for the bank building. Tucker looked
steadily across the desk at Billy. "I'm sorry I tell you about this at
the beginning," he said. "It just
"It wasn't important at the time. The important thing now is you be
very careful. I'll do what I can to keep Skeeter off your back." ' "I
can handle the sheriff." "Don't be so sure about that, Tucker," Billy
said. "Skeeter has i lot of cloutin this county, and he's not a stupid
man. He tried nail Marshall Parker on a trumped-up charge once; he
and
Butts, I think, plated some white lightning in Marshall's if he wants
to nail you badly enough he'll probably find a way. Unless he knows
we're expecting it. I'll see that he knows." Billy fumbled for a
moment with a paperweight. "Did you Willie Cole?" "Our families
visited a few times when we were kids." "Did you see him after he left
Delano? This is just between you and me." "He came to our house one
day while I was at school. Daddy sent him over to Alabama, down in the
country someplace, to work on a farm with asharecropping family. I
never saw him. A couple of years later we heard he was dead. I had
just joined the army down at Benning. I never even knew he had been to
the house until then." "I'm sorry things went so badly for Willie. We
played together as children. Mama tried to help his folks when his
daddy lost his job. Daddy did his best to help Willie when he got into
trouble. It didn't turn out well for anybody, I guess." Tucker was
silent.
1 TUCKER went from Billy's office back to the police station, where he
was startled to find Buddy Bartlett sitting on the floor, sorting
files. He had not had a moment to go through the scrambled paperwork
to look for Will Henry Lee's records, and he didn't want anyone to come
across them before he did. -"What the hell are you doing, Sergeant?"
He had promoted Bartlett and put him on permanent day shift at the
station. The young man had a talent for organization, and things were
running more smoothly now, with a responsible man always in the
station. Tucker felt he could get out and around more. "Oh, hi,
Chief. I was having kind of a quiet day, and I thought I might get
started on these records." "You got the time for that sort of thing?"
"Well, like I said, it's been a quiet day. Anyway, they're not as
mixed up as they could be. They're in chunks, sometimes three or four
months together." He pointed to a bundle tied with string, set on the
floor beside him. "This bunch here looks like several years' worth.
All of it is Chief Lee's stuff--Billy Lee's daddy--from back in the
twenties." "You been through it?" "Naw, it's all together. I'll just
file it like it is, I reckon. We're not going to need anything that
far back. You reckon we need it
Booc "HE: Tucker Watts t all, Chief? Looks like we could have some
sort of cut-off date ten years, or something. Sure would give us a lot
more filing space if we could store this old stuff over at city hall,
or even throw it away." Tucker picked up the bundle. "Not a bad idea.
I'll have a look through this stuff and see if there's anything of any
historical interest. He was the first chief, wasn't he?" "That's
fight. My daddy remembers him real well. Says he was a good man."
"You can-on, then. Try to get we or three years of the most recent
stuff--the time right before the fire--try to get that in some kind of
shape, and I'll see about finding us some storage space at city hall
for the rest." Tucker went into his office and laid the bundle on his
desk. He struggled out of his coat and hung it up. He sat down at the
desk and untied the string on the files. }-lis hands were tremblig.
He found what he was looking for almost immediately. On a plain dheet
of paper with yellowed edges was written, "Arrested Willie Cole, age 5,
on a charge brought by E. Routon, grocer, that Cole had stolen a ham
and one sack of beans. Cole pled guilty in city court and was
sentenced to o days, city jail. Assigned to city manager for street
work." It was dated and signed. That was it, the entire criminal
career of one Willie Cole, now, through the grace of his uncle Tuck
deceased. Tucker was surprised that he had thought this piece of paper
could ever have harmed him. He started to destroy it, then changed his
mind, folded it carefully and buttoned it into his shirt pocket. He
sat composing himself for a minute or two, taking deep breaths until he
could relax again. He felt foolishly relieved. He leaned forward in
his chair again, rested an elbow on the desk, and began flipping idly
through the files. It was mundane stuffm small theft, a wife beater, a
stolen car. There was a brief but interesting account of a bank robbery
ear lying January of z92o, apparently the new chief's first day on the
job. Tucker chuckled. What a way to begin! And then he came to the
photographs. They were striking. His first thought was that they
should be in a museum someplace. The youth and vulnerability of the
boy, the starkness of the surroundings, the shock of his
iniuries---everything was accentuated by gorgeous lighting and the
density of the prints. He thought they must surely be contact prints
from
one of those old-fashioned 8 x o bellows cameras. He read through the
autopsy report and marveled at its expertness and clarity. He read the
new chief's brief notes on his investigation, including an encounter
with Foxy Funderburke, and the correspondence relating to the second
murder--the young man found shot, hanging on a barbed-wire fence. It
was obvious that Lee had thought the two murders related.
He read the whole thing twice, then came to a newer-looking folder. On
the file tab were the words "Butts--Personal." That must be Sonny
Butts, the one who disappeared. He wondered why it was filed with
these records of twenty years earlier. As soon as he had leafed
through the missing-persons bulletins he knew why.
Spread out in a row on the desk, next to the photographs of the corpse,
the photographs of the missing youths had an eerie similarity. He
noted that on each of the bulletins the names of towns had been
underlined, and that an X had been drawn on the accompanying road map,
forming a circle around Delano. He read Sonny's line of thought as
though the man were sitting there explaining it to him. Two young men
had been murdered in Delano or its environs and five others had
disappeared in the same area over a period of what--twenty-five years?
And.now another sixteen years had passed.
"Bartlett, come here a minute," he called out. The policeman came to
the door. "While you're sorting through those files, I want you to
keep an eye out for old missing-persons sheets and
"Every single one of them?"
"Make that every report on a male 'missing person. And keep it to
yourself, hear?"
In the late afternoon Tucker took a patrol car and slowly cruised the
town, occasionally penciling a note on where a stop sign or a parking
notice might be needed. He started with the "town" side of the city,
then moved on to the "mill town," and finally to the major colored
district, Braytown. The place was little different from when he was a
boy; the streets were better graded now, though they were still
unpaved; there were utility poles for electricity and telephone where
there had been none; and though there was an occasional neatly painted
and planted house, like his mother's, most were still ramshackle.
As he turned a corner into a side street, he spotted another
car parked in the barren front yard of one of the unpainted shacks. His
first thought was that one of his officers might need B backing up, but
then he thought it more likely that somebody had a black girl friend in
Braytow". He picked up the microphone. "Station, this is mobile one.
, Bartlett's voice came back. "Chief, this is station." "Who's
patrolling in mobile two?" "Patrick, Chief. He's due in right now.
Any problem?" "No problem. Over and out." Tucker eased his car
quietly in behind the other vehicle and got out. As he was about to
climb the rickety front steps, he heard voices from the back of the
house. He walked toward the back yard and stopped at the corner of the
house, listening. He could hear Bobby Patrick's voice, angry,
demanding, alternating with that of a frightened black man. "You ain't
paid, Roosevelt, and Mr. Cox wants his money." Cox, Tucker knew, ran
a furniture and appliance business in [Own. ' "I done paid him more'n
what that stuff cost," complained the black voice, which was followed
by the sound of flesh striking flesh. "You ain't paid the carrying
charges, Roosevelt. You got to pay the carrying charges. Now, are you
going to get it up, or am I gonna have to hurt you?" As Tucker stepped
around thee. corner of the house he saw a black man cowering on the
grod. Bobby Patrick, his back to Tucker, stood over him, unsnapping a
leather blackjack from his pistol belt. A woman and three small
children stood on the back porch, clutching at each other, terrified.
Tucker stepped into the back yard, grabbed Patrick by the shoulder
strap of his Sam Brown belt and yanked hard. Patrick left his feet as
he traveled backward, sprawling in the dirt and chicken droppings.
"Officer Patrick, go and stand by your patrol car and wait for me."
The outraged policeman got to his feet, protesting. "Shut up," Tucker
commanded. "Just go and stand by your car. Don't say another word."
Patrick turned and stumped off around the house. Tucker turned to the
black man. "What's your name?" "Roosevelt Hawkins." "What did you
buy from Cox?"
""Bout ninety dollars worth of stuff--a ironing board, some po'ch
furniture. He send that poh-lice man around when I gets behind on my
payments." "Does Cox send the policeman around to see everybody who
gets behind?" " essuh." "Just that policeman?" "Just that Patrick.
He the only one do it." "Did you sign a contract with Cox?"
"Go and get it." The man went into the house and came back with a long
piece of paper. Tucker skimmed through it. "How much have you already
paid him?" ""Bout a hundred and thirty bucks." "Don't pay him any
more. This is unenforceable." "But he might come ater me." "He won't
come ater you. I'll talk to him. Just forget the whole thing. Now,
do you want to press charges against that police manor beating on you?"
Hawkins shook his head hard. "No, sub! I don't needs that kind of
trouble." "I you went to pres charges there won't be any trouble."
Hawkins shook his head again. "Nossuh, you just keep him off me, and I
be happy-" "All right, I'll keep him o you, but I want you to do
something for me. I you have eny more of this kind of trouble, I want
you to call me or come and see me. Will you do that?" Hawkins looked
at the ground. "Well--" Tucker put his hand on the man's shoulder.
"Now, listen to me, Roosevelt. If you'll trust me and let me know when
things like this happen, I can do something about it. But I can't do
anything if you don't tell me about it." Hawkins nodded. "Awright."
"And tell everybody else that I want to hear from them. I'll see that
they get treated fairly if they'll come to me." "Awright, I tell 'em.
And I sure 'preciate what you done." Tucker left the back yard
relieved. His reception among the local blacks had been cautious at
best. He thought this incident might loosen them up a bit. He smiled;
now the incident was going to solve another problem for him. Bobby
Patrick had been resentful, insolent, and an all-around pain in the ass
ever since
Tucker had taken the job, and now he was about to be rid of him.
Patrick was leaning against his patrol car, sulking. Tucker went and
hiked himself up onto a fender next to the man. "Listen, I'm sorry
about bringing you down back there, but I had to make it look goo-d,.
You've bought yourself a real problem here; Roosevelt says he s going
to press charges." Patrick's head snapped, around. "You going to let
him do that to one of your own men? Tucker spread his palms. "What
can I do, man? He's mad as hell, and he says he can get a lot of other
people to testify who've had the same problem. He wants to see you in
the county camp." Patrick's eyes widened. "I can't go up there.
Shit, I wouldn't la sta week up there before somebody stuck as hiv in
me. You know, what it's like for a cop on the inside." I know, but
what can I do? I saw the whole thing myself, and if I testify for you
on the stand they'll get me for perjury. There were five witness
there, man? Patrick was frightened now. "Listen, Chief, you can't let
'em do this to me. You gotta help me." Tucker tried to look as if he
were thinking hard. "Look, Bobby, I can't see but one way out of this,
if we're going to keep you out of jail. You're going to have to
resign. If you do that, maybe I can talk Roosevelt out of pressing
charges." Patrick looked pained. "I know it's rough, man, but what
else can you do? You could even end up in Reidsville on this one if
enough other people testify." The mentiol'of the state prison sent ash
udder through the policeman. T'ticker pressed. "They might even bring
other charges. I don't think you want to let this get into court.
They'd have some NAACP lawyer down here like as hot You'd be lucky to
get off with five to seven." Patrick looked at Tucker pleadingly.
"Listen, if I resign, will you get the bastard to back off? You
promise me that?" Tucker squeezed the man's shoulder. "I'll do
everything I can, but we've got to move fast, before this spreads."
Patrick nodded. "Yeah, right." "Tell you what. You go back to the
station right now and get Bartlett to type up a letter for you. Say
you're leaving for personal reasons, something like that; make it sound
real sincere. Then tell Bartlett to put it in my safe, and you leave
your badge with him and go straight home. I'll call you the minute I
know something, okay?"
Patrick nodded. "Right, yeah, I'll' do that." He grabbed Tucker's
hand and wrung it. "And listen, Chief, I sure do thank you for
squaring this for me. You won't regret it." He jumped into his patrol
car and spun away in a cloud of dust. Tucker stood in the road looking
after him, chuckling to himself. "Oh, I sure won't regret it, Bobby, I
sure won't." Tucker stood in Elmer Cox's office and waited while Cox
dug out Roosevelt Hawkins's contract. The merchant came back to his
desk, nervously picked up a rubber stamp, and marked it "paid." He
signed and dated it and handed it to Tucker. "Chief, I sure appreciate
your handling this quiet like Tucker took the paper and folded it into
a pocket. "I'm glad to be of help, Mr. Cox. But you're going to have
to be real careful from now on." "Right, right." The heavyset man
mopped his brow with his sleeve. He was sweating profusely. "Another
incident like this one, and I won't be able to contain it." "I
understand, Chief, and I really do appreciate it." He reached into a
pocket, came up with asheaf of bills, and began to peel some off.
Tucker threw up a hand. "That's not necessary, sir, I'm just glad to
have been able to help." The merchant saw him to the front door,
thanking him all the way. At the station Bartlett dug Patrick's letter
of resignation out of the safe. It was full of gratitude and best
wishes for the future. "What did you do to Bobby, Chief? I never saw
him so worried." "Oh, I just did him a little favor. Why don't you
call him up and tell him I said everything is okay, not to worry about
a thing. Tell him I talked to the businessman involved, and he's
squared there, too." Tucker began to chuckle. "I'd talk to him
myself, but I swear I don't think I could keep a straight face." He
went into his office and closed the door. Bartlett looked puzzled but
did as he was told. He dialed the number. Through the closed door he
could hear the chief laughing.
DURING THE DAYS of mid-December Billy Lee carried with him everywhere a
feeling of unease about th relationship between Skeeter Willis and
Tucker Watts. He had to do something about the sheriff. He thought of
to Skeeter and warning him off, but the politician in him shied from
such a direct confrontation. Finally, he thought of a better way.
John Howell, the Times Atlanlg correspondent, called at his office on a
cold morning and invited him to lunch. "I just want to chat and get
some background for my Sunday Magazine piece, which probably won't
happen until the spring," Howell said. "Where can we get a bite in
Delano?" Billy grinned. "How strong is your stomach?" "Surely there's
a barbecue place, or something?" "Oh," said Billy, grabbing his coat,
"I think we can find you a more interesting lunch than that." The two
men drove north from Delarm toward the center of the county, Howell
asking questions and making notes. Billy was impressed with how well
informed Howell was about his political career. He was surprised when
Howell brought up the fact of Tucker Watts's relationship to Jesse
Cole, and thankful that he was ready for it. "It's the kind of
coincidence which is interesting, but meaningless he said, "the sort
that some people might use to try to make life uncomfortable for Tucker
or for me. Well, I'm in no way uncomfortable with it. Tucker told me
about it himself, quite voluntarily. The boy, Willie, apparently came
to the Watts home in Columbus and left without even spending the night.
Tucker didn't even know he had been there until later, after Willie
was dead."
"Then you don't mind if I print it?"
Billy grinned. "Would it matter if I did? Print it if you think it
interesting. Have you got a camera?"
"I've got a Minox in my brief case. Why?"
"Well, you might want to get as hot or two of this place for the
dining-out guide of the Times." Billy swung off the main road and onto
a dirt one. Shortly they came to a gate with a gUardhouse.
"We're having lunch in the county prison camp?" Howell gaped at the
barracks beyond.
The guard looked at him nervously. "Yes sir, Governor, can I help
you?"
' Billy never even fully stopped the car. "Just visiting," he called
out, and laughed as he saw the guard dive for the telephone. "I like
to drop in unexpectedly once in a while," he said to Howell. "It's a
custom Hugh Holmes started a long time ago."
Billy heaed straight for the mess hall, passing the warden's house on
the way. As they drove by, that gentleman appeared at the door, a
napkin tucked under his chin, scowling. 'q see the captain isn't
dining with his charges," Billy said. He parked in front of the mess
hall and bounded up the rickety wooden steps, Howell at his heels.
They entered a surprisingly silent hall full of men, the only noise
being the dull sound of metal spoons striking plastic trays. Billy
grabbed the hand of the nearest guard, an astonished man, and pumped
it. "Hey there, glad to see you." It might have been a campaign
barbecue. He led Howell to the serving area and picked up a tray. At
that moment the breathless warden rushed through the door.
"Good morning, Governor, my name's Hardy, I replaced Jenkins last
month." He took Billy by the elbow and attempted to guide him toward
the door. "I was just sitting down to some dinner. Why don't you come
join me?"
"Tell you what, Captain," said Billy, thrusting a tray into the
'rx-xlzss: Tucker Watts hands, "why don't we all join your men, here?
Let me
John Howell of the New York Times." He kept up a patter as he
propelled the alarmed warden through the and to a half-empty table.
"Mr. Howell is the restaurant critic his newspaper, and I was just
telling him about how well our eat. How's your food, Captain?"
The warden was looking glumly at the mess of dried butter and fatback
before him. Howell was snapping pictures with his Minox as fas tas
possible.
"Tell us, Captain, what's your daily allowance per man for food?"
"Uh, two dollars and thirty cents a day, Governor."
"Well," said Billy, poking at his food with a spoon, "the boys be
having T-bone steak tonight, huh? This looks like about fifteen cents'
worth to me."
"Well, uh, we missed a delivery this morning. This is just temporary."
A prisoner down the table began a coughing fit.
"I sure hope so,
Captain. I'd hate for the New York Times to think that our prisoners
ate this way three times a day. Tell you what, just to give you a
hand, why don't I arrange for somebody from the department of
corrections to come down here the next dsy or two and help you do an
inventory of the pantry and go over the books and the purchasing orders
with you. Would that help you out?"
The warden was sweating now. "Well, sir, I think we can handle it. I
was just goingt have a talk with the sheriff about improving things.
I've on! been here a month, and--"
"Oh, yes, I expect you work pretty closely with the sheriff. You know,
I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he didn't join us pretty soon. Ah,
speak of the devil--"
Billy pointed across the room. Skeeter Willis was coming through the
door. Billy stood up to greet him. Skeeter ignored his outstretched
hand. "Godammit, Billy, if you want to go snooping around my camp you
call me, andre"
"Sheriff, have you met Mr. John Howell of the New York Times?
"What?"
"Mr. Howell wanted to have a look at a model camp, and I knew yours
would be just the thing. Well, gentlemen, if you'll excuse us, we have
to be on our way. No, don't get up, Captain," he put a hand on the
man's shoulder and sat him down. "Finish
3(2
your lunch by all means. I'll see that you get that help down here
shortly."
Billy and Howell walked bak to the ear, followed losely by Skeeter. The
sheriff pulled Billy to one side. "Now, look here, Billy, I don't
appreciate this."
"Why, Skeeter, all I'm doing is just getting you some publicity. I
thought you'd like that. In fac, Mr. Howell was talking about doing a
long piece on county government. If you'd like I ould steer him to
you, let you give him a good look at your operation."
"Now, listen, Billy. There's no call for--"
"I was talking with a fellow in the Justice Department the other day
who was expressing just the same kind of interest. Maybe you'd like to
talk with him, too?"
Skeeter was nearly purple by now. "Dammit, Billy, you--" "Tell you
what, if you'd really like some attention down here I could speak
directly to Bob Kennedy about it. He's taking a keen interest in
southern law enforcement these days." Billy walked away from the
fuming sheriff and got into the car with Howe'll. He rolled down the
window. "I'd be more than happy to do anything I can in that
direction, Skeeter. You just say the word, hear?" He rolled up the
window, and, with a wave at the sheriff, drove out of the camp. "You
get some nice shots?" he asked Howell.
"Oh, Jesus, that was the funniest thing I ever saw. Did you see the
warden trying to eat that slop?"
"Didn't seem to like it much, did he?"
"Do you do this often?"
"Not often enough. Those guys really need watching. I'll get somebody
down here in a few days, and it'll be all right for a while, but first
chance they get--"
"Yeah, I guess they need a message sent pretty often."
"I think Skeeter got the message," Billy said as he turned back toward
Delano.
"ICKER turned from Broad into Main Street and moved slowly down the
block with the traffic. He ca!ght sight of his new recruit, Gene Legg,
fresh from Marine Corps, walking among the Christmas shoppers. He the
boy would wok out well, after some training and
"I'm a little surprised you didn't hire a black officer," said who rode
in the passenger seat. The reporter was, part of his magazine piece,
pending a working day with
"That might come after a while," Tucker replied. "But I man, and a
qualified applicant presented himself, so I Next time I need a man, if
a qualified black applicant urns up, I'll hire him." Tucker knew very
well that the next man he hired would be black, even if he had to
kidnap him from another police force.
"What do you think about the civil-rights movement, about the changes
that are happening?" "I think the changes are long overdue. As for
the movement, my sympathy, but I don't regard myself as an active part
of it, even though I'm the first black to hold a job formerly held only
by white men." Tucker knew he would never have been considfor the job
except for the civil-fights movement.
"What will you do' if you're required, in the line of duty, to become
involved? Locally, I mean."
"I'll do my job, I hope. I tend to divide what happens in the world by
what is a police problem and what is not. If something happens in
Delano that becomes a police problem, I'll involve myself to the extent
necessary to achieve a satisfactory solution."
"You don't see a larger role for yourself, both as a policeman and a
black man? You aren't willing to step over the line drawn by your duty
in order to influence events?"
"That line is always very fuzzy for a policeman. A cop makes those
derisions all the time. Should he make an arrest or just issue a
warning? At what point does a domestic argument escalate from a family
quarrel, to a criminal act? When does a peaceful demonstration become
a threat to the community? I hope I've developed a sense of judgment
in those areas, and I hope it'll stand me in good stead in the
future."
"Do you think your family relationship to Jesse Cole might cause
problems for you in Delano?"
Tucker could not hide his surprise. "Did Billy Lee tell you about
that?"
"No, I heard about it from.." another source. I've discussed it with
Billy, though, and it doesn't seem to bother him. There certainly
seems to be no question of any involvement on your part in helping
Willie escape."
Tucker shrugged. "I'm not aware that he was escaping from anything. He
certainly had nothing to do with the governor's daddy's death. He just
happened to be there, the way I heard it." "He broke jail."
"Yes, I suppose he did, but you say, yourself, that there's no question
of my being involved. He was just my cousin, and I didn't know he had
broken jail until he was dead."
"To get back to my question, do you think the relationship will cause
you any problems here?"
"Why should it? Are you going to print it?"
"Would you be uncomfortable if I did?"
"I don't know. It all happened so long ago, I don't see what it has to
do with what's happening in Delano today."
"Just history, I suppose. Also, I get the impression that certain
political opponents would like to find a way to use it to embarrass
Governor Lee. It might be better if it were mentioned in passing in my
piece than for it to come out under circumstances
THREE: Tucker Wattspeople's choosing." "If you say so. I don't see
how it can hurt him, anyway." "You still have an aunt here in Delano.
Jesse Cole's wife." Yes." see her often?" "She comes to Sunday
dinner. She's my only living relative, she and my wife get along
well." Tucker felt a trickle of sweat down the small of his back. "We
don't have a lot of friends We're kind of neither one thing nor the
other. It's nice for wife to have her to talk to." "In reading over
the announcement of your appointment in Ino Messenger, I noticed there
was no mention of your Small-town newspapers normally bring that in ..
. you Watts is the nephew of... etcetera, etcetera." "I didn't write
the announcement. I suppose they extracted information from a rsum
that covered my careerin the My aunt isn't a part of my military
career. The announce-didn't mention I was black, either, but then I
guess that in the rsum." Howell grinned and mused over his notes.
Tucker fought the to change the subject; then Howell did it for him.
"Tell me guy Sonny Butts, who used to be chief." "You probably know as
much about him as I do." "He really just disappeared, did he?"
"Apparently so. And with the departs!: ent's motorcycle." "Strange."
"Yeah, it was." Tucker paused for a'moment. Why not? This needed
entertaining, and he liked this subject better than I had just been
talking about. "Come on back to the and I'll show you something
interesting--something to ith Butts." As they were entering the
station, they brushed pasta drunk man who was being booked in the squad
room. Tucker Howell to his office and went to the bank of file
cabinets. behind him a voice came, questioningly, "Willie." Tucker
froze for just a moment, but prevented himself from He flipped through
the files rapidly. "Willie!" Tucker extracted a file from the cabinet
and turned toward his
"Don't you know me?"
Tucker turned to Bartlett. "What's this?"
"This, Chief, is Walter Johnson, a regular customer."
"Willie, it's Pieback. You know me, boy." The man leaned drunkenly
over the counter and stuck his hand out.
Tucker looked at him in disbelief. He had not laid eyes on Pieback
Johnson since they had played at hitching rides in the railroad
switching yard when they were, what--thirteen, fourteen? And Pi.
eback, stone drunk, had made him as if it had been yesterday.
"Sorry, Johnson, wrong fellow. You better go take a nap." He joined
Howell at the door of his office and ushered him in. Tucker was badly
shaken. He busied himself pouring them both a cup of coffee and
rattling on about Sonny Butts. Howell looked at him curiously, but
said nothing.
"Sonny Butts," Tucker said, tossing the file on his desk, "was a real
hell raiser. He or one of his officers shot a black prisonerin the
jail while they were allegedly beating him up. There was a local
movement against him, but he wasn't even indicted. Then he eat up a
man out at the fairgrounds, and the city council voted to fire him
because of that, on the same day that the grand jury met and failed to
indict him for the killing. Before he heard the results of either
meeting he left this station in a hurry on the police motorcycle, and
nobody ever saw him again, dead or alive." Tucker sat down and sipped
his coffee. "The theory was he thought he would be indicted, so he
ran." Tucker took a sip of his coffee. "But it doesn't add up."
"Why not?" Howell asked.
"Because at the last minute, a new witness turned up at the grand jury
hearing and cleared him. A witness he would have to have known
about."
"So he knew he would be cleared?"
"I think so."
"Maybe he couldn't face being fired by the city council."
"Maybe. I doubt it. I think he thought he could still save
himself."
"Then why did he run?"
Tucker sat back and took another sip of his coffee. "John, this has to
be between you and me."
"For how long?"
"Maybe always. Until I can make something of it. But if you
before I say so, I'll never make anything of it." "Okay, but you have
to tell me everything."
"All right." he opened the file on his desk. "I don't think
, Butts ran."
Thirty minutes later the two men sat and stared at each other. crazy,
you know that, don't you?" Howell laughed.
"Maybe," said Tucker. "Do you have another explanation?" tapped the
last of the missing-persons bulletins in file. "Look at the date on
this. The boy was last seen less a week before Sonny disappeared.
Considering the time it to print and mail the bulletins, this might
very well have in the mail the morning Sonny vanished--the morning his
motorcycle and tore out of here."
"Did the disappearances continue after Sonny disappeared?" "I've had a
man going through the files of the years since to are any missing
persons that fit this mold."
"It's taking him one hell of a long time. The files are all scram-as a
result of a fire here a few years back, and he can only it When he has
nothing else to do, and that isn't often. he's found nothing between
946 and t958; one since '58."
"SO the doesn't continue. At least, as far as you know.
a pattern."
Tucker shook his head. "No, it doesn't. Something could turn though."
.
"Do you have a suspect?"
"You've seen everything I have. What do you think?"
"Is this guy Funderburke still alive?"
"Very much so."
"But how could he have gotten away with it for so long?" "He's been
lucky. Chief Lee apparently suspected him, but was killed. There was
no reason for him to ever have men!ioned his suspicions to anybody
else, until Sonny caught on."
"And then when Sonny caught on,"Funderburke took him
"You said that, I didn't. At the moment, that's libel, and don't
it."
"Right. So what's your next step?"
Tucker leaned back in his chair and grinned. "O1' Foxy like colored
folks much. Why don't we see how he likes
newspaper reporters?" Tucker walked Howell to his ear and gave him
directions to Foxy's place. "What's my excuse for going to see him?"
Howell asked. "You've got a choice of two subject matters: guns or
dogs. He's apparently got a big weapons collection, and he raises
Labrador retrievers. Take your pick." "What should I look for?" "See
if you can find a reason to walk around the back of the place. There's
a burnt~ out kudzu patch back there. If he lets you into the house.."
well, just look at everything you can, see what you can learn about the
way he lives. And John--" "Yeah?" "Don't let him think for a moment
that you just happened by there, that nobody knows where you are."
Tucker grinned. "You're not at all unlike the boys in those
missing-persons bulletins, you know. Older, but young looking." "Gee,
thanks a lot. That does a lot for my confidence." Howell stopped
hort, getting into the car. "That's why you want me to go up there,
isn't it? You think he'll like me, don't you?" Tucker laughed aloud.
"Of course not, John. I'm just calling on your finely honed powers of
observation, your reportorial instincts." He pushed the reporter into
the car and' closed the door after him. "Tell him one of my cops
suggested you go see him." Howell looked at him for a long moment,
then started the car. "Right," he said, and put the car into gear.
Tucker watched the reporter drive away; then he walked back into the
station, thinking, not about Foxy Funderburke, but about Pieback
Johnson. As he entered the squad room Buddy Bartlett was hanging up
the phone. "Hey, Chief, did you hear our former colleague Bobby
Patrick is going into polities?" "What?" Tucker was only half
listening. "Yeah, Sheriff Stimson ove ring Talbot County, he's been
sick for a long time, cancer I think. Well, he resigned, and they're
holding a special election next month. Of' Bobby's running. He just
called." "In Talbot County?" "Yep, he lives in Woodland, that's over
the line, so he's eligible. He figures with his sterling
law-enforcement background he's ashoo-in."
ri. mss Tucker Watts 369
"Well, God help Talbot County," Tucker said.
"Chief, you mind if I run out to the house for a few minutes?
ly TV's broken, and there's nobody to let the repairman in. Shouldn't
take more than half an hour."
"Sure, Buddy, go ahead. I'll cover for you."
The policeman departed, and Tucker was left alone in the jail. He
stood quietly in the squad room for a moment, thinking. Then he took
the cell keys from Buddy Bartlett's desk and walked back to the lockup.
Through the bars he could see Pieback on a cell cot and hear him
snoring. He was the only prisonerin the jail. He unlocked the outer
door and walked back to the ceils. Still Pieback snored. He unlocked
the cell door and stood next to the bunk. A stench of cheap wine and
vomit rose from the sleeping
It would take only a few seconds, Tucker thought. He would never know
anything. He just wouldn't wake up. Pieback would be written off as
an habitual drunkard in poor health who died in his seep in a jail
cell. Tucker picked up a pillow from the opposite bunk.
TUCKER was in the toilet when Buddy Bartlett re turned from his errand,
sitting on the closed john, his head between his knees, holding a wet
paper towel to his face, trying not to be sick. "Chief?" The voice
jolted him, made him sit upright, take hold of himself. "Yeah," he
called back. "I'm in here." He stood up and looked at himself in the
mirror. He saw a frightened man looking back at him. He walked
quickly from the toilet to his office, calling over his shoulder, "All
quiet; the phone didn't even ring." He closed the door behind him and
sat down at his desk. Rummaging in a drawer, he found a dozen librium
in a bottle and swallowed one quickly, without water An army doctor
had given them to him a year before, at a time when he had been working
too hard and getting edgy. He sat back and waited for the tranquilizer
to take effect. By the time John Howell returned, more than an hour
after his departure, Tucker felt better, more in control. Howell
knocked and stuck his head in. "I've brought a witness." He pushed
the door open and held up a puppy. "Isn't she terrific?" Tucker
laughed. "I didn't send you out there to fall in 10ye." "Well, I guess
I did. I picked dogs over guns as my reason for
TtRE: Tucker Watts and I got carried away."
"All fight, tell me from the beginning, and don't leave any out."
Howell settled in a chair. "The first thing I noticed was the the
symmetry, just like the doctor said it would be in report. As I drove
up to the house, the flower beds, the shrubs, everything was laid out
symmetrically. The house, too,
the windows and shutters. I stopped at the corner of the house and
started to go to the front door, when he came around from the back and
asked me what the hell I wanted."
"In those words?"
"No, but in that tone. I said that Bartlett had told me he raised
Labs, and I was interested in them. He asked me my name again---I'd
already told him once--and seemed to be making an effort to remember
it; then he softened a bit and took me around to the back, where the
kennels are."
"You got a good look at the back of the place then."
"Yeah.but I didn't see much of anything. There's a garage and the
kennels and the burnt patch, like you said. He told me about the
kudzu; he didn't get it all, apparently, in spite of the fire, and lies
worried about it coming back next spring. He showed me the dogs, and
that's when I got hooked on the puppy. I wasn't expecting puppies,
somehow."
"What was his attitude by this time?"
"Softer, like I said, but still.." wary, I guess. I wanted to get
into the house, but I felt a little shaky using the guns as an
excuse---I don't know anything about guns---so I just commented on how
attractive the place was, said I'd never seen a log cabin before. He
said that he'd built most of it himself, so I jumped in and asked if
he'd mind if I had a look inside. He said okay, but probably because
he couldn't think of an excuse fast enough; so we went inside.
"What's it like? I've never been inside."
"Living room, bedroom, a bath, kitchen. That's it. Rooms are good
sized, though. Everything neat as a pin. Not homey, though; almost
sterile. Guns all over one wall in the living room. He was just
starting to warm up a little, talking about this gun and that, when I
mentioned that a guy I once worked on a paper with was a collector, and
he brought me up short and asked me if I worked for a newspaper."
"Why would that bother him?"
"I don't know, but he switched off like a light bulb. Couldn't get me
out of there fast enough. I don't guess I was there for more than
twenty minutes." "So what do you think?" Howell shook his head.
"Well, Tucker, this is real thin, what you're going on here. I tell
you, I wish he was the guy; he's perfect casting--the eccentric recluse
and all that--it'd make a great story, maybe even a book--but I saw
nothing, nothing that would make the guy for a string of
disappearances, including a motorcycle cop. I don't see how you could
even get a search warrant." 'q didn't expect you to find a body on the
hying room couch, you know. I just wanted your impression. He won't
even talk to me, because I'm the wrong color. You're right about the
warrant, though. His place is outside the city limits and just over
the line in Talbot County, so he isn't even in my jurisdiction. But
the thing fascinates me." "I can see how it would. God knows the
atmosphere out there is eerie it so neat--that's almost scary by
itself. Something else, a feeling I got when I was in the kitchen."
"What kind of feeling?" "It reminded me of something-I couldn't get it
at first, I thought maybe of a hospital--but then I remembered. It was
the floor. It's n unusual kitchen floor--glazed tile, and it slants
into a drain in the middle of the kitchen, under the table." "Yeah?"
Howell leaned forward, absently stroking the puppy. "It reminds me of
the floor in the morgue in Atlanta, in the room where they do the
autopsies. The sort of floor that you can hose down, and it drains by
itself. I've never seen a kitchen like that." Tucker gave an
involuntary shudder. "Neither has anybody else," he said.
When Howell had left for Atlanta with his puppy, Tucker sat quietly in
his office for a while, thinking. He felt better now, with the Librium
calming him. He got up and switched off the lights. As he passed
through the squad room, Bartlett was returning from the lockup, tossing
keys on his desk, shaking his head. "Something wrong?" Tucker asked.
"It's o1' Pieback," the policeman said. "I'm sure glad I won't be on
tonight when he wakes up. He'll have the DTs, for sure." "Does that
happen often?"
TR E: Tucker Watts "If he's been on a big enough hinge. You saw him
this afterthought he knew you. I tell you, that guy's brain must
pickled by now." "Is he okay in there, do you think? Does he need a
doctor or
I?"
"No, he's snoring like a sawmill, mumbling in his sleep. I'd :o be in
the next cell." Tucker got into his coat. "I'm calling it a day, I
think." "Right, Chief. See you in the morning. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," Tucker replied. He walked slowly into the chill
dusk and got into his car. He felt reborn in some odd way. He had
gone right to the brink and pulled back. But now there was something
else he knew he had to do, something he had put off too long, something
he had hoped he would never have to do.
She sat at the kitchen table, her coffee gone cold, and stared him. H.e
could not avoid her gaze. "So," she said, "what am I supposed to call
you now? Willie? Am I Mrs. Cole now?" "I'm Tcker Watts," he said.
"You're Mrs. Tucker Watts. Wil~ lie Cole is dead. He was hit by a
truck in Alabama in 1932. Noeven knows where he's buried." She
continued to stare at him. "I'm the same man you married; the same man
I've been since I joined the army."
"I know that," she said final. "And I love you."
"I love you, too. Nothing's changed. We're the same people.
Mama is still Aunt Nellie. It will always be that way."
She cocked her head to one side. "Why did you decide to tell me now,
after all these years?"
"Because this afternoon I nearly did something stupid, and it was
because you didn't know. Now you know, and I won't ever again have to
do anything to hide it from you." He caught a whiff of roast cooking.
"I'm hungry," he said..
"Then let's eat, Tucker Watts."
TUCKER lived more easily with himself, now that Elizabeth knew
everything. Pieback Johnson was an old drunk, anyway, and nobody would
pay any attention to him. He lived less easily, though, with his
thoughts of Foxy Funderburke. Having no sufficient grounds to visit
Foxy's place and search it, he tried another tack--an old police
method.
He began to question, almost idly, the people with whom Foxy did
business. He spoke to the man who sold him gas for his truck; to the
owner of the feed store who sold him dry food for his dogs; to the
clerk at McKibbon's who sold him hardware. He learned little, for
these people knew little to tell, but eventually Foxy would learn that
Tucker was asking questions about him, and it would make him nervous.
If Tucker could not find a way to get at Foxy, then he wanted him
nervous. Nervous men make mistakes, and although he had no idea what
sort of mistake Foxy might make, Tucker was willing to wait to find
out.
Then, as he was sitting in his parked car on Main Street one morning in
mid-March, someone tapped on the opposite window. Hugh Holmes opened
the door. "Morning, Tucker, mind if I sit for a spell?"
"Not at all, Mr. Holmes. I was just making some notes to myself for
late ring the day." Holmes settled himself in the passenger seat. "I
haven't seen
THRE: Tucker Watts Il lot of you lately myself, and I wanted to tell
you what a fine
press ion you seem to be making on the community. The traffic
llituation on Main Street has imp,r,o, veda hundred percent, and
terybody's real pleased about it." Tucker had submitted a pro sal to
the city council to make Main one-way and to repair all flhe'bb'roken
parking meters.
I. I'm glad to hear it, sir." Tucker was glad, but he had a feel l
g,ugh Holmes had something else on his mind.
i' The merchants were real glad to see those burglars caught, They were
losing a lot of merchandise."
l'i. "I was glad, myself," Tucker answered, and waited. He was
lurised at what came. '
"I'm concerned, though, at some things I've been hearing."
l!
"Oh?"
t:i'
"It's my understanding that you've been conducting some ill, sort of
investigation of Foxy Funderburke. Is that the case?"
"I wouldn't call it an investigation. I've just been finding out I
What I.can about him. He's a peculiar fellow."
"Yo have something in mind? Do you suspect him of some ng?"
"I don't have any hard evidence that he's done anything 'ti Wrong." "
"But you, suspect him of something, is that right?
"Well-i "I don't mean to pry into police business, really I don't.
There s no need to explain to rqe:what you have in mind." '. " I
appreciate that, sir." : Holmes gazed off into the middle distance.
"Tucker, I know that Delano is a new sort of experience for you, a
small town and all."
"Yes, sir, I suppose it s." "Well, small towns, although they can be
rigid in many ways, are tolerant of eccentrics. We've got our share of
homosexuals in
Delano, I expect, but people leave 'em alone. There are retarded Il
people and crazy people, and people, that are just plain hard to get
along with, but we make allowances. Now, Foxy, he's been a thorn in
the town's flesh for a long time. He's irritated people--me, among
them--he's insulted people, and he's behaved oddly, but for the most
part he collects his guns and raises his dogs and minds his own
business. Oddly enough, considering the sort of person he is, he has
some friends in this area, and some of them
have been speaking to me. "I see. ' "Don't misunderstand me. If Foxy
comes into Delano and runs a stop sign or something, he ought to be
ticketed like everybody else. If he sticks up the Bank of Delano, he
ought to be sent to prison. You say you have nothing concrete on him."
"No, sir, I don't." "Well, you've got to remember that, although he
does a lot of business in Delano--and that business is appreciated, for
Foxy's not a poor man--he lives outside the i limits and in Talbot
County. Now, a few weeks ago, for better or for worse, the people of
Talbot Count clued Bobby Patrick sheriff over there. If you believe Fo
y's done something, you have an obligation to take whatever evidence
you have to Bobby, hard as that may be for you, and let him pursue it.
Foxy's his responsibili, wouldn't you agree?" Tucker nodded wearily.
"Yes, sir, I'd have to agree with that." "I think you're aware, too,
Tucker, that Billy Lee is announcing fo'governor tomorrow, at the dose
of the legislature, and that the fact of your presence in Delano is
politically a sensitive matter for him." "Yes, sir, I understand
that." "Now, Billy seems to have got Skeeter Willis off your
back--although I wouldn't be a hundred percent confident of that--but
if word gets around that you're harassing an innocent citizen--and an
eccentric citizen, at that--well, it could get to be an issue around
here, and there are people just waiting for you to trip up, so they can
embarrass Billy with it.". "I see your point, Mr. Holmes." "Again,
Tucker, if you get something on Foxy, by all means, do something abut
it, but go through channels. If you want to make some kind of move
yourself, you just be sure you go through channels, first." The two
men shook hands, and Holmes got out of the car. "Keep up the good
work, Tucker. I'm proud of you." Holmes strolled away toward the
bank. Tucker sat and stared at a display in the drugstore window in
front of the car. Holmes was right, of course, and pretty polite about
it, too. He was lucky not to get chewed up one side and down the
other. He drove slowly back to the station. In the squad room he
asked Bartlett, "What part of those files
RE: Tucker Watts you've got through? Back to what year?"
"I'm not doing 'em by year. I've got some of every year done. tried
to do 'em chronologically it would take me another cou reckon."
"How much longer will it take you the way you're going?" Bartlett
stared at the filing cabinets and shook his head. "I I must be about
sixty percent through them. Say, another months, unless you want me to
drop everything and concen on that. We'd have to pull another man off
the street and in here, so I could concentrate on it."
Tucker knew they were spread thin enough as it was. He his head. "No,
we can't do that. Just do the best you can them. And bring me the
missing-persons stuff as you come it."
"Right."
Tucker went into his office and sat down, cursing himself for pride. He
missed all the attention he had received when he t.first taken the-job,
that was it. He'd had a taste of being a and he wanted it again. That
was stupid. He was a retired
' office ring a petty civil-service job, and if he wanted to keep top
of his had on he'd better get back to traffic patterns and cuttings.
That was the job he was here for and God, was the job he would do. He
opened his notebook,
to put Foxy Funderburke out of his mind.
THROUGH THE SPRING and summer of 963, Billy campaigned a steady five
days a week, always spending the weekend at home, partly because he
wanted to be at home and partly because that prevented him from
accepting invitations to preach Sunday-morning sermons at churches
around the state. The thought repelled him, and he rejected many such
invitafl6ns, always on the grounds that he would be at home, attending
his own church. Billy worked the state relentlessly, south and north,
urban and rural. He shook hands until his own was red and sore, and
ate barbecue until bicarbonate was a steady part of his diet. Patricia
occasionally joined him, if the event was likely to attract television
coverage, but for the most part she stayed home and farmed, as she had
always done. "If someday you should get to be president," she told
him, "you may have to buy me a farm in Virginia." His chief opponent,
Jackson Mullins, fought a campaign rid-died with code words--"states'
rights," "preservation of our southern traditions," "freedom of social
choice," and the like--while piously declining support from the Klan
and other extremist groups. Billy used code words of his own, with
references to "all the people" and such, while avoiding an out-and-out
plea for racial justice. It struck him that he might be running in
the
TRE.: Tucker Watts campaign in which a moderate candidate would have
to his appeal to people's best instincts in code words. He oped so;
and once elected, he could speak more forthrightly, a rgia governor
being constitutionally barred from succeeding self. On September 3 the
Democratic primary was held, and the [imdidates and their supporters
settled into their respective I. dquarters to drink bourbon whiskey and
wait for the results, i $tlly at a suite in Atlanta's Henry Grady Hotel
and Mullins at the" ir[kler, down the street. After an evening of
still more handaking and confident statements to the press, he gathered
in a room with Patricia, Will, Hugh Holmes, and John Howell, [rho had
become, by this time, a friend of the family. I t Billy eased himself
painfully onto one of the beds and$tretched out. "Well, Mr. Holmes,
what do you predict?" He had I rvoided asking the banker until now.?
"Well," said Holmes, sprawling his long, frame over an arm-tti:eha, jr,
"I think we just might avoid a runoff. Billy grunted. "By winning a
majority or by losing it?" "That's as far as I'd like to go," said
Holmes, and took a tiny of his bourbon.
"You think you've got a runoff left in you, Billy?" asked John
"Jesus, I don't know. I'll tell you the truth, if I won and had o
start being governor tomorrow, I'd begin my term with a vacation." '
"I take it you're not worried abt the Republicans?"
Hugh Holmes laughed. "One of the real rewards of being a is you don't
have to worry about the lepublicans. If Kennedy can take Georgia
against Dick Nixon, as he did, then we won't have to worry about
Republicans--not for a while, anyway." "What percentage do you think a
Republican could take against Billy in the general election?" asked
Howell. "Assuming he wins the primary."
"Twenty percent, tops," said Holmes: "The die-hard segreMullins's
supporters, will stay home before they'll vote for a Republican.
There'll be a real low turnout, but Billy'll take eighty percent or
better." "I hope I have the opportunity," Billy chimed in. "I go from
feeling absolutely confident to being scared to death. What scares
me is what this state will go through for the next four years if
Mullins wins. We'll have federal marshals and troops in here like it
was Mississippi," "I wonder what the exact effect of Tucker Watts was
on this campaign," mused Howell. "My guess," said Holmes, "is that
we'd have gotten the black vote, anyway, because they had no place else
to go, but what I hope is that it will have the effect of turning them
out in larger numbers. I'm encouraged by the registration drives they
put on," Returns began to trickle, then to pour, in, first from Atlanta
and the cities, then from south Georgia and the rural areas. At eleven
o'clock Billy was leading by ten percentage points; at half past
midnight, by two; and at one o'clock, by slightly more than a point.
Holmes finished looking at some figures. "That's it, I reckon. We've
got it, and you'd better be glad there's no more county unit system, or
the rural counties would have made Mullins a big unit-vote winner." "I
can't believe it," said Patricia wearily. "I can never believe it when
it's finally over, even when we've won." The television reporters were
now, finally, giving the primary to Billy. The telephone rang. Billy
picked it up and listened. He put his hand over the receiver and said
to John Howell. "Okay, reporter, here's where you have to de,de
whether to keep your mouth shut or leave the room." Howell hesitated,
then made a zipping motion across his lips. "Good evening, Mr.
President, or perhaps I should say good morning." Everybody in the
room snapped to alertness. "It's kind of you to call at this late
hour." Everybody stared at Billy, as if by watching they could hear
both sides of the conversation. "Fhank you, sir. It was dose, but we
seem to have it. The best advice I can get is that the Republicans
can't pull more than twenty percent in the general election." Billy
laughed at the response. "I agree. Thank you, and please give your
family my best, too What's that? Well, I don't think they have much to
worry about Thank you again, and good night." He hung up the receiver.
"Well," said Patricia excitedly, "what did he say?" "Oh, about what
you'd expect him to. He sent his regards to you, and then"--Billy
cocked his head to one side--"he said, "I
'I'm: Tucker Watts 38x r some of Lyndon's staff have already started
packing."" "You're kidding," said Howell. "Jesus, did I promise to
keep mouth shut?"
"No, no... it wasn't like that. He was only kidding. Listen,
that fight Out of your mind, okay? We can't have of that kind of talk
circulating."
Howell was pointing at the television set, blinking si from across the
room. "It's Mullins," he said. "He's going concede." Somebody turned
up the volume in time for the bass tones of Jackson Mullins to fill the
room.
"I'll bet you could stick your head out the window and hear all the way
from the Dinkier," Will said. He had been asleep 7 most of the
evening.
"My friends," Mullins was saying, "we have fought a long
, of life in the state of Georgia--" "Yeah, yeah, Jack, now throw in
the towel, and let's get it over said Howell.
"--and I want you to know that, as far as I am concerned, the not
over."
Billy sat up. "What the hell is he talking about?"
Across the room, Hugh Holmes removed his glasses and be massaging the
bridge of his nose. "I knew it," muttered almost to himself, "I knew
it."
"Knew what?" asked Patricia;
"Shhh," said Billy.
continued. "i want the wor4 o go out to every sup to every
contributor, to every Orking man and woman voted for me in this
primary, that I will continue." "What's happeningT' asked Howell,
bewildered.
"He's going to try to throw it to the house," said Holmes
'q was afraid he might."
"i want each of you to know that on November fourth my name will be on
the ballot as an independent candidate. This far from lost, and with
your continued help we can win it!" Mullins folded his notes and
walked quikiy from the po There was pandemonium at the Dinkler.
'"What is he doing?" asked Howell, astonished. "He's lost!
can he throw it to the house?"
Holmes slumped in his chair. "In Georgia there is no runoff in the
election for governor. A candidate has to win an absolute majority in
the general election, or the house elects the governor,
one week after the election."
"Are you telling me that--"
"I'm telling you that if the Republicans take twenty percent of the
vote and Mullins can pull a fraction more than thirty percent, then
Billy will not have an absolute majority in the general election, and
one week after that the Georgia House of Representatives will meet and
choose between the two leading candidates."
"Can he do that? Can he pull enough votes to throw it into the house?"
Howell asked plaintively.
"In my judgment," said Holmes emphatically, "he can."
"Mr. Holmes," Billy said, "in your judgment where would we stand in
the house?"
Holmes produced a notebook from a coat pocket and consulted it. "I
went through a little theoretical roll call in my head this afternoon,"
the banker said. "I reckon that if the election were held today in the
House we'd be between fifteen and twenty votes short."
There was a stunned silence in the room. Finally, Patricia broke it.
"Do you mean that Billy has won the primary, but he'll lose th
governorship?"
Holmes nodded. "If he didn't win an absolute majority in the general
election, and if the house voted today."
Billy stood up and put on his coat. "Fortunately," he said, with an
edge in his voice, "the general election hasn't taken place yet, and
the house isn't voting tomorrow." He buttoned his collar and tightened
his necktie. "Let's go talk to the press, and then, Trish, let's go
home. l. want to sleep at home tonight."
The phone rang, and Billy went back to answer it. He spoke briefly
while the others stood at the oor, then he hung up and joined them,
laughing ruefully. "That was Bob Kennedy," he said. "He says Lyndon's
people are unpacking."
TP, Tucker Watts WITH THE EXCEPTIONS of his frustration over the matt
or of Foxy Funderburke and his fears about Pieback Johnson, Tucker
Watts led what he could consider to be a charmed existence through the
first eleven of his tenure, up until early November. He had
ira-personnel, equipment, and operations of the Delano and had
establisllcd himself in the community as a reliable man. True, there
was a residue of resentment among many people with regard to his color,
but he felt he had, reached some sort of truce with that element of the
town; that in return for his doing a good job, they would leave him
alone. He was wrong. In looking back on the and dent he would be able
to say honestly to himself that he had done the right, indeed the only
thing mlYa sible at each stage of its escalation. But it had still
gone tern-wrong. Maybe his temper had been too much of a factor; ybe
he had for a moment forgotten how to be a black man in a white world.
He had been home for lunch and was driving back to the station, when he
saw the car. They passed each otherin front of the school, and the car
was doing at least fLfty. Although the students were all in class, it
particularly offended Tucker that someone would drive more than double
the speed limit in a school zone.
He whipped the car into a U-urn and pulled over the offender just
inside the city limits. As he walked toward the car, pulling out his
ticket pad, the driver opened the door and got out. The man was
elderly, but large and strong looking. Tucker thought he looked
familiar but did not recognize him until he heard the man's voice.
"What the hell is this all about?" The voice instantly brought back a
flood of memories: of chopping wood until his hands bled; of his mother
doing laundry until after dark; of his father returning from work
nearly hysterical, soaking wet, his face swollen with mosquito bites.
It was the first time since his re urn to Delano that Tucker had laid
eyes on Hoss Spence. He snapped back to the present. "May I see your
driver's license, please?" "You're gonna see this stick upside your
head if you don't answer me." Spence was carrying a heavy hog cane.
"What the hell is this all about?" "I clocked you doing fifty-vo miles
an hour in a wentymilean-hour zone--a school zone. That's what it's
all about. Now show me your driver's licence." Tucker was prepared
for a scene, but not for what came next. He had glanced down at his
ticket pad to flip over a page when he saw a blur at the corner of his
eye and felt a iarring blow across his left cheek and ear. The sound
made his ear ring, and the force of the blow sent him reeling sideways.
Suddenly occupied with regaining his balance, he failed to ward off the
second blow, which caught him on the neck. When the cane swung the
third time, he threw up an arm, and it caught him in the armpit. He
was able to clamp down on the cane, get another hand on it, and wrench
it from pence's grasp. He flung it aside and occupied himself with
deflecting the man's fists, which were now raining upon him. Finally,
he was able to grab his assailant's wrist, spin him around, and trip
him to the ground. He pinned Spence with a knee and got one wrist
handcuffed, but had more of a struggle before he could cuff the other.
He yanked the old man to his feet, walked him on his toes to the patrol
car, opened a rear door, and shoved him inside. He was not gentle, but
he was not nearly as rough as he might justifiably have been, he
thought. Throughout the scuffle Spence had kept up a stream of
invective, most of it racial, and it did not end when he was in the
car. Tucker walked back toward pence's car, retrieved the cane,
returned to the police car and picked up
Boo TH: Tucker Watts the microphone.
"Station, this is mobile one."
"Car one, this is station."
"I've just made an arrest for speeding and assaulting an officer. Send
a car and two men out forty-one. Just inside the city limits on the
right there'll be a blue, '61 Cadillac four-door. The keys are in it.
Bring it back to the station. Roger?" "Roger. You need any other
assistance?" "Negative, just pick up the car."
Spence continued to rave and mutter all the way to the police station.
Tucker said nothing at all. He was trying to separate his childhood
feelings about Spence from the current incident. By the time they
reached the station, he was satisfied that he had done so.
Bartlett's face registered amazement when he saw Spence, but he managed
to keep his mouth shut.
"Put this man in a cell," Tucker said sharply. "If he gives you any
trouble, handcuff him to the bars. I'll make out the complaint."
Bartlett returned after a moment. "Jesus, Chief, do you know who that
guy is?"
Tucker had spun a blank form into a typewriter and was rattling away on
the machine. "I don't much care who he is."
"His name is Spence. They call him Hoss. He's a big-time farmer out
near your place, peaches and cows and everything else. He's got a lot
of political friends in the county."
"Yeah?" Tucker kept typing,
"Uh, Chief, I let him use the pay phone in the back. He's entitled to
a call. I hope that was okay."
"Sure. The man has his rights. I want him to get all his rights
before I see him in the county camp."
Bartlett tiptoed away and came back with some ice from the soft-drink
cooler. "You'd better put some of this on your face. It's swelling up
pretty good."
Tucker ripped the paper out of tffe machine and took the ice. He had a
thought. He went to a cupboard and took out a Polaroid camera which
they sometimes used for photographing traffic accidents. "Here," he
said, thrusting it at Bartlett. "Take a picture of me." Bartlett
obeyed. "If he's got as many friends as you say he has, this might
come in handy," Tucker said, watching the image slowly appear on the
paper. The phone rang, and Bartlett
Cmos answered it. He handed it to Tucker.
"This is Chief Watts." 'rucker, this is Hugh Holmes. I hear you've
got Hoss Spence down there. What's the charge?" "Fifty-two miles an
hour in a school zone, resisting arrest, assaulting an officer." "Did
he pull a gun on you?" 'qt was a heavy cane, one of those things they
use to move pigs with. He could have killed me with the thing." "Did
you provoke him?" "I asked him for his driver's license." 'qhat's
all?" 'hat's all I had a chance to say to him. Then he hit me with the
cane." "All right, Tucker, I'm going to stay out of this. We've got a
general election day after tomorrow, and I'm up to my ears in it. Let
me give you some advice, though, even though it may be gratuitous."
"I'd b happy to have any advice you'd care to give me, sir." Tucker
was cooling off a bit now. "Be absolutely correct in your procedure
with this thing. Were there any wimesses?" "No, sir." "That's a
pity." --"I've got a real nice photograph of my injuries, though."
"Good. Now, Hoss's lawyerin Greenville has already seen the judge, and
you're likely to get a call pretty soon. If I were you, I'd take the
call as sufficient to release him. Don't demand a written order.
It'll just make things more difficult." "I understand, sir." "All
right, then. Call me if it gets too sticky, hear?" "Yes, sir, I will."
He hung up. There was the scuffle of feet in the entrance to the squad
room. "I hear you got my daddy in here." Tucker turned and saw Emmett
Spence, not for the first time in recent months. They often passed
each other on the highway, being neighbors. Emmett had never so much
as acknowledged his presence. "Who are you?" asked Tucker. "I'm
Emmett Spence, go dammit and you've got my daddy in here!" "Yes, I
have got your daddy in here, Mr. Spence. If you want him out, call a
lawyer. And watch your language in here."
Booc REs: Tucker Watts "I already called a lawyer, you better believe
it!"
The telephone rang. Tucker answered it himself.
"Chief, this is Judge Hill in Greenville. I believe you have a Mr.
Spence there on a traffic offense?"
"Yes, sir, Judge, for speeding, resisting arrest, and assault."
"Chief, I'm issuing an order releasing Mr. Spence on his own
recognizance. I'd take it as a personal favor if you'd go ahead and
release him now. I'll see that the order is in today's mail." The
judge sounded embarrassed.
"Of course, Your Honor. I'm glad to accommodate you." "Uh, Chief
Watts, I understand there was an altercation of some sort. I think it
would be in the best interests of everybody concerned if we could
settle this out of court."
"Your Honor, I'd like to be of help, but the man struck me repeatedly
with a heavy cane and without provocation. I could have made the
charge assault with a deadly weapon."
"Chief, Mr. Spence is an old man, seventy-four, I believe. I hope
that in consideration of his age and his standing in the community that
we can avoid any further unrleasantness."
"No, sir, I'm afraid I can't do that." It was time for the son of a
bitch to lay the piper. "He can plead guilty as charged, if he likes,
and of course, the sentence would be up to you."
"Chief, I'm sorry you feel that way. If you'd go ahead and release Mr.
pence, I expect we'll talk about this again." Tucker hung up. "Alt
right, Bartlett, turn him out."
Spence came into the squall' room rubbing his wrists and muttering.
"Gimme my cane back," he said to Tucker.
"No, sir, I'm afraid that's evidence. Now, may I see your driver's
license, please."
Emmett Spence stepped forward. "Ain't you learned nothing, boy?"
Tucker turned to Emmett. He remembered what a stupid, senselessly
cruel child he had been. "I don't believe I said anything to you." He
turned back to Hoss Spence. "Mr. Spence, you're going to have to give
me your license right now or go back in the cell."
Spence redutantly produced the license, and Tucker wrote him a traffic
ticket. "I would strongly suggest, sir, that in the future you be
particularly careful of the way you drive." Spence snatched back the
license and the ticket and stalked out of the station.
Emmett ling?ed for a moment. "Hey, he clipped you a good
Cm,s
one, there didn't he? Well, he ain't' through yet, I can tell you
that."
"Emmett!" his father yelled from the door. "Get your ass out here!"
"Uh, Chief," said Bartlett, anxious to change the subject, "I came
across this while you were at lunch." He handed Tucker a water-stained
manila folder. "I think it might be what you were looking for."
Tucker opened the folder and quickly leafed through the contents.
There were at least two dozen missing-persons bulletins.
"Some o 'em are women," Bartlett said. "You only wanted males, but
they were all in there together."
Tucker started for his office, looking through the bulletins.
"And, Chief?" Bartlett held out a single bulletin. 'q'his came in the
second mail."
Tucker looked at the sheet of paper. Fifteen; disappeared from
Clearwater, Florida, a week before. Suspected runaway. Tucker walked
quickly into his office and shut the door.
Quickly, excitedly, he flipped through the bulletin, weeding out the
fen ales and older males. He then read each of the remaining
bulletins, underlining the pertinent information on where the person
had last been seen and elminating those last seen too far away or
seemingly on a route which would not lead through Delano. He was left
with eleven sheets of paper stacked before him. He faces in the
photographs might have been in the same school class or on the same
baseball team. Or, more likely, in the same drama or glee club. There
was a softness about them.
The dates ranged from x948 through x96o. Tucker turned to the bulletin
which had arrived that rrgoming. That brought things right up to the
present. He took a deep breath and exhaled. Now he had enough for a
search warrant. He gathered the bulletins into one file folder, alon8
with the papers of Will Henry Lee and of Sonny Butts, stuck them in his
brief case, and stood up. He had business in Talbot County.
There were loud voices from the squad room. The door to his office
opened, and Skeeter Willis walked in, pointing a pistol at him. "Just
keep your hands on the desk, boy."
Tucker put his hands on the desk. "What's going on here, Willis?"
"You're under arrest, that's what's going on here."
"For what?"
Booc rREs: Tucker Watts
Skeeter tossed a paper on the desk. "That's a felony warrant for
assault and battery." Skeeter clamped a cuff on one wrist and turned
Tucker around roughly, cuffing the other hand. "Now, you just come
along real quiet like and you might not get hurt." Skeeter pushed him
out of the office into the squad room. Bartlett was being held at
gunpoint by a deputy.
"What's going on, Chief?" The young officer was wide-eyed. "You know
what to do, Bartlett, and for the record, I think there might be an
accident on the way to Greenville, or maybe in the jail. You know what
to do about that, too."
"Yes sir."
"Shut up, both of yoU," Skeeter yelled. "And you're my witness, Buddy;
he had that swollen face when I picked him up, right?"
"Yes, Sheriff, but I think you're making a mistake."
"You let me worry about that, boy." He shoved Tucker toward the
door.
"Bartlett," Tucker called back to him, "there's a file"
"I told Y'(u to shut up!" Skeeter shouted, and hurried him out of the
building toward a waiting sheriff's car.
8 BILLY HUNG UP the phone. He was sitting in a back ' room of his
Atlanta campaign headquarters, in an empty store building on Peach tree
Street. In other parts of the building a dozen volunteers were
telephoning voters in Fulton County, asking them to be sure and vote on
the coming Tuesday. It was now Friday afternoon.
John Howell, who Was sitting across the. desk asked, "What is it?
Tucker?"
Billy nodded. "That was Holmes. Tucker is in the Greenville jail on a
charge of assaulting a fellow named Spence, who's a big contributer to
campaigns of pgople like Skeeter Willis. Apparently, Tucker stopped
Spence for speeding, and there was a scuffle. Tucker arrested the man,
and now he's brought charges against Tucker."
"Can he do that? Have a policeman arrested who has just arrested
him?"
"Yes, he can. It's not a good system, but any citizen can swear out a
warrant against anybody else and have him arrested." "You can get him
out, can't you?"
Billy nodded again. "Yes, but anything could happen to him while
Skeeter's got him in that jail." Billy had an idea and explained it to
Howell. "Will you do it?"
"Sure." Howell dialed the number. "Sheriff Willis, please."
waited a moment. "Sheriff? This is John Howell, New York Times. I
interviewed you a few weeks ago? Right. I understand you have the
Delano chief of police in your jail. Is that correct? I see ....
assaulted an old man... Spence, right. Is Mr. Spence a ' white man,
Sheriff ?... No, I just wondered. Tell me, Sheriff, is
Chief
Watts in good health at this moment? I mean, was he in-or anything
when you arrested him?... Did he put up a struggle of any kind or
resist in any way?... Could I speak to Chief Watts?" Howell covered
the phone. "He's stalling. Says ' he's not sure if they've finished
processing Tucker." He listened at the phone again. "I see. Could I
speak to him when you've finished?" He shook his head at Billy. "Could
I come down there and visit him?... Ten to two and two to four?...
Tomorrow, then?... Right, Sheriff, thank you for the information."
Howell hung up.
"Well?" Billy asked, anxious.
"Willis says Tucker is just fine. I can't visit him today, visiting
hours-ould be over before I got down there. Tomorrow, he says."
"I've got to get him out of there before tomorrow." Billy said. He
picked up, the phone, consulted his address book, and dialed. "Hello,
Frances? This is Billy Lee, how are you? .. . Jufit fine, thanks. Can
I speak to Judge Hill, please?... Where?... How long ago? .. . Do you
know the name of the people? .. . All right, Frances, thanks very
much." He hung up. "Bert Hill, the superior court judge down there,
has left for the day. He's on his way up to Lake Lanier to spend the.
weekend with some friends." "Is he the only man who can release
Tucker?"
"We could go for a federal order, but that would be overkill. Hill is
the only person who can do it quickly." Billy had another idea. He
consulted the address book again and dialed. "May I speak to Colonel
Simpson, please?... Jim, this is Billy Lee, how are you? .. . Fine.
Listen, Jim, I hate to trouble you, but I urgently need to contact
Judge Bert Hill of Meriwether County, and he's on the road somewhere
between Greenville and Gainesville, headed for Lake Lanier. I wonder
if you Gould issue some sort of bulletin to your men on that route, ask
them to stop him and ask him to call me? It really is urgent .... No,
it's not state business, exactly, but it's connected with a
law-enforcement problem that I can't go into right now .... That's
great, Jim .... I think he drives a green Ford. I don't know the
license number, but you
can get that from motor-vehicle registration, can't you? ... Thanks
again, Jim." Billy gave him his telephone number and hung up.
"Who was that?" asked Howell.
"Simpson, commander of the Georgia State Patrol. He's going to put a
radio call out to locate the judge. All we can do now is wait."
Tucker lay on the hard cot, a single dirty army blanket wrapped around
him, and shivered. The cell's only window was open, and it was too
high for him to reach. When he opened his eyes he could see his
breath. Now and then something bit him He scratched at himself and
swore.
They had taken his watch, but he reckon edit was nearly midnight. They
had put him in what was obviously the worst cell in the county jail. It
was thoroughly dirty, and there was no toilet, just a slop jar. They
had taken his uniform and shoes, too, and he was clad only in a dirty
prison bathrobe. They had said that they had no uniform large enough
to fit him.
Tucl[er was frightened; he had expected someone to have him released by
now. He had told Bartlett months ago what to do. But nobody had come,
and he had heard Skeeter tell the night man that he would be back
around midnight, that there were plans for Tucker. In the car Skeeter
had told him that Judge Hill, the only man who could release him, was
gone until Monday, but Tucker hadn't believed him: Now he did. It was
late Friday night, and Skeeter had him Until Monday morning, it
seemed.
He heard a car pull into the parking lot under his window, and he
wished he could see who it was, but the window was too high. Then he
heard Skeeter's voice. "Y'all wait here. I'll go help him escape."
There was answering laughter from more than one man. Tucker broke into
a cold sweat. He got up and looked around the cell for something to
use as a weapon. There was only the porcelain-covered slop jar and the
steel cot, suspended from the wall by chains. He pulled desperately at
the chains, but they would not budge from the wall. He would have only
his hands; there was nothing else.
He heard the outer door to the lockup scrape open. There were six
cells in this the old wing of the jail, and Tucker was the only
prisonerin the wing. Skeeter came down the corridor, jangling keys,
followed by the night man, who had a pistol in his
Booc THEE: Tucker Watts 393
hand. The night man stuck his weapon through the bars and barked,
"Okay, Mr. Chief, up against the wall and spread 'em."
Tucker did as the man ordered. Maybe he would have a better chance out
of the cell. The two men came into the cell, and while the night man
held the pistol at Tucker's head, Skeeter handcuffed his hands behind
him. As they began to move him from the cell, Tucker got a bare toe
under the curved edge of the slop jar and flipped it over, splashing
against Skeeter's immaculate tans.
"Don't!" Skeeter yelled at the night man, as he drew back to hit
Tucker with his pistol. "I don't want a mark on the bastard."
Cursing, he wiped his trousers as best he could with Tucker's blanket.
"I'm gonna see you pay a little extra for that one, boy," he snarled at
Tucker.
They shoved Tucker down the hallway and through the lockup door, the
night man prodding him repeatedly in the spine with the pistol. They
went down another hallway and through a door into the main office.
Skeeter drew his pistol. "All right, I'll take him out," he said to
the night man. "You stay here. It's better you don't see no more than
you have to."
"Where me you taking me?" demanded Tucker. He felt completely
vulnerable, clad in only the thin bathrobe, his hands cuffed behind
him.
"Where I should have taken you a long time ago, nigger," Skeeter. spat
back at him. He spun Tucker around and shoved him toward the outer
door. Both llien stopped. Billy Lee stood in the doorway; John Howell
and to state patrolmen stood behind him."
Billy walked over to Skeeter and handed him a neatly typed document.
"That's a release order for Tucker Watts, signed by Judge Hill and
notarized. Take the handcuffs off him."
Skeeter stood his ground. "Judge Hill is out of town, Billy. I don't
believe that's no proper order. Watts ain't going nowhere."
Billy turned and spoke to one of the patrolmen behind him,
"Sergeant"--the man stepped forward--,-"I've served Sheriff Willis with
a signed order for the release of Chief Watts. I'm going to inform him
of that fact once more. If he hesitates to obey it, arrest him
immmediately for obstruction of justice. I'll take the
responsibility."
"Yes, sir," the sergeant said. He turned and looked at Skeeter,
waiting.
Billy turned back to Skeeter. "Sheriff Willis, here is an order for
the release of that man. Take the handcuffs off him. Now."
Skeeter looked at Billy, then at the patrolman. The patrolman took a
step toward him. "All right, all right," he said, and fumbled for his
keys.
"You," Billy snapped to the night man.-"Get his clothes." The man went
to a locker, retrieved Tucker's uniform, and tossed it onto the
counter.
Tucker, rubbing his wrists, walked immediately behind a counter, opened
a desk drawer, and took out his gunbelt. He placed it on the counter
next to his clothes, quickly got dressed, checking to see that the gun
was loaded, then buckled it on. "All fight, Governor," he said.
"Sergeant," Billy said to the patrolman. "There are four men in a car
outside. I want you and the corporal to go out there and turn them
inside out. Check for guns and permits; check driver's licences, car
registration, everything you can think of. If anybody is in violation
of anything, arrest him and jail him at the state patrol station in La
Grange."
Thentwo patrolmen left. Billy turned back to the sheriff. "Get him
out of here," he said, indicating the night man. Willis jerked his
thumb at the man, and he left. "Skeeter," Billy said, looking at the
sheriff's soiled trousers, "you don't smell so good." Willis glowered
at him but said nothing. "But then, you've smelled bad for a long
time. Thaiql be over soon. You're through. If I win this election
I'm going to use every ounce of authority and influence at my disposal
to see that you're run out of office. If it's possible, I'll see you
in your own country camp, and I don't give a damn about your age. If I
don't win I'll still be not without influence, and I'll pursue you to
hell and back. ""He turned to Tucker. "Let's go."
They walked out of the office, leaving the sheriff struck dumb.
"There's probably nothing I can do about him," said Billy, "in spite of
my brave talk. I'm sure he's covered his tracks carefully, but it
won't hurt him to worry about it." He looked over at the state
patrolmen, who had four men spread over their car, searching them. One
of the men was Emmett pence.
"Four pistols, Governor," the sergeant called out. "No permits.
There's two shotguns and some rope in the car, too."
"Run 'em in," Billy called back. He turned to Tucker. "I'm sorry we
were so long getting you out. We had to find the judge,
THR: Tucker Watts
iwho was driving north, then we had to get the order dictated and typed
and notarized, and this was as quick as we could do it."
"Governor I can't tell you how glad I am to see you at all," Tucker
said. "They were taking me out of the jail, and God knows what they
would have done with me. Thank you."
"Don't mention it. Now, listen, Tucker; you're going to have to reduce
the charges against Hoss Spence to the traffic violation. I've talked
with Judge Hill about this. You'll have to trade for the charge
against you, which could be very messy in a jury trial. Spence will
still lose his license for a while, and you'll have a good lawsuit
against him for having you arrested without cause."
"I'm sorry, but I can't let Spence get away with this, Governor. But I
really appreciate your taking the time to come down here."
"I was glad to do it. Now, there's somebody waiting over there for
you." He nodded. Elizabeth was waiting for him in the car. She got
out, walked over, and embraced him. They got into the car and drove
home.
Billy started back to Atlanta. He had a long weekend of campaign work
still ahead of him, and he was worried about Tucker's determination to
prosecute Hoss pence.
ON SUNDAY MORNING Billy was awakened by a hammering on his Atlanta
hotel room door. "Who is it?" he yelled, staying in bed.
"It's John Howell. Open up."
Billy stumbled to the door and unlocked it. "What time is it?" he
asked sleepily, as Howell hurried into the room, a stack of newspapers
under his arm.
"A little after ten. You're supposed to be at services at eleven.
You're going to Ebenezer Street Baptist Church, remember? You're
running late, but that's the least of your problems. I've been trying
to call you, but the operator refused to ring your room."
"I told her not to put any calls through. I needed the sleep. What's
the matter?"
Howell plunked down the Sunday papers on the bed. "Have a look at
that."
"BLACK CHIEF ARRESTED, CHARGED WITH BEATING
ELDERLY MAN," read a headline which appeared above the newspaper's
masthead, and beneath it a subhead, "Mullins Charges Lee Made Improper
Use of Lieutenant Governor's Office to Obtain Release of Watts."
"Oh, shit," said Billy sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling
a blanket around his shoulders. He read on.
r TP. aS: Tucker Watt/ The Met/wether County Sheriff's Department
Yesterday arrested Delano Chief of Police Tucker Watts, the South's
first
['black law-enforcement official, and charged him with assault
It.c and battery of a prominent Meriwether County farmer, Horace
t:"SPence, 74, after Watts stopped Spence's car, allegedly for
speeding. Lieutenant Governor William H. Lee, facing a tough
It general-election battle on Tuesday in the race for governor, ap
I: parently used the influence of his office in ordering the commander
of the Georgia State Patrol to locate a judge who would l. sign release
papers for Watts. Lee then personally went to the
'"iIB'.i Meriwether County Jail in Greenville, accompanied by two
I. state-patrol bodyguards, where he obtained the release of Chief
Watts, and ordered the arrest of four Meriwether County men in
I/' the jail's parking lot on charges of carrying unlicensed weapons
iand of having an expired vehicle-inspection sticker on their car.
The men claimed they were returning from a hunting trip and lB'-had
stopped to drop off one of their party who lived in Green ttiiville.
They were ordered released the following morning by a La ; Grange.
Superior Court judge from the local s, tate-patrol station.
't/ Sheriirf John B. ("Skeeter') Willis said, This is the second case
we've had down here of this so-called policeman harassing elderly white
citizens, and we're just not going to put up with it." His ref nark
apparently referred to a Delano citizen, Francis Funderburke, 79, who,
when asked about Sheriff Willis's comment said, "We wouldn't be having
this problem if this fellow hadn't been forced on the community by
Billy Lee, just so he could get the colored vote to help him get
elected." Funderburke, a noted dog breeder, declined 'cofmmmt on the
specifics of his alleged harassment by Chief Wallin. Jackson Mullins,
Lee's independent opponent in the governor's race0 contacted at his
south Georgia home, said, 'q'his is just one more example of the
arrogant misuse of state office by a candidate who will do anything to
win the black-bloc vote in this election." Mullins has consistently
criticized Lee for using his office impropei/y in the election.
Lieutenant Governor Lee was said to be sequestered in an Atlanta hotel
after the incident and was unavailable for corn The telephone rang, and
Billy picked it up. "Governor," the operator said, "there's a Mr.
Holmes on the line who insists that I put his call through. I know you
left instructions not to be disturbed, sir, but--" "That's all right,
put him on. Mr. Holmes?... Yes, sir, I've
just seen the papers .... That's right, I've got to be at Ebenezer
Street church in forty-five minutes .... I have to go, sir; we've had
this scheduled for days. It would look as though I'm backing down if I
cancel. In fact, I think a black church might be the best place for me
to reply to these charges, especially Dr. King's church .... Look, we
know that what's going to happen if these charges come to court--Tucker
will be vindicated .... Yes, it could be too late by then, but I can't
change course now; I'm just going to have to ride it out .... Thank
you, sir, I'd appreciate that. I'm running late, as it is, and I don't
really have ime to make the call." He hung up. "Mr. Holmes thinks I
ought to cancel at Ebenezer Street, but I can't do that. He's going to
see that the telephone volunteers try and get some feel about how this
might affect the voting on Tuesday." "Billy," Howell said, "I think
you ought to hold an impromptu press conference on the steps of the
church and refute all this in the strongest possible manner. There'll
be a lot of press there, anyway. This is on your official schedule."
'aYou're right," Billy replied. "My story is in this morning's Times,
and that gives the whole picture. That'll get picked up by the wire
services and should help, too." "Good. Well, I'd better get a move
on." Billy headed for the shower. '
Tucker was surprised at how shaken he was by his experience in jail. He
woke Saturday morning feeling exhausted, and when the calls from the
press began to come in, he checked in briefly at the station and then
spent Saturday and Sunday at his mother's house, with instructions to
Bartlett that he was to be called only in an emergency. He scrubbed
himself repeatedly with a medicated shampoo to rid himself of the lice
and crabs he had picked up in the cell. The feeling of uncleanliness
made things even worse for him. He resolved to see that his own jail
was fumigated regularly, and he thought he would never again feel the
same about locking up someone. He saw Billy on the Sunday-night news,
trying to put things right, but it seemed to him an unsuccessful
effort. On Holmes's advice he issued as hort written statement, saying
that he had
TrueR: Tucker Watts a proper arrest after having himself been
assaulted and that subsequent court action would prove he acted re-He
hoped it would help. He spent little time in the station Monday and
Tuesday, elec instead he drove aimlessly about the town, depressed,
whether he would be able to continue in the job.
Billy had a sense of dfj vu on election night, keeping another vigil he
had hoped would be unnecessary. By mid-it was dear he would not have a
majority. Mullins did even than they had expected. Billy ended up
nearly four per short of the majority necessary to keep the elec-out of
the Georgia House of Representatives. "Where do you think we stand in
the house as of this mohe asked Holmes. The banker produced his
notebook. "I've been on the phone weekend," he said. "We're better
off than we were at the time primary, I reckon, but there are still a
dozen or so votes If I had to give you a hard figure right now, I'd say
were four or five votes short. You've got a lot of telephoning do the
next' week : "I think we'd better do more than that," Billy said. "I
think better get hold of a light plane and go see some people [ the
state."
"Good idea." . "What do you think our chan . are, Mr. Holmes?
Really." I thought he had never seen the banker look as tired, as old.
Holmes shook his head. "There's so much riding on this for son. I
think Kennedy's serious about the vice-presidency I honestly do. I
wish I could tell you we can do it, but I don't know. I just don't
know." Billy realized, now, that he had been allowing himself to think
not just about the vice-presidency, but about the job as a stepping
stone to the presidency itself. If he lost in the house, it was all
over. He felt a fool for letting himself aim so high.
BY WEDNESDAY MORNING Tucker had recovered himself enough to take hold
of his job again. He was at the station early and went through the
mail and messages that had gathered in his absence. He was relieved to
find there was nothing of importance in the papers piled on his desk,
but when he reached the bottom of the pile his relief vanished. The
file on the missing boys was waiting for him. What's more, there was a
Teletype from state-patrol headquarters placing the young man in the
most recent of the bulletins in Buena Vista, forty miles south of
Delano. The date was the third, two days before.
Because he had, as much as possible, emptied his mind of everything to
do with his work, he had banished Foxy Funderburke from his thoughts,
as well. But now the file was there; the boys were staring back at him
again. He considered visiting Foxy, but immediately dismissed the
idea. Holmes had warned him off, and somehow Foxy had become a part of
the Hoss Spence-Skeeter Willis problem, too. His only course was to
follow Holmes's advice and go through the established channels, and
that meant Sheriff Bobby Patrick of Talbot County.
Even the appearance of asking Patrick for help repelled him, and, after
his experience in Skeeter's jail, he felt a deep-seated anxiety about
approaching Patrick in his. But there was no other
to go, and he knew it. He stuck the file in a manila envelope walked
into the squad room. Bartlett was eating a slice of pie and drinking a
cup of coffee at his desk. "Buddy, I'm going down to Talbotton to see
Bobby Patrick about something. I'll be back as soon as I can. If you
need me call me at the Talbot County Sheriff's Office, and if I'm not
there, send a car to the top of the mountain and have me radioed from
there. The station antenna would never clear the mountain on line of
sight."
"This something to do with that missing-persons stuff, Chief?" Tucker
had not shared his theory with Bartlett.
Tucker nodded. "Yeah, and I can't touch it. It's in Patrick's
jurisdiction."
Bartlett looked troubled. "Watch yourself, Chief, okay?" "Sure,"
Tucker said, and left. As he drove the twenty miles to Talbotton, his
apprehension lifted a little. He had finally committed himself to a
course of action, and he felt better for it. It oacurred'to him that
he should call John Howell and bring him up to date, as he had promised
he would.
He parked in front of the courthouse at a parking meter instead of in
one of the official slots, realizing he had unconsciously avoided even
that chance of conflict. In the sheriff's department he was received
politely, but cooly, by the clerk, who obviously knew who he was.
Patrick had somebody in his office, and he would have to wait.
He waited for nearly an hour 'rowing increasingly restive. He read old
copies of Signposts afid the Ford Times and avoided drinking from the
water cooler, because he didn't want to have to go to the bathroom, not
wanting to create an incident by going to what might be a white
facility, and not wanting to ask. Finally, Patrick emerged, shook
hands with his departing visitor, and saw Tucker.
Patrick grinned widely. "Well, if it ain't old Tucker. What brings
you down here, boy?"
Tucker did not blink at the "boy," knowing that white southerners used
it liberally among themselves and that it wasn't necessarily a racial
slur, although it might be, coming from Patrick. "I've got some
business for you, Bobby."
Patrick waved him into the office and offered him a chair. Tucker
noticed that Bobby was wearing every piece of brass available from the
police equipment catalogue---badge, collar
pins, tie clasp, and a gold eagle on each epaulet cf his tan gabardine
uniform. A powdery-white Stetson hung on a hat rack in the corner.
"Well, now, Tucker, boy," he practically crowed, "what can I do for
you?"
Tucker laid the file before him and opened it. Carefully, he took him
through the disappearances, pointed out the geographical distribution
of the last sightings, then gave Patrick his conclusions. When he had
finished, Patrick said nothing for a moment, simply smiled slightly. He
closed the file and handed it back to Tucker.
"Tell you what, Tucker," he said. "Let's go down the hall and see
Judge Greene. You tell him all about it. He's the man who'll have to
issue a search warrant, anyway. Okay?"
"Fine," Tucker replied, relieved. He had not known quite what to
expect, but he had not anticipated such quick cooperation.
They were received immediately and cordially in the judge's chambers.
The judge was a grancffatherly man who listened closely to what Tucker
had to say, nodding sagely now and then. When Tucker had completed his
presentation, the judge looked at Bobby Patrick and ehuclded slightly.
Patrick chuclded back. Then the judge laughed aloud and Patrick
laughed back. Then the to o them laughed until neither could speak.
Tucker got up and left the office.
Pat-ick caught up to him as he stared his ear. "Hey, listen, Tucker,"
he grinned, suppressing further laughter. "That's the most fun we've
had down here since I took office. You know, Foxy and the judge have
been fliends for thirty years, hunted together. They're like that." He
held up crossed fingers. "Any-lime you got something as entertaining
as that story, you just come on down here; we want to hear it." Then
hi face turned cold and hard. "Listen, I know your ass is in a sling
with Skeeter Willis, and as far as I'm concerned it couldn't happen to
a nicer guy. If you think you can wiggle out of that bind by coming
down here with a piece of shit like this, you've got another think
coming. I'm not gonna ge you off the hook, and you better leave old
Foxy alone, too. If I hear about you bothering him again, I'll put
your ass under the Talbot-Coun jail, you hear me?"
Tucker backed out of the parking place without a word and drove slowly
back toward Delano, watching his rearview mirror
the county line, humiliated to the core of him. checked in briefly at
the station, then spent the rest of the day listlessly around the town,
the file on the seat beside He was at a dead end. He had no place else
to go.
On Wednesday morning Billy borrowed a single-engine Cessna from a
supporter and, with Hugh Holmes, flew out of Franklin D. Roosevelt
Memorial Field at Warm Springs for north Georgia. Holmes had
identified a dozen legislators not yet firmly committed to either camp,
and Billy meant to talk to each of them face to face. Since Georgia
was the largest state east of the Mississippi, he needed the plane to
do it.
He was worried about Holmes. The banker was looking tired and drawn,
and Billy wanted him to stay home and confine himself to telephone
calls, but Holmes had insisted on coming along.
"There's a favor owed me here and there," he had said. "It's time I
did some collecting. But don't get your hopes up."
At breakfast on Thursday morning Elizabeth put Tucker's eggs on the
table and said, "You've got some vacation time coming. I talked with
my brother, John, in New York; they want us to come trp and visit. Why
don't we do that? Maybe even see some shows? You need some time
off."
The idea appealed to Tucker. At the end of his rope with his Foxy
theory, and in limbo until the business with Hoss Spence was settled,
there was nothing important demanding his attention. He had thought,
too, that !hy might not be in Delano much longer, the way things were
going His credibility with the local people had been damaged by the
newspaper reports of his arrest, and there was a feeling that the
incident had cost Billy the general election. If Billy lost in the
house now, the burden on Tucker would be unbearable, even if he were
completely vindicated in court. He wasn't sure where they would go,
but they had always enjoyed New York on their visits there, and the
anonymity of the place appealed to him. He might find some private
security work there, and a few days in the city would give him an
opportunity to feel out a new situation for them.
"Honey," he said, "if Mr. Holmes and the city manager don't object to
my taking some time on short notice, I could get squared away this
morning, and we could get a plane from Atlanta tonight." '
He went through hings with Bartlett at the station and could
see no problems. Holmes was out of town, but the city manager had no
objections. He booked a flight and began to look forward to the change
of scene.
"How about the missing-persons thing, Chief?" asked Bartlett.
"Anything come of that?"
"No, nothing," he said wearily. 'hat one is over."
"I'd like to know what you thought you had."
"When I get back I'll lay it out for you. Maybe someday something will
break on it."
The phone rang, and Bartlett answered. "It's for you, Chief. John
Howell."
Tucker picked up the phone. "How you doing, John?"
"Not bad. Just wanted to see if anything was new with you. Is there a
trial date set for either Spence or you yet?"
"No. I expect it'll get settled after the house vote next week. I'm
just about to take a week off. Elizabeth and I are going to visit her
brother and his wife in New York. I'm pretty beat, really."
"Yeah, I can imagine. Anything ever come of your detective work n the
missing boys?"
"Well, yes and no. Some more stuff turned up, but it's a dead end now.
I'll loan you the file if you think you can really get a book out of
it. It'll have to be a novel, though."
"I'd like to see it, What time is your flight to New York? Can I buy
you a drink at the airport?"
"Sure, why not? Why don't we meet at three o'clock in the upper-level
bar. Our plane's at four-thirty, so that'll give us time to talk. I'll
bring the file; you can photocopy it and mail it back to me in
Delano."
Tucker and Elizabeth drove north, past the Spence place, through Warm
Springs. At the Greenville city limits, ashe riff car pulled behind
them and followed closely. Tucker drove very slowly into the town,
through the square, and out the other side. The car continued to
follow them. Tucker did not recognize the driver, but he could see him
using the radio. He said nothing to Elizabeth, who was dozing.
At the Coweta County line the car turned around and was replaced by a
sheriff's car from that county. Tucker drove on at a steady forty-five
miles an hour, a full ten miles an hour under the speed limit. At the
Fayette County line the scene was repeated,
TREE: Tucker Watts 4o5 at the border to Clayton County, yet again. By
the time they at Atlanta Airport, Tucker's shirt was sticking to him,
in open car window. John Howell closed the file. "Tucker, you've got
to take this the feds." Tucker set down his drink. "What are you
talking about? This isn't a federal case." i "It might be. There's
kidnapping. The Lindbergh Law." B Tucker looked at his watch. They
had been late arriving at the tiirport because of the surveillance, and
Elizabeth was downstairs lilt Waiting in a ticket line. "I don't know,
John. I don't have any II' experience with that, but I think the FBI
wont get involved in Iti kidnapping unless there's a request from local
authorities. It's a i t' is tate crime, as well as a federal one, and
I'm not the local author If "There s something else, said the reporter.
"An old law ey've dug up; they're using it in Mississippi and Alabama
in the murde's of civil-rights workers. When they can't get a local
conviction they, re bringing a federal case for depriving an individual
of his civil rights."
"I've rea about that, but do you think the feds would go for,
a wrrant based on that law? It seems kind of far-fetched to me. '
"There s one way to find out. I know a senior agent in the
Atlanta FBI office. I'll call him right now and get a reading."
"I don't know, John. Maybe rwhen we get back from New
York." ' The reporter extracted the most recent bulletin from the
file. ii Tucker, this kid was last seen in Florida, what--less than two
'weeks ago? He was reported in Buena Vista on Monday. If he was still
headed north that would take him through Delano. This is Thursday. If
Foxy connected with him, Tucker, he could still be alive." Howell
waited. Tucker said nothing. "I'm going to call my guy at the bureau
now," Howell said firmly. "All right," Tucker replied. "I want, to
see about Elizabeth. I'll be in the Delta checkin area." Howell ran
for the phone, while Tucker took the escalator to the lower level.
Elizabeth had nearly reached the counter. Tucker stood with her as
they slowly made their way forward. Finally, when they were at the
counter, Howell appeared, out of breath. "We've got an appointment
right now. He's waiting for us."
Tucker hesitated. "Come on, Tucker, one more fly. If this doesn't
work you can at least say to yourself that you did your best."
Tucker turned to Elizabeth. "Listen, honey, I want you to go on
without me. I'll call you tonight at your brother's, and I'll fly to
join you tomorrow. John is right. I have to do this."
Elizabeth nodded. "All right. I'll book you on the same flight
tomorrow. Call me tonight and tell me if you'll be on it."
He kissed her, picked up his bag, and walked quickly from the terminal
building with Howell.
They sat in the office of the agent in charge of the Atlanta office of
the Federal Bureau of Investigation. John Howell's agent friend, Ben
CarT, had taken them to his chief after hearing Tucker's story, and
Tucker was unwillingly reminded of being taken to the judge by Bobby
Patrick. He had the distinct feeling that Cart had simply wanted to
have him turned down at the top.
Pope, the AIC, seemed skeptical, but willing to listen. "So you
believe this man has murdered and concealed the bodies of,
what---sixteen young men, seventeen if the police officer, Butts, was
among them? And this has happened over a period of, let's see"--he
stared at the ceiling as he figured--"forty-three years?"
"Mr. Pope," Tucker replied, "I'm not saying that all sixteen of these
boys are planted around Funderburke's place, but the geographical
pattern of the disapperarances makes all of them candidates, I think.
Suppose only half a dozen of them are actual victims. Is six murders
enough to get the FBI interested?"
"Chief Watts," the agent shot back, "the bureau would be interested if
there were only one murder, but apart from the two bodies found in the
twenties, there is no hard evidence of any other murder. It's all
circumstantial."
'flat's an awful lot of circumstance, isn't it?" asked John Howell,
pointing at the bulletins spread out over the desk.
The AIC stared for a moment at the bulletins. "There are no blacks
among those who disappeared, right?"
"Right," replied Tucker.
"I see what you're getting at, Mr. Pope," Howell injected. "But do
you have to be black to get your civil rights violated? And anyway,
wouldn't it look better if that law were being enforced more broadly
than just in civil-rights cases? Wouldn't that make the government's
use of the law more credible?"
TREZ: Tucker Watts 4o7
"Possibly," Pope admitted. "Listen, I'm going to have to talk somebody
in Washington about this." He looked at his watch. nearly six
o'clock, so my chances of reaching anybody in today are poor. I'm
going to have to get back to you
"You can't ask a federal judge for a search warrant on your ?" Tucker
asked.
"Frankly, I'd feel better having some support up the line," AIC
answered, "and I should think you'd feel better that too, considering
the political flap last week, in which Funderburke was an element. In
fact, it might help if you could get ver nor Lee to make a call or
two."
Tucker shook his head. "No, that would be inappropriate. case has no
connection with his office, and I can't ask him to stick his neck out
in his present situation."
"I understand. I'll get back to you as soon as I get some word."
"You'd better bunk with me tonight, Tucker," Howell said. "Mr. Pope,
here's my card. You can reach the chief at that number."
Billy and Holmes sat in the living room of a small-town lawyerin
Toccoa, a north Georgia mountain community. The man, Fred Mitchell,
was becoming agitated.
"Billy, I just can't give you an answer. Granted, you won my county in
the general election,t Mullins took it in the primary. I've got to
think about that. Tiere's this business with your po-llceman down
there; I think you made a big mistake getting that man hired; I'm
getting pressure from all sides on this thing, and on top of everything
else I've got my sister on my neck. Her boy has run a,ay from home for
the third time, and she thinks I'm helping him, hiding him. She's
about to drive me crazy. And I've got a case coming up in court
tomorrow, and I'm ill prepared for it; so if you'll just let-me try to
get some time to think about this without pressure, I'll call you when
I've decided. I'm sorry I can't give you an answer now, but I just
can't."
They stood up and shook hands. Billy and Holmes left for the grass
strip where the Cessna was parked. Their next stop was in Athens, and
Billy wanted to make it before dark.
TUCKER SAT in the hard, wooden chair at noon on Friday and waited for
Agent in Charge Pope to finish his telephone conversation. Tucker hurt
all over. He had slept on a leather sofa in John Howell's tiny,
bachelor apartment, and the sofa had been too short for his frame. He
wanted the man to gi-ye them the bad news, so he could catch a plane
for New York. He had spent a restless night on the uncomfortable sofa
worrying about this, and now all he wanted was to be done with it.
Pope hung up the phone. "All right," he said, "We're gonb to ask for a
warrant." "Fantastic!" John Howell cied. Tucker was amazed, but he
felt something else was coming. "But," said Pope, "there is going to
have to be an agreement on some limitations." "What sort of
limitations?" Tucker asked. "First of all," Pope said, counting on
his fingers, "there is going to be no team of men going in there and
tearing the place apart. Washington doesn't feel that the situation
warrants that; they feel--and I can tell you this went all the way to
the attorney general's office--they feel that if you think it warrants
looking into, and local agencies won't cooperate, it should be looked
into. But there is going to be no digging, no prying up floor ?HRE:
Tucker Watts 4o9
i boards, none of that. I'm going to send Cart and another agent, down
there. If they turn up something they feel warrants an all-out search,
Cart will report it to me, and I will make the decision, in
consultation with Washington, on whether to go further. Clear?"
Tucker nodded. "Yes." "Second," said Pope, ticking off another
finger, "you, Chief Watts, may accompany Carr and Sutherland, in
uniform, as an observer. You are not to question or address yourself
directly to Funderburke. If you have a question, address it to Cart or
Sutherland, and one of them will ask it if he feels it is relevant.
Clear?" "Clear." "Third," Pope said, pointing a finger at John Howell,
"he is not to go near the place unless evidence of a crime is
discovered. Clear?" "Now wait a minute," Howell began. "This is an
absolute condition of our application for this warrant. We are not
going to be a party to dragging an innocent man through the New York
Times. If we find evidence on which we can base a prosecution, then
you can go in." "Clear," said Tucker. Pope looked at his watch. "If
you get over to the federal court. house in a hurry, you can probably
catch the judge when he recesses for lunch."
Billy and Holmes were having a late lunch in the Georgian Hotel in
Athens, when Holmes was paged for a telephone call. He was gone only a
short time. Holmes sat down heavily. "That was my secretary. A
friend of mine at the federal courthouse in Atlanta called. Tucker
Watts showed up at Judge Henderson's chambers an hour and a half ago
with two FBI agents and got a warrant to search Foxy Fun. derburke's
place." "What?" "I told you a while back that Tucker had been asking
some questions about Foxy. It came out in newspaper stories." "Yes,
but why? I haven't seen Tucker since we got him out of jail, so I
never had a chance to ask him about it. What on earth is he looking
for at Foxy's?" "I don't know. I had a talk with him about it, but I
didn't ask
for details. I just told him that since Foxy lived in Talbot County,
he had to go to Bobby Patrick unless Foxy had done something in Delano.
I'm sure he'd be reluctant to go to Patck, maybe that's why he went to
the FBI, but for the life of me I can't imagine what he's up to." Billy
resisted an inclination to bury his face in his hands. "Dear God in
heaven, why now? Thanks to that newspaper story, half the people in
the state and probably more than half of the legislature thinks that,
for political purposes, I've talked Delano into hiring a black police
chief who goes around beating up nice old white gentlemen." "That
certainly seems to be what Mitchell, from yesterday, thinks, and this
fellow we talked to his morning, seems to be lining up with him.
Mitchell could be the key in north Georgia, you know. He pulls a lot
of weight." "I think we'd better get home. I've got to find out what
the hell's going on." "We've still got to stop in Madison and see
Wilkinson. He's fence-sitting, and we might swing him." "Billy
checked the time. "All right, but let's make it fast. We have to land
at Warm Springs before dark." Billy left some money for the check.
"Mr. Holmes, do you think Tucker's all right? I mean, do you think
he's gone off his rocker? I took him at his word on the .-thing with
Hoss Spence, Hoss is like that, but now--" Holmes stood up. "I think
what I've thought from the beginning, what you thought, too. I think
Tucker knows what he's doing. If we were there now, we might interfere
with his work, but we're not there, and we're jst going to have to
trust him, at least for the time being." "You're right," Billy said,
quickening his step, "but I hope he doesn't cost me... this
election."
Tucker turned into Foxy Funderburke's private road and stopped. The
two FBI agents, Cart and Sutherland, pulled their car up next to his.
Tucker had driven his own car from Atlanta, stopping at home to change
into a uniform. John Howell had ridden with him. "Okay, John, I'll
ride with them now. Why don't you go back to the station and wait in
my office. I'll call you the minute we find something."
"Oh, no, I'm not budging from here." He pointed. "That's a isn't
it?"
"If you find something, call the station and ask them to radio "All
right, if that's the way you want it. We could be some you know."
Tucker got into the car with the two agent sand they began the drive up
the mountain. Tucker looked at his 'watch. It was almost 3:30. "The
road peaks just ahead," Tucker is aid to Cart, who was driving, "and
then it slopes downward to the house. He doesn't seem to use the front
door much. Just pull around the end of the house to the back." The
agent followed Tucker's instructions. They coasted quietly past ithe
neat flower beds and lawn, now brown, and stopped at the ' back of the
house. The autumn foliage was at its peak. "Pretty place," said
Sutherland. "Yeah, pretty." Tucker replied. "Hi truck's in the
garage," Cart said. "So he must be home. Tucker, you stay in the car
until he answers the door. If he doesn't like you, I don't want to
upset him before I have a chance to show him the warrant." Cart and
uther land got out of the car, walked to the back door, and knocked.
Tucker saw Foxy open the door and Cart hand him the paper. Then he got
out and joined the two agents at the back door. "Mr. Funderburke,"
Cart was saying, "Chief Watts is accompanying us as an observer and 'th
help us in the search." "What's this all about?" aked Foxy,
indignant. "What are you looking for? I don't want that niggerin my
house." Carr was firm. "Mr. Funderburke, I must warn you that if you
resist this search, I will arrest you, and you are liable to be jailed
for contempt of court." He continued, more placatingly, "Please
understand, sir, that we just want to do our jobs and then leave you in
peace. Now please stand aside and let us come into the house." Foxy
hesitated, then stepped back, allowing the two agents to enter, closely
followed by Tucker. Tucker had never been inside the house. The first
thing he noticed was the kitchen floor. He indicated it to Cart.
"That's what Howell was talking about, remember?" Cart nodded. Foxy
said, "Well, Gentlemen, you obviously don't need me. I'll just have a
seat in the living room by the fire. I was reading a
book when you intruded upon me."
"Thank you, sir," said Cart. "We'll let you know if we have any
questions."
After a long, piercing stare at Tucker, Foxy turned, walked into the
living room, sat down in a rocker before the fire, and picked up a
book. Tucker watched him, and then his gaze traveled to the wall, hung
with weapons. "You better keep an eye on him," he said to Carr.
Carr nodded. "Sure, but he seems peaceful enough, considering the
unpleasant surprise. He certainly doesn't look as though he has
anything to hide. Tucker, why don't you take the kitchen, and we'll
start in here."
The three men split up and began a thorough search of each room. Almost
immediately, Sutherland found a policeman's uniform in Foxy's bedroom
closet. He called Carr, and the two men took it into the living room,
while Tucker watched from the doorway.
"Excuse me, Mr. Funderburke," Cart said. "Can you explain why you
have a policeman's uniform in your home?"
Foxy looked up from his book. "Gentlemen, some forty years ago I was
to be appointed to the job which that nigger"--he pointed at
Tucker--"now holds. I bought the uniform in anticipation of that
appointment, but I was cheated out of it. I saw no reason to burn the
uniform."
"Thank you; sir, I understand," replied Carr, then retreated to the
hallway, where he huddled with Sutherland and Tucker.
"Remember the autopsy report on the first murder?" asked Tucker. "The
doctor said the injuries looked as though they had been inflicted
during a police interrogation."
Cart nodded. "Well,that fis, but alone it means nothing. Let's keep
going."
They spent more than an hour in the house, looking into every closet
and drawer, in every kitchen cupboard, under, over, and behind every
object and piece of furniture in the house. They found nothing. The
search moved to the garage and the kennels. Still nothing. Carr
called Sutherland and Tucker together.
"Look, this is turning into a dry hole. There's nothing in the kennels
or the garage except what you'd expect to find there---the usual tools.
There's a well-used pick and shovel in the garage, though. I think
our best bet was always if the most recent dis Tucker Watts 4x3
was connected with Funderburke. If that's the case, either the boy
would have to be here, or Funderburke had to dispose of his body, in
which case we could hope for a fresh
That's what we have to look for pretty grave.
now. It's the only thing we have left." He pointed to the large
clearing that was the back yard. "We should check every square foot of
bare ground. Even that kudzu couldn't grow over a grave i in a few
days---not at this time of the year, anyway. Since we can't dig, we
may as well forget the area covered by the kudzu. Agreed?"
Tucker agreed, but reluctantly. They began a foot by foot search for
fresh earth or a mound. They looked inside each kennel and found only
dogs. They searched on every side of the house and found not the
slightest indication of recent digging. The shadows grew long, the
November light began to fade, and Tucker's hopes with it. He came
around a corner of the house to the back and met Carr near the back
door. Sutherland was thirty or forty feet away up behind the house,
tramping through the kudzu.
Cart shook his head. "Tucker, I know how good this must have looked to
you. It looked good to me, what you had. But short of bringing a
bunch of men with picks and shovels in here, I don't know what else we
can do."
"You're right," Tucker said, "and I appreciate what you guys have done.
You want out on a.tlimb, and now it's going to get sawed off." He knew
that witl'n the hour the word would go out along Foxy's network of
friends, right to Mullins, and by morning the story of the latest
assault on decency by the black Delano chief of police would be on the
front pages. He didn't know what he would say to Billy. He felt sick
inside.
Carr knocked on the back door, and Foxy opened it. "Mr. Funderburke,"
he said, "we've completed our search. We've found nothing to implicate
you in any crime. I want to apologize for this intrusion and thank you
for your cooperation. You won't be bothered again."
"That's just fine, mister," Foxy said bitterly. "Now get that nigger
off my place."
Tucker and Carr turned away from the back door, and Cart called to
Sutherland, "Come on, Mike, we're finished here." Sutherland waved
back and began to walk down the hill through the kudzu. Cart turned to
Tucker. "Let's go, we'll drop you back
at your car. Howell must be wondering what's happened to us." From up
the hill there came as harp cry, and the two men turned in time to see
Sutherland pitch forward on his face and slide a few feet down the hill
on the slippery vine. Tucker and Cart walked the few feet across the
bare back yard into the kudzu. "You all right, Mike?" Carr called
out. "Hang on, we'll give you a hand." By the time they reached him,
Sutherland was on his feet. "That was a hard fall," said Cam "You
okay?" "Yeah," Sutherland replied, brushing himself off. He walked a
few steps back up the hill. "I caught my foot on something here." He
poked among the vines. "Here it is." Tucker and Carr joined him as he
pulled back the big leaves. A bent length of rusty pipe protruded from
the ground, capped by a torn black sleeve. A short, curved length of
corroded brass was attached to it by a hinge. "Looks like some old
plumbing," said Suthedand, "a pipe to or from something." "I don't
know what that is," Carr said, turning away. "And I'm too tired to
care much. Let's get out of here." Sutherland turned to follow him.
"Tucker stood frozen to the spot, staring. "I know what it is," he
said. The two agents stopped and looked back. "It's the handlebar of
a motorcycle." There was a hollow, metallic click from behind them.
They turned and found Foxy Funderburke standing at the edge of the
kudzu, not ten feet away. He was holding a double-barreled, sawed-off
shotgun. Tucker's last thought before the weapon fired was that, from
that distance, it would cut all three of them in half. John Howell was
growing restive. He had waited in the car, as patiently as possible,
for nearly two hours, kept company only by the crackle of the police
radio. Now it was getting really cold, and his patience was gone. Then
it occurred to him that the radio had only crackled, had never spoken.
He wondered if there was so little police traffic that two hours could
pass with nothing broadcast. He got out of the car and looked at his
surroundings. The turnoff to Funderburke's place was several hundred
yards down the mountain from the pass, down the opposite side of the
mountain from Delano. Police radio was VI-IF, wasn't it? The range
depended on the power and on line of sight. Could the police radio
broadcasta signal that would reach the opposite side
the mountain? He got back into the car, picked up the microphone, and
the broadcast switch. "Hello, Delano police headquarDelano police
headquarters, do you read me? Does anybody He released the switch.
Nothing but the crackle came to him. He tried again, with the same
result. "Shit," he said ia loud to himself. "I'm damned if I'll wait
any longer." He started the car and began to drive slowly up the road.
Hell, they might have tried to call him a long time ago. They wouldn't
have been this long if they hadn't found something. He reached the
crest of the road and saw the house, a living room light on, looking
cozy and snug. He allowed the car to coast down the little hill, then
pulled up in front of the house. He got out and looked through the
living-room window. There was a fire in the hearth; a reading lamp was
on, but the house seemed empty. He noticed that the FBI car was not
parked in front and reasoned that everybody must be out back. He
started to walk around-the building. He came around the rear corner
of the house and stopped. Tucker and the two FBI agents were standing
some thirty or forty feet up the hill behind the house, ankle deep in
kudzu, staring at something at their feet. Foxy Funderburke was
walking quickly, silently, toward them, loading a sawed-off shotgun.
Howell heard the dick as Foxy snapped the weapon shut. The three men
up the hill, hearing the sound, med. Howell realized what was about to
happen. He formed megaphone with his hands, took a deep breath, and
shouted, at the very top of his lungs, "Heyi" Then, without waiting to
see what happened, he stepped behind the corner of the house and
flattened himself against the logs. There was an enormous roar, and
simultaneously large splinters exploded from the corner of the house.
Then came two or three other explosions, so dose together he could not
be sure of the number. He got quickly down on his hands and knees and
stuck his head, close to the ground, around the corner of the house.
Tucker, Carr, and Sutherland' were all standing in a half crouch,
pistols held at arms' length, pointed at Foxy, having all just fired.
Foxy was sprawled on his back, twitching, trying to pick up the
shotgun. The three men came quickly down the hill, and Tucker kicked
the weapon away from him. Howell got up and ran toward the group. As
he reached them, he saw that Foxy was pumping a great deal of blood
from his
chest into the ground. Foxy seemed to see him for a moment, looked
wildly around him, tried to speak, failed, then stopped moving. Cart
held fingers at the old man's neck and shook his head. Sutherland took
out a penlight and flashed it into the open eyes. "Nothing," he said.
Tucker walked to the house and through the back door Howell, too dazed
to ask questions, followed him. Inside, Tucker found a phone in the
living room and dialed a number. "Bartlett? This is the chief. I
want you to do some things. First, call Dr. Torn Mudter, and ask him
if he can come out to Foxy Funderburke's place right away .... No,
don't call an ambulance, just ask the doctor to come. Now, how many
prisoners have you got in jail?... Good, I want you to call the city
manager--at home, if he's left the office, and tell him you need all
the picks and shovels he's got at the city garage. Call one of the
patrol cars in and have the man relieve you, then break out your
prisoners, and take them over to the garage, pick up the tools and a
truck, and get out to Funderburke's place on the double Have you got
that? Good, and bring all the flashlights you can find--if there's any
emergency lighting at the city garage, bring that and some power cable
.... Never mind, I'll fill you in when you get here. Now move it!" He
hung up the phone and looked at Howell. "John," he said, "did I tell
you how glad I am to see you?"
BOOle s: Tucker Watts
BILLY LANDED at Roosevelt field with ten minutes to spare before dusk.
He resolved, if he were ever elected governor, to find a way to get a
beacon and landing lights installed at the little strip. "Let's go to
my house first," he said to Holmes. "We could both use a drink, and we
can try and locate Tucker from there. I've got to get a handle on this
thing. Your source says he's getting federal search warrart for Foxy's
place, and the police station says he's in New YorK. This whole thing
is screwy." Patricia made them both comfortable and brought them a
bourbon. Billy called the police station. Tub Murray answered. "Tub,
this is Billy Lee. Is the chief in New York, or where?" "Governor,
he's out at Foxy Funderburke's, as far as I know," the patrolman
answered, sounding confused. "He called here about forty-five minutes
ago and told Bartlett to send Dr. Mudter out to Foxy's, and to let all
the prisoners out of the jail and bring them out there with a lot of
picl and shovels. That's all I know, sir. Maybe you could get hold of
him by calling out at Foxy's." Billy thanked the man and hung up.
"This gets crazier by the minute. Tucker's apparently out at Foxy's,
and he's asked for Torn Mudter and some picks and shovels." He grabbed
the Delano phone book, looked up Foxy's number, and dialed it. "You
know, there was a time when I could have told you
Cm!s
Foxy's number just like that," Holmes said, snapping his fingers.
"Even after the dial system went in, I knew a lot of 'em. Funny how
you forget things." Billy looked at him worriedly. The banker had
been talking that way all afternoon. He hung up the phone. "Busy."
He tried again, with the same result. They sat and quietly sipped
their drinks for a few minutes, and Billy tried again. "Still busy. I
think we'd better go out there." They stood up. "Mr. Holmes, it's
not really necessary for you to go. I can drop you off at home." "Oh,
I wouldn't miss it," Holmes replied. The drink seemed to have revived
him. "Let's go." At the turnoff for Foxy's house, they were stopped
by Sgt. Buddy Bartlett. "Oh, I'm sorry, Governor, I didn't recognize
you." He slapped his forehead. "Gosh, sir, I forgot to tell the chief
you were trying to reach him. I thought he had already left for New
York when you called this afternoon." "Buddy, what's going on up the
reT Billy asked. ' don't really know enough of it to explain it to
you, sir. You'd better let the chief do that." Billy put the car in
gear and started up the mountain. As they came to the top of the hill
and began their descent, they could see the log house silhouetted
against bright lights from behind. They parked in front of the house
and walked around to the back. Billy saw Tucker immediately and called
to him. "Good evening, Governor, Mr. Holmes," the chief said. Billy
was baffled by the lights and the digging men. "Fucker, tell me what's
going on here, will you?" "Come over here for a minute, Governor."
Tucker led the way up the hill through the kudzu, which was being
chopped and raked by a number of men. He stopped before a heap of dirt
and metal. Billy stared at it. "Is that a motorcydeT' "Yes sir, it
is," Tucker replied. "We found Sonny Butts." Billy and Holmes looked
at the motorcycle, then at each other. Tucker pointed them toward the
house. "If you'll come inside I'll explain the whole thing to you," he
said, and walked them down the hill. As they walked through the
kitchen door, John Howell waved at them from the telephone. Dr. Torn
Mudter was sitting at the kitchen table, writing. "Evening, Billy, Mr.
Holmes," the doctor said. "Tucker, if
you'll get somebody to move Foxy's truck we can put his body in the
garage. We'll need a place for all the remains, anyway. There'll be a
lot of cataloguing to do." "Is Foxy dead?" Billy asked incredulously.
Tucker led them into the living room and sat them down. He opened a
file folder and handed it to Billy. "Let me start at the beginning,
Governor," he said. Billy stared down at the sheet of paper before
him. Even after so many years, he recognized his father's handwriting
immediately. Billy was still trying to absorb what Tucker had been
telling him for the past half hour, when a man in a dirty blue suit
came in. Tuckerintroduced him as Special Agent Carr of the FBI.
"Tucker," said Carr. "We found a fresh grave; you'll never guess
where." Tucker raised his eyebrows. "It was in the garage, under
Funderburke's truck. If we'd moved it sooner we'd have found ii
immediately. God only knows why he buried him there. Two to one it'll
turn out to be the boy in the latest bulletin." "How many does that
make so far?" Tucker asked. "Seven, counting the cop. And we've only
just begun." Billy walked out back with Holmes and Tucker. "We need a
lot of help, here, Governor," Tucker said. "Do you think you could get
us some National Guard assistance?" Billy nodded. "I'll call the
governor right away." He went back into the house. "Uh, Chief?"
Tucker turn'd. It was Bobby Patrick. "Uh, can I help you out in any
way?" Tuckerintroduced him to Ben Carr, who looked at him for a moment
and said, "Sheriff, you could relieve the chief's man down at the main
road. We could use him up here. Just keep anybody from coming up here
who doesn't have any business here." "Right, yeah," said Patrick,
backing out of the house, grateful for some official function. Carr
looked at Tucker and laughed. "There's ashe riff who'll probably have
a number of candidates opposing him come election time, when word gets
out that he and that Talbot County judge didn't want to search this
place." Billy returned from the house. "The governor is calling the
National Guard commander at La Grange, who will call you and
offer whatever you need." He looked around him. 'vir. Holmes and I
are of no use here. I think we'd better go." "All right, Governor,
I'll keep you posted." '"i'd appreciate it if you would. And if
there's any kind of assistance I can give you, don't hesitate to call
me--at any hour." '"i expect the National Guard can give us all we
need," Tucker replied. "Mr. Holmes, we could use three or four more
phone lines out here. Do you think you could arrange that?" "Of
course," Holmes replied. "I'll have them out here within the hour."
John Howell joined them. "Billy, I've got a dear beat on this, and I'd
appreciate it if you wouldn't tip any other press for another
twenty-four hours." Billy looked around him. "Sure, John. From the
looks of this operation it'll be that time before we know the extent of
this, and I can't say I want to be the one to announce it. That's up
to Tucker and Mr. Carr, I expect." He turned to Hugh Holmes. "Why
don't we go home, and leave this to the professionals. TM , '"i'd like
nothing better," replied the banker. Considering all that had
happened. Holmes was strangely silent on the way home, Billy thought.
Back at Foxy's, john Howell loaded a camera and began walking slowly
about the digging area, photographing everything. He stopped to take a
shot of an old black man leaning on his shovel. The man pointed at
Tucker across the way. 'q'hat sho' is some chief of poh-leece we got,
ain't it?" he said to Howell. "Yep. He's quite i felloW." "Always
wuz." "How's that?" "I'se knowed him since he wuz a boy," the man
said. "We used to git in a heap o' mischief when we wuz children.
Willie an' me." Howell stopped taking pictures. "You grew up in
Columbus, did you' "Oh, nos suh We growed up right here in Delano.
Willie's daddy done used to work for Mr. Billy's daddy, when he wuz
still farmin'." Howell looked closely at the man. He seemed perfectly
sane and sober. He was one of the prisoners Bartlett had brought out
?HRE: Tucker Watts 422
to dig. Howell got out a notebook. "What's your name?" he asked.
"My name's Walter Johnson," he replied, "but folks call me ieback."
BILLY SPENT a quiet Saturday at home, waiting to hear from Tucker. He
talked briefly with Holmes,
and they agreed it would be better, under the circumstances, to make no
more phone calls to legislators.
"This thing at Foxy's is going to overtake us shortly," Holmes had
said, "and it. will obliterate everything else. Let's don't try to
swim against the stream."
Late in the afternoon Tucker Watts and John Howell arrived, both
looking exhausted. Patricia pressed some hot soup on them, and Billy
mixed them a drink. Soon they were settled in Billy's study before a
fire. It had begun to rain outside.
"We're finished out there, for the most part, and it's a good thing,
too," Tucker said, glancing out the window. "The FBI has sent a
pathologist down, and he and Dr. Mudter are cataloguing the remains,
with the help of an anthropologist from the University of Georgia,
who's had a lot of experience on archaeological digs."
"How many.w' asked Billy, dreading the answer.
Tucker produced a notebook and flipped through several pages, counting.
"We think we've found them all now." He paused and took a deep breath.
"It comes to forty-three."
Billy had been expecting bad news, but the number struck him like a
blow. A moment of nausea came and went.
c R: Tucker Watts When Billy didn't respond, Tucker continued.
"We've been identify seven of them from personal effects buried with
bodies. The rest are being checked against old missing-per. de us
records in Atlanta. Most of them will probably never be ntified. Bi
"It's difficult to tell exactly when all this began, but I think it's
likely that the one your father dealt with, the boy found by the Scout
hut, was the first victim, and the second body found, t one from
Waycross, was the second or third. After those two experiences, Foxy
became much more careful, and, as far as we know, no others ever got
off the place alive." Billy was still unable to say anything. "We
found a lot of paraphernalia in a hidden cupboard at the back of abroom
closet--handcuffs, rubber hoses, a lot of stuff. We haven't had a
psychologist in on this yet, but it seems to me that the whole thing
began when Foxy applied for the chief-of-police job and didn't get it.
He felt he had been cheated out of it, Foxy had some sort of police
fixation, and he conducted interrogations. None of his victims, of
course, would have known the answers to his questions." "Were these
sex crimes?" Billy was finally able to ask. "Without a doubt," said
Tucker. "Only the body found in the new grave in the garage was recent
enough for a reliable determination--he had been sodomized--but if we
knew the truth about all the victims, I'm sure it would be much the
same." "Have you notified relatives." "Batlett's on the phone noW.
In some cases I suppose we won't be able to find them. The National
Guard has provided body bags, and we're moving all the remains to the
Atlanta morgue. Those that can't be identified will be interred as
quickly as possible, the others will be turned over to families as soon
as postmortems are done." "What other problems can we expect?" Billy
asked. "Funderburke apparently left a sizeable estate--something in
the neighborhood of a million dollars, Mr. Holmes reckons--and, as far
as we can determine, he had no living relatives. There are likely to
be a number of suits against the estate, and I expect most of the
proceeds will go to families of the victims." "That's as it should
be," Billy said. "That's about it, for now, I guess. I'll keep you
posted if there are any new developments, but right now I'm going to go
home
and get some sleep. John's going to use our guest room." Billy turned
to Howell. "When is this going to hit the papers, John?" "Tomorrow
morning. It'll be in the Tims, of course, and the Consfftton will pick
up our story and photographs. I've already sent a courier to New York
with copy and film. The TV people will descend on the town tomorrow,
when they hear about it. Fd have a statement ready, if I were you."
"All I can do is express my shock and regret and sympathy or the
families and reer everything else to Tucker, I guess." Billy shook
hands with both men and saw them to the door. Then he went back to the
study and sat, sting into the fire, immobile.
When they had turned out of Billy's drive and toward Fuckers house,
John Howell took a deep breath and spoke. "Tucker, when I was doing
the research for the Sunday Magazine piece, I went down to Columbus and
looked up your birth certificate." '
"Oh?" replied Tucker. He gripped the wheel more tightly. "Naturally,
I didn't bother to look for a death certificate. If I went back down
there now and looked, what would I find?" Tucker was too tired to care
any more. "You'd find that I died of scarlet fever when I was eight
years old," he said. "The original Tucker was your cousin?" Tucker
nodded. "Uncle Tuck's boy. He still had the birth certificate. That
was all I needed to get into the army later. I worked for a
sharecropper down in Alabama during that time. My cousin was two years
older than me, hut I was tall for my age, and there wasn't any problem
enlisting. Uncle Tuck wrote out a letter for my mother, saying that I
had been hit by a truck in Alabama and killed. She showed it around,
and everybody bought it. After that, I was Tucker Watts." "who else
knows?" "Elizabeth. I only told her a few months ago." "Tell me the
truth, Tucker, does Billy know" Tucker shook his head. "No, but if
you're going to print it, I'd better go back out there and tell him
right now." Howell was quiet for a few moments, staring out the window
at the passing countryside. "No, I don't think I will. He's been
through enough the last couple of months--two elections, and
Booc rvl: Tucker Watts now this house vote on Tuesday. Tomorrow
you're going to come out smelling like a rose, and so will Billy, for
backing you. If I print this stuff it will muddy the waters, cast
doubts on what Billy knew and what he didn't. He has a chance to go
all the way, you know."
"What, Washington?"
Howell nodded. "Yep. I have it on good authority that he's at the top
of the list if JFK dumps Johnson, and it looks like he's going to."
Tucker grinned. "Wouldn't that be something?"
Howell laughed. "Yeah, maybe you'll get to be head of the
"John," Tucker said, "I appreciate your not bringing all this out.
Billy deserves better than that."
"Yeah." Howell looked out the window at the wet fields. "Boy, I'm
some kind of reporter, huh?"
BILLY DIDN'T GO to Atlanta for the house vote on Tuesday. John Howell
agreed to keep an open line from the capitol to the house outside
Delano to report on the voting as it progressed.
Shortly after the house convened, Holmes, at Billy's house to await the
vote, received a phone call. He took it in the kitchen, then came back
int6 Billy's study. "That was Fred Mitchell," he said to the little
gathering of family and friends, which included Tucker and Elizabeth
Watts, "from Toccoa, in north Georgia. Billy and I flew up to see him
the other day. The boy that was found in Foxy's garage was Fred's
nephew, his sister's boy, from Florida." There was a little gasp from
the group. "He asked me to tell Tucker how grateful he is; they might
never have known what happened to the boy. He also said to tell you,
Billy, that he's voting with you, and he thinks he's got two, maybe
three others lined up."
There were two hours of speeches in the house, and at noon the vote was
taken. John Howell, on the phone from the capitol, breathed the news
to Billy. "Two votes, Governor. You won by two VOS."
Billy hung up and reported the news to the gathering. There was
cheering and applause. The phone rang again immediately.
: Boo z'E: Tucker INatts E Patricia answered it.""I's the White
House," she said. "Ask them to hold on a minute," Billy replied. Fie
turned to the gathering. "Before I tell them how happy I am, I want to
tell all of you how happy I am, and how truly grateful I am to each of
you. You've given me so much help, and I promise you, I'm not through
asking." He tried to say something else, hut couldn't manage it.
Instead, he went to the phone and talked for a few minutes. He came
back to the group, who were waiting eagerly. "He says congratulations,
and congratulations to Tucker, too. He's going to Texas for a few days
later this month, and he wants me to come up to talk with him when he
gets back."
Huh Holmes set in his study late that night, a brandy in his hand,
immensely sad. He had suddenly had the feeling of having finished
something, indeed, everything. It had been fifty-four years since he
had first set foot on the land that had become Delano, and always since
that time his life had been filled with plan and" purpose. Now there
was no plan, no purpose, in which he could play a meaningful part. He
had done all he could for Billy. He had done all he could for the tow.
And now Delano, in which he had invested such industry and ingenuity,
would become a synonym for perversion and death. No one would ever
again speak of the town without reference to what had happened there.
He felt a pain in his chest, which quickly spread to his left arm. He
knew that pain; he had felt it before, recently. There was a phone at
his elbow; help was available-if he wanted it. The pain increased; the
brandy glass fell from his fingertips. Fie had only to wait. The pain
would take him, or it would leave him. Fie genuinely had no
preference.
END
AUTHOR'S NOTE
ORE THAN THIRTy years ago, while rummaging in a closet in my maternal
grandmother's home, I found a'large chief-of-police badge. It had been
torn and pockmarked by buckshot and still bore traces of dried blood.
It had belonged to my grandfather, who had died wearing it more than
ten years before I was born. The story of his death, as related to me
by a great aunt, formed the basis of this book, but so little was I
told, and so much hac I embroidered upon it, that the event, like
everything else in the book, must be regarded as fiction. Apart from
Will Henry, a number of other characters are based on real people, all
but one of whom are dead. Except for Delano, all the towns and
counties mentioned in the book are real, but none of the people who
populate them is. Any living person, but one, who believes himself or
herself to be portrayed in this book is mistaken. So careful have I
been to avoid such a portrayal, that any resemblance to such/t person
would be a matter of the wildest coincidence.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
M INDEBTED to Dr. Thomas J. Holmes, a fine storyteller, who nurtured
the seed of this novel with his memories; to the late James S. Peters,
who at ninety spoke history and remembrance of a brilliant quality into
my tape recorder; to Merrick and Janet Coveney, of County Galway,
Ireland, who helped me to find a quiet and beautiful spot in which to
begin this book; to Peter and Elizabeth Shepherd, who gave me a similar
spot in which to continue it; to'my editor, Eric Swenson, for insight,
patience, and friendship, and for taking me sailing with him; to
Frederick Allen, chief political wrier for the Atlanta Constitution,
for his sage advice on the complexities of Georgia politics; to Dr.
Paul Golightly, medical director of the emergency services unit of Grad
Memorial Hospital in Atlanta, and to Dr. Sam Gray, both of whom read
the medical portions of the manuscript and offered comments; to my
mother, for beating both my person and my personality; to the microfilm
department of the University of Georgia Library, which supplied me with
copies of old newspapers; to the designers of the microcomputer upon
which I wrote, edited, and typed this manuscript, but not to its
manufacturers, who were a pain in the ass; and to my dog Fred, without
whose entertaining company the solitude necessary for the completion of
this book might have been unbearable.
STUART WOODS was born in a small railroad town in rural Georgia. He
graduated from the University of Georgia in 1959 and served two tours
of duty as a pilot in the Air Force. In the course of his literary
apprenticeship, he has worked as a mattress salesman for Rich's
Department Stores of Atlanta and as a copywriter for an advertising
agency in New York and London.
His book credits include Blue Water, Green Skipper, a nonfiction
'account of his early days as a sailor; A Romantick Guide to the
Country Inns of Britain and Ireland; Chiefs, his first work of fiction;
Run Before the Wind; Deep Lie; and Undek the Lake, his next novel,
which will be published in 1987.
Woods' novel Chiefs won the 1982 Edgar Award given by the Mystery
Writers of America and was a three-part, six-hour CBS-TV miniseries
starring Charlton Heston. Woods divides his time between his homes in
Atlanta, Georgia, and on the Isle of Wight, in England.
Edgar Award Winner
STUART WOODS
New York Times Bestselling Author of
Worst Fears Realized
GRASS ROOTS
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