Swift Justice: The Southern Way (31 page)

Surely, someone would see the Sheriff’s patrol car and Junior driving it. Or would they? Maybe he could disguise himself to look like the Sheriff. That could be kind of easy. He could wear his father’s cowboy hat, although now the cowboy hat was dirty and had blood splatter on it. But it would be dark and people would just assume it was the Sheriff because it was his patrol car. Junior wouldn’t stop and speak to anyone. He would take the back roads. This plan was shaping up.

Okay, so if he dumped the body on the other side of the tracks, then where would he get rid of the car? He would drive the car back to near his house. Where would be a good place to dump the car? In the woods somewhere? In the lake? But how would he get back. He could run back. Hey, how about if he brought a bicycle with him and rode the bike back, he wondered. If someone saw him riding a bike in the dark, that would raise suspicion. It would be extremely odd to be riding a bike in the dark. He did have a flashlight attachment for his bike, though, so he would be able to see.

The advantage of using the bike versus running would be that he could travel much faster, he wouldn’t exert as much energy, and he wouldn’t sweat as much. But the roads were not that conducive for riding a bike, especially in the dark. Plus, he couldn’t dart across fields like he could if he ran. If he ran, he could easily and quickly hide if a car or a person were approaching. That would be much more difficult with a bike. No, the bicycle would not work. He would have to hike and run his way back to his house.

So now he was back to deciding where to hide the car. The lake, the woods, or bury it. Burying it wasn’t a bad idea, but that would take way too long. Perhaps he could hide it and then bury it on another day. No, the Texas National Guard, the FBI, and the newspaper people would be swarming all over the place. No, he had to get rid of the vehicle that night. He figured the woods would be the easiest, but the lake would be the best for getting rid of any evidence that he would have in the car and for hiding it as well.

If he hid in the woods, it would definitely turn up one day and probably pretty quickly. If he submerged it in the lake, it might never be discovered. People might think the murderer took the patrol car. No, they wouldn’t think that. No murderer, even a stupid one, would keep driving a police patrol car on his getaway. Anyone who killed the Sheriff would immediately get rid of the patrol car.

All right, he had to make a decision. While he was still dirty with blood, he would put the Sheriff’s body in the trunk of the car. He would do some quick cleaning of the garage. He would take a quick bath to rid himself of all evidence.

He had to run from the lake to this house at some point. He figured it was best to do that first. He would drive his pickup truck and park it near the lake but out of sight. Then, he would run back. If anyone saw him, he could always change his plan and not dump his father’s body by the railroad tracks. This was perfect. So now, when he dumped the car, he would have his pickup truck to take back to the house, or, even better, go right to the KOT meeting. He was proud of himself for coming up this twist to his plan of having his pickup truck at the dumping site.

Now, he just needed to implement his plan, and, hopefully, he might be the new sheriff.

While Junior was killing his father, Perry and Hall were listening to the tapes. Howard Goldstein had Leon Brooks and Deron Brooks in his room next door waiting for the FBI to finish their meeting.

The FBI agents were fascinated with the Sheriff’s confrontation with Paul Sawyer. Although they couldn’t use the tapes as evidence, they provided them with valuable clues. It was technically illegal to tape someone without a warrant, but the FBI did it all the time. They just couldn’t present it as evidence in a trial. They would use it to help them in in their investigations, though.

Listening to the tapes revealed, in their minds, that the Sheriff and the Judge character were behind the attempted murders of Leon and Deron Brooks. There was no doubt in the FBI agents’ minds. And the so-called, KOT meeting, was going to be a big event. They had to sneak in and actually film the meeting, if possible. The lighting would make it nearly impossible unless the Klan had a lot of torches and fires to illuminate the area.

This was exciting but also dangerous for the FBI agents. If the Klan discovered them, the hundreds of Klan members might just kill them not knowing who they were in the darkness. They had to be very careful.

Next, they listened to their tape of Tyler Mason, the Sheriff’s son.

“Something about what this kid said that has triggered something in my mind, but I can’t remember what it was,” Hall said.

They listened to the tape together.

“Stop it,” Hall shouted. “There it is.”

“What?” asked Perry.

“Play that part back,” Hall said.

Perry played back the part where Tyler was describing the second crime scene. He described the victims being shot twice and then Tyler said, “They weren’t kicked this time.”

“How did he know that they weren’t kicked
this time
?” asked Hall.

“I don’t know,” Perry replied. “Maybe he inspected the bodies and saw that they weren’t kicked.” Perry was liking where this was heading, though. He was impressed with Hall’s investigative instincts.

“Unlike the first crime scene where he already spoke to Leon, he hadn’t spoken to Deron,” said Hall. “So how would he know?”

“Maybe he was just assuming they weren’t kicked,” said Perry.

“I don’t know, man,” said Hall. “His whole demeanor was like someone who was telling a story as if
he
was there at the scene. It seemed like he was trying his best to make it seem like he was telling the story from Leon’s and Paul Sawyer’s perspectives.”

“Okay, let’s back up a minute,” said Perry. “What’re you saying here? Are you saying that the Sheriff’s son did the killings?”

“Ah … yeah, I think so,” Hall said hesitantly.

“Okay, explain
why
he would do this.”

“I don’t know why he would do it. Maybe I’m wrong. I know, it’s a long shot. Regardless, I think we should wait until our lab studies the physical evidence that we have: the fingerprints on the gun shells, the footprints at the first crime, the tire marks, the footprints from the second crime scene, and any other evidence that we discover.”

“Yeah, we need to get that stuff back from the lab before we make a decision,” said Perry.

“I agree.”

“Yeah, you know what. I will say this, though. When I went out to that fire, I made a mental note of who was there and who was not there. And I noticed that the Sheriff’s son was not there.”

“Oh really. You think he set the fire?”

“I don’t know. We don’t have nearly enough evidence to conclude anything. We don’t know half the people in this town. It could literally be anyone who did the killings and set the fire.”

“I know,” replied Hall. “It is totally a long shot that the Sheriff’s son did the killings.”

“Yeah, no offense, but the more I think of it, it doesn’t make sense,” said Perry. “There’s no reason why the Sheriff’s son would do these killings. These were family friends that were killed. He seemed genuinely heartbroken when he spoke about their deaths.”

“Yeah, it would be too easy if the first person we thought was the actual murderer. We have to have a lot more to go on than just a hunch.”

~~~~

Leon and Deron were cooped up in Howard Goldstein’s room, waiting for the FBI to finish whatever they were doing. Leon wanted to get back to his neighborhood and be with his family. He felt that he and his brother were sitting ducks in the hotel, which was certainly in the white area of town at night. He did not feel safe. In fact, he was in a constant state of fear over the past few days.

When Mr. Goldstein was in the bathroom, Deron showed Leon the gun he hid in his large pockets.

“Hey, bro, what should I do with this?” Deron asked as he showed Leon the gun.

“Holy Shit,” Leon whispered. “Where did you get that?”

“At the warehouse. I took it from one of the dead crackers for my protection. What do I do with it?”

It was odd for Leon’s older brother to ask his younger brother for advice. Leon felt proud that his brother was seeking his advice. “Let me see it,” said Leon.

Deron handed him the gun. It was a revolver. Leon jarred opened the cylinder and could see that five of the six chambers had bullets in it.

“Hey, do you know how to work it?” asked Deron.

“I don’t,” replied Leon. “How hard can it be—just press the trigger, right?”

“I guess so,” said Deron.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Goldstein emerged.

Leon hurriedly put the gun in his pants pocket.

Goldstein looked at Leon with suspicion.

Leon wanted to divert Goldstein’s thoughts and asked a question. “Mr. Goldstein, when do you think we can go back home?”

“Why would you want to go back home? Being with the FBI is the safest place to be.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Leon said.

“So are we in the clear as far as the law is concerned?” asked Deron.

“Yeah, but you never know with these clowns what they could drum up,” replied Goldstein. “Fortunately, they probably won’t try anymore tricks while the FBI is in town.”

“I don’t know if I could live in this town anymore,” said Leon.

“Yeah, me too,” replied Deron. “This whole town is no place for a Negro—”

Suddenly, there was a hissing noise at the door followed by smoke filling the room.

“Holy shit, it’s a bomb!” Deron yelled.

The three men instinctively ran away from the smoke towards the windows.

“Boom!” A loud noise startled the men, but it was quickly over. Leon realized that it was clearly not dynamite. Leon did not notice any damage.

“What the fuck was that?” asked Leon.

There was a rapid knock on the door. “Open up, it’s the FBI.”

Goldstein carefully walked to the door and opened it.

“What happened?” asked Perry.

“I think it was a smoke bomb,” said Goldstein. “Someone must have slipped it under the door and ran away.”

“Mr. Perry, we got to get out of here,” said Leon. “We are sitting ducks at this hotel. They’re going to kill us.”

Jim Bellows, the owner of the hotel, rushed down the hall. “What the hell happened?” he yelled.

“Someone rolled a smoke bomb under their door,” replied Perry.

“See, I told y’all. They shouldn’t be staying here.”

“Shut up!” Perry yelled. “You need to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“How am I supposed to that?” asked Jim Bellows.

“I don’t know, but if it happens again, I will come down there and personally kick your ass.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone, boy,” Bellows replied.

“Who the fuck are you calling, boy?” Perry said.

“Okay, okay, both of you calm down,” said Hall. Hall turned his gazed to Bellows. “You better tighten up your security, so this doesn’t happen again. Okay?”

Bellows sighed in frustration. “I’ll see what I can do, but y’all are killing my business. No one is ever going to want to stay here now that these niggers have been here. These niggers better not be spending the night—you hear.”

“We’ll make that decision when the time comes,” said Perry.

Junior spent about thirty minutes putting his father’s body in the trunk, cleaning up the garage, taking a bath, and putting his bloody clothes into a brown paper garbage bag. He had to hurry. People would soon be wondering where the Sheriff was at. In fact, Junior needed to be the most concerned because, after all, it was his father that would be missing.

If he played his cards right, he would be the new sheriff.

He was ready for the first phase of his plan: drive the pickup truck to a hiding spot by the lake and run back to his house. Junior’s house was only about two miles west of Lake Gerault. He wore work clothes, a dark cowboy hat to disguise his face, and the same brown hiking boots that he wore to the last two crimes. It was the only hiking boots he had, and they were very durable. He hated using the same boots and knew that he should get rid of them. He scrubbed them hard to get rid of the bloodstains from his father’s butchering.

Driving the pickup truck was the easiest part of the plan. Even if someone saw him, it wouldn’t raise suspicion. Nevertheless, he still hoped that no one saw him. This way he wouldn’t have to explain matters. He hid the dynamite in the truck’s bed. If he was short on time, he would go straight from the pickup truck to the KOT meeting.

As he anticipated, there was no incident of driving his truck to the lake and Route 12. He hid the truck on the west side of the road in some thick shrubbery. It was a perfect hiding spot.

Now the first hard part: getting back to this house without anyone noticing him. Even this was not critical if someone spotted him. He would just have to devise a different plan if someone noticed him. He would then have to bury his father’s body and not make the KOT meeting. However, he hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.

It was a cool October night in the mid-fifties. It was perfect weather for his mission. He figured that he wouldn’t sweat too much, if at all, on his two-mile run back to his house. He ran along the dirt roads dashing off to the side of the roads when he approached farm houses. After about three-fourths of a mile, he couldn’t believe how exhausted he was. He couldn’t believe how winded he was considering that he thought he was in good shape. He didn’t think he could make another block, let alone another mile and a quarter. He started to mix the jog into fast walking and jogging. He had to persevere his energy.

He finally made it home. To his surprise, he was completely drenched with sweat. It felt like it was eighty degrees outside instead of the actual temperature of the fifties. He never realized how much energy jogging entailed.

He was glad that he decided to jog at the beginning of the night versus at the end. That was brilliant of him, he thought proudly. Physically, this was probably the hardest part of his plan, he realized, though lifting his father out of the trunk was not going to be easy by any means.