Where Southern Cross the Dog (12 page)

Charlie watched Luke think about his choices. He leaned over and grabbed one of Luke's cigarettes. “I'll bring you some more.”

The cell remained silent.

“Honestly,” Charlie said. “I don't think a jury from this county will impose the death penalty for these crimes. A judge might, if he could, but not a jury. If you plead not guilty, we'll get a fresh start.”

“What about the confession?” Luke said.

“Like I said, we'll have it thrown out. I think it was taken under less than ideal circumstances. Look at your arm for God's sake.” Charlie pointed to Luke's arm. “Is that the way the Coahoma County sheriff usually conducts his interrogations?”

“Do you think the judge will throw it out?”

“We'll see.” Charlie watched Luke carefully in the dim light.

“The jury wouldn't give me the death penalty?”

“That's a reasonable assumption,” Charlie said. “Coahoma County juries look favorably on their own. But that's only if you're convicted. You could go free.”

“I wasn't really thinking about dying,” Luke said, staring into the darkness, a confused look on his face.

Luke lay back on his bed. Charlie knew this certainly wasn't what Luke had in mind when he went into the sheriff's office that night and confessed. But Luke couldn't turn back now. He couldn't walk out of that jail and do whatever he'd been doing before he'd confessed.

Charlie heard the jailer approaching the cell and stood up. “I'll be back in the morning to discuss your decision. We meet with the judge right after lunch.”

Luke didn't say a word as Charlie carried the chair into the hallway and closed the cell door.

At a quarter to one, spectators started gathering outside the courthouse, avoiding the courtroom until the last possible minute. After a big noonday meal, no one would be able to keep their eyes open sitting still in the steamy room.

Sam Tackett entered the courtroom, walked to the prosecution's table, and unpacked some papers and a pen. He sat alone.

A few minutes later, Charlie Usher strolled in and took his place across the aisle from Sam.

The rows were now filling quickly with spectators, including Travis, who had postponed one of his errands so he could watch the arraignment. Finally, Luke Williams was escorted in by two bailiffs and seated next to Charlie.

Sam knew Charlie had told Elma Williams not to attend. The trip was too far, and the arraignment wouldn't last but a few minutes. She said she planned on seeing Luke in a few days anyway.

Sam looked around. If it was this crowded for the arraignment, what would it be like during the trial? He glanced at the balcony. Nobody was there yet, but they would be. Everybody wanted to see if a white man would go to jail for killing a black man—
four black men
. And the altercation during Luke's questioning had only increased people's curiosity.

Judge Bertram Long entered the courtroom.

“All rise for the Honorable Judge Long,” the bailiff rumbled. “The court is now in session.”

The judge motioned for everyone to be seated.

He shuffled some papers and said, “The court would like to recognize for the record Mr. Sam Tackett, District Attorney of Coahoma County. He will represent the state in this matter. And Mr. Charlie Usher will represent the defendant. Are there any questions?”

Both Tackett and Usher nodded after being recognized. There were no questions.

The judge continued. “Mr. Williams, do you understand what we are doing today? The grand jury met previously and issued four indictments. This is your arraignment. Has your attorney explained what an arraignment is?”

“Yeah,” Luke said.

“Mr. Usher, have you conferred with your client?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Well, will you please inform him that ‘Yeah' will not be tolerated in my courtroom? He may say, ‘Yes, your honor' or ‘No, your honor' or ‘I don't know, your honor,' but ‘Yeah' won't do. Do you understand, Mr. Usher?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“And do you understand, Mr. Williams?”

“Yes,” Luke said. “Your honor.”

“This arraignment has been convened to hear the indictments against Mr. Luke Williams, resident of Coahoma County, Mississippi. Mr. Williams is the defendant in the matter of the State of Mississippi versus Mr. Luke Williams. Are there any questions so far?”

Tackett and Usher shook their heads.

“If the defendant and his attorney will please rise, the district attorney will read the indictments and the defendant will answer with a ‘Guilty' or a ‘Not Guilty.' Is that clear?”

“Yes, your honor,” Usher said.

Tackett, Luke, and Usher all stood.

“Sam, please read the first indictment,” Judge Long said.

“Indictment number one, to the charge of murder of John Doe Number One. How do you plead?”

Luke looked at Usher and then Tackett.

Tackett stared back but had no idea what Luke would do. He wasn't easy to read.

“How do you plead, Mr. Williams?” the judge asked.

“Not guilty,” Luke said. “Your honor.”

Tackett could hear the slight hum of muffled voices in the courtroom. He knew what they were saying. He continued to read the second, third, and fourth indictments. All murder charges, all the victims unknown. Luke answered to each, “Not guilty, your honor.”

When the last one was read, the crowd noise rose. Judge Long tapped his gavel several times, casting a severe gaze around the hot room. The crowd quieted down.

“We've heard the pleas. Now counselors, I'm going to set the trial date. How does three weeks from today sound?”

“That's fine, your honor,” Tackett said.

Usher concurred.

“We'll have a pretrial conference to discuss the admissibility of the confession. Will the prosecution's case be ready?”

Sam laughed to himself. He was ready right now. He had no other witnesses besides the defendant, and Charlie would never allow Luke to take the stand unless it was absolutely necessary for a self-defense argument; it was too easy for Luke to get misled or confused. And there was still the matter of the confession. If he could use it, this would go quickly. If not, he needed evidence, witnesses, weapons, something. “Yes, your honor,” Tackett said.

“Mr. Usher, will you be ready?”

“Yes, your honor,” Usher said.

“This concludes the proceedings,” Judge Long said. “Court adjourned.”

Judge Long stood up and walked back to his office and his bourbon. The bailiff came over to the defense table, took Luke by the arm, and walked him to the door.

Bob Thompson, an agent with the FBI who had been seated behind Tackett in the public seating area, leaned over the railing. “What's going on, Sam? I thought he confessed?”

“Yeah, but the judge wanted a trial. Says he's being pressured to conduct one. What's worse is I think he may throw out the confession because of what happened at the interrogation.”

“A little unusual, don't you think?”

“Well, this case is already a little unusual.”

“Let us know if anything develops in the meantime. We'll be back for the trial in a few weeks.”

“See you then,” Sam said.

Travis turned and watched Luke as he was escorted out of the courtroom. Who was this man? Did anyone recognize in this weathered sharecropper a vicious killer? What demons resided in the darkness of his soul? The severity of his alleged crimes made him appear much larger than his physical presence.

Travis turned to leave only after Luke had been escorted from the courtroom.

He walked out onto the steps of the courthouse and passed by two men he didn't recognize.

“Not another day,” one man said.

“Then let's meet tonight at the cabin,” the other said.

“See you tonight, Ned.”

Travis walked past, thinking little of the interaction.

Reap jus' what you sow.

—Tommy Johnson

THREE MILES OUTSIDE CLARKSDALE, IN A ONE-ROOM cabin deep in the woods, four white men—two sharecroppers, a handyman, and an unemployed gas station attendant—sat staring into a small flame that flickered in the fireplace. They themselves were embers, the hot remains of the Klan's fiery cross that had burned bright not so long ago. Now they were scattered and disorganized, their lofty intentions mutated by boundless hatred. But they found solace in small groups who met quietly and secretly, plotting their resurrection and the demise of local troublemakers.

Ned, the handyman, looked around the group and assessed the others. He wondered what they were capable of—individually and as a group.

“Well, what we gonna do?” asked Wyatt, the attendant, before swallowing a swig of homemade whiskey and then passing the bottle.

“What
can
we do? Luke turned himself in,” Edgar, one of the croppers, moaned. “He's stuck.”

“I don't care if he confessed,” Wyatt said. “What he's done ain't a crime in Mississippi. They're gonna try to put him in jail for doing right. For what needed to be done.”

“He's already in jail,” Ned said. “What they're gonna do is try and keep him there. And we got to see 'bout that.”

“You're right, Ned,” said Edgar. “Luke ain't staying in jail. His family needs him.”

“He's under a lot of pressure with his harvest and those kids,” Ned said. “I'll bet if he was out of jail for just a little while, he'd be able to get things straightened out at home. Then, after the harvest, he can get right with the law.”

Bo, the other sharecropper nodded his accord. “His crop'll rot in the fields if he don't get out of there.”

All four men sat motionless, sipping the whiskey. Ned watched while the shadows from the fire danced on the cabin walls. The liquor had warmed his insides; his body seemed to be melting into the hot Mississippi night. His head felt loose on his shoulders, and he knew the liquor would bolster his friends' courage.

“Why don't we just march into that damn jail and tell ‘em to let him out?” said Wyatt.

“I don't think that's such a good idea,” Ned said. “Sheriff ain't gonna let him out just 'cause we ask.” He watched them grow attentive. “Is there anything else we could do?”

They sat, seemingly stumped.

“I wonder what he was thinkin', turnin' hisself in like that,” Edgar said.

“I bet he already decided that was a big mistake,” Wyatt said with a grin.

“All right, I got an idea,” Ned said. “Maybe we don't ask for his release, maybe we just take him.” He knew he was lighting a powder keg among these hard-luck white boys.

They sipped more whiskey while Ned carefully laid out the details of the plan. “Edgar, I want you to drive,” he said. “You're going to stay with the car while we're inside.”

“I can't come in?” Edgar asked.

“No. Someone's got to be outside making sure we can get away fast. And letting us know if anyone's coming.”

“What should I do?” Edgar asked.

“Honk, peckerwood,” Ned said. “Just honk.”

“What about me?” Wyatt asked. “What am I gonna do?”

Ned paused. “Wyatt, I want you inside watching the guards. I don't know what those fellows will do when they see what we're up to, but you're going to have to make sure they don't get any funny ideas.”

“Will I have a gun?”

“Yeah. But I don't want you shooting up the place.” Ned jabbed his finger into Wyatt's chest. “Just handcuff the guards. There ought to be two of them. After that, I don't think you'll have any trouble. Just don't shoot anybody, for chrissakes. We're there to do one thing.”

“What if somebody shoots me first?”

“Then you'll be dead, won't you?” Ned said.

“I guess so,” Wyatt said, looking slightly dejected.

“No shootin',” Ned repeated. “Bo.”

Bo perked up noticeably.

“You and I get the keys from the guards after they're cuffed, find Luke, and get him out of there. Now, it'll be late and most everyone will be sleeping, so we can't make much noise.” Ned looked at each man. “Does everyone understand what he's going to do?”

They all nodded their heads.

“Good. We walk in, get Luke, and get out in less than five minutes.”

“Without Luke, they'll have to close the case,” Bo said. “People will forget about those dead coons in a hurry.”

“What about Luke?” Wyatt asked. “What are we going to do with him?”

“We'll see,” Ned said. “Maybe he and Elma can take the kids to Arkansas. Nobody'll chase him there.”

“Do we have to wear our hoods?” Wyatt said. “You remember old Clem, don't you? Riding along on that fine horse. Lord, that was a good horse.”

“What happened to him, again?” Edgar said.

“His hood got twisted on his head, and when he went to fix it, his rifle went off. Killed that horse, just that one shot. Killed while he was a'ridin' it. He broke down and cried right there. A damn good horse.”

“We've got to wear them,” Ned said. “Don't want anyone recognizing us. Now don't ask again, or you're not going. And if anybody shoots the car, you answer to me.”

Ned stared out the window into the Mississippi night, the moonshine washing over him. His men were full of notions of bravery and saving the white race. They had been on a few night rides, scared a few people after dark, but they had never done anything like this. He hoped they were ready.

“When do we go?” Bo asked.

“Patience, Bo,” Ned said. “Patience.”

Preacher ... meddle with every sister he meets.

—Henry Brown

TWO DAYS AFTER THE ARRAIGNMENT, ELMA'S minister, Reverend Coulter, gave her a ride into town. She had not seen Luke since the night he got out of bed and disappeared into the darkness. “I've got to do something,” Luke had said.