Where Southern Cross the Dog (18 page)

Montgomery wiped his forehead again. “Ready to go back in?”

“Can I finish my nap? I'm not going to see the sun again for quite a while.”

“Yeah, you can finish your nap, Luke. I'll come and get you in an hour or so.”

“Thanks, Bill.”

Montgomery stood up and walked inside the courthouse.

An hour later, he and Sam Tackett went out to the oak and escorted Luke back to his jail cell.

On the burying ground.

—Booker White

THAT AFTERNOON AROUND FIVE O'CLOCK, THE sheriff's office got a call. Someone had found a body hanging from a tree a few miles out of town. Sheriff Collins, Montgomery, and Tackett drove out to see it for themselves.

They arrived to find the field empty. The body was swaying gently in the distance.

“There're some tire tracks leading from the road to the tree,” Collins said. “See how the grass is folded over?”

“Yeah,” Tackett said, reaching down and running his hand along the bent grass.

“I wonder why someone made such an effort to bring him all the way out here?” Montgomery said.

The three approached the tree and each briefly inspected the body.

“Couple of stab wounds,” Collins said.

“He was probably dead before they strung him up,” Tackett said.

“They?” Collins said, glancing over at Tackett.

“You think one guy could have got him up there?”

“Depends—”

Tackett sighed, walked back over to the car, and sat on the bumper. He knew there was nothing else. Not a clue, not a bit of evidence. “We better go talk to Luke. Do we know where he and his friends were last night?”

“No, not really,” Montgomery said. “He said he drove around till he got tired and then turned off the road somewhere and went to sleep. Finally drove into town after lunch. But he was by himself.”

“Hey,” Collins called from under the tree. “What do you want to do with this guy?”

“Get someone to cut him down and send him to the morgue,” Montgomery said. “I'll take a look at him there.”

On their way into the jailhouse, Collins glared at the guards who had been cuffed during Luke's breakout. “You guys gonna keep everything quiet tonight?”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

“I hope so,” Collins said. “Give me the key to Luke Williams's cell.”

One of the guards hurriedly passed Collins the key.

The sheriff, Montgomery, and Tackett walked down the hallway and found Luke lying on his bunk looking up at the ceiling. The sheriff unlocked the door and pushed it open. The three men stepped into the small enclosure. Montgomery leaned against the far wall, Tackett stood in the middle, and Collins stood alert by the door.

“Luke, we have a few questions for you,” Tackett said.

“Okay, but do I need my lawyer?” Luke said. “Charlie Usher, remember him?”

“Yeah, I remember him, but you don't need him right now.”

Tackett was surprised that Luke had asked the question.

Montgomery and the sheriff looked at each other. “Want a cigarette?” Collins said.

“No thanks,” Luke said, still staring up at the ceiling.

“Can you tell us where you were and what you were doing the last few nights?” Tackett asked.

“I was in a cabin most of the time. Then I left. Drove around a while.”

“What'd you do from the time you left the cabin to when you showed up this afternoon?”

“I want my lawyer.”

“Did you meet up with anyone on one of those nights?” Tackett said.

“Where's Charlie Usher?”

“We don't need him yet.”

Montgomery eyed Tackett for a moment.

“Did you see anyone?” Tackett asked.

“I saw a few people.”

“You stop to talk with any of them?”

“I need my lawyer.”

“Answer the question.”

“And if I don't? What are you gonna do? Put a gun to my head like last time?” Luke turned over to face away from the three men. “Go ahead.”

Tackett knew he couldn't go any further. “We're done.” He turned to go, and Collins inched the cell door open.

“Good,” Luke said. “And I'll need to tell Charlie about this.”

“Don't worry,” Tackett said. “We'll do it for you.”

Collins closed the door behind them, and the three men walked back to Tackett's office.

“What do you think?” Montgomery said.

“I don't know,” Tackett said. “But one more or less doesn't make any difference now. I've got to find some witnesses or something—anything—or he's a free man.”

Outside the jail, Montgomery glanced over toward where Luke's car had been parked. He stopped. “Sam, Luke's car was right there a little while ago,” he said, pointing to a space near the courthouse.

Tackett looked. “Well, it's gone now.”

A bird nest builded on the ground.

—Charlie Patton

SAM TACKETT WAS SITTING AT HIS DESK PORING OVER autopsy and crime-scene reports, sipping his morning coffee. His desk was littered with paperwork, all of which amounted to nothing more than a story with no ending. Three hard, quick knocks broke the silence of his office and brought him back to the present. He almost spilled his coffee.

“Come in,” Tackett said.

The door creaked open, and a man stuck his head in.

“Good morning, Professor Higson,” Tackett said, rising from his chair.

“Good morning to you, Mr. Tackett,” said Higson, squeezing his body through the crack he had made even though he could have opened the door further. “Am I disturbing you?”

“Oh, no,” Tackett said. The men shook hands. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee?”

“No, thank you, I've got to get back to work soon. Can't stay long.”

Tackett poured himself another cup and sat down behind his desk. “Speaking of, how is the harvester, Professor?”

“We're tweaking it. A few adjustments and we should be ready for another test. It needed quite a bit of work after the last run.”

“That's what I heard.”

“Yes, well, it didn't go exactly like I had planned. But we'll get it.”

“I know there are a lot of people who hope you do. Agriculture is our lifeblood in the Delta. Anything that helps the farmer helps us all.”

“Yes, that's certainly understandable.” Higson shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“You sure I can't get you something? Tea, maybe?”

“No, no. I've had two cups of coffee this morning already.”

Tackett blew on his coffee. Steam rose up in front of his face. An awkward silence filled the room. Higson stared out the window with a faraway look in his eyes. Tackett could tell something was bothering him.

Tackett removed a blank sheet of paper from his desk drawer and placed a pen on it. “Would you like to discuss something, Professor?”

“Yes, Mr. Tackett. It concerns a picture I saw in the paper this morning.”

Tackett didn't respond. He knew Higson would keep talking.

“Of a man.”

“Who was it?”

“At first I didn't know his name. But I recognized his face, even though I wished otherwise.”

“What do you mean?”

“That I had seen him before, under different, more dire circumstances.”

“Circumstances? Where had you seen him?”

“At a hanging,” Higson said rather unemotionally, still staring off.

“You mean the one the other day?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, I have some information I think I should share with you.”

“Please go on.”

Higson cleared his throat. “On the night of the murder, Sunday night I assume, I happened to be out walking near my house. Just a stroll. I take one three or four times a week. I was maybe a mile or two from my house, although if I'm not paying attention, it could have been several miles. These walks help me think. When I started home, I heard some commotion up ahead. I hurried toward the noise and crouched behind a small clump of trees, really bushes. I didn't know what it was, so I was being careful. I thought it might be an animal or something of that sort.”

“And what was it?” Tackett said, picking up the pen.

Higson shifted again.

“Would you like to stand up, Professor?”

“No, thank you. I saw two men fighting. One was beating the other quite savagely. I think he had a knife. After they stopped fighting, one of the men was lying on the ground. I believe he was dead. He seemed so because he wasn't moving.”

Tackett scribbled down some notes then looked up at Higson.

“Then the other man took a rope out of a car parked off to the side. He tied one end around the bumper, and he threw the other end up over a tree branch before tying it around the dead man's neck. He started the car and pulled the body up off the ground. Then he removed the rope from the bumper and tied it to another branch to secure it. The body just hung there, gently rocking back and forth.”

“What else?”

“That was it. He drove away.”

“Did you see the driver?”

“Yes, I had a pretty good look. The bushes concealing me were close to the road.”

“Even though it was dark?”

“He had his lights on, and it wasn't completely dark. The moon was low in front of him so the light shone in his car while he was driving away.”

“Did you see what kind of car it was or the license plate?”

“No, I'm sorry to say I didn't,” Higson said. “I think it was— no, no, I couldn't see it. I didn't think to look at the license plate. He drove so quickly and everything was happening so fast. I was concentrating fiercely on the driver, and I was trying to stay hidden.”

“What about when the car was parked by the tree?”

“Too far away.”

“Did you try to help the man who was hanging from the tree after the assailant left?”

“He was limp. Dead. I've seen dead men before, Mr. Tackett. There was nothing I could do.”

“Now, you saw the driver, but did the driver see you?”

“I don't think so, but I wasn't sure. If he had, wouldn't he have turned around?”

“Maybe. And that's who you saw in the paper?”

Higson looked up. His eyes met Tackett's. “Yes, that's him, Mr. Tackett. His name is Luke Williams, isn't it?”

“Yes. He's in custody now, and we're preparing to try him for some other murders. Why didn't you come forward immediately?”

“I was concerned for my safety. You didn't see what he did to that man like I did. And what would I have said? I could recognize him, but describing him in enough detail for you to find him would have been more difficult.”

“So that night you just went home?”

“Yes. And yesterday I went to Oxford for the day. I would have come forward eventually, even if the picture hadn't appeared in the paper. I was just too scared at the time.”

Tackett didn't know what to think. This morning he had a weak case against Luke Williams, and now he was chatting with a witness who had seen Luke commit a new crime. Just like that.

“Professor Higson,” Tackett said, “would you be willing to take the witness stand and repeat what you just told me? To testify?”

“I'd like to, Mr. Tackett. Will I be in any danger if I do? From the perpetrator?”

“No, you won't be in any danger. But we can provide a deputy to escort you to and from the courthouse. The defendant will be in jail, of course, when he's not in the courtroom.”

“Then I guess I should testify. Of course, I will testify, Mr. Tackett. It's my duty.” The professor was facing Tackett now, excited by the prospect of testifying. “This perpetrator must be held accountable for his crimes.”

“You're right. I'll let you know tomorrow when and where you'll need to be. Your coming forward kind of changes things, so I'll need to speak with the judge. You'll be staying in the area for a few weeks, won't you?”

“Oh, yes. I may go to Oxford, but I'll let you know if I do.”

“Good.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No, that's it for now,” Tackett said. “I'd like to thank you for coming to see me with this information, Professor. It's very helpful, and to tell you the truth, we didn't have much else to go on.”

“You're welcome, Mr. Tackett. I hope I've done the right thing.”

The men shook hands and Higson walked out of the office. Tackett watched him until he disappeared down the stairs. Then Tackett returned to his desk and dialed Montgomery's number. Montgomery answered on the second ring.

“Bill, the car that Luke was driving on Monday when you found him. What was it?”

“A Ford, I think.”

“If I got you some pictures, you might be able to identify it?”

“Possibly.”

“And the license plate?”

“Never got it.”

“That's all I needed to know. Thanks, Bill.”

Law gonna step on you.

—Bo Chatmon

THE FBI OFFICE IN JACKSON WAS IN ITS USUAL TURMOIL. Phones ringing, people shouting, the ping of typewriter keys striking paper and platen.

The news of the most recent slaying had made its way to the office, and Bob Thompson was thinking retirement was looking better every day as he paged through some reports.

Down the hall, Russ Kalman stepped into a conference room, dropped a pile of papers onto the table, and stuck his head out the door. “Bob, Dan,” he called. “In the conference room. Now.”

“What's up?” Thompson said, after they were seated.

“It's not good.”

“We're used to that by now,” Thompson said.

“I just received an update from Washington, and I want to share it with you. It concerns a Dr. Conrad Higson,” Kalman continued.