Where Southern Cross the Dog (19 page)

“Who?” Thompson asked.

“Conrad Higson. He's made his way to Mississippi, and the bureau's been tracking him. From a distance.”

“Where'd he come from?” Dan Mulevsky said.

“Europe, by way of New York,” said Kalman.

“Looking for a little Southern hospitality?” Thompson said. “Or taking advantage of our sunny weather?”

“Neither. It seems some university professor—from Princeton, I think—suspects that Higson is passing documents and classified information to the Germans. This professor sent Higson some documents that were never returned, even after he contacted him several times. When Higson didn't answer, the professor contacted the FBI. But Washington already had their eye on Higson. The professor's report just confirmed things.”

“Where is he?” Mulevsky asked. “In Jackson?”

“No, he's in Clarksdale,” Kalman said.

“Clarksdale?” Thompson said. “Is everything we're investigating in Clarksdale? Maybe we should move the office up there.”

Thompson could tell Russ wasn't interested in any snide remarks today. He didn't even look up.

“How long have you known about this?” Thompson asked. He didn't like bosses who kept secrets, particularly young ones with less experience than he had.

“Just a little while. Washington's been very quiet.”

“When should we pick him up?” Mulevsky said. “While we're up there for the trial?”

“We won't be picking him up,” Kalman said.

“What do you mean, Russ?” Thompson said. “We've got a known spy in Mississippi, and we can't pick him up? That'd be a first.”

“Washington has asked us to hold off until they can determine exactly what Higson is doing,” Kalman said. “If he's passing secrets overseas, he must have a network to get the information out of the country. There has to be more than one fish in this pond. The bureau wants to catch 'em all, not just one of the minnows. This is coming down from the top.”

“What do they want us to do?” Thompson asked.

“Nothing,” Kalman said. “Washington doesn't want us spooking Higson. Nothing changes. They're continuing to gather information, but until they have their case, we're not authorized to even be in Coahoma County.”

“That's ridiculous,” Mulevsky snapped.

“Those are the orders,” said his boss.

“What about attending the trial?” Thompson said.

“Forget it. We don't know anything about him, his contacts, who he's working with. It's too risky.”

“What about the sheriff's office?” Mulevsky said.

“Collins?” Kalman said.

“Yeah,” Mulevsky said. “Call them. Have them keep a long-distance eye on him.”

“You'd trust them to do that? Not me. We just stay clear until we're notified. If we screw this up and Higson walks away, and if the network remains intact or disbands without any arrests, I can guarantee you we'll all be fired, gentlemen. We stay away, period. Got it?”

No one responded.

He glanced around the conference table. “Good. If anyone wants to review the file, it'll be in my office. And I'll get a copy made and put in records.”

He quickly left, slamming the door in his haste.

Bob watched him leave then looked over the top of his coffee cup at Dan. Their eyes met briefly, and then Bob looked back at the door.

Mr. Judge, please don't break so hard.

—Peg Leg Howell

TWO DAYS BEFORE THE TRIAL, TACKETT ASKED TO MEET with Judge Long and Charlie.

“Judge,” Tackett said. “We've had some luck with our investigation.”

“Oh really,” the judge said.

“We have a witness.”

“To what?”

“The most recent homicide.”

“Who do you have?” Charlie said, immediately concerned.

“Conrad Higson.”

“You mean that professor who's been working on the harvester?” Judge Long asked.

“Seems he was out walking that night,” Tackett said, “and saw the murder take place.”

“Walking?” Long asked. “Credible story?”

“It checked out,” Tackett said.

“And he identified Luke?” Charlie asked.

“Yes,” Tackett said. “From his picture in the paper. No doubt about it.”

“Well that changes a few things,” Judge Long said. “What would you like to do?”

Tackett turned his chair slightly to face them both. “I'd like to delay trial on the four previous indictments. That should make you happy.” He looked over at Charlie. “Then we'll have the grand jury issue another indictment, and we'll arraign and try Luke for the last murder. Depending on the outcome of the trial, we may or may not try the other indictments. Our primary evidence in the second trial, if we need one, will be the confession.”

“Inadmissible,” said Charlie. “Don't forget that. Judge, the confession was taken under duress, and we will not allow its use during trial. And you don't have a confession to the last killing.”

“Judge,” Tackett said, “Luke's initial statements were given willingly.”

“Come on, Sam,” said Charlie. “You know—”

“All right, boys,” Judge Long said, “let's not get worked up. I told you we'll have a hearing to decide its admissibility.
If
we ever get to that point. We've got a lot to do before then.”

“I want to speak with Higson,” Charlie said.

“He's declined to speak with the defense until the trial,” Tackett said. “You'll have to wait until cross-examination.”

“Judge?” Charlie asked.

“It's Higson's prerogative,” Judge Long said.

“Then what the hell are we trying Luke for?” Charlie said, standing up. “You're just wasting everyone's time. You've got a witness,
a confession, and a string of murders. Let's send him to Parchman and be done with it.”

Tackett looked to Judge Long to speak.

“I told you why,” Judge Long said. “Folks want a trial. And we're going to give them one. If he's found guilty, then there's nothing anyone can say. We'll have done our part.”

Charlie glared at the judge and Tackett, picked up his bag, and left.

“Do what you need to, Sam,” Judge Long said. “We're staying on schedule.”

Tackett plowed through his plan quickly. He prepared the paperwork, and the grand jury wasted no time in issuing another indictment for the fifth killing. Luke was arraigned again and pled “not guilty” to a single charge of murder.

On the day of the trial, Tackett met Montgomery and Sheriff Collins at his office, and the three men walked to the courtroom. There they struggled through a throng of people the size of which, folks later agreed, no one could remember having seen at a trial in at least fifteen years. Inside the courtroom, Tackett said his hellos and took his place at the prosecutor's table. He glanced at the jury box almost instinctively, but it was empty. The jury they had chosen so recently was still waiting outside, and even though representative of the county, the number of farmers bothered him. He had dismissed all he could. He opened a large briefcase and removed several stacks of papers and placed them on the desk, organizing them neatly for the day's work.

The room was filling up, and Tackett looked around at the gathering spectators: the white attendees found seats on the main floor, the black ones in the balcony.

Travis took a seat next to his father, several rows behind Tackett. Sheriff Collins sat near the back.

Charlie Usher entered the courtroom a few minutes after Tackett and sat at the defense table. Although his briefcase was the same size as Tackett's, its contents, once emptied, didn't add up to one-third the volume of papers Tackett had produced.

Tackett saw Conrad Higson slip into a back row.

Elma Williams sat two rows behind Usher. None of the children was present, but Reverend Coulter was sitting next to her. She wouldn't attend any other day of the trial. She was only here today because a friend of hers was testifying, and she was able to get a ride from the reverend. Tackett noticed the preacher was holding her hand; she looked pale and nervous.

Five minutes before the start of the trial, one of the jailhouse guards escorted Luke Williams into the courtroom. The buzz throughout the crowd picked up, and everyone's eyes turned to watch Luke take his seat next to his attorney. Tackett scanned the room, watching everyone except Luke.

The defendant was dressed in brown pants and a white shirt, which Charlie had loaned him for the trial. Both had been recently cleaned and pressed. Luke's shoes were also brown, and Charlie had made sure they were shined before he had them delivered to Luke's cell. After he had combed his hair, Luke looked like he might be about to attend church, not a murder trial.

He approached the table, and Elma gave him a fluttering wave of her hand, which held a handkerchief. Luke smiled in return.

After Luke was seated, the courtroom became quiet again.

At exactly 9:00 a.m., Judge Long burst into the courtroom through his chamber entrance.

The bailiff barely had time to call the court to order. “This court is now in session,” he barked.

Banging his gavel once, the judge took his seat and began to arrange his notes. “Be seated,” he said. “Does the prosecution or defense have anything to say before we get started?”

“No, your honor,” Tackett said. Usher mumbled something similar.

“All right, show the jury in,” Judge Long said.

The bailiff led the twelve white men to their seats. Tackett and Usher scrutinized them again, although they had seen them earlier in the week. The jurors took their seats, looking around the courtroom and at Luke. Tackett watched them carefully, looking to see what they thought of Luke's physical appearance. Did they seem sympathetic to him? Did they look at him like a stranger or a long-lost relative? The jury included only one sharecropper, but there were several farmers who knew well Luke's chronic plight. They'd be the ones to side with the defense.

But Tackett also knew there were a lot of murders on the table, although only one was being tried at this time. It would be easy to acquit Luke if he had killed just one man in the heat of the moment, if, perhaps, that person had given Luke any back talk or spoken disrespectfully to him or his wife, or if it was self-defense. But four other murders were looming like a cloak over the trial. There were just too many to rationalize.

The judge introduced the trial as the State of Mississippi versus Luke Williams, and then summarized the charge against Luke for the jury. After dispatching some administrative issues, the judge looked hard at Tackett, then Usher. “Are you ready to proceed with your opening statements?”

Both men answered in the affirmative.

Tackett stood first and spoke slowly and deliberately, sounding as though he knew that Luke was guilty, and he was sure he had several jurors believing it, too. He explained the murder, summarizing the graphic details, and captured the jury's and the courtroom's attention. He discussed the evidence—although it was little—the motive, and the opportunity. He intentionally alluded to the other murders, but the allusion was subtle.

“I intend to show you that the murders were committed by a single individual. And that man is sitting right over there.” He pointed toward Luke.

The judge slightly raised an eyebrow, but that was all. Usher didn't seem to notice. He was busy rehearsing his own opening statement.

Tackett closed his remarks by thanking the jury, and then he sat down.

Judge Long looked at Charlie. “Are you ready?”

Charlie stepped up to the jury box and looked at all the members seated there. He looked over at Luke, and then out to the rows of people in the courtroom. Tackett had a witness, but he still had to prove guilt. Beyond a reasonable doubt.

“Members of the jury,” Charlie began. “Today, I'm representing Mr. Luke Williams. I'm his defense attorney. I'm going to help show that Mr. Williams is no more a killer than I am. Or you are.” He pointed a finger at them and raised his voice a notch. The jury sat up, attentive. “Now, what the district attorney has just told you is that Mr. Williams—may I call him Luke?” Familiarity would warm him to the jury.

Tackett stood up. “Your honor?”

“Mr. Usher,” Judge Long said. “Please address your client properly in court.”

“The district attorney has just told you,” Charlie resumed, “that Mr. Williams committed a murder. One murder. And he's got a little evidence he'll show you to try and prove it. But does he look like a murderer to you? He surely doesn't to me.”

Charlie began to pace in front of the jurors.

“Do you know what Mr. Williams does for a living?” he said, hoping none of the jury would try to answer. “He's a sharecropper. Any of you sharecroppers or farmers? Work in agriculture?”

Several jurors raised their hands.

“Good, good. I thank you for the delicious meals I get at home.” He chuckled, and a couple of the jurors nodded their heads with pride. “Well, now, do farmers work half a day or a whole day? Mornings or afternoons?”

No one answered, but they all looked curiously at Charlie.

“Well, the farmers I know work all day and into the night. And when they're not working, they're preparing for the next day's work. And when they're not preparing, they're so tired they can barely stand up. They're exhausted from the endless days of backbreaking work. Those the farmers you know? Those are the ones I know. Mr. Williams has worked every day of his life, for as long as he can remember. He told me that and so did his wife.”

Charlie picked up a handkerchief from his table and wiped his forehead. The fans weren't doing much to cool the room.

“Do you really think Mr. Williams had the time to plan and carry out a murder? And if he could find the energy, how do you think he got so far away from home without a car? The body was found across the county, a long way from Mr. Williams's house. I believe it's just not possible that Mr. Williams had the time or the opportunity to commit this crime. And I think you'll agree with me after you hear more about the murder, where it took place, and how it occurred.”