Where Southern Cross the Dog (24 page)

“Sorry to hear that,” she said. “What's wrong?”

“Sour stomach, headache. Maybe a fever.”

“You want Russ to call you in the morning?”

“No, I'll be in bed all day,” Dan said. “I'll try to sleep it out of me.”

“Well, you get better and maybe we'll see you Thursday.”

“Thanks.”

Early the next morning, Dan dialed a familiar number. “You ready to go?”

“Almost. You driving or should I?” Bob said.

“I'll drive.”

“Be there in a few minutes.”

Ten minutes later, Dan pulled up to Bob's two-story white house adorned with yellow shutters. Large oaks covered the grounds.

“What time's the trial start today?” Dan asked.

“Around ten o'clock, I think.”

“Good, then we've got plenty of time.”

Dan headed north out of Jackson onto a slowly brightening Highway 49 and made his way over to Highway 61 because he liked the scenery better. It led them straight into Clarksdale.

On the walk between his home and the courthouse, Sam Tackett paused repeatedly Wednesday morning to chat with neighbors and acquaintances who were planning to watch the day's proceedings.

Once in the courtroom, Tackett unpacked his briefcase and arranged the documents he would need on the table in front of him. Gruesome pictures and gory details always swayed a jury against whoever was seated in the defendant's chair. Today's testimony would probably finish Luke Williams for good.

Tackett turned and watched as spectators filed into the courtroom, settling into their places like children in a classroom. Travis Montgomery entered and took a seat next to his dad. Charlie Usher and Luke Williams, present in their places before anyone else arrived, were seated across the aisle.

Luke looked around for Elma, but he knew she wasn't there. She had decided it was too hard for her.

Judge Bertram Long started the day with his usual discussion of timing. “This is the last day we'll meet this week,” he said. “More out-of-town business. Are there any questions about our schedule?” He looked at the jury. All twelve stared back in silence. “Then we'll meet again next Monday. Today, Mr. Tackett will finish with his witnesses, and then Mr. Usher will have the opportunity to call witnesses for the defense, if he has any. Closing arguments on Monday.” He looked around once more. “Any questions?” No one spoke. “Mr. Tackett, call your next witness.”

Tackett stood and cleared his throat.

“Your honor,” he said, “The State would like to call Dr. Conrad Higson to the stand.”

At once, Tackett heard the room fill with whispers. Clarksdale had very few strangers, but somehow Higson had escaped the scrutiny usually lavished on most new upstanding residents. Except for the handful familiar with his cotton-harvesting project, almost no one would recognize the professor's face or his name.

In the back row, a lone figure rose and stepped into the aisle. All eyes turned toward him as the professor strode forward resolutely, like a man who had something to say.

Tackett watched him closely. Higson's clean-shaven face and well-worn gray suit rounded out his professorial appearance. His thin hair, cropped close to his scalp, and his bookish features were oddly offset by his unusually large hands. Put to good use assembling all those oversized machines.

Conrad Higson glanced at Luke when he passed the defense table. Then the professor stepped into the witness box and sat down. When asked if he would swear to tell the truth, he muttered “I do” in a voice so low no one but the judge and the bailiff heard him.

Tackett walked toward the witness stand. “For the record, please state your name and occupation.”

“My name is Dr. Conrad Higson,” the man said. “I'm a research scientist.”

“Do you live in Clarksdale, Dr. Higson?”

“Yes. I have a small house in Clarksdale but spend most of my time in Oxford at the university.”

“Could you briefly explain what you're currently working on?” Tackett said.

“I'm involved in several agricultural endeavors in the area. However, my most important project is the development of a machine that would pick cotton without the need for human labor. Eli Whitney and his gin had the easy part. This is a little more complex.”

The slight murmur that arose in the courtroom quickly quieted with a stern glare from the judge.

“It's a difficult project, and I am still tweaking and tinkering with the design. But I haven't given up yet, although it's a little annoying for some. I think that's why I have so many nicknames. I've noticed that people in the South much prefer nicknames. Don't know if any of them are any easier to say than Dr. Higson, but I guess they are more interesting.”

“I see,” Tackett said, wanting his witness to stay focused. “You haven't lived in Clarksdale for very long, have you, Dr. Higson?”

“No, not long. Compared to most.”

“Dr. Higson, I'd like to ask you a few questions about the defendant.”

“All right.”

“Have you ever met the defendant?”

“No,” said the professor, looking at Luke.

“Ever spoken to him, maybe casually?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen the defendant before today?”

“Yes, I have.”

“On how many occasions?”

“Two. Once in the paper.”

“And the other?”

Higson was silent.

“You've seen him, but you didn't meet him or talk to him?”

“Neither.”

“You just saw him?”

“Yes.”

“Dr. Higson, would you please take a few minutes to explain the details of your sighting of the defendant?”

Higson began, his voice steady yet still almost inaudible. “It happened on Sunday the twenty-fifth of last month. I was taking an evening walk along the road near my house. It was about ten o'clock, and the moon was three-quarters full. There was some cloud cover, so at times it was dark. But mostly, if the moonlight was shining through the clouds, everything was plainly visible for thirty or forty yards. I was walking along, just thinking. I often do this when I'm having a problem with my research. The walk usually clears my head—helps me process my thoughts better.”

Tackett nodded with feigned interest.

“I was about to return home when I heard some noise up ahead. Rustling and grunts and groans. I didn't know what it was, but I thought I'd investigate.”

A hush had descended as the entire courtroom, barely daring to breathe, strained to hear Higson's voice. Tackett noticed that it hadn't been this quiet since the trial's earliest moments.

“I approached the noise,” Higson continued, “and I was able to gain some cover near some bushes a few yards off the road. For a moment, I couldn't see very well because clouds had just passed over. But when they broke, I was startled by what I saw.”

“And what did you see?”

Higson paused before he spoke. “I saw two men fighting, near a tree, about thirty yards away.”

“Fighting? Can you describe the scene?” Tackett glanced at the jury to make sure they were paying attention.

“Fighting may not be the right word. I could see that one man was already on the ground and the other man was over him savagely
kicking and punching him. He was also wielding a knife, which he used to stab him—twice. It was brutal. Awful.”

“Was the man on the ground fighting back?”

“No. He was just holding up his arms, trying to cover his head.”

“Could you see their faces?”

“Not from where I was. It was too far away.”

“And did you try to intervene?”

“No. I was scared. I feared for my own life.”

“Then what did you do, sir?”

“I wanted to return home, but I was worried this man would see me walking away. So I waited, and soon the man on the ground stopped moving. Then the other one took some rope and tossed it over a low tree limb. He wrapped one end of the rope around the neck of the man on the ground and tied the other end to the bumper of the car. He got in the car, started the engine, and moved forward a little. This pulled the unconscious man into the air so that he was hanging. Then the man in the car got out, untied the rope from the bumper, and tied it around another limb. When he drove away, I got a glimpse of him in his car.”

Higson finished, and silence filled the room. Tackett felt the jurors losing Luke's presumption of innocence. This was the witness everyone on the jury thought would never come.

Tackett spoke again. “Did the assailant ever see you?”

“I don't believe so. He would surely have stopped if he had.”

“But you definitely saw him?”

“Yes.”

“I'll finish where we started. Is that man in the courtroom today?”

“Yes.”

“Could you please identify him?”

Higson nodded briefly toward the defense table. “That's him. Mr. Luke Williams.”

“What happened after Mr. Williams drove away?”

“I went right home.”

“You didn't check on the body?”

“No. The man was surely dead.”

“Did you report the crime?”

“Shamefully, no. The beast was still out there, and since I was the only witness, anything could happen. This is not a large town, Mr. Tackett. That kind of news becomes public very quickly. I thought that once he was in jail I would come forward, which is what I did.”

“For the record, Dr. Higson, I'll ask you one more time. Are you positive it was Mr. Williams you saw that night?”

“Absolutely.”

“I'll pass the witness.” Tackett sat back down.

The judge broke Higson's spell. “Would you like to cross-examine, Mr. Usher?”

Charlie was staring down at the table in front of him.

“Would the defense like to cross-examine?” Judge Long said again.

Charlie stood and said, “Yes, your honor.”

“Proceed.”

Charlie picked up a piece of paper, walked over to the witness stand, and handed it to Higson.

“Could you please read this?” he said.

Higson reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses.

“Oh, you wear glasses?” Charlie asked casually.

“Yes, for reading.”

“What's your vision without them?”

“I'm not sure. I haven't been tested in a while.”

“Were you wearing your glasses the night of your walk? The night when you allegedly saw Mr. Williams?”

“No, I don't need them for walking. I need them for reading.”

A couple of people in the gallery chuckled.

“But you've placed my client at the scene of a very serious crime and now, almost by accident, we find out you weren't wearing your glasses. You don't have perfect vision without your glasses, but we're to believe you clearly identified Mr. Williams at the scene of the crime. I guess no one was planning on informing the jury of this very relevant fact. I'm certainly glad I'm not the one on trial.”

“Objection, your honor,” Tackett said, rising to his feet.

“Sustained,” Judge Long said.

“And what about the fact that it was dark, possibly very dark when the clouds moved in?” Charlie asked. “Was your view not obstructed? Possibly even when the car was passing by?”

“As I stated before, I saw Mr. Williams.”

“What you said is that you got a glimpse of him. But is a glimpse enough to convict a man for murder? Let's talk about the car. Did you see the car? If you saw Mr. Williams, then you must have seen what kind of car he was driving.”

“No, I was concentrating on the driver. It all happened very quickly.”

“Yes, I imagine if the prosecution had been able to match any of the cars or trucks available to the defendant to one you might have seen, well, that would have been useful information—and not good for my client. But the fact that no one can identify the vehicle driven by the assailant further shows that Mr. Williams may not have been at the scene of the crime. This is a critical piece of information. Now, you've also indicated, based on your own safety concerns, that you didn't call the police to report the crime?”

“Correct.”

“Someone had just been murdered right in front of you, yet you chose not to help, not to call the police, not to check on the body, not to cut him down, not to do anything.”

“He was already dead, Mr. Usher,” Higson said in a tone he might use when addressing a child. “He was hanging by his neck. It was pointless.”

“Maybe for the victim, but not for capturing the suspect.”

“He was gone. I knew I could identify him later if I needed to.”

“What did you do on Monday? The day after the murder.”

“I drove to Oxford on business.”

“Went about your day? Just like you normally do?”

“We've been over this,” Higson said, his voice rising slightly.

“Your honor,” Tackett said, rising from his chair.

Charlie waved him off. “I'm done. Oh, but one last thing, Professor Higson. Would you please read what's written on the paper I gave you.”

Higson slipped on his glasses and looked down at the paper. He shook his head in confusion and eyed Charlie.

“Read it,” Charlie said.

“It says,” Higson began, “‘I can't read this without my glasses.'” He looked up.

“Keep reading, Professor.”

“‘So I probably didn't see Mr. Williams that night.'”

Tackett jumped up. “Objection, your honor.”

The judge banged his gavel and turned to the jury. “You will disregard that last statement by Professor Higson. He was reading the note and that was not his testimony.” He turned back to Charlie. “One more prank like that, and you'll be held in contempt. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, your honor,” Charlie said.

“Is that all you have, Mr. Usher?” Judge Long said.