“So people really thought he’d gone back home?”
Mr. Standish shook his head. “He showed up again after that. I never heard anything about where he’d been spending his time. When he went missing again, Jefferson looked for him all over. He must have asked everyone in town if they’d seen him.”
“And that was used against him,” I said. “Everyone thought he did that to cover up the murder.”
“So they say. Then Brad Hicks found the body on his way to work one day. Jefferson was arrested. He confessed to murdering LaSalle. That’s what Sheriff Beale testified to in court, under oath. And that’s what got Jefferson convicted.”
“Sheriff Hicks was on his way to work? So he wasn’t looking for Mr. LaSalle?”
“As far as I know he wasn’t. No one was. Why would they? If anyone thought about him at all, they assumed he went back to where he came from. At least, they did until Hicks found him.”
“Did Sheriff Hicks live near where the body was found? Is that how he happened to find him?”
“Near?” He shook his head. “He lives about five miles out of town. Drives back and forth on the river road at least twice a day. Sometimes more often.”
The rest I already knew. I slipped the picture back into my pocket. As I did, I noticed that something had changed. The lawn mower had stopped. Mr. Selig was standing in the door to the garage, looking at us. I wondered how long he had been there.
Mr. Standish looked skyward, and I followed his gaze.
“There’s going to be one heck of a storm coming through here,” he said.
“Storm?”
“See those anvil heads?” He pointed at the clouds. “That means we’re going to have thunder, lightning, the whole nine yards.”
I thought of the folders I’d stashed under a layer of leaves. One was empty, since I’d taken the photograph. But the other one…It would get ruined in the storm. And if there was wind…
I had to go back and get it. Now. Before it rained.
I wished Maggie were home. I would tell her everything and get her to come with me. But I had no idea where she was.
I raced home and jumped on the bike. I flew over the paved roads to the junction, keeping watch that no one was following me. I didn’t see a single car or truck the whole way. I slowed down when I got to the turnoff and the washboard road. This time I hid the bike so well that there was very little chance of anyone finding it. I retraced my steps, my eyes searching the ground for my marker.
Something snapped in the underbrush behind me. I spun around and found myself face-to-face with Sheriff Hicks.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. Where had he come from? I was sure he hadn’t followed me. Had he come back out here ahead of me? But why would he do that?
“I might ask you the same thing. Seems to me I just got you out of trouble out here. A smart girl would have stayed in town where she was safe.”
“I—I guess you’re right,” I said. I turned to retrace my steps.
He caught me by the arm.
“Come on,” he said. “Why don’t you show me what you found?”
What I found? How did he know I found anything?
“You’ve been snooping around for days. Helen at the real-estate office told me you were asking about Lorne Beale’s cabin. What did you find?”
“Find? Nothing. I just—I really have to go. Maggie will worry.”
“Maggie’s in Princeton. She won’t be back until later tonight.”
I tried to dart around him, but he caught me by the arm and held tight. Too tight. His fingers dug into my arm.
“Show me where you put it,” he said. There was no smile on his face. No kindly concern for my well-being. He was deadly serious. He shoved me ahead of him. “Show me and I’ll see that you get on a bus for New York City today.”
The hardness in his eyes told me not to trust him.
I stumbled forward.
“No tricks now,” he warned. He maintained his grip on my arm.
I kept walking, worried that I wouldn’t be able to find the hiding place, until suddenly there it was, right in front of me, the rock I had set near the tree and, beyond it, the fallen log. They looked so obvious to me that they seemed to flash neon. I glanced at Sheriff Hicks. He didn’t seem to have noticed anything.
I slowed my pace. I had to get that folder. I also had to get away from him.
Thunder grumbled overhead. Lightning illuminated the sky like a gigantic camera flash.
“I wrote everything down,” I said. “I always write everything down. If anything happens to me, your secret will come out. Everyone will know what you did.”
His lips curled in amusement.
“Is that right? And what is it that you think I did, little lady?”
“It’s not what I think. It’s what I know.” I injected as much confidence as I could into my voice, but the truth was that I was shaking all over. He was a big man. With a gun. I was just me, Cady Andrews, aspiring intrepid reporter.
“Which is?”
“You lied about how you found Patrice LaSalle. And I think Sheriff Beale knew you lied. I think there was some kind of conspiracy going on to frame Thomas Jefferson for murder, and you were part of it.”
He laughed.
“You’re a real piece of work,” he said. “I found LaSalle, all right.”
“You drove back and forth along the river every day to get to work,” I told him. “I’ve been there. I saw where the body was dumped. It’s impossible to see anything in the river there. It’s too muddy and too deep.”
“There was a big storm. The body floated to the surface.”
“No, it didn’t. It couldn’t have. It was secured to a pulley at the bottom of the river by a cable that was only a couple of feet long. There was no way it could have floated to the surface—unless someone cut the cable.”
“Well then, I guess that’s what happened,” he said smoothly.
“You cut it.” I was feeling more confident, thanks to the folder I’d found at the cabin. “The police reports say that the body was attached to the pulley with a rope, and that the rope broke. But that’s not true. It was attached by a thick cable. I’ve seen pictures. There’s no way that cable could have broken unless someone cut it. That’s what you did. You knew where the body was. You cut the cable, retrieved the body, and then you and Sheriff Beale framed Thomas Jefferson for murder. But why? Because he wanted to be treated just like everyone else? Is that a crime around here?”
Sheriff Hicks was still smiling. He was still holding me in his grip.
I walked forward until I was almost on top of the file. With my next step, my ankle went out from under me. Kind of on purpose. I fell. I grabbed as much dirt as I could, and when Sheriff Hicks caught hold of my arm again and pulled me up, I threw the dirt into his eyes. He staggered back, cursing. I grabbed the folder and ran.
I ran as if my life depended on it. Because it did. I heard Sheriff Hicks bellow behind me, and I poured on the speed. I did my best to keep moving east, so I wouldn’t lose my bearings. I leaped over tree trunks and rocks. I ducked under fallen branches. I kept running even when the rain started to patter on the overhead canopy. I was still running when the sky opened up with such fat, heavy raindrops that they tumbled through the foliage and beat against the ground below. I didn’t stop running until the lightning started.
I had to get out from under all those trees.
I ran until I reached the extreme edge of the woods. I ran until I tripped on an exposed tree root and went flying, landing face down on rock and mud and slick leaves. Down and hurt and staring into an opening of some kind. A gap between some rocks. A little cave. I crawled inside and pulled some brush over the opening. Then I held my breath and waited.
I heard heavy breathing. I heard footsteps. I heard cursing. They grew loud and then faint again. I heard Hicks shouting my name in the distance.
The sky was black, lit now and again by sheet lightning. The rain hammered down. I c
lutched the folder to keep it dry. I started to shiver.
I don’t know how, but despite the wind and the rain and the damp that seized me and held me like a giant wet, cold hand, I fell asleep. When I woke up, everything was quiet. Cautiously, I uncovered the opening of my cramped hiding place. The woods were dark save for a sliver of moonlight. I stayed put, barely breathing, until my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and I was sure there was no one out there waiting for me. I crept out on my hands and knees and slowly unfolded myself and stretched. I was shaking all over from the cold and the damp. I knew I couldn’t stay where I was. I had to get back to town.
There was no sign of Sheriff Hicks.
I stumbled around for what seemed like hours before I finally happened upon the trail again. Heaven knows I didn’t find it as a result of searching for it, because the truth was that I had no idea where to look. I followed it back to the dirt road. Maggie’s bike was exactly where I had left it. I climbed on and started to ride, scanning all around me, half terrified that Sheriff Hicks would appear out of nowhere, gun in hand.
He didn’t.
When I got to the junction, I was more nervous than ever. What if he was waiting for me here? What if he was waiting just down the road or around the corner? What if…?
It was coming on dawn by the time I made my way to Freemount and knocked on Mrs. Jefferson’s door. She didn’t have a phone, but she dispatched Daniel to town to get Maggie while she fed me chicken and gravy with biscuits and a big glass of milk. I tried to make myself eat slowly, like the lady Mrs. Hazelton wanted me to be. But it was too hard. It had been more than thirty-six hours since I’d had anything to eat. And the thirst—down went the first glass of milk, followed swiftly by the second.
Daniel finally returned, Maggie in tow.
“The sheriff was sitting in his car outside Maggie’s house,” he reported. “I had to go around the back, and then I had to convince her to sneak out so he didn’t see us.” The impatient expression on his face told me this had not been easy.
“What on earth is going on?” Maggie asked when she saw me. “Where were you? I was so worried. And why do I have to slink around like a criminal?”
In answer to all her questions, I pushed the thick file folder across the table to her. She opened it and frowned, then she sat down and started to read. Mrs. Jefferson made coffee. Maggie sipped it gratefully while she worked her way through the file.
“Where did you get this?” She looked at me, a stunned expression on her face.
I told her the whole story.
“The only thing I can’t figure out,” I said, “is why he used cable instead of rope. It’s like he didn’t want the body to be found at all and then changed his mind. But why?”
But Maggie was focused on something else.
“Sheriff Beale lied.” She looked at Mrs. Jefferson. “He lied. Your son never confessed.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I CATCH A MURDERER
“HOW DO YOU know that? Show me.” Mrs. Jefferson looked down at the file in front of Maggie. Maggie pointed, and Mrs. Jefferson and Daniel huddled around her and began to read.
“Sheriff Beale perjured himself.” Maggie’s expression was grim. “We have to take this to the police.”
“No!” I practically shouted the word at her. “Sheriff Hicks was in on it.” I told her what I had figured out. “It says in there that the body was secured by a rope and that the rope broke. But that’s not true.” I told her about the pictures that had been slipped under her kitchen door.
“That must have been Alma,” Mrs. Jefferson said. “She cleans the municipal offices, including the sheriff’s office. But where did she get them?”
It was a good question, one to which I didn’t yet have the answer.
“They show that Mr. LaSalle was anchored to that pulley by a cable. Either someone cut that cable just before Hicks drove by—which doesn’t seem likely, ’cause how would anyone else know he was coming?—or Hicks cut it himself.”
“So he knew where the body was?” Daniel asked.
I nodded.
“Then he and Sheriff Beale lied about it and said the body had been secured with rope and that the rope had broken in the storm.”
“Why would they do that?” Daniel asked.
That’s the question that had been plaguing me.
“They wanted to get Thomas.” Mrs. Jefferson looked at me, fire in her eyes. “They framed my son for murder.”
“But why?” Maggie asks. “I’m not saying that’s not what happened, but what did Hicks have against Thomas?”
“The same thing they all did. They hated him because he was a hero. And because he wanted to be treated like a man—like any man, not like a colored man.”
Maggie glanced at me. Her voice was soft when she said, “Then—and I mean no offense, Mrs. Jefferson, I’m just saying—if their target was your son, why was LaSalle’s body the one found in the river?”
“Because they couldn’t stand that a white man was friends with him.”
“Sheriff Beale was in on it too,” I reminded them.
“Why would Beale lie to cover for Hicks?” Maggie frowned. “Hicks was a rookie back then. He wouldn’t have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two.”
“Maybe he did it as a favor,” I said quietly.
“A favor to whom?”
I had thought long and hard about this. “To Mr. Chisholm.”
“John Chisholm?” Maggie was thunderstruck. “What does he have to do with it?”
“I think his daughter was seeing Patrice LaSalle.” There, I had said it out loud. “And Mr. Chisholm found out. I think he didn’t approve because LaSalle was good friends with Mr. Jefferson.” I paused. “And then there’s this.”
I slipped out the picture that I had already showed Mr. Standish. Maggie, Mrs. Jefferson and Daniel all stared at it.
“My God!” Maggie murmured. Then: “Excuse my language. Who is it? Do you know?”
“It’s my first husband,” Mrs. Jefferson said softly. “That’s Thomas’s father.”
Maggie stared at her. Then she turned to me. “Where did you get this?”
“The same place I found this file.”
“Beale had it?”
“There was always a rumor that someone had a picture,” Mrs. Jefferson said. “But it never came to light.”
“No wonder.” Maggie couldn’t take her eyes off it. She turned it over and looked at the scrawl on the back.
“I think that’s why Sheriff Beale is in that fancy nursing home. He made sure no one went to jail for the lynching. I also think it’s why his daughter broke with him,” I said. “When I talked to her, she was angry because she thought I wanted to ask her about this photo.”
“You spoke to Beale’s daughter?” Maggie asked. “She must have told somebody about that. That might explain the trouble you had in the woods.”
“Or Mr. Selig could have said something.” I told them what had happened at Mr. Standish’s. And pointed out that Mr. Selig was in the picture too.
“It hasn’t been publicly announced yet, but John Chisholm is planning a run for governor,” Maggie said softly. “If this picture comes out, that’ll put an end to his political career before it evens starts.”
“If there’s any justice in the world, it should put him in prison,” Mrs. Jefferson said.
“There’s no statute of limitations on murder,” Maggie said. “And if a lynching isn’t murder, I don’t know what is. You should talk to a lawyer, Mrs. Jefferson. You should get some advice on how to light the fire you need to get your husband’s and your son’s murderers brought to account.” She stood up. “I have to go back to town. I have to make a phone call.”
“Who are you going to call?”
“Not the sheriff’s office, that’s for sure. Cady, you stay here.”
I stayed until late afternoon, when Maggie came back with two men in dark suits. They were from the Justice Department.
“I didn’t
know who else to call,” Maggie said. “I didn’t know who to trust.”
The men sat me down at Mrs. Jefferson’s kitchen table and made me go through everything again. Twice. And then once more for good measure. I told them everything I knew. I showed them the place in the report where someone—Sheriff Beale, it seemed—had written that the body was secured by rope. I showed them the pictures that the cleaning lady, Alma, had given me; Maggie had brought them from the house after I told her where they were hidden. I pointed out that in court, Sheriff Beale and Deputy Hicks had testified that Jefferson said LaSalle had left town. Then I showed them Sheriff Beale’s initial notes, which he made after asking Jefferson when he’d last seen LaSalle. In the notes, Jefferson was recorded as saying he had no idea where his friend was and that he’d been asking all over town. Sheriff Beale even verified this by talking to the owner of the hardware store and to Mr. Selig. But when the report was typed up, after Jefferson was arrested, Sheriff Beale wrote that Jefferson had been telling everyone that LaSalle had left suddenly and gone home.
“That was a lie,” I said.
The two Justice Department agents spent a long time on the older picture, the one of the lynching. They wanted to talk to Mrs. Jefferson too. Daniel and I sat together in the front room and waited. By the time they had finished, the sun was going down again. They told Maggie and me that they were going to arrest Sheriff Hicks on a charge of attempted kidnapping. They said that should keep me safe until they had a chance to go through everything thoroughly.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I GET MY STORY
IT WAS NO more than twenty-four hours later when Maggie came to get me and told me that Hicks was under arrest and that John Chisholm and Mr. Selig were under investigation for the lynching. The agents were trying to track down more information but had run into a brick wall (their words) with people in town who might have been around when the incident (also their word) occurred. They told me that with things the way they were down in Mississippi with the three young men who were missing in Neshoba County, the president himself was not inclined to be soft when it came to race relations.
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