“What about these?” I asked, pointing to the last verse. “You fled. You ran away from me.”
“I didn’t, LuAnn. I went looking for you.” Then he moved my hair out of my face with his hand, turned my head, and looked at me to see if I understood what he meant.
I did. “Here I am,” I said.
Eddie was the only person I’d ever known who could talk to me about my soul and not sound silly.
But that was a long time ago.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A group of Tallagumsa High cheerleaders celebrating their number-one rating at the national cheerleader camp in Mississippi filled the usually quiet time during the afternoon lull with giggles and high-pitched squeals.
I managed to relax with a cup of Sanka in my corner booth anyway, where I read a Birmingham News story about the first test-tube baby, Louise Brown.
Ben finished a brief interview session with the Coffee Club. After they left, he stayed in his seat and opened the mail he’d picked up at the post office. From the corner of my eye, I could see him glance over at me. I looked over; he turned away and then stared down at his mail. We played this cat-and-mouse game for several minutes. What’s he up to? I wondered. The first thing that came to mind-the very worst thing I could think of--was that his wife had written to announce that she was pregnant. (He’d only been home to D.C. once since he got to town and had never said a word about the visit upon his return.) Or maybe she’d decided to come down for a visit. I couldn’t imagine having her in my restaurant or watching her walk down First Avenue with him.
Finally, he came over to my booth and sat down across from me.
“Want some more coffee?” I asked.
“No,” he said. He set his pile of mail on the table. An assortment of letters and bills was on the top. A large manila envelope was on the bottom. He kept one hand on the mail, as though we were outside on a windy day. He looked odd to me, not quite the Ben I knew, as though his features had shifted slightly out of place. He cleared his throat, swallowed, and looked around the room. “I need a cigarette,” he said.
“You don’t smoke,” I said.
“I used to.” He got up, walked around behind the booth to the cigarette machine in the coat room, and bought a burgundy-and-white pack of Carltons. He returned, lit up, and started coughing.
“What is going on?” I demanded.
“I just got some information that I, um ...” His voice trailed off. He seemed mesmerized by the smoke curling up from his cigarette.
“What, Ben? What’s the big mystery? Would you look at me, please.”
He took a deep breath and met my eyes. “This manila envelope has the FBI documents, all unredacted. Someone from the Justice Department leaked them to my boss.”
“That’s great! Can I see?” I reached for the envelope.
“Just a second,” he said sharply. He clamped his hand over mine.
“All right! I won’t touch it. What’s the matter with you? You are acting very strange.”
He sat quietly for a moment, then sighed loudly and released my hand. “Jesus! I don’t know what to do,” he said. “Here, you might as well read them too.” He removed the papers from the envelope and gently pushed them toward me. He took another drag on his cigarette and coughed again.
Clipped on top of the papers was a note handwritten on a piece of Washington Star stationery. It read:
Ben,
A good friend at Justice gave these to me after he read the article you wrote about Newell Hagerdom and the Alabama governor’s race. Looks like your book might have to wait.
-Frank
The FBI documents were attached to the note. This time nothing was blacked out.
MEMO
To: Carl Best, Chief, Atlanta Field Office
From: Special Agent Dorr
Re: Jimmy Turnbow and Leon Johnson
Date: August 28, 1963
I have confirmed that a Bureau informant, Dean Reese, was in the car involved in the murders. Thus I expect a speedy resolution of the matter. Hopefully, the State of Alabama will bring indictments here. Perhaps they will be able to get convictions with the help of Reese’s eyewitness testimony. If the State refuses to go forward, however, as often occurs in these cases, this would definitely be a candidate for federal civil rights charges.
MEMO
To: Carl Best, Chief, Atlanta Field Office
From: Special Agent Dorr
Re: Jimmy Turnbow and Leon Johnson
Date: August 30, 1963
Dean Reese has provided me with the names and addresses of the men in the car with him: Newell Hagerdorn and Floyd Waddy. Agent Moon and I will attempt to interview each of them and other possible witnesses. As always in this kind of case, if we can secure even one cooperative witness (in addition to Reese) we will be lucky, particularly here where, according to Reese, one of the men who was with him that night and the one responsible for pulling the trigger is the Sheriff of Tallagumsa, Alabama, the town outside of which the killings occurred.
For what it’s worth, there is a rumor around town that they were shot by someone whose daughter was involved with one of them.
MEMO
To: Carl Best, Chief, Atlanta Field Office
From: Special Agent Dorr
Re: Jimmy Turnbow and Leon Johnson
Date: September 5, 1963
As you know, it appears that the shells found at the scene of the crime came from the Sheriff’s personal gun which Reese turned over to us. The fingerprints on the gun haven’t been checked yet. We spoke with Hagerdom and Waddy, the two men named by Reese. Floyd Waddy was indignant; he has a strong alibi. Sheriff Newell Hagerdom laughed at us.
As I mentioned over the phone, we may have serious problems here. After spending a few days in town, we’ve discovered that Reese has a reputation for being an extremely unstable alcoholic known for violent and unpredictable behavior. This was not a complete surprise. We had some reason to believe that there were problems with Reese. In a similar Mississippi case his evidence proved unreliable. We had kept him on the payroll though because we had no one else in the area. I have set up a meeting with him tonight.
MEMO (marked URGENT AND CONFIDENTIAL)
To: David Metzger, Assistant to the Director
From: Carl Best, Chief, Atlanta Field Office
Re: Jimmy Turnbow and Leon Johnson
Date: September 7, 1963
We recommend strongly that the Bureau cease all involvement in the investigation of the above-mentioned deaths and that we not reveal any of the information gathered to anyone, including State authorities. Without our involvement, they will not bring a case. As you pointed out, Reese’s suicide has thrown the case into a tailspin. Not only is our best evidence gone, but any trial might result in serious embarrassment to the Bureau and the Justice Department and damage our chances of successfully pursuing other civil rights cases in the Deep South. In short, it would do far more harm than good.
A few more interviews have been scheduled, just to tie up loose ends. One is with Liz Reese, the wife. It is unclear whether she’ll cooperate. We understand that the Reeses’ marriage was a very troubled one.
I put the FBI documents down on the table. I felt my face flush hot and red and heard my heart beating loudly in my ears. Instantly the din from the cheerleaders receded, and it seemed that Ben and I were growing larger and larger, turning into giants who towered over all the irrelevant specks of people around us, people too tiny to see or hear or care about.
“What could that mean?” I asked, trying to make some sense of what I’d just read.
Ben took my hand in his. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not. Who wrote this? It’s not real, of course. It’s some sort of hoax or a very bad joke,” I said.
“How can you be sure?” he asked.
I jerked my hand free and put it in my lap, then glared at him. “Of course I’m sure. You don’t believe this, do you?”
“I just opened that envelope a
few minutes ago and thought I had to show the documents to you,” he said. “Beyond that, I haven’t thought about what they mean. I know as much about them as you do.”
Cleo walked up and interrupted us. “You have a phone call, LuAnn.”
“I’ll call them back,” I snapped. I didn’t bother to look up at her.
“But it’s the Alabama Best Milk accountant you’ve been calling for two days,” she said.
“I said I’ll call him back!” I insisted, turning toward her.
Cleo shook her head as she walked away.
“It’s ridiculous, Ben,” I continued. “You should write them back and make them do something about it.”
“Write who? The Justice Department? The FBI?”
“Whoever you need to write to see that these lies are fixed. It’s obviously a political dirty trick by someone who doesn’t want Daddy to win the election. That Republican who just entered the race-Ollie Beckwith, maybe him. Your newspaper should know better than to send out this kind of trash.” I tore my paper napkin into little pieces as I talked.
“Look,” Ben said. “My editor sent me these, not some kook. I’ve worked for Frank for five years, and he is the most honest man I know. He wouldn’t have sent them if he didn’t believe they were honest-to-God FBI documents. His source had to be unimpeachable or I wouldn’t have them.”
“Could we sue the FBI, then, to correct them?”
“Don’t you want to ask your father about this before you start filing lawsuits?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m sure there’s an easy explanation for all of this. Just ask your father. He can probably clear it up in a second.”
“Of course he could if he knew anything about it, but he doesn’t, Ben. Don’t you see that I would know all about this if there were a shred of truth to it? I’m not a stranger here like you are. I would know. There’s no way something this big could be kept a secret.”
“Still, LuAnn, it won’t hurt to ask him. Just see what he has to say.”
“Fine, if you want me to I will, but I can tell you already what he’ll say.”
“Is he still at work?”
“Probably. This is so weird,” I said. “I feel like it’s a ‘Candid Camera’ routine or something. Next thing you know you’ll pull the microphone out from under your sweater.”
“Do I look like Alan Funt?” he joked.
I ignored him. “Okay.” I stood up. The pieces of napkin in my lap fluttered to the floor like confetti. “This is stupid,” I said.
“Just get it over with,” Ben said.
I didn’t want to call my father, but I had to do something. “I’ll call from my office,” I said.
“I have the most bizarre thing to tell you about,” I said to my father after his secretary, Franny, got him to answer the call I giggled nervously. “You won’t believe this, Daddy, but Ben just showed me some documents he got from some nut in Washington about the Tumbow-Johnson murders, and, well, you’ll die, but they say that Dean Reese told the FBI that you and Mr. Waddy were involved in the murders.” After a few seconds of silence, I said, “Daddy, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here, honey.”
“Well, I know it’s a dirty trick or something, but Ben insisted I call you, that you might have heard something back then about this nutcase Dean Reese talking about you and all. You know how reporters are. I shouldn’t have bothered you at all, right? That’s what I told Ben.”
“Ben has these papers, you say?”
“Yes.”
“How lucky. I’ve noticed y’all seem to be pretty chummy lately. The best thing is for you to tell Ben to give them to you and then both of you forget all about them.”
“What?” I asked. I probably sounded surprised. This was not what I had expected to hear from him at all.
“Look, sweetie, this town has been through enough over those poor boys. It was a long time ago, and it’s done with. I don’t want to go into it, but if Ben doesn’t drop the whole thing innocent people will be hurt. I promise you that. Good people who had nothing to do with anybody dying. And who would help Ben with his book if he drags all this out again? You just do what I said now.”
“What if he won’t ignore them, Daddy?” I was pretty sure Ben wouldn’t simply give me the documents and forget he ever saw them.
“You can do it. I know you,” Daddy said.
“But what should I tell him?”
“Tell him justice was done. It’s true, and the rest is nobody’s business. You trust me, LuAnn, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“And you love me?”
“Daddy, yes.”
“Then just listen to me. It would be a big waste of his time and ours too. Tallagumsa deserves not to be dragged into that hornets’ nest again. Don’t worry. Just do what I ask.”
“Okay, but-”
“No buts. Go on now.”
“Maybe you could talk to Ben for a minute yourself, Daddy. He’s right in the front dining room.”
“No, hon. Now you’re giving me a headache.”
“I’m sorry. Forget I ever called.”
“I’ll be fine if you do what I say.”
“We have to talk, Ben,” I announced. I had grabbed my purse from my office file drawer and told Estelle to cover for me so we could leave the restaurant immediately. “Let’s go for a ride.”
“What about the dinner rush?” he asked, surprised that I would miss it.
“They can manage without me. I told Estelle you needed help with an important interview,” I said.
We climbed into Ben’s BMW.
“I have a favor to ask,” I said as he pulled away from the Steak House.
“First, what did he say?” Ben asked. “And, second, where are we going?”
“He said forget about it. Why don’t we go to your house?”
“He what?” Ben asked incredulously.
“Really, he did. Don’t act so shocked. It’s not because he did anything wrong.”
“Oh?”
“Oh? What’s that mean? Oh? Daddy made some very good points. This town has suffered enough over the murders, and if you get started on this wild rumor you’ve got here it’ll stir up all those bad feelings again. He said nothing would be accomplished either-nothing good, anyway. And-listen to this and stop looking so amazed-he said some innocent people would be hurt. And he reminded me that no one would look kindly on you anymore, on your work or your book.”
“Doesn’t he want to talk to me about it?” Ben asked. He sounded shocked.
“Not really.”
“That seems a little cavalier, don’t you think?”
“I can see your point, but I know he wouldn’t lie to me. I trust him. You have to trust him too.”
“I don’t really know what to say, LuAnn. I certainly didn’t expect this response from him.” He looked troubled.
We reached Ben’s house. In the living room we talked and argued until he agreed to think about what my father had asked. I kissed him, anxious to make up and hopeful that this would be the end of the matter. My kiss exploded into fierce lovemaking, a mixture of anger, passion, and fear. Afterward we lay on the living-room rug and watched the sun descend toward the lake, turning the wisps of white clouds in the sky pink. It was a peaceful scene that made me all the more agitated.
I got up and carried my clothes into Ben’s bedroom. He followed. As I straightened my skirt in Ben’s bedroom mirror, I talked to his reflection. “Just throw the documents away and forget they ever existed,” I said lightly.
I walked across the room and sat on the bed next to him. “Come on,” I said, trying to maintain a gentle, flirtatious tone. “Please.” I so wanted this to be a problem I could conquer with charm.
“What if the documents are telling the truth?” he asked.
“How can you say that about my father!” I jumped up and walked to the mirror, where I began to brush my hair.
“Well, what if they are the truth?” he
insisted. “Couldn’t that be why he’s asked me to throw the papers away? Think about that.”
“No, I won’t think about anything so ridiculous. This is a stupid conversation. And you’re behaving like an ass.” I brushed harder and faster. “I can’t believe you’d even suggest that. Don’t ever say anything like that again.”
Ben got up and walked to the dresser. He took hold of my shoulders, turned me around, and looked at me, his hands coming to rest on my waist. “You must know that the matter wouldn’t be resolved even if I destroyed the papers. I don’t have the only copy. Apart from me, the FBI, the Justice Department, and my paper have copies. Someone at Justice obviously wants the world to know about what’s in them. We need to learn the truth.”
“But I know the truth!” I said.
I swatted his arm with my brush and moved his hands off my waist. Then I sat down in the chair across from the bed.
“You have to believe Daddy! Sometimes it takes a long time to prove the truth, and sometimes you can never prove the truth about something that happened fifteen long years ago. All you’re going to accomplish is to ruin my father’s reputation.”
“It’s not up to me. I’m surprised my paper hasn’t called yet,” he said.
“Why?”
Ben lay down on the bed and rested his forearm across his eyes. He took a deep breath. “This story isn’t going to go away no matter what I do. Something pretty screwy happened at the FBI, something that involved the present front runner for governor of Alabama-and my paper knows it. If I don’t look into it, someone else will.”
He looked over at me. “If I could do what you want me to do, I would. But it’s not in me to do something like that, and I don’t think it’s in you, either. I suspect you’d hate me for that at some point. And I’d be miserable. I’ve never fabricated a story or destroyed evidence, and I hope I never will.”
“Come on, Ben, please, for me? Just forget them.”
“This isn’t about you.”
“It most certainly is. He is my daddy and that’s what he wants. I know: You could tell your paper and they could tell whoever sent this that you talked to everybody in town and there’s absolutely no truth to those documents. That’s that. Over and done with.” I tried to calm down. A more reasonable tone might convince Ben that I was right.
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