“Yes.”
“Did he say why?”
“No, just said I shouldn’t bother with it.”
“What did you do?”
“Just what he said.”
“Which was?”
“Nothing. I didn’t pursue it.”
“No further questions.”
Junior sat down, and Chip Tuckahoe stood up to cross-examine for the defense.
“Just a few questions, Mr. Vogel,” Chip said. He stood next to the attorney’s table, occasionally glancing down at a yellow pad on which he’d made some notes.
“When did Mayor Hagerdorn, then sheriff, tell you not to pursue an inquiry into the deaths of Turnbow and Johnson?” Chip asked.
“A few days after they died-maybe a week,” Vogel answered.
“Where were you when he talked with you about it?”
“At the home of Dean Reese.”
“Why were you there?”
“Reese was dead. I was doing my job.”
“Busy week,” someone snickered behind me.
“Could you tell us the circumstances of that death?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Junior said. “Newell Hagerdom isn’t being tried for the death of Dean Reese.”
“But Dean Reese’s life and death are a critical part of this case, Your Honor,” Chip argued. “Mr. Fuller can’t introduce bits and pieces of evidence concerning Mr. Reese and restrict my development of those same areas.”
“I don’t believe I’ve mentioned Mr. Reese,” Junior said.
“Fine,” Chip said, slapping his palm with one of his sharp yellow pencils. “If the State will agree not to mention Mr. Reese during the remainder of this trial, I’ll be glad to end this cross-examination now.”
“I withdraw my objection,” Junior said.
“Mr. Vogel,” Chip continued, “you were saying that Mayor Hagerdom told you that you needn’t worry about the case anymore while you and he were at Dean Reese’s home after Reese died. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“What was the date of Reese’s death?”
“It was September 6, 1963.”
“Did the sheriff call you to come to the Reese home?”
“No, I called him. The deputy, Bev Carter, had called me up, and after I got there I called the sheriff and reported Reese’s death to him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That it looked like Dean Reese had stuck a gun in his mouth and shot out the back of his head. The gun was right next to him. We checked it out. His gun, his prints. Fortunately, he did it in the garage, not the house.”
“Fortunately for his wife,” someone behind me whispered.
“When the sheriff got there, what did he do?” Chip asked.
“He looked at the body, went in the house for a while, came out, and told me not to worry about the Johnson-Turnbow case anymore.”
“What had you done up to that time on the Johnson-Turnbow case?”
“Not much.”
“What exactly had you done at the time of Dean Reese’s death?”
“Nothing, exactly.” Vogel began rubbing his thumb with his forefinger again.
“You must have had plans for an investigation?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“What were they?”
“I can’t remember. That was a long time ago.”
“At the time of Reese’s death, did the sheriff know you hadn’t begun work on the Turnbow-Johnson case?”
“I never told him, so I guess not. Only a week or so had passed; there was no big rush.”
“When were you going to start your investigation of the Turnbow-Johnson case?”
“I don’t know. A few days.”
“Didn’t you think it would have been a waste of time? Isn’t that why nothing had been done?” Chip asked. “Didn’t you say on more than one occasion that you weren’t going to have an inquest?”
“Well, it’s true. Nobody was going to get in trouble for shooting two Negroes. Why bother with an inquest?”
From across the aisle came a loud hissing.
Judge McNabb banged his gavel twice. “Next time I hear that or anything like it from the spectators, the perpetrator will be escorted out of my courtroom.”
“They don’t know what ‘perpetrator’ means on the other side of the aisle,” someone near me said.
Judge McNabb hit his gavel again.
Mr. Vogel looked• out toward the commotion. His head shook slightly. “It’s a fact,” he continued. “Those were different times. Nobody got in trouble for killing niggers-excuse me, Negroes-especially in a situation like that, where they were aiming to integrate the university. That’s just how it was.”
“Before the day you went to Dean Reese’s house, that day he shot himself, hadn’t Sheriff Hagerdom talked to you about the importance of your investigation on at least two occasions?” Chip asked Vogel.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Please answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t he urge you to get going, to move on it, to act?”
“Yes, he did.”
“But you ignored what he said, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“No further questions,” Chip said.
“Redirect?” Judge McNabb asked Junior.
“No, Your Honor,” Junior said.
I was proud of Chip. What I’d thought during Junior’s direct exam of Phil Vogel would be devastating for my father turned out to be not so bad after all.
Maybe our luck was finally changing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Call your next witness,” Judge McNabb directed Junior as soon as the coroner had completed his testimony.
“The State calls George Dorr,” Junior said.
The bailiff left and a few minutes later returned, followed by a dour man around seventy years old who had a large beige hearing aid in his right ear. Of average height and weight, he wore a gray cardigan sweater, a white shirt, and black pants.
Chip had explained to me that those FBI memos I’d seen, several of which were from Dorr, weren’t admissible as evidence. Nor would Dorr be allowed to testify about any of the things Dean Reese had told him.
After his name and address were given, Junior asked Dorr, “Are you employed?”
“No,” Dorr answered. “I’m retired.”
“What did you do before you retired?”
“I worked for the FBI,” Dorr said.
“The Federal Bureau of Investigation?”
“That’s right.”
“When did you begin working for the FBI?”
“In 1930.”
After several questions about his training and experience, Junior asked Dorr, “Were you employed by the FBI in 1963?”
“Yes.”
“What was your job description?”
“I was a special agent.”
“Where was your office?”
“The Atlanta field office.”
“Did you work on one type of case or many?”
“During the late fifties and early sixties I worked primarily on civil rights cases that arose in the South.”
“Who was your supervisor in 1963?”
“Carl Best, the chief of the Atlanta field office.”
“Did you ever come to Tallagumsa, Alabama, in the course of your work?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Could you describe why you came to Tallagumsa?”
“Because Jimmy Turnbow and Leon Johnson were killed outside Tallagumsa and we were investigating their murders.”
“Did you know anyone in Tallagurnsa prior to your visit?”
“Yes. Dean Reese.”
“In what context did you know Dean Reese?”
“He had given us information on several occasions.”
“Was he an employee?”
“Sort of. We paid him for information on a case-by-case basis.”
“Did you have similar relationships with othe
r individuals?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We had informants all over the South. We needed them for information on the Klan, demonstrations, assaults, harassment, killings, and the like. We used the information to save lives. We also used it to prod state authorities to get them to move on some of the worst cases. If they wouldn’t, and we had a strong enough case, the Justice Department sometimes filed a federal case, which we helped prepare.”
“Did you talk to Reese before you visited Tallagumsa?”
“Yes, I called him to see if he had any information on the murders.”
“What did Reese tell you when you called him?”
“Objection,” Chip said. “Hearsay.”
“Sustained,” Judge McNabb said.
“Did you talk to Dean Reese on the phone?”
“Yes, I did.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I wanted to know if he knew anything about the murders.”
“Did he give you any information?”
“Objection,” Chip said. “Hearsay.”
“I believe Mr. Dorr can testify as to whether Mr. Reese gave him any information without repeating what Mr. Reese may have said,” Junior argued.
“You may answer the question,” Judge McNabb said.
“Yes, he did,” Mr. Dorr said.
“As a result of that information, did you come to Tallagumsa in August of 1963?”
“Yes.”
“On what day did you arrive?”
“I arrived on August 30, left again that afternoon, and returned to Tallagumsa on September 4. I left town for good on September 8.”
“Did anyone accompany you to Tallagumsa?”
“Yes. Another special agent, Frank Moon.”
“Is Mr. Moon still an agent?”
“He was until he died two years ago. He was shot in the line of duty.”
“What happened after you and Agent Moon got to Tallagumsa on August 30?”
“We talked to Dean Reese and the sheriff”
“Who was the sheriff?”
“Newell Hagerdorn, the defendant.”
“Could you describe your August 30, 1963, conversation with the defendant?”
“It was before lunchtime. Agent Moon and I dropped by and told him generally why we were in town. The sheriff was very cooperative. He told us how the young men died, showed us the location on the map, gave us some shells and wadding he and his deputies found at the scene of the crime, as well as the shot removed from the bodies during the autopsy.”
“What did you do with the items?”
“Sealed them in FBI evidence bags, marked the bags with the date and my initials, and turned them over to Ray Bartozzi, one of our firearms identification men in Atlanta.”
“You also testified you saw Dean Reese that same day, the thirtieth of August. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Where was that meeting?”
“At his home.”
“Did Dean Reese give you anything at that meeting?”
“Yes. A gun.”
“What kind?”
“A shotgun.”
“Can you recall the manufacturer?”
“It was a Winchester Model21 Custom, with a walnut stock and fancy checkering on the forearm.”
“Do you know what gauge it was?”
“Twelve.”
“What did you do with the gun?”
“I marked it with a tag with my initials and the date and took it by the sheriff’s office to see if the sheriff could identify it. Dean Reese had told us it belonged to-”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Chip said.
“Sustained,” Judge McNabb said.
“What happened at the sheriff’s office?”
“Sheriff Hagerdorn wasn’t there. The deputy, Bev Carter, was, and he identified the gun.”
“What did you do with the gun?”
“Drove it back to Atlanta with the shells and shot and gave them all to Ray Bartozzi.”
“Why?”
“We wanted to know if it was the gun that killed Jimmy Turnbow and Leon Johnson and whose fingerprints were on it.”
“Did you ever talk to the defendant, then-Sheriff Hagerdom, again?”
“Objection,” Chip interrupted. “May we approach the bench, Your Honor?”
Judge McNabb nodded. Junior and Chip approached the judge, their vast height difference accentuated by their proximity to one another. I stared at their backs, unable to hear what they were saying. They left the bench.
“Answer the question, Mr. Dorr,” Judge McNabb said.
“What was the question?” Dorr asked. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.”
The court stenographer read it back.
“Yes,” Dorr said. “On September 4, Agent Moon and I went to the defendant’s home to talk to him.”
“Why?”
“He was a suspect in the murders.”
“Was he home alone?”
“No. The door was answered by a young lady, I think a daughter. She called him to come to the door. I don’t know if anyone else was there.”
“What happened then?”Junior asked.
“The defendant came to the door but didn’t invite us in. We all stood on the front porch. I told him we were sorry to be there but that we had reason to believe that he was involved in the murders of Leon Johnson and Jimmy Turnbow.”
“What did he say?”
“He laughed.”
“When you say ‘He laughed,’ was it a nervous giggle or a hearty laugh?”
“Your Honor,” Chip interceded, “I don’t believe the witness is qualified as an expert in laughing.”
“I’ll let it in,” Judge McNabb said. “Go ahead.”
“Not so much nervous, but shock and disbelief.”
“What did he say?”
“That it was the most ridiculous damn thing he’d heard in a long time. He said he was not involved, that he’d never killed anyone in his life. That he could guess who’d told us and he was surprised we didn’t have better judgment.”
“What happened next?”
“I told him we thought his shotgun was the murder weapon and asked if he could explain that.”
“Did he say anything?” Junior asked.
“No, he seemed truly taken aback,” Dorr said. “He appeared to be thinking about something but didn’t say anything.”
“Did you talk with him further?”
“Only a little. We asked if his daughter had ever dated a Negro.”
“Why?”
“Our investigation had uncovered this as a possible motive for the crime.”
“What did the defendant say?”
“He said that this was getting way out of hand, why didn’t we go do our job, something like that.”
“And then you left?”
“He walked in the house and shut the door.”
“Did you talk to anyone else that evening?”
“Yes. We visited Floyd Waddy at his home. We asked him what he was doing on the night of August 27, 1963, and we told him he was a suspect.”
“What did he say?”
“He was furious. He called his wife to the door and repeated what we’d said. According to her he was with ten other people at some kind of party that night. We got some of the names. He slammed the door in our faces. Later we checked it out. His alibi seemed airtight.”
“When was the last time you saw Dean Reese?”
“The night of September 5.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“In a deserted barn.”
“Do you remember where the barn was?”
“No, I wouldn’t be able to get there now. I just remember the barn was off Route 23 and was not far from town.”
“Where was Agent Moon?”
“At the hotel; he had a stomach bug or food poisoning. We didn’t know which, but he was pretty sick.”
“Can you describe Dean Reese as he appeared to y
ou that evening?”
“He was in his twenties–midtwenties I’d guess–tall, kind of a big stomach. He had a tattoo on his upper arm: a heart, and inside the heart the name ‘Liz.’ He smoked constantly, looked real tired, had dark circles under his eyes. But he was relaxed. Other times I’d seen him he’d been real hyper.”
“Tell us about what happened at the meeting with Reese.”
“As I said, I met him in this abandoned bam. There were two chairs and a small table in the middle, and on the table was a tape recorder. We sat down, talked a few minutes, then he told me-”
“Objection,” Chip said. “Hearsay.”
“Sustained.”
“What happened next?” Junior asked in an exasperated tone that conveyed his frustration with the defense for impeding his search for the truth with technicalities.
“He made a statement into the tape recorder.”
“What happened to the tape?”
“I took the tape back to my motel room and marked it with an evidence sticker, initialed and dated the sticker, packed the tape in a brown envelope, which I also marked, and then took the package back to my office in Atlanta when we returned.”
“Do you know where the tape is today?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Where?”
“It’s in that box there, under your table in a tape player.”
Chip jumped up quickly. Several pencils flew across the defense table. “Objection, Your Honor! This is the first we’ve heard that this tape existed. The witness told the grand jury he didn’t know where the tape was, that the tape was lost. The prosecution can’t bring it up now, mid-trial. That tape should not be admitted under these circumstances.”
“We aren’t trying to sneak anything by anyone here, Your Honor,” Junior said. “We didn’t get the tape until yesterday. This was the best we could do.”
“No, it wasn’t. You could have told us yesterday,” Chip asserted.
“The State had to listen to the tape,” Junior answered. “The witness had to listen to it as well. And if the defendant hadn’t insisted on starting this trial absurdly early, we’d have had the tape to the defense well before any reasonably scheduled trial began. We have done everything we could. I apologize for the timing. Now the tape is here, and we submit it is admissible.”
“Being sorry doesn’t make it admissible,” Chip said.
“You’re right. If Mr. Dorr can authenticate the tape, that makes it admissible,” Junior said. “The only basis for excluding the tape would be if it isn’t what it purports to be-that is, if the tape has been altered or if the tape isn’t really a recording of Dean Reese making a statement on the night of September 5, 1963. Mr. Dorr will testify that the statements on the tape are those he heard Mr. Reese make on the night of September 5, and that the tape has not been changed in any way since the day the tape was made. Therefore, it’s clearly admissible.”
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