“Sure,” I answered. “Let me finish my drink and I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, and don’t make it obvious,” Tommy said as he walked away.
Wow! I had the greatest respect for Tommy and he was definitely a ‘no bullshit’ kind of guy. Whatever he wanted to see me about was important, I was sure about that.
Nickie was waiting on a newly arrived customer, so I finished my drink, motioned to Nickie that I was leaving and then exited using the rear door. Tommy was waiting just outside.
“Carson,” Tommy started. “There is someone out here in the parking lot who wants to talk with you. For reasons you will understand when you see her, she isn’t able to come inside and asked me to speak with you and see if you would meet with her.”
“Her?” I exclaimed.
“Yes. She’s sitting over there in that 1954 Ford,” Tommy motioned with his head to a vehicle parked in the shadows near the street. “I’ve already checked her out, she’s not looking for trouble and you’ll understand after you’ve talked with her.”
As I mentioned, I trusted Tommy, so I walked over to where the light blue Ford was parked. Sitting behind the wheel was a dark haired woman who I didn’t recognize, and couldn’t see very clearly in the shadows. When I reached the driver’s side door, she rolled down the window.
“Carson Reno,” she said with a big smile, “you don’t remember me, do you?”
I was staring at a very attractive colored woman who appeared to be in her early twenties. Her hair was medium length and neatly contained in a bun behind her head. A red sweater was tied loosely around her neck, and she had a smile that consumed almost her whole face.
“I guess not,” I finally uttered, “and that’s shame on me. I don’t know how I could have forgotten anyone as attractive as you!”
“Well, I’ll forgive you this time,” she laughed. “The last time you saw me I was only four, probably covered with dirt and had a runny nose! I’m Colleen Walker, Henry’s little sister!”
“I’ll be damned,” was all I could manage.
I walked around the car and got into the passenger seat. After sharing a few stories about our childhood, I leaned back against the door to get a better look at Colleen Walker.
In addition to the smile, that I’m sure had broken many a young man’s heart; she had a figure that showed she was taking very good care of herself. However, the one thing the smile and figure could not hide was the swollen eyes and tear tracks across her light make-up. Colleen had been crying and crying a lot and I understood why.
“Colleen,” I finally managed to say. “I know you are here to talk about Henry, and you didn’t have to come. I would have been looking for you when I got the time.”
“I know, and that’s the reason I’m here. I needed to talk with you before you came to the house. Carson, I have a house full of people that are from the ‘Nazarene Baptist Church’ in Memphis.”
“What!” I shouted.
“They showed up yesterday, lead by Reverend Jeremiah Higgs. Evidently, he is the minister of this ‘Nazarene Baptist Church’ and has brought part of his congregation here to Humboldt to show support for Henry.” Colleen was shaking her head.
“I don’t believe it,” I said with disgust.
“Me either, but it’s the truth. And, according to some conversation I heard last night, there are also other groups in town. I guess they are staying at various motels, but this group decided to move in with me!”
“What do they want? What are they trying to accomplish? Have they told you?” I asked.
“According to this Reverend Higgs, they want to see that Henry gets a fair trial and isn’t railroaded because he’s colored and the dead girl is white. He said they are already raising money and have hired an attorney to represent Henry. I think he’s supposed to be in town sometime tomorrow.”
“Shit,” I said. “Excuse the profanity, Colleen, but this is only going to make things worse – not better!”
“Carson, what can I do?” Colleen asked quietly.
“I wish I knew,” I uttered. “Just keep me informed and give Henry all the love and support you can. I’m trying to keep a lid on this thing and it seems everybody else is trying to pull it off! I guess that is a sign of the times we are living in.”
“I know, Carson, it is terrible and now it’s come to our little town. I’m so sorry.” Colleen was crying again.
“Colleen, it’s not your fault and it’s not Henry’s fault. It’s just something we’re going to have to deal with as adults, assuming everyone can act like an adult!”
Colleen put her well-used handkerchief to her eyes and I let her cry for a few moments before continuing our conversation. “Colleen, what can you tell me about Henry’s problems? You have any ideas how this dead girl ended up wearing his shirt?”
“I wish I did,” she said shaking her head. “I do all the laundry for Henry, and that includes washing his shirts. I have washed and ironed that shirt a hundred times, along with all his others.”
“Oh, really? What do you do with them after you launder them?” I asked.
“I take them over to his house and hang them in the closet. I go there once a week and pick up dirty clothes, always on Saturday. I wash everything and iron the shirts, then I take back the clean clothes on Sunday, same way every week.”
“Were you aware that the shirt the murdered girl was wearing had Henry’s name and phone number written on a piece of paper in the pocket?”
“No, but I can tell you it wasn’t there when I laundered the shirt. Henry and Yarnell are always leaving stuff in their pockets and I never forget to empty them before washing. So, I can guarantee you there wouldn’t have been a clean shirt with paper in the pocket. Guess that’s bad – huh?”
“Not necessarily. Do you know how many shirts Henry has?” I asked.
“I sure do,” Colleen answered quickly. “Seven and that has been a problem I have been after Henry to fix. He works six days a week, so it’s hard to keep him a clean shirt for everyday. I’ve been telling him to buy another shirt, but he never has.”
“Okay, so every Saturday you pick up six dirty shirts and he’s wearing the seventh. You give him six clean shirts on Sunday and the cycle starts over again. Right?”
“Right, and it would be much easier if he had an extra, maybe two, but he doesn’t.”
“Colleen, that’s interesting and will help me answer some questions about that shirt.” I said while thinking.
“Really, how?” she asked.
“I want you to go by Henry’s house and count how many clean shirts are hanging in his closet and also count how many dirty shirts he has. Henry is wearing one shirt and there should be two dirty shirts – one from Saturday and one from Monday. At least it will tell me if the shirt she was wearing was a clean one or a dirty one. Understand?”
“Yes, but I told you his clean shirts would not have had anything in his pocket. Remember?”
“I do. But, if it turns out to have been a freshly laundered shirt on the dead girl, then we know the name and phone number didn’t end up in the pocket by accident. Does that make sense?”
I got a big wide smile from Colleen. “I’m so glad Henry has you for a friend. I know you are going to clear this thing up and get Henry back home.”
“I’m also glad to have you and Henry for a friend, and I’m going to try to clear this thing up quickly, Colleen. I’m going to try,” I repeated.
We talked for a few more minutes, and I sent Colleen on her way with my promise to talk with her tomorrow.
I spent the next two hours on my barstool listening to that grinding country music. I intend to ask Nickie tomorrow if she can put some Dave Brubeck jazz records on the jukebox; but I’m quite certain it will be a waste of my time!
The air smelled like rain, when I finally walked across the parking lot and made my nest in Cabin 4.
~
I broke one of my rules and got an early start this Thursday morning. S
kipping coffee and breakfast, I made the short drive down to Humboldt City Hall. City Judge, Barney Graves maintained an office there, but I didn’t have an appointment and was just hoping to get lucky and catch him in it. He was and I did.
Unfortunately, I saw what I didn’t want to see gathered on the sidewalk outside the building. There were two small groups already assembled and they were distinctly apart and different in their members and objective. A dozen colored men, dressed in suits and ties, were mingling near the courthouse steps. Each was carrying a sign, reading: ‘FREE ROBERT HENRY WALKER’. They weren’t marching or making noise; they were just talking among themselves, while watching the other group that had gathered across the street.
On the sidewalk across the street from City Hall were a half dozen young white men standing and staring at the colored men and their signs. These men weren’t carrying signs and didn’t have any weapons that I could see, but they had trouble written all over them.
What I did NOT see was the presence of any law enforcement. Neither the local police, nor the sheriff’s office had any officers watching these gatherings. I wondered why.
No one spoke to me as I walked past both groups and then up the stairs into City Hall. But, getting a good look at all the faces confirmed what I already knew; I didn’t recognize any of them.
Judge Graves’ secretary invited me to have a seat, and said he would be available to see me in about fifteen minutes. However, before I could sit down, he opened his office door and motioned for me to come in.
“Carson, good to see you,” he said as he took a seat behind his large desk. “Make yourself comfortable. Would you like some coffee?”
“Judge, that would be terrific, I haven’t had mine this morning,” I answered as I found a place in one of his overstuffed chairs.
He buzzed his secretary and ordered coffee, then folded his arms and looked at me. “Leroy told me you were coming, and said that this Robert Henry Walker is a childhood friend of yours. Is that true?”
“Yes sir, it is. Henry’s father worked for my grandfather and we spent a lot of time together as kids. When he was arrested, he called me and asked for my help, that’s why I’m here,” I answered frankly.
“It is a bad situation, Carson, and it’s probably going to get worse before it gets better, but I guess you already know that. So what can I help you with this morning?” Judge Graves was being brief and direct.
His secretary entered unannounced and sat two cups of coffee on the edge of his desk. I thanked her and then waited until she left and closed the door before speaking. “Jack Logan has been trying to reach you and request that you wait about transferring Henry until he can get here. I’m not sure of Jack’s schedule, but I feel sure he will be here tomorrow, at the latest.”
“I’ve seen some messages from Jack, but why is he involved?” He asked bluntly.
“Jack’s representing Henry in this matter! You didn’t know that?” His question caught me off guard.
“Actually, no, I didn’t know that. I have not talked with the prisoner and don’t intend to.”
I really wanted to stand up and shout BIGOT, but exercised restraint and tried to keep my cool. “I wouldn’t have expected you to talk with Henry, but you have talked with Leroy and he knows Jack has been contacted by Henry. In fact, it was Leroy who put Henry in touch with Jack. That’s why Jack has been calling you for the past three days!”
“It’s been two days, Tuesday and yesterday,” he corrected. “And, outside the fact that I have been busy, I typically don’t return calls to out of town lawyers – even those I know.”
This conversation was not going well and we both knew it. “Okay, Judge. Now you know it, so can we delay his transfer until Jack gets here?”
“I see no reason why we can’t wait, unless the DA has some other ideas or objections, and I don’t think he does. I do, however, have another problem,” he said as he leaned back in his oversized chair and stared at me.
“What is the other problem?” He was making me ask.
“I received written notice that Robert Henry Walker was being represented by a Mr. Benjamin Abernathy, he is an attorney out of Nashville. The notice was via a letter that was hand delivered to this office yesterday and I consider it official,” he said frankly.
“What?” I shouted.
“Carson, I did not stutter. Was something unclear?”
“No, just crazy! Does Henry know about this?” I was confused.
“I agree about the crazy part, but you’ll need to ask Henry Walker about Mr. Benjamin Abernathy. The letter that was delivered to me was accompanied by an affidavit signed by Robert Henry Walker.”
“May I see the letter?” I asked.
“You certainly may NOT, and you know better than to ask. Carson, I suggest you talk with Henry, I assume he is your client too. Maybe you can get him to confess and make this whole thing easier on everybody and easier on this community.”
“Judge, I don’t believe he’s guilty, so I doubt that he will confess. But, since I can’t see the letter, what can you tell me about this attorney, Benjamin Abernathy?”
“He’s high profile, very expensive and sponsored by the NAACP. Read into that what you want, but I have my doubts that he cares one way or the other about Henry Walker. He’s just looking for media attention, and whether Henry is guilty or not has very little to do with his involvement,” he said candidly.
“What’s your take on those citizens camping outside on your sidewalk?” I asked.
“I don’t like it, but they aren’t any citizens I recognize from this community. They aren’t breaking any laws and I’ll tolerate it as long as they don’t; however, I have instructed Raymond to keep his people away and avoid any contact or involvement unless there is trouble. Having some ‘over zealous’ cop making this bad situation worse is not something I need!”
“What about Leroy? Did you give him the same instructions?” I asked.
“I did, and obviously you haven’t been by the sheriff’s office this morning. He has another group camping on his sidewalk, and Leroy’s instructions are exactly the same. They are not to get involved unless trouble starts, and I don’t want one of his deputies to be the one who starts it.” Judge Graves was serious.
“Okay Judge,” I said as I stood up. “Thank you for your time. I’ve got to go talk with Henry about Mr. Abernathy, but could I get you to do me a favor?”
“Maybe,” he said with a frown. “I’ll try, what is it?”
“Return Jack Logan’s phone call and tell him what you have just told me. That’s a fair request, isn’t it?”
Judge Graves folded his arms and stared at me before speaking. “I guess so anything else?”
“I don’t know, I’ve got to talk with Henry and get his input on this Mr. Benjamin Abernathy. I’ll let you know, I’m sure we’ll be talking again soon.” I said bluntly.
“Good,” he replied sharply. “And during your visit, see if you can get Henry to confess. I promise, it will go a lot easier for him if we don’t have to drag this mess through the court.”
I didn’t acknowledge his statement, but just shook his hand and walked back through his waiting area into the main hall. Looking outside, I saw things had not changed and each small group continued to occupy their positions on the sidewalk. I walked down the steps and past each group as I headed to my car. Once again, no one spoke to me as I passed.
I made the short drive over to the sheriff’s office, and found something very different. Organized on the sidewalk that ran in front of the building were at least two dozen colored men and women wearing Sunday clothes and carrying signs similar to those I had seen with the group downtown. However, this group was a little more organized and was singing religious hymns while walking in a circle just outside the front door of the office. They were waving their signs, but didn’t appear to be making a disturbance – or at least one Leroy wanted to get involved in!
Across the street, and opposite the singers and sign
wavers, was another group. About a dozen young white men had gathered and were watching the activities in front of the sheriff’s office. This group didn’t look organized at all and walked back and forth, pointing fingers at the demonstrators across the street.
I made my way, unchallenged, past both groups and through the front door of the sheriff’s office. Deputy Scotty Perry was sitting at the front desk.
“Carson,” Scotty shouted. “Do you know where we can find a marching band? I’ve already got the parade and just need some good music!”
“Ha,” I laughed. “They are doing alright without music and must be part of a choir, because their singing is actually pretty good.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Scotty explained. “I can’t hear them from in here and Leroy won’t let us go outside.”
“Is Leroy in?” I asked.
“Nope, sorry. You need me to call him on the radio?” he offered.
“It’s not necessary; I just need to talk with Henry for a minute.”
“He’s here,” Scotty laughed as he tossed me the keys.
“I don’t need the keys,” I said, tossing them back. “I won’t be up there but a few minutes.”
I walked up the stairs and into the cell area; Henry was sitting on his bunk. Unlike my last visit, Henry was now wearing a county issued orange jumpsuit. Somehow his clothing made him seem guilty, as if the decision had already been made. Maybe it had.
“Hi, Carson,” Henry said as he stood up. “You come to get me out of here?”
“I wish, but unfortunately not today. I need you to tell me about Benjamin Abernathy?”
“Who?” Henry frowned.
“The lawyer, Mr. Benjamin Abernathy, he’s a NAACP lawyer who has your signature on an affidavit authorizing him to represent you.”
“So that’s what that was?” Henry questioned himself.
“Come on Henry, talk to me. What is this all about?”
“Carson, when I couldn’t reach you, Yarnell started making some phone calls. I have no idea who he called, but he came down here yesterday morning and said he had found somebody who could help me – for free! He had this piece of paper for me to sign, and I signed it. That’s all I know, you need to talk to Yarnell.”
The Crossing Page 5