The Crossing

by Gerald W. Darnell

“They feeding you well?” I asked as Jack and I took a seat on the opposite bunk.

  “I’ve gained five pounds in the last five days,” he laughed. “If Leroy ever lets me out of this place, I’m coming back for all my meals!”

  “Well, let’s get you out of here first before we make plans on coming back,” Jack said seriously. “What did you want to see Carson and me about?”

  “Yarnell was seeing that girl,” Henry said without emotion.

  “What girl?” I asked.

  “That dead girl, that dead white girl,” he said again without emotion.

  “How do you know?” Jack asked anxiously.

  “Shit man, come on! He’s my brother, plus we live together, you know. He’s been seeing her since they worked together over at Alton Box. I tried to tell him it was no good, but Yarnell is hardheaded and he just wouldn’t listen, you know.”

  “Henry,” I said looking him in the eye. “Yarnell is missing.”

  “Oh no,” Henry said putting his face down in his hands and shaking his head. “He’s dead. You know that, don’t you?”

  “No, damn it, I don’t know he is dead,” I said with some assurance. “He’s just missing and probably just off drunk somewhere. They fired him at the Red Heart Dog Food Plant, so he’s just feeling sorry for himself.”

  “He’s dead,” Henry repeated.

  Jack and I didn’t respond, and we sat watching my friend Henry unravel and start to cry.

  “Have you told Colleen?” Henry finally asked.

  “No, but I’m going to talk with her this morning,” I answered.

  “Go away,” Henry sobbed. “Please, just go away. I don’t want to talk anymore.”

  Jack and I left and went back downstairs.

  “What are your plans?” I asked Jack as we got some coffee.

  “I’ve got a ton of legal shit to put together for his hearing tomorrow. What are your plans?”

  “I’m going to talk with Colleen and hope Yarnell is safe somewhere. Right now, I don’t know what else to do.” I was frustrated.

  We finished our coffee, and I ran back through the rain to the Ford; the rain wasn’t getting any lighter. As I headed down Main Street, I saw Colleen’s ‘54 Ford parked in front of the Merchants State Bank. This was Sunday, so I knew something was wrong.

  I parked beside her, seemingly unnoticed, and quickly darted through the rain, opened the passenger side door and got in Colleen’s car. She had her head down on the steering wheel and was sobbing, uncontrollably. She turned and grabbed my hand; then the tears got worse. I didn’t speak and just let her cry until she was ready to talk – it took almost ten minutes.

  Finally, she sat up and used a handkerchief to wipe away the stream of tears she still had running down her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry, Carson,” she finally said. “I just can’t handle this. Yarnell is missing and I was going to tell Henry, but I just couldn’t do it. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve already told him,” I said while still holding her hand. “You don’t need to do that.”

  “What did he say?” she looked up and said.

  “He’s just concerned, like we all are, but how did you know he was missing? Who told you?” I didn’t understand.

  “A Humboldt policeman,” she replied. A Humboldt policeman came by yesterday and then again last night looking for him. Last night he told me his car was found parked out on the Humboldt Lake Road and Yarnell wasn’t anywhere around. That’s not good, Carson, that’s not good.” Colleen started to cry again.

  “A Humboldt policeman came by yesterday? What time was that?” I asked frowning.

  “I don’t know, sometime yesterday. One of the ‘Nazarene Baptist Church’ members tried to ask him what he wanted, and he pushed them down to the ground and stormed into my house. Then he came back again last night and told me they had found his car and if I heard from him I should call the police department.”

  “Who was the policeman? Do you know his name?” I asked.

  “I believe his name was Menard. I think that’s what he said.” Colleen was trying to straighten herself up.

  “So I guess you still have a house full of demonstrators?” I asked shaking my head.

  “Oh yeah, and even more came today. They are sleeping all over the place, I can’t even get into the bathroom or kitchen – it is a mess!” Colleen started to shake.

  “Colleen, you know, I am here to help. Will you do me a favor?”

  “Sure, anything, but what can I do?” She was going to start crying again.

  “Stay here, I’ll be right back,” I said as I got back out in the rain and ran over to the City Café to use the phone.

  Fortunately, I didn’t drown on my trip and was back at Colleen’s car within five minutes.

  “I want you to drive to Chiefs; it’s where we met the other night. See Tommy, the same man you talked with, and he will have a room for you. My friend, Nickie Woodson, owns Chiefs and she has a place for you to stay. It comes with meals, and I expect them to be first class,” I tried to laugh. “Now, get out of here and don’t go anywhere until you hear from me. Okay?”

  Colleen didn’t speak; she just squeezed my hand and tried to not cry. I understood her pain.

  I opened the car door, but Colleen grabbed my arm before I could get out. “Carson, you know they are burying that girl today, that girl that got murdered. I thought about going to the cemetery, but guess I better not,” she said with her big brown eyes wide open and staring at me.

  “No, you better not; I’ll drive by and say a prayer for you - promise. Now, I just want you to get yourself to Chiefs and STAY there until you hear different from me. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she answered as I stepped back out into the rain.

  Getting Colleen away from the center of this mess made me feel better. Tommy and Nickie would take care of her, and I was sure no one would be looking for her at Chiefs.

  ~

  Rain was steady, as I pulled out of my parking space and pointed the Ford toward Rose Hill. Paying my respects and saying a prayer for Colleen might clear my thoughts and help me focus on the problems. As usual, I was wrong.

  The rain seemed harder when I drove between the concrete entrance markers and into Rose Hill Cemetery. Off to my left I saw the blue canopy belonging to Hunt Funeral Home and several cars still sitting in the roadway next to the fresh grave. Not wishing to disturb the family, I turned to the right, planning to circle the cemetery and come back later to pay my respects when everyone had left. I had only driven a few hundred yards when I spotted that old Humboldt City Police Cruiser sitting at the top of the hill; the cruiser driven by Officer Carl Menard.

  I quickly drove the Ford up the hill and parked on the passenger side. His windows were fogged over and I was out of my car and tapping on his window almost before he realized I was there. At first I thought he was going to ignore my knocking and let me drown, but he eventually leaned over and opened the door. I got in out of the rain and sat down.

  “What do you want, Mr. Reno?” he asked. Carl was not looking at me, but continued watching the graveside services happening below.

  “I want to talk to you,” I answered looking directly at him.

  “About what?” he said finally looking my way and acknowledging my presence.

  “First, I want to know what you are doing here. I mean, did the chief send you to watch a funeral?” I asked with a harsh tone in my words.

  Carl reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of Chesterfield cigarettes, the king size non-filtered kind.

  It wasn’t raining hard, but it was still raining and all the windows were rolled up on the cruiser. When he lit that cigarette, I went searching for air!

  “Do you mind?” I said loudly.

  “Look, Mr. Detective,” he was ignoring my request. “What I am doing here is none of your business, and the directives I receive from my chief are also none of your business. Understand?”

  I rolled the window down to let some air
in and some smoke out. But, that also let the rain in, which began to soak my shirt and trousers. “Officer Menard, I only asked because I thought there might have been some trouble and you were here to make sure it didn’t interfere with the services,” I lied.

  “Well, since you asked, Henry Walker’s brother, Yarnell, is missing. I just thought it a good idea to check on things and make sure he or some of those demonstrators didn’t show up and make trouble, that’s all. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  The smoke was getting thicker and my eyes were starting to water, which seemed to make him happy. The rolled down window wasn’t helping either; I was getting drenched and starving for air at the same time!

  “Officer Menard,” I somehow managed to say between coughs. “What were you doing at Colleen Walker’s house yesterday?”

  He turned and gazed at me with the same look I had seen a few days ago at Bea’s Place. “I was looking for Yarnell Walker. What do you think I was doing there?”

  “Why were you there twice?”

  “I was looking for him twice,” he snarled. “Look, asshole, I’m not here to answer your questions, so go play Dick Tracy somewhere else.”

  I leaned across the cruiser and put my left hand over his service revolver, while grabbing his shirt collar from the front with my right hand. Carl Menard was startled and instinctively grabbed my left hand looking for his gun. That’s when I pulled him toward me and put my nose about two inches from that cigarette still hanging from his lips.

  “Now, you look, asshole,” I said in a quiet voice. “If I catch you within a mile of Colleen Walker or her house again, I’ll stick one of those cigarettes up your ass and make you smoke it from that end. Am I making myself clear?”

  “You can’t…can’t talk to me like this,” he stuttered.

  “I just did,” I said releasing my grip on his collar, while shoving him back against the driver’s door.

  Carl Menard didn’t speak; he just stared at me with hate written all over his face. That’s just what I wanted.

  “Now, Officer Carl Menard,” I offered. “I’m leaving now. If you want to get out of this smoke pot and play in the rain, just join me outside. Otherwise, I’ll see you later I’m sure. Have a nice day.” I opened the door and stepped back into the rain – Officer Carl Menard didn’t move.

  I got back in the Ford and headed out of Rose Hill Cemetery. The graveside services were still going on under the Hunt Funeral Home tent. Officer Carl Menard was still sitting in his car where I had left him and it was still raining – only now just a steady mist.

  ~

  I quickly drove to Chiefs and got into some dry clothes. I also checked with Tommy to make sure he had taken care of Colleen. He had put her in Cabin 5, next to me and the one previously occupied by Joe Richardson. Tommy had also taken the precaution of parking Colleen’s car behind a vacant building just to the north of Chiefs. It wasn’t hidden, but also wasn’t obvious to anyone who might be curious.

  Feeling much better without the soaked pants and shirt, I decided it might be a good time to wake up Liz and see if a Bloody Mary might make her feel better. However, I really wanted to talk with Leroy about Colleen and Officer Menard. I headed toward the ‘Crossing’ to see if he might be having coffee at ‘Bea’s Place’.

  Leroy’s cruiser wasn’t there, so I drove across the street to Baggett’s Market, where I could purchase some tomato juice and celery for Liz’s Bloody Marys.

  It was still misting rain as I left Baggett’s Market and drove back out onto 9th Avenue. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I saw a white Ford truck pull out from behind the poolroom and fall in behind me. They stayed several hundred yards back and followed me up Mitchell, making the same left-hand turn onto Central. I continued north on Central, which eventually became Highway 79, also known as the Trenton Highway.

  This was Sunday and traffic was light. The white Ford truck stayed well behind me until I left the Humboldt city limits and then it quickened its’ pace – so did I. My speedometer showed the Ford was traveling over 90 when we went through Fruitland, and it was obvious that the white Ford truck was not going to be able to keep pace – so I slowed down!

  The truck was within 50 yards of my rear bumper when we entered a long flat straight stretch of road about 2 miles north of Fruitland. In my rearview mirror I could see two men in the cab and another standing in the bed on the passenger side – he had a shotgun! Their plan was to pull into the passing lane and give me some of the same medicine they had given Joe; I didn’t intend to let that happen.

  I speeded up again to give me some distance and make sure they had a full head of steam when they came at me. When they were about 40 yards behind and coming fast, I pulled straddle the white line and slammed on my brakes – they didn’t expect that!

  Instinct caused the driver to swerve left to avoid an uncontrolled collision, which was a bad mistake on the slick road. They quickly ran out of pavement and the driver tried to correct his mistake by turning back to right, which was an even worse mistake, because the truck began to slide sideways on the wet grass. It turned its’ nose toward me, before it began a barrel roll down the shoulder of Hwy 79. The poor guy who was riding in the bed of the truck never had a chance. He separated from the truck and his shotgun, as he began his own personal barrel roll down Hwy 79 – only he was doing it on the pavement!

  Bringing the Ford to a stop in the middle of the highway, I lost count of the number of flips the white Ford truck made before finally ending up on its roof. Somewhere in the process, both doors had come open and then off – tossing its’ passengers out and under the tumbling vehicle. Simply put, it was a mess.

  The misty air seemed to magnify the steam as it rose from the overturned and destroyed vehicle. I parked the Ford on the shoulder and located the two passengers who had been thrown from the cab. One was dead already and the other breathed for a few moments before meeting his maker. I didn’t bother checking on the passenger who had continued to travel down the highway under his own power. He had left parts and pieces for 20 or 30 yards before finally ending up in the middle of the road.

  A southbound delivery vehicle was first at the scene. I gave him my name and asked him to get to the nearest phone and report this to the sheriff. I told him I was a witness and would remain at the accident site until authorities arrived. Then I got back in the Ford and realized my clothes were once again soaking wet!

  More Bad News

  In less than an hour, this small stretch of highway was full of ambulances, wreckers, police cars and other emergency vehicles. Deputy Jeff Cole was first to respond to the call and his radio alert summoned everyone else. The EMTs had already placed fatality sheets over the three victims and they seemed in no hurry to remove the bodies, their work was finished before it ever started.

  The rain finally stopped, but it didn’t make any difference. My clothes were completely soaked already and I was trying to remember how good a pair of dry underwear would feel!

  I was standing on the shoulder of the road talking with Deputy Cole when Captain Chip Falstaff of the Tennessee Highway Patrol pulled up, got out of his car and walked over to join our conversation.

  “Wow, Carson,” he chuckled. “Are you responsible for all this?”

  “There’s my Ford, Captain. It doesn’t have a mark on it!” I pleaded, pointing at my car.

  “Then, I would say you are a lucky man.” Chip then turned to Jeff, “Do you have identification on the fatalities?” he asked.

  “The two fellows over there near the truck are Billy Joe Bobbitt and his younger brother, Larry Wayne Bobbitt,” Jeff answered. “Those parts and pieces in the middle of the highway belong to Sonny Blurton.”

  “The husband of that murdered girl, Tammy Blurton?” Chip exclaimed.

  “Yep, that’s him,” Jeff said with a shrug.

  “And is that a shotgun I see laying in the highway?” Chip pointed.

  “Sure is,” Jeff acknowledged, “and it’s loaded. I dec
ided to leave it there until we can get a full set of crime scene photos with everything just like we found it. We’ll be rerouting traffic for another hour until we can get this mess cleaned up.”

  “Sounds interesting, I’ll read Leroy’s report. And speaking of Leroy, where is he?” Chip asked as he looked around.

  “He’s back at the office keeping tabs on the crowd we have demonstrating on our sidewalk,” Jeff answered.

  “Oh, yeah. Well, I’ll let you get back to work.” Chip turned and grabbed me by my arm, “Carson, you got a minute?” he asked.

  We walked away a few steps and Jeff headed toward Donnie Graves, who was hooking his wrecker cable and preparing to turn the white Ford truck back on its wheels.

  “Carson, I got Leroy’s message and I’m going to have some troopers in town tomorrow, but what’s your take on the situation?” Chip asked.

  “Chip, it’s a powder keg and we can just hope nobody lights the fuse. What you see here is a part of it, and I wish this were all of it – but it isn’t. These hotheads tried to kill me and almost succeeded in killing Joe. Who knows what they have already done or would have done if this hadn’t happened? But there are more problems in town and that’s what scares me. We’ve got demonstrators trying to prove a point and the locals letting their racial attitudes get in the way of rational thinking and actions. Hopefully, if we can get through this preliminary hearing and keep Henry protected, then everyone will get tired and go home and let the law do its job.”

  “Carson, who murdered that girl?” Chip frowned. “Certainly not these guys. Did Henry Walker do it?”

  “I don’t believe he did, but I haven’t been able to prove otherwise – yet. Henry’s scared, and I don’t blame him. He’s scared for himself, he scared for his family and he scared because most of this town wants his head on a platter, believing he murdered and assaulted a white girl. I’ve known Henry since we were kids, and when you’ve known someone that long it’s hard to believe their capable of committing a crime like that. I’m working some leads and I had hoped to have something for Jack Logan before the preliminary hearing tomorrow, but that’s not going to happen. However, before I leave this circus and return to Memphis, I’ll either be satisfied that Henry is guilty or find out who is, and turn them over to Leroy. I owe Henry that much.”