“If he doesn’t?” Hick asked.
“I believe by the time I arrive with the Right Honorable Judge, he will be less inclined to indict Thaddeus Burton, whether he is Brewster’s blood kin or not. I don’t foresee any charges being filed.” He leaned back and puffed his pipe. “Just for fun, let’s suppose a worst case scenario and pretend that this judge decides to charge the young man.” He smiled an affectionate smile at his niece. “With the excellent legal advice he has, I am confident we would obtain a good defense and a favorable verdict.” Carol smiled at the rare, but genuine compliment from her uncle.
Vance leaned forward and folded his hands. “The key is to make Brewster sweat. I want you to simply sit in the courtroom. Don’t say a word, don’t do anything. Just sit there. Your return from the dead and appearance in a supposedly sealed courtroom will shatter his smug control. I’d like to chip away at that one piece at a time. First, you enter the courtroom, in spite of the state police barrier, next I’ll arrive with the judge. And I can promise you this, that judge will not be in an amiable mood when we arrive. It will not be long before it is clear to Brewster that we have a very good understanding of what he has been doing here in this town. By the time I am finished chatting with him, he will be begging to tell us anything we want to know about Senator Richardson.”
“That’s all well and good,” Carol said, “but how do you propose we get in?” Vance’s eyes glanced up toward the second story of the house. “We have a preacher at our disposal. I suggest we use him. Carol, can you ask him to join us?”
Carol left and moments later the Reverend Michael Russell appeared. He was livid as he entered the kitchen. “It’s three in the morning,” he said in disbelief. “What is the meaning of this? I have allowed you to imprison those two miscreants in my cellar and have given you full run of the house. Now what do you want?”
“We will be requiring your services tomorrow at the courthouse,” Arthur Vance said.
“My services?”
“Yes, your status as clergy is something we can use to our advantage.”
Russell’s eyes widened. “How dare you strong arm me into using my position for your … your schemes,” he sputtered.
Arthur Vance slowly and deliberately removed his glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief. He put them back on, cocked his head, and regarded the angry preacher. “Your involvement in Sheriff Brewster’s scheme dictates your cooperation in ours. Unless, of course, you would prefer …” he let his voice trail away and didn’t finish the sentence.
Russell narrowed his eyes. “Is this a threat?”
“No,” Vance replied mildly. “It is a promise. Conspiracy to falsely imprison an innocent person is something we at the Justice Department take very seriously.”
Michael Russell’s face paled. His mouth opened and closed. Then opened and closed again. Finally, he sighed heavily and looked into Arthur Vance’s face. “What is it you would have me do?”
26
Wednesday, July 20, 1954
Thunder rumbled off in the distance. The sunrise was obscured by gray clouds and the air had an electric, stormy smell. Hick stood at the kitchen window, sipping a cup of coffee, and staring bleary-eyed off into the distance. He had tried to sleep on the couch, but sleep would not come. The moment his eyes closed, he would jerk awake, his mind flooded with thoughts and anxiety. He finally got up at 5:00 a.m. and made a pot of coffee.
He glanced at Carol, curled up in an arm chair, sound asleep and smiled to himself, amazed anyone could sleep in such a cramped position. She was unlike any woman he had ever met, nothing like the girls at home. Decidedly masculine, she cursed, smoked, and stated her opinion without hesitation. There was nothing coy or shy about her.
“So how long have you been married?” she had asked him in the early morning hours as they sat talking quietly on the back porch.
“Six years this month,” he said.
“High school sweetheart?”
“Girl next door.”
Carol had smiled. “Love is still alive,” she said, her eyes turning from him to the darkness outside. “Good to know.”
Finishing the coffee and placing the cup in the sink, his thoughts drifted to Cherokee Crossing and he wondered if Maggie was still at Pam’s or if she had gone back home. Was she sleeping? Since returning from the war, Hick never slept more than a few hours at a stretch, but he noticed that Maggie had begun to sleep less and less. Her pregnancy had caused her ankles to swell into her calves and she was often up at night walking the floors because of muscle cramps. He wondered if she was awake now and felt an overwhelming desire to be at home. This was taking too long. He needed to be with her. He needed to touch her, to kiss her, to smell her hair tangled in his fingertips. He needed the boys and home and—
“What time is it?” Carol called sleepily from across the room.
“It’s early,” he answered. “Go back to sleep.”
She stretched out like a cat, and then walked toward him rubbing her eyes. “Cigarette?”
“You owe me a pack,” he said handing her the cigarettes and the lighter. She cupped her hand over the flame, inhaling deeply. “Holy Christ, it’s humid down here,” she said, handing him back the lighter.
“It’s fixin’ to storm.”
She ran her hand over her face and yawned. “Everything is damp and clammy. How can you stand it?”
“You just get used to it I guess,” he said, with a shrug.
She reached into the cabinet and grabbed a coffee cup, then filled it from the pot on the stove. She took a sip. “You think the storm will hold up until 9:00?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
A mischievous smile glimmered in her eyes. “I’d like to look nice for my wedding.”
The Reverend Michael Russell pulled his car into the parking spot marked “Clergy” at the county courthouse. The wind had picked up and low, gray clouds scudded across the sky. Perhaps it was the threat of rain or the earliness of the hour, but contrary to what Sheriff Earl Brewster had predicted, there was no one outside the courthouse. No demonstrations, no angry citizens, no one besides two bored state policemen flanking the doorway.
Hick and Carol followed Russell up the stairs and to the door. The reverend reached to open it when the officer to the right said, “Sorry, sir. No one is allowed inside this morning.”
Russell feigned surprise. “What do you mean?”
“There’s a hearing going on of a delicate nature. You know, the colored boy?” He paused, then continued, “The sheriff requested we keep the crowds away.”
Michael Russell glared at the young trooper. “To what crowds are you referring?” he asked with a sweep of his arm.
The young man blushed. “If you ask me it’s a bunch of horse crap about nothing. Sheriff says the town is agitated because of the nature of the crime, that being the assault of a white man by this colored boy. Says folks were so riled they burnt the police station to the ground.” He glanced around and said, “More than likely some electrical short burnt down that old building.” He rolled his eyes. “Ain’t one ‘agitated’ person even looked our way all morning.”
The reverend shook his head and pointed at Hick and Carol. “I am the Reverend Michael Russell and you see these two people? They are supposed to be married today, this morning, at my residence. This forgetful young man did not pick up the marriage license. Are they supposed to postpone their wedding due to this imagined hoopla that is supposed to be taking place?”
The trooper shifted his feet and looked to his partner.
“Can’t they wait a while?” the other man said. “It’s a hearing and once the judge gets here it won’t take but a minute.”
“We need to catch a train,” Hick said.
The two state troopers exchanged glances.
“The licensing office is on the second floor,” the reverend explained. “We won’t be anywhere near the courtrooms.”
Hick noticed Carol’s hand growing moist as it reste
d within his. If this didn’t work, there was no Plan B to get inside.
Suddenly, Carol began to sniffle and then to cry. She looked up at the State Trooper. “Look at him! Getting into a fight the night before our wedding. He can’t do nothing right. And there’s nothing to be done. I can’t wait another minute for this wedding.” Turning her eyes up to Hick, she added, “We can’t wait.” Placing her hand over her abdomen, she said in a teary voice “I’ll be ruined.”
The State Troopers looked at each other and then one nodded. “I understand, Miss.” He patted her shoulder. “Everyone makes mistakes.” He turned to Hick with a look of disdain. “Go ahead and get the license and then hurry on, get out, and catch your train. Earl Brewster ain’t near as important as he thinks he is, but I’d just as soon not have to listen to him complain we didn’t do our job.”
Carol rested her hand on the trooper’s arm. “Thank you, sir,” she said, sniffling. “God bless you.”
Michael Russell, Hick, and Carol passed the troopers and entered into the courthouse. Once inside, Hick gave Carol an appreciative glance. “Hell, if this attorney thing doesn’t work out, you ought to go to Hollywood.”
She looked determined. “It’s going to work and today’s the start of a whole new world for me.” She put her hand in the crook of his arm. “Shall we, my dear?”
Hick placed a hand over hers. “Let’s get this son of a bitch.”
The courthouse was dark and cool, the stone and marble seemed to absorb the sweltering humidity of the impending storm. Carol’s pumps clattered on the gleaming, white floor as they made their way across the large foyer and straight to the courtroom. They pushed open the swinging door and sat in a row of seats toward the front.
Royal was the only person inside. “What are ya’ll doing here?”
“Vance is coming in with the judge,” Hick explained. “Brewster’s day is about to get a mite uncomfortable. Where is he?”
“He’s back in the holding cell coaching Thad what to say,” Royal said. “To sweeten the deal, he told Enos he’d let him off with just a fine if he makes sure Thad does as he’s told.”
Carol snorted. “He’s a real peach.”
“And right now he’s happy as a pig in mud,” Royal added. “He hasn’t called me Dumbass even once today. Although, it’s still early.”
“Well, his happiness will be short-lived,” Hick said with satisfaction. “You talk to Pack?”
Royal shook his head. “I couldn’t.”
“What do you mean?” Hick asked in surprise. “Why?”
“I went to the hospital to see him, but he was sedated. He’s restrained because he’s seeing things. He’s in the middle of the DTs and they said he’s critical. He’s in danger of seizures or hurting himself so they had to drug him.” Royal sighed. “We’ll be able to talk to him in a day or two, but not today. It could be Uncle Earl done something nice for someone by accident. Pack ain’t had a drink in over three days and I reckon by the time they’re through with him at the hospital, he’ll be shed of his drinking problem.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Hick said. “As long as we nab Brewster, the real culprit won’t be far behind.”
“Speaking of Brewster,” Royal said. “I best get back to the holding area to check in.”
Adkins left, and Hick, Carol, and Reverend Russell sat in the middle of the silent courtroom and waited, the only sounds the rhythmic ticking from a large clock on the wall and the thunder rolling outside.
At nine o’clock, the door to the courtroom opened and Earl Brewster entered with Thad and Enos Burton. He paused when he saw Hick and Carol in the courtroom and his face flushed. Narrowing his eyes, he muttered under his breath, and led his prisoners to a table in the front of the courtroom to wait for the judge. Brewster sat beside Thad and Royal flanked Enos on the other end of the table. Hick noticed Brewster was fidgety. He tapped a pencil, looked at the clock, and shuffled his feet.
Enos Burton did not turn or acknowledge Hick’s presence. His expression when he entered the room was stoic and his body was tense. Hick could see the taut muscles in his neck and noticed his shoulders trembling. Hick thought of his boys, safe at home, and pity threatened to overwhelm him. How must Enos feel knowing his son is in trouble and that he is powerless to help him? How does a man get over that?
Hick recalled the fury in Adam’s eyes as he saw Benji’s bruised face. Even Willie Taylor’s heartbreak seemed poignant to Hick as he considered Hap spending all those years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. And he thought of the Reverend Michael Russell, seated beside him, and the terrible injustice he had allowed to happen in order to save his own son. To what lengths would he go to keep his own children safe?
Suddenly, Hick’s heart seized up as a thought occurred to him. A realization so clear, that he was stunned. It was so obvious, he couldn’t believe he’d just thought of it. Thunder crashed nearby and Hick realized he had stopped breathing. He caught his breath and turned to Carol. “I know who did it,” he said under his breath.
“What?” she whispered. “What are you talking about?”
“I know who ran over the vagrant.” He rose quickly, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. Sheriff Brewster jumped in his seat, then turned around. “I’ll be back,” Hick whispered.
She reached for him. “But Uncle Arthur said—”
“I know,” Hick answered. “But I need to see someone now.”
He strode through the courtroom toward the door when it burst open, admitting a soaking wet Arthur Vance and Judge Henry Watson. Arthur was surprised to see Hick moving toward the door. “Where are you going?”
“The hit and run. I know who did it,” Hick said quietly so Brewster couldn’t hear.
Arthur looked at him closely. “You sure?”
Hick nodded.
“Then bring him here.”
“I aim to.”
The judge didn’t pause, but had continued his march to the front of courtroom. Hick heard him say, “Earl, this is highly irregular. Highly irregular.” Judge Watson removed his overcoat and shook the rain from it. “I had to come out in this infernal storm and then I get a visit first thing of a morning from the Justice Department—”
“The Justice Department?” Brewster choked.
Hick stopped in the doorway and turned to see Earl Brewster place his hands on the table in front of him for support. Brewster glanced at Hick, stunned surprise clearly written on his face. His face was pale and his eyes frightened. He turned to Judge Watson. “I’m not sure what this is all about.”
“Neither am I,” Judge Watson replied. “But you’d better have a damned good case against this kid or I’m not charging him. Got it?”
“Case?” Brewster said. “But he’s planning on pleading guil—”
Brewster got no further as Ida Burton brushed past Hick into the courtroom. “He will not plead guilty,” Ida Burton declared, her voice ringing in the mostly empty room. “My child will not plead guilty for a crime he could not have committed. I will not stand by and let this happen.”
Enos rose and faced his wife. “Ida, I done told—”
Brewster stared. “How did you get in here?”
Ida Burton’s chin raised and she looked at Earl Brewster as if he were vermin. “I came in through the front door.”
Hick noticed a small smile on the face of Royal Adkins and understood that when he walked outside the two state policemen would be gone, officially excused from their duty by Deputy Adkins.
The judge was behind his desk, flipping papers and pushing things around. “Where the hell is my gavel?” he said in an angry voice.
With one last glance at the chaos inside the courtroom, Hick walked into the storm.
27
Wednesday, July 20, 1954
Ike Davis stood in front of the Broken Creek High School staring silently at the building. Hick came up behind him and said, “Reminds me of the old high school in Cherokee Crossing. It’s closed now, but my daddy was the
principal for years.”
Ike glanced at Hick. “I remember when it closed and the kids got transferred to Pocahontas. Upheaval is never good.”
“I don’t know about that,” Hick said. “The kids in Cherokee Crossing got to mingle with other kids, different ones, and they got along and learned from each other. The school closing was hard for the town at first, but change always is.”
“Maybe,” Davis said with a shrug. “I heard you went back home to Cherokee Crossing yesterday.”
“No. I decided to stay in town for Thad’s hearing.”
Davis winced a little and turned back to the school. “I guess he’s probably been sentenced by now.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Hick answered. “Thad’s mama is evidently putting a stop to that scheme.”
“Oh?” Davis said with a hint of surprise. “So Thad will plead not guilty after all.”
“I think the judge will dismiss the case. Not enough evidence.”
“I see,” was all Davis said, but Hick noticed a small sigh escape him. His shoulders relaxed and Hick couldn’t help but think that it was relief that covered the school board president’s face.
“Interesting that there’s not even enough evidence to charge Thad and yet Mr. Enos Burton was hell bent on him pleading guilty,” Hick said in a quiet voice, looking at the school and not Ike Davis. “It’s funny the things fathers do to protect their sons.”
Ike Davis’s eyes closed. He stood motionless a moment and then said, “I suppose it is.” He turned to Hick. “You got kids?”
“Two boys and one on the way.”
“You know, as a father you want what’s best for your kids. You work your ass off to give them a good life and they turn out decent. And then in an instant, in one goddamned instant, everything is changed and nothing will ever be the same.”
An overwhelming sadness filled Hick and he cleared his throat. “I reckon as a father I can teach my boys one of two things. I can teach them to walk away from their problems and let someone else deal with them, or I can teach them to be men and to face the consequences of what they’ve done.” Hick paused. “Why are you here, Mr. Davis?”
Between the Lies Page 18