Where Southern Cross the Dog

by Allen Whitley

  “Sheriff Collins and Bill Montgomery were taking his confession, and he got a little agitated. They got things under control pretty quickly. I wasn’t actually in the room when it started.”

  “Agitated? It was a little more than that, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He ever ask for an attorney?”

  “Collins said he didn’t want one.”

  “But he could have provided him with one or at least some help. All I know is I’ve had several calls from folks wanting to know if Luke had some legal assistance. And a slew of others who said we’re not sentencing a white man for what he’s done without a trial. In fact, Congressman Morley called to make sure we’re having a trial and that he gets fair representation. I assured him we were. Some folks even think Luke may have been justified.” The judge took a sip of his drink.

  “We wouldn’t normally provide any legal counsel to—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Sam. I’ve taken enough calls already. We’re not going to argue about this. Everyone in the county who’s aware of this thinks he should have had some representation. And that’s good enough for me.”

  There was another knock at the door. “Sir, Charlie Usher has arrived,” the judge’s secretary announced.

  The judge motioned for her to send him in.

  Charlie Usher entered and the three men exchanged handshakes and greetings. Charlie sat down in a chair across from Tackett.

  “Drink, Charlie?” the judge asked, pouring a little more bourbon into his own glass.

  “No, thank you, Judge,” Charlie said.

  “You still wearing those old dark suits, Charlie,” the judge said, “and keeping that hair short?”

  “It’s hot out, Judge. These suits may be thin from too many cleanings, but they’re cool.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” the judge said. “We were just about to get to you.” The judge sat up in his chair and picked up a pencil. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m appointing Charlie as Luke’s attorney for the trial.”

  “Luke Williams?” asked Charlie.

  “That’s right,” the judge said.

  “But Judge—” Tackett said.

  “I don’t have time to debate this. We’re not sentencing a white man for killing a black in this town without a trial, confession or no confession. Not now and not while I’m taking calls from congressmen. Got it?”

  “Judge, one question about the trial,” Tackett said. “Will the confession be admissible?”

  “I don’t know yet. We’ll have a pretrial hearing to discuss it.”

  Charlie protested. “I’ve never defended in a murder trial, Judge. I have very little experience in this area.”

  “Did you go to law school?” the judge asked.

  Charlie nodded.

  “Then you’ll do fine. A trial’s a trial.”

  Tackett and Charlie both grimaced.

  “Charlie, you understand what I need from you?” the judge said, finishing his bourbon.

  “I think so.”

  “Well, in case you don’t, let me explain it clearly. I need you to defend this man and see if you can get an acquittal. That should be easy enough, right? A lot of people will be watching this trial, so you need to represent Luke adequately.” Judge Long slid a file across his desk. “Read this; it’ll tell you what you need to know for now.”

  Charlie picked up the file and jotted down notes.

  “Sam,” Judge Long continued, “prepare the paperwork. I want the grand jury convened tomorrow morning at eight and the indictments issued. We’ll arraign at one in the afternoon.” He stood to leave. “Now, gentlemen, I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Judge,” Charlie said, packing up his papers and preparing to leave. “Which indictment will we try first?”

  “Sam, got any preference?” the judge asked.

  “How about all together?” Tackett said.

  Charlie laughed. “Never.”

  “Pick one,” the judge said. “And let us know soon.”

  All three men exited the courthouse. The judge said his good-byes and left them on the front lawn.

  “You better talk to your client tonight,” Tackett said. “Tell him what to expect, and why we’re having a trial.”

  “I’m not even sure what to expect.”

  At precisely 7:05 p.m., the jailer rattled his keys against the bars that kept Luke Williams from the rest of the world.

  “Wake up in there,” he said.

  “I’m awake,” Luke answered from the darkness. His voice was scratchy and hoarse.

  “You’ve got a visitor,” the jailer said.

  “Who’s that?”

  “You’ll see.”

  The cell door swung open, and Charlie Usher stepped from behind the jailer and entered the cell. He held a chair, which he placed in front of Luke’s bed.

  “Do you need me to stay?” the jailer asked, closing the cell door but not locking it.

  “No,” Charlie said.

  “I’ll check back in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll need about thirty.”

  Charlie had checked the cells on either side of Luke’s, and they were empty. If they spoke softly their voices wouldn’t travel far. Charlie wanted to meet where Luke was most comfortable. It would keep him calm. “‘Evening, Luke,” Charlie said.

  “Who are you?” He sat up and hung his legs over the side of the bed.

  “I’m Charlie Usher, your lawyer.” Charlie held out his hand. “Appointed by Judge Long to represent you.”

  Luke reluctantly shook it. “What do I need a lawyer for?”

  “Like I said, I’m going to defend you at trial. Did you think you were gonna defend yourself?”

  Luke looked at him suspiciously. He pulled a cigarette from a small pack, scratched a match on the bed frame, and drew deeply. “But I already told them everything.”

  “Yeah, I know, but you need a lawyer anyway. Speaking of what you told them, did you ask for a lawyer when they were taking your statement? When you were telling them about the murders?”

  “Kind of. I knew they wouldn’t get me one. I told them to ask me later, but later never came.”

  Charlie angled his legal pad to catch the small amount of light coming from the hallway. “Well, someone thought you were serious, so here I am.”

  “How do I get rid of you?”

  “You can ask the judge to appoint you a new one, but I don’t think he will. You’re better off just sticking with me for now.”

  As he wrote, Charlie could feel Luke’s stare through the smoky haze. He knew he was Luke’s only option for legal representation—with or without Luke’s approval. “Tomorrow we go to court, and you’ll be formally charged with the murders. Then we’ll enter a plea of not guilty.”

  “How can I do that? I already said I did it.”

  Charlie shifted in his chair. “That’s okay. We can still plead not guilty. We’re going to ask that the confession be ruled inadmissible. I think we’ve got cause. Did you know the FBI is involved?”

  “No. Am I famous?”

  “A little.”

  “They were there during your statement. Saw what went on. In fact, one of them shot you.”

  Luke held up his arm.

  “And of course the victims themselves. They’re drawing some attention.”

  “’Cause they’re black.”

  “Yeah. Lot of people don’t think a white man should go to jail for something like that.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Doesn’t matter what I think. My job is to defend you against the charges. So, are we going to plead not guilty?”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “Well, it works like this. If you plead guilty to the murders tomorrow at the arraignment, there is no trial. The only thing a judge will do, a few days to a week after the arraignment, is to convene a jury, which will determine your sentence. Could be a prison term or the death penalty. But if you plead not guilty, the
n we’ll go to trial to determine whether you’re guilty or innocent. If you’re guilty, again, you could get a prison term at Parchman Farm or the death penalty. But they find you innocent, you go free.”

  Charlie watched Luke think about his choices. He leaned over and grabbed one of Luke’s cigarettes. “I’ll bring you some more.”

  The cell remained silent.

  “Honestly,” Charlie said. “I don’t think a jury from this county will impose the death penalty for these crimes. A judge might, if he could, but not a jury. If you plead not guilty, we’ll get a fresh start.”

  “What about the confession?” Luke said.

  “Like I said, we’ll have it thrown out. I think it was taken under less than ideal circumstances. Look at your arm for God’s sake.” Charlie pointed to Luke’s arm. “Is that the way the Coahoma County sheriff usually conducts his interrogations?”

  “Do you think the judge will throw it out?”

  “We’ll see.” Charlie watched Luke carefully in the dim light.

  “The jury wouldn’t give me the death penalty?”

  “That’s a reasonable assumption,” Charlie said. “Coahoma County juries look favorably on their own. But that’s only if you’re convicted. You could go free.”

  “I wasn’t really thinking about dying,” Luke said, staring into the darkness, a confused look on his face.

  Luke lay back on his bed. Charlie knew this certainly wasn’t what Luke had in mind when he went into the sheriff’s office that night and confessed. But Luke couldn’t turn back now. He couldn’t walk out of that jail and do whatever he’d been doing before he’d confessed.

  Charlie heard the jailer approaching the cell and stood up. “I’ll be back in the morning to discuss your decision. We meet with the judge right after lunch.”

  Luke didn’t say a word as Charlie carried the chair into the hallway and closed the cell door.

  At a quarter to one, spectators started gathering outside the courthouse, avoiding the courtroom until the last possible minute. After a big noonday meal, no one would be able to keep their eyes open sitting still in the steamy room.

  Sam Tackett entered the courtroom, walked to the prosecution’s table, and unpacked some papers and a pen. He sat alone.

  A few minutes later, Charlie Usher strolled in and took his place across the aisle from Sam.

  The rows were now filling quickly with spectators, including Travis, who had postponed one of his errands so he could watch the arraignment. Finally, Luke Williams was escorted in by two bailiffs and seated next to Charlie.

  Sam knew Charlie had told Elma Williams not to attend. The trip was too far, and the arraignment wouldn’t last but a few minutes. She said she planned on seeing Luke in a few days anyway.

  Sam looked around. If it was this crowded for the arraignment, what would it be like during the trial? He glanced at the balcony. Nobody was there yet, but they would be. Everybody wanted to see if a white man would go to jail for killing a black man—four black men. And the altercation during Luke’s questioning had only increased people’s curiosity.

  Judge Bertram Long entered the courtroom.

  “All rise for the Honorable Judge Long,” the bailiff rumbled. “The court is now in session.”

  The judge motioned for everyone to be seated.

  He shuffled some papers and said, “The court would like to recognize for the record Mr. Sam Tackett, District Attorney of Coahoma County. He will represent the state in this matter. And Mr. Charlie Usher will represent the defendant. Are there any questions?”

  Both Tackett and Usher nodded after being recognized. There were no questions.

  The judge continued. “Mr. Williams, do you understand what we are doing today? The grand jury met previously and issued four indictments. This is your arraignment. Has your attorney explained what an arraignment is?”

  “Yeah,” Luke said.

  “Mr. Usher, have you conferred with your client?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “Well, will you please inform him that ‘Yeah’ will not be tolerated in my courtroom? He may say, ‘Yes, your honor’ or ‘No, your honor’ or ‘I don’t know, your honor,’ but ‘Yeah’ won’t do. Do you understand, Mr. Usher?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “And do you understand, Mr. Williams?”

  “Yes,” Luke said. “Your honor.”

  “This arraignment has been convened to hear the indictments against Mr. Luke Williams, resident of Coahoma County, Mississippi. Mr. Williams is the defendant in the matter of the State of Mississippi versus Mr. Luke Williams. Are there any questions so far?”

  Tackett and Usher shook their heads.

  “If the defendant and his attorney will please rise, the district attorney will read the indictments and the defendant will answer with a ‘Guilty’ or a ‘Not Guilty.’ Is that clear?”

  “Yes, your honor,” Usher said.

  Tackett, Luke, and Usher all stood.

  “Sam, please read the first indictment,” Judge Long said.

  “Indictment number one, to the charge of murder of John Doe Number One. How do you plead?”

  Luke looked at Usher and then Tackett.

  Tackett stared back but had no idea what Luke would do. He wasn’t easy to read.

  “How do you plead, Mr. Williams?” the judge asked.

  “Not guilty,” Luke said. “Your honor.”

  Tackett could hear the slight hum of muffled voices in the courtroom. He knew what they were saying. He continued to read the second, third, and fourth indictments. All murder charges, all the victims unknown. Luke answered to each, “Not guilty, your honor.”

  When the last one was read, the crowd noise rose. Judge Long tapped his gavel several times, casting a severe gaze around the hot room. The crowd quieted down.

  “We’ve heard the pleas. Now counselors, I’m going to set the trial date. How does three weeks from today sound?”

  “That’s fine, your honor,” Tackett said.

  Usher concurred.

  “We’ll have a pretrial conference to discuss the admissibility of the confession. Will the prosecution’s case be ready?”

  Sam laughed to himself. He was ready right now. He had no other witnesses besides the defendant, and Charlie would never allow Luke to take the stand unless it was absolutely necessary for a self-defense argument; it was too easy for Luke to get misled or confused. And there was still the matter of the confession. If he could use it, this would go quickly. If not, he needed evidence, witnesses, weapons, something. “Yes, your honor,” Tackett said.

  “Mr. Usher, will you be ready?”

  “Yes, your honor,” Usher said.

  “This concludes the proceedings,” Judge Long said. “Court adjourned.”

  Judge Long stood up and walked back to his office and his bourbon. The bailiff came over to the defense table, took Luke by the arm, and walked him to the door.

  Bob Thompson, an agent with the FBI who had been seated behind Tackett in the public seating area, leaned over the railing. “What’s going on, Sam? I thought he confessed?”

  “Yeah, but the judge wanted a trial. Says he’s being pressured to conduct one. What’s worse is I think he may throw out the confession because of what happened at the interrogation.”

  “A little unusual, don’t you think?”

  “Well, this case is already a little unusual.”

  “Let us know if anything develops in the meantime. We’ll be back for the trial in a few weeks.”

  “See you then,” Sam said.

  Travis turned and watched Luke as he was escorted out of the courtroom. Who was this man? Did anyone recognize in this weathered sharecropper a vicious killer? What demons resided in the darkness of his soul? The severity of his alleged crimes made him appear much larger than his physical presence.

  Travis turned to leave only after Luke had been escorted from the courtroom.

  He walked out onto the steps of the courthouse and passed by two men
he didn’t recognize.

  “Not another day,” one man said.

  “Then let’s meet tonight at the cabin,” the other said.

  “See you tonight, Ned.”

  Travis walked past, thinking little of the interaction.

  CHAPTER 13

  Reap jus’ what you sow.

  —Tommy Johnson

  THREE MILES OUTSIDE CLARKSDALE, IN A ONE-ROOM cabin deep in the woods, four white men—two sharecroppers, a handyman, and an unemployed gas station attendant—sat staring into a small flame that flickered in the fireplace. They themselves were embers, the hot remains of the Klan’s fiery cross that had burned bright not so long ago. Now they were scattered and disorganized, their lofty intentions mutated by boundless hatred. But they found solace in small groups who met quietly and secretly, plotting their resurrection and the demise of local troublemakers.

  Ned, the handyman, looked around the group and assessed the others. He wondered what they were capable of—individually and as a group.

  “Well, what we gonna do?” asked Wyatt, the attendant, before swallowing a swig of homemade whiskey and then passing the bottle.

  “What can we do? Luke turned himself in,” Edgar, one of the croppers, moaned. “He’s stuck.”

  “I don’t care if he confessed,” Wyatt said. “What he’s done ain’t a crime in Mississippi. They’re gonna try to put him in jail for doing right. For what needed to be done.”

  “He’s already in jail,” Ned said. “What they’re gonna do is try and keep him there. And we got to see ’bout that.”

  “You’re right, Ned,” said Edgar. “Luke ain’t staying in jail. His family needs him.”

  “He’s under a lot of pressure with his harvest and those kids,” Ned said. “I’ll bet if he was out of jail for just a little while, he’d be able to get things straightened out at home. Then, after the harvest, he can get right with the law.”

  Bo, the other sharecropper nodded his accord. “His crop’ll rot in the fields if he don’t get out of there.”

  All four men sat motionless, sipping the whiskey. Ned watched while the shadows from the fire danced on the cabin walls. The liquor had warmed his insides; his body seemed to be melting into the hot Mississippi night. His head felt loose on his shoulders, and he knew the liquor would bolster his friends’ courage.