“Listen, Hannah.” Travis dropped his voice conspiratorially. “I need your help tonight.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to meet me behind the courthouse around nine.”
“Behind the courthouse? That sounds rather clandestine. Can you tell me why?”
“Not right now. I’m in a hurry. I’ll tell you when we meet.”
“Nine?”
“Yeah, I’ll see you there.”
At a few minutes before nine o’clock on Tuesday night, Travis paused at the front door and told his parents that he was going to a friend’s house. “Don’t stay out too late,” his father said from the easy chair where he was reading the newspaper.
“Just a couple hours,” Travis assured him.
Margaret sat near her husband, reading a book and listening to the radio. “Call if it’s going to be much longer, please, dear.”
“I will, Mom.” The screen door slammed shut behind him.
Travis walked toward the courthouse, but not along his usual route. Instead, he headed north on Yazoo Avenue for a block, then west until he reached the Sunflower River. There he turned south, walking along the riverbank until he could see the back of the courthouse.
Travis felt certain no one had noticed him. Though it wasn’t odd for someone to be out walking this late, a single individual near the courthouse or jail still might draw the attention of a police officer in the area—or worse, a bored neighbor. Travis didn’t want any rumors circulating.
He walked to the back of the building and waited quietly for Hannah. After a few minutes, he heard the creak of a door opening. Startled, he stood breathless against the wall.
Someone rounded the corner and peered into the darkness. “Travis?” the figure called out softly.
He recognized the voice immediately. “Hannah! What were you doing inside?”
“Did you forget the curfew? I didn’t want to be caught outside. Especially in the back of the courthouse. It was bad enough just trying to get here.”
Travis slipped inside the building. “How’d you get in? I’ve got a key.”
“Moses let me in.”
They hurried through Moses Hooperman’s tiny closet into the hallway where the janitor was working.
“Good evening, Mr. Travis,” Moses said, looking Travis straight in the eye.
“He’d have waited outside all night if I hadn’t gone out and got him,” Hannah said.
“Good thing you did,” Moses said.
“Now, what have you dragged me to the courthouse for, Travis?” Hannah said.
“Follow me. I’ll tell you on the way.”
Leaving Moses to his work, they walked toward the stairs at the other end of the building.
“What’s all this about?” she asked again.
“You hear about the fire the other night at that revival?”
“Of course, my parents know some people who were there.”
“Well, I was there.”
“You were there?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Lucky you didn’t get hurt.”
They went upstairs, and Travis recounted the singing, praying, and preaching. Then about how the fire started, how it spread quickly, and how people had tripped and piled up on the woman who fell. “Eventually, I fell, too,” Travis said, his words tumbling out fast but quietly. “There were just so many people pushing and pulling on each other. But a funny thing happened.”
“As if something funny could happen in a fire. What was that?”
“Someone grabbed me and kind of held me down. He was strong, because I couldn’t move at all. And while he was holding me down, he said the sheriff shouldn’t be worried about Luke. He said they should be looking for a Mr. Vidla, maybe. I couldn’t hear very well with all the screaming and crying. Have you ever heard that name?”
Hannah shrugged her shoulders. “Mr. Vidla?”
“That’s what I thought he said.”
“But what are we doing tonight?”
Travis stopped in front of a door on the second floor. The word “Records” was printed on the glass.
“We’re here,” he announced.
Travis produced a small key ring and tried several keys before finding the one that unlocked the door. They stepped inside, and Travis locked the door behind them. He switched on the lights, walking quickly to the window to close the shade.
“Let’s keep away from the window so we don’t cast any shadows,” he said. “You told Moses that we’d be here for a little while, right?”
“Well, I didn’t know how long we’d be, but he’ll watch out for us.”
“We’re going to dig through some records.”
“We came all this way to review a bunch of paperwork?”
“Yeah, and I need you because I can’t look through all the files myself. Now, I worked in records before, so I know the filing system and which records they keep where. We just need to go through them and see if we can find anything unusual.”
“What do you mean?” Hannah said, looking puzzled.
“I mean anything that might be related to what I heard at the revival. Let’s start with his name, Mr. Vidla. That should be easy enough to check. But if nothing turns up, then it’s going to take a little more time. But if we’re lucky, we might run across some documents that would lead us to him.”
“We’re going to have to be pretty lucky.” Hannah surveyed the numerous cabinets and drawers. “Where do we start?”
Travis opened a drawer in a set of files against the wall. “I’m trying to remember where the property records are. These are birth records.” He opened and closed another drawer. “And these are—”
“I think these are the property records,” Hannah said, pulling a folder out of a different cabinet. “See, they’re marked.” She pointed to the label on the front of the drawer.
“They must have moved them recently.” He removed another folder from her drawer and quickly looked through the contents. “You’re right.”
“What exactly are we looking for again?”
“A first name or last name that sounds or is spelled like Vidla, V-I-D-L-A. You start with property.”
Travis walked over to another set of files on the opposite side of the room. “I’m going to see if I can find him in the voter registration records.”
Hannah and Travis began sifting through documents, one drawer after another.
“I just finished the property records, and nothing,” Hannah said.
“Not much luck in voter registration either,” he said.
“Hey, Travis, this drawer’s locked.” She was down on one knee yanking on the bottom drawer of a four-file cabinet labeled “Miscellaneous.”
Travis came over and pulled on the handle himself just to see if it was stuck. It wouldn’t budge. Without hesitation, he opened two drawers at the desk nearest the cabinet and pulled out a set of keys. “Good courthouse security.” He tossed the ring of keys to Hannah. “Try one of those.”
“First one,” she said, pulling open the drawer.
They continued searching, neither one speaking. The only noise in the room was the turning of pages and file drawers opening and closing.
“What was that?” Hannah whispered, turning quickly and dropping a handful of files on the floor.
“What?” Travis strained to hear anything at all.
Then, at once, they both heard it. The rhythmic click of heels on the wooden hallway.
His first duty was to keep Hannah out of trouble. Travis looked at her and then pointed under the desk. She kneeled down and started gathering the scattered papers, pushing them under the desk with her.
Travis moved to shut off the light, then saw a lone figure approach the door. There was no time to do anything but step to the side so that his outline wouldn’t be seen and then hurriedly unlock the door because a locked one with him inside might bring suspicion. He waited.
The figure on the other side pulled out some keys. But instead of using them, he
turned the knob. The door swung open and a man standing in the entryway stepped back.
“Travis, what the heck are you doing?” the man said, visibly surprised.
“Hello, Mr. Sampleton,” Travis said, trying to appear composed. “How are you tonight?”
“I was doing all right until I opened this door. What are you doing here this late?”
Travis looked back into the room nervously and knew at once that he had made a mistake. The hem of Hannah’s dress was sticking out from underneath the desk. Awkwardly, Travis stepped through the door into the hallway, blocking Sampleton’s entry to the room. “I’m helping my dad out. He needs some death certificates, and I was collecting them for him. I forgot to do it today, and he needs them first thing in the morning.”
While he spoke, Travis slowly inched the door shut behind him. He knew the older gentleman would back up if he got close enough. “What brings you up here this late?” Travis pressed.
It was a question all of Clarksdale might have asked. Sampleton was an assistant county supervisor, a widower whose grown children had all moved away years ago. Travis had heard he worked late some nights, but no one really knew why.
“Just finishing up some work from this afternoon. Some reports that are due tomorrow.”
Travis had his doubts about that. Nothing in county government was due the following day except maybe paychecks.
“Well, I hope you got everything finished,” Travis said. “I’m almost done myself.”
“Would you like me to wait for you? Give you a ride home?”
Travis could hear the loneliness in Sampleton’s voice. “I’ve got a bit more to do,” he said, suddenly kind. “But why don’t we have lunch sometime next week? You can fill me in on what Jim and Elsie are up to.” Travis was thankful to have recalled the younger Sampletons’ names.
“That sounds like a good idea,” replied the older man with a shy smile. “Stop by the office during the middle of the week.”
“Okay, I’ll sure do that, Mr. Sampleton.” They shook hands, Travis having his doubts about the commitment he’d just made. The supervisor walked away slowly, and Travis watched until he disappeared down the stairs. Then he listened for the creaky courthouse door’s thud before opening the office door.
“All right, he’s gone,” Travis said.
“That was uncomfortable,” Hannah said.
“It would have been a lot more uncomfortable if he found you hiding under the desk.” Travis peered underneath the desk. “Are you coming out?”
“In a second. I’m reading something you might find interesting.” Hannah scooted out from under the desk and stood up, brushing bits of dust off the front and back of her dress. “Take a look.”
“What drawer is this from?” Travis asked, taking the file from Hannah.
“That one right there. The one that was locked.” She motioned toward the open drawer with her hand. “There was a section marked ‘FBI–Active.’ It caught my eye.”
The file was thin. Travis glanced over the first piece of paper while Hannah read over his shoulder. It was a standard county form listing the property, its location, and its valuation. Most of the form was left unfilled.
“I don’t see a name, only the property description,” Travis said.
Travis turned to the last sheet. He read the words typed in the middle of the page: “Restrictions on document content. Refer all questions to the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Jackson, Mississippi.”
“What does that mean?” asked Hannah.
“I have no idea. I’ve never seen anything like this in these files. And look at the date.” He paused. “It was filed this year.”
Hannah picked the sheet up and turned it over. The reverse side was blank.
Travis quickly used the property address and searched through several other drawers for more information but found nothing.
“You could always drive by and see who lives there,” Hannah said.
“We could do that,” Travis said, “but maybe this is just some federal property, or the government is leasing space from the county.”
“Well, a quick visit wouldn’t hurt.”
“We could drop by on the pretense of needing something.”
“Or you could.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He winced at the thought of investigating alone.
“Of course, maybe we’re just jumping to conclusions. This could be just some filing mistake. You know, the file being in the wrong place.”
“Possible. But even if it’s nothing, now I’m curious. I’d like to see why there aren’t any of the usual property documents in the file.” Travis spoke as though he was feeling more certain, more clear, than he had been in days. “I’ll run out there tomorrow around noon, when the trial breaks for lunch. I’ll look at the property and see who lives there. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“You’d better be careful. Remember, the FBI’s involved. That’s not a good sign.”
Travis looked at his watch. It was already half past ten. “We’d better get home,” he said. He sat down at the desk, pulled a piece of paper from the trash, and quickly scribbled down the address while Hannah returned the files to their respective drawers.
When they were satisfied that the room was restored to its earlier condition, Travis opened the door. He peeked into the hallway and checked for anyone working even later than Mr. Sampleton. Finding no one, they returned to Moses’s room, said their good-byes, and ventured out into the night.
Travis crept into the house and crawled into bed without waking anyone. But he stared at the ceiling for more than an hour, thinking about what he and Hannah had found, before he finally drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 28
Hear the thunder rumbling.
—Maggie Jones
BOB THOMPSON WAS PLANNING A HUNTING TRIP, from Wednesday through the weekend, and was scheduled to return on Monday. The casework had been slow all week, and Russ Kalman didn’t have anything else for him.
Dan Mulevsky left the office early on Tuesday, then called in around lunchtime. “I’ll be out the rest of today and tomorrow,” he said when Kalman’s secretary answered the phone. “I’m not feeling well.”
“Sorry to hear that,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
“Sour stomach, headache. Maybe a fever.”
“You want Russ to call you in the morning?”
“No, I’ll be in bed all day,” Dan said. “I’ll try to sleep it out of me.”
“Well, you get better and maybe we’ll see you Thursday.”
“Thanks.”
Early the next morning, Dan dialed a familiar number. “You ready to go?”
“Almost. You driving or should I?” Bob said.
“I’ll drive.”
“Be there in a few minutes.”
Ten minutes later, Dan pulled up to Bob’s two-story white house adorned with yellow shutters. Large oaks covered the grounds.
“What time’s the trial start today?” Dan asked.
“Around ten o’clock, I think.”
“Good, then we’ve got plenty of time.”
Dan headed north out of Jackson onto a slowly brightening Highway 49 and made his way over to Highway 61 because he liked the scenery better. It led them straight into Clarksdale.
On the walk between his home and the courthouse, Sam Tackett paused repeatedly Wednesday morning to chat with neighbors and acquaintances who were planning to watch the day’s proceedings.
Once in the courtroom, Tackett unpacked his briefcase and arranged the documents he would need on the table in front of him. Gruesome pictures and gory details always swayed a jury against whoever was seated in the defendant’s chair. Today’s testimony would probably finish Luke Williams for good.
Tackett turned and watched as spectators filed into the courtroom, settling into their places like children in a classroom. Travis Montgomery entered and took a seat next to his dad. Charlie Usher and Luke Williams, present in their places before anyone els
e arrived, were seated across the aisle.
Luke looked around for Elma, but he knew she wasn’t there. She had decided it was too hard for her.
Judge Bertram Long started the day with his usual discussion of timing. “This is the last day we’ll meet this week,” he said. “More out-of-town business. Are there any questions about our schedule?” He looked at the jury. All twelve stared back in silence. “Then we’ll meet again next Monday. Today, Mr. Tackett will finish with his witnesses, and then Mr. Usher will have the opportunity to call witnesses for the defense, if he has any. Closing arguments on Monday.” He looked around once more. “Any questions?” No one spoke. “Mr. Tackett, call your next witness.”
Tackett stood and cleared his throat.
“Your honor,” he said, “The State would like to call Dr. Conrad Higson to the stand.”
At once, Tackett heard the room fill with whispers. Clarksdale had very few strangers, but somehow Higson had escaped the scrutiny usually lavished on most new upstanding residents. Except for the handful familiar with his cotton-harvesting project, almost no one would recognize the professor’s face or his name.
In the back row, a lone figure rose and stepped into the aisle. All eyes turned toward him as the professor strode forward resolutely, like a man who had something to say.
Tackett watched him closely. Higson’s clean-shaven face and well-worn gray suit rounded out his professorial appearance. His thin hair, cropped close to his scalp, and his bookish features were oddly offset by his unusually large hands. Put to good use assembling all those oversized machines.
Conrad Higson glanced at Luke when he passed the defense table. Then the professor stepped into the witness box and sat down. When asked if he would swear to tell the truth, he muttered “I do” in a voice so low no one but the judge and the bailiff heard him.
Tackett walked toward the witness stand. “For the record, please state your name and occupation.”
“My name is Dr. Conrad Higson,” the man said. “I’m a research scientist.”
“Do you live in Clarksdale, Dr. Higson?”
“Yes. I have a small house in Clarksdale but spend most of my time in Oxford at the university.”
“Could you briefly explain what you’re currently working on?” Tackett said.
Where Southern Cross the Dog Page 18