“Your Honor, the State calls Sheriff Ozzie Walls.”
Jake sat in the jury box, along with several other attorneys, all of whom pretended to be busy reading important materials. Ozzie was sworn and sat in the witness chair to the left of Bullard, a few feet from the jury box.
“Would you state your name?”
“Sheriff Ozzie Walls.”
“You’re the sheriff of Ford County?”
“Yes.”
“I know who he is,” Bullard mumbled as he flipped through the file.
“Sheriff, yesterday afternoon, did your office receive a call about a missing child?”
“Yes, around four-thirty.”
“What did your office do?”
“Deputy Willie Hastings was dispatched to the residence of Gwen and Carl Lee Hailey, the parents of the girl.”
“Where was that?”
“Down on Craft Road, back behind Bates Grocery.”
“What did he find?”
“He found the girl’s mother, who made the call. Then drove around searchin’ for the girl.”
“Did he find her?”
“No. When he returned to the house, the girl was there. She’d been found by some folks fishin’, and they took her home.”
“What shape was the girl in?”
“She’d been raped and beaten.”
“Was she conscious?”
“Yeah. She could talk, or mumble, a little.”
“What did she say?”
Tyndale jumped to his feet. “Your Honor, please, I know hearsay is admissible in a hearing like this, but this is triple hearsay.”
“Overruled. Shut up. Sit down. Continue, Mr. Childers.”
“What did she say?”
“Told her momma it was two white men in a yellow pickup truck with a rebel flag in the window. That’s about all. She couldn’t say much. Had both jaws broken and her face kicked in.”
“What happened then?”
“The deputy called an ambulance and she was taken to the hospital.”
“How is she?”
“They say she’s critical.”
“What happened then?”
“Based on what I knew at the time I had a suspect in mind.”
“So what’d you do?”
“I located an informant, a reliable informant, and placed him in a beer joint down by the lake.”
Childers was not one to dwell on details, especially in front of Bullard. Jake knew it, as did Tyndale. Bullard sent every case to the grand jury, so every preliminary was a formality. Regardless of the case, the facts, the proof, regardless of anything, Bullard would bind the defendant over to the grand jury. If there was insufficient proof, let the grand jury turn them loose, not Bullard. He had to be reelected, the grand jury did not. Voters got upset when criminals were cut loose. Most defense lawyers in the county waived the preliminary hearings before Bullard. Not Jake. He viewed such hearings as the best and quickest way to look at
the prosecution’s case. Tyndale seldom waived a preliminary hearing.
“Which beer joint?”
“Huey’s.”
“What’d he find out?”
“Said he heard Cobb and Willard, the two defendants over there, braggin’ ’bout rapin’ a little black girl.”
Cobb and Willard exchanged stares. Who was the informant? They remembered little from Huey’s.
“What’d you find at Huey’s?”
“We arrested Cobb and Willard, then we searched a pickup titled in the name of Billy Ray Cobb.”
“What’d you find?”
“We towed it in and examined it this mornin’. Lot of blood stains.”
“What else?”
“We found a small T-shirt covered with blood.”
“Whose T-shirt?”
“It belonged to Tonya Hailey, the little girl who was raped. Her daddy, Carl Lee Hailey, identified it this mornin’.”
Carl Lee heard his name and sat upright. Ozzie stared straight at him. Jake turned and saw Carl Lee for the first time.
“Describe the truck.”
“New yellow Ford half-ton pickup. Big chrome wheels and mud tires. Rebel flag in the rear window.”
“Owned by who?”
Ozzie pointed at the defendants. “Billy Ray Cobb.”
“Does it match the description given by the girl?”
“Yes.”
Childers paused and reviewed his notes. “Now, Sheriff, what other evidence do you have against these defendants?”
“We talked to Pete Willard this mornin’ at the jail. He signed a confession.”
“You did what!” Cobb blurted. Willard cowered and looked for help.
“Order! Order!” shouted Bullard as he banged his gavel. Tyndale separated his clients.
“Did you advise Mr. Willard of his rights?”
“Yes.”
“Did he understand them?”
“Yes.”
“Did he sign a statement to that effect?”
“Yes.”
“Who was present when Mr. Willard made his statement?”
“Me, two deputies, my investigator, Rady, and Lieutenant Griffin with the Highway Patrol.”
“Do you have the confession?”
“Yes.”
“Please read it.”
The courtroom was still and silent as Ozzie read the short statement. Carl Lee stared blankly at the two defendants. Cobb glared at Willard, who picked dirt off his boots.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Childers said when Ozzie finished. “Did Mr. Willard sign the confession?”
“Yes, in front of three witnesses.”
“The State has nothing further, Your Honor.”
Bullard shouted, “You may cross-examine, Mr. Tyndale.”
“I have nothing at this time, Your Honor.”
Good move, thought Jake. Strategically, for the defense, it was best to stay quiet at preliminary hearings. Just listen, take notes, let the court reporter record the testimony, and stay quiet. The grand jury would see the case anyway, so why bother? And never allow the
defendants to testify. Their testimony would serve no purpose and haunt them at trial. Jake knew they would not testify because he knew Tyndale.
“Call your next witness,” demanded the Judge.
“We have nothing further, Your Honor.”
“Good. Sit down. Mr. Tyndale, do you have any witnesses?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Good. The court finds there is sufficient evidence that numerous crimes have been committed by these defendants, and the court orders Mr. Cobb and Mr. Willard to be held to await action by the Ford County grand jury, which is scheduled to meet on Monday, May 27. Any questions?”
Tyndale rose slowly. “Yes, Your Honor, we would request the court to set a reasonable bond for these de—”
“Forget it,” snapped Bullard. “Bail will be denied as of now. It’s my understanding that the girl is in critical condition. If she dies, there will of course be other charges.”
“Well, Your Honor, in that case, I would like to request a bail hearing a few days from now, in the hopes that her condition improves.”
Bullard studied Tyndale carefully. Good idea, he thought. “Granted. A bail hearing is set for next Monday, May 20, in this courtroom. Until then the defendants will remain in the custody of the Ford County sheriff. Court’s adjourned.”
Bullard rapped the gavel and disappeared. The deputies swarmed around the defendants, handcuffed them, and they too disappeared from the courtroom, into the holding room, down the back stairs, past the reporters, and into the squad car.
The hearing was typical for Bullard—less than
twenty minutes. Justice could be very swift in his courtroom.
Jake talked to the other lawyers and watched the crowd file silently through the enormous wooden doors at the rear of the courtroom. Carl Lee was in no hurry to leave, and motioned for Jake to follow him. They met in the rotunda. Carl Lee wanted to talk, and he excused himself from the crowd and promised to meet them at the hospital. He and Jake walked down the winding staircase to the first floor.
“I’m truly sorry, Carl Lee,” Jake said.
“Yeah, me too.”
“How is she?”
“She’ll make it.”
“How’s Gwen?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“How about you?”
They walked slowly down the hall toward the rear of the courthouse. “It ain’t sunk in yet. I mean, twenty-four hours ago everthing was fine. Now look at us. My little girl’s layin’ up in the hospital with tubes all over her body. My wife’s crazy and my boys are scared to death, and all I think about is gettin’ my hands on those bastards.”
“I wish I could do something, Carl Lee.”
“All you can do is pray for her, pray for us.”
“I know it hurts.”
“You gotta little girl, don’t you, Jake?”
“Yeah.”
Carl Lee said nothing as they walked in silence. Jake changed the subject. “Where’s Lester?”
“Chicago.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Workin’ for a steel company. Good job. Got married.”
“You’re kidding? Lester, married?”
“Yeah, married a white girl.”
“White girl! What’s he want with a white girl?”
“Aw, you know Lester. Always an uppity nigger. He’s on his way home now. Be in late tonight.”
“What for?”
They stopped at the rear door. Jake asked again: “What’s Lester coming in for?”
“Family business.”
“Y’all planning something?”
“Nope. He just wants to see his niece.”
“Y’all don’t get excited.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Jake.”
“I know.”
“What would you plan, Jake?”
“What do you mean?”
“You gotta little girl. Suppose she’s layin up in the hospital, beat and raped. What would you do?”
Jake looked through the window of the door and could not answer. Carl Lee waited.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Carl Lee.”
“Answer my question. What would you do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’d do.”
“Lemme ask you this. If it was your little girl, and if it was two niggers, and you could get your hands on them, what would you do?”
“Kill them.”
Carl Lee smiled, then laughed. “Sure you would, Jake, sure you would. Then you’d hire some big-shot lawyer to say you’s crazy, just like you did in Lester’s trial.”
“We didn’t say Lester was crazy. We just said Bowie needed killing.”
“You got him off, didn’t you?”
“Sure.”
Carl Lee walked to the stairs and looked up. “This how they get to the courtroom?” he asked without looking at Jake.
“Who?”
“Those boys.”
“Yeah. Most of the time they take them up those stairs. It’s quicker and safer. They can park right outside the door here, and run them up the stairs.”
Carl Lee walked to the rear door and looked through the window at the veranda. “How many murder trials you had, Jake?”
“Three. Lester’s and two more.”
“How many were black?”
“All three.”
“How many you win?”
“All three.”
“You pretty good on nigger shootin’s, ain’t you?”
“I guess.”
“You ready for another one?”
“Don’t do it, Carl Lee. It’s not worth it. What if you’re convicted and get the gas chamber? What about the kids? Who’ll raise them? Those punks aren’t worth it.”
“You just told me you’d do it.”
Jake walked to the door next to Carl Lee. “It’s different with me. I could probably get off.”
“How?”
“I’m white, and this is a white county. With a little luck I could get an all-white jury, which will naturally be sympathetic. This is not New York or California. A man’s supposed to protect his family. A jury would eat it up.”
“And me?”
“Like I said, this ain’t New York or California. Some whites would admire you, but most would want
to see you hang. It would be much harder to win an acquittal.”
“But you could do it, couldn’t you, Jake?”
“Don’t do it, Carl Lee.”
“I have no choice, Jake. I’ll never sleep till those bastards are dead. I owe it to my little girl, I owe it to myself, and I owe it to my people. It’ll be done.”
They opened the doors, walked under the veranda and down the driveway to Washington Street, across from Jake’s office. They shook hands. Jake promised to stop by the hospital tomorrow to see Gwen and the family.
“One more thing, Jake. Will you meet me at the jail when they arrest me?”
Jake nodded before he thought. Carl Lee smiled and walked down the sidewalk to his truck.
5
__________
L
ester Hailey married a Swedish girl from Wisconsin, and although she still professed love for him, Lester suspected the novelty of his skin was beginning to fade. She was terrified of Mississippi, and flatly refused to travel south with Lester even though he assured her she would be safe. She had never met his family. Not that his people were anxious to meet her—they were not. It was not uncommon for Southern blacks to move north and marry white girls, but no Hailey had ever mixed. There were many Haileys in Chicago; most were kin, and all married black. The family was not impressed with Lester’s blonde wife. He drove to Clanton in his new Cadillac, by himself.
It was late Wednesday night when he arrived at the hospital and found some cousins reading magazines in the second-floor waiting room. He embraced Carl Lee. They had not seen each other since the Christmas holidays, when half the blacks in Chicago trooped home to Mississippi and Alabama.
They stepped into the hall, away from the relatives. “How is she?” Lester asked.
“Better. Much better. Might go home this week end.”
Lester was relieved. When he left Chicago eleven hours earlier she had been near death, according to the cousin who had called and scared him from bed. He lit a Kool under the NO SMOKING sign and stared at his big brother. “You okay?”
Carl Lee nodded and glanced down the hall.
“How’s Gwen?”
“Crazier than normal. She’s at her momma’s. You come by yourself?”
“Yeah,” Lester answered defensively.
“Good.”
“Don’t get smart. I didn’t drive all day to hear crap about my wife.”
“Okay, okay. You still got gas?”
Lester smiled and chuckled. He had been plagued by stomach gas since the day he married the Swede. She prepared dishes he couldn’t pronounce, and his system behaved violently. He longed for collards, peas, okra, fried chicken, barbecue pork, and fatback.
They found a small waiting room on the third floor with folding chairs and a card table. Lester bought two cups of stale, thick coffee from a machine and stirred the powdered cream with his finger. He listened intently as Carl Lee detailed the rape, the arrests, and the hearing. Lester found some napkins and diagrammed the courthouse and the jail. It had been four years since his murder trial, and he had trouble with the drawings. He had spent only a week in jail, prior to posting bond, and had not visited the place since his acquittal. In fact, he had left for Chicago shortly after his trial. The victim had relatives.