Between the Lies Page 5

  Royal’s eyes shone with excitement. “You think we can do this? You think we can find this guy?”

  Hick’s eyes trailed to the cell in the back of the jailhouse where Thad was sitting up, listening. “I hope so.”

  7

  Sunday, July 18, 1954

  On his way out of town, Hick drove past the Broken Creek Post Office, a tavern, two cafes, and a movie theater, all closed. He stopped at the blinking red light at the town’s only four-way intersection and lit a cigarette, watching the smoke drift toward the open window before continuing on. Humidity hung heavy in the warm night air, ghost-like and vaporous, ringing the moon in a gauzy film. As he turned toward the two-lane highway, he was surprised to see a car in front of the tiny Catholic Church and a light shining from Grant’s office. He had decided against checking in with the priest because it was past midnight, but seeing the light on, he drove into the parking lot.

  As he pulled in, he saw that a young man wearing a letterman’s jacket was leaning against the parked car. Hick climbed out, tossed his cigarette to the ground, and put it out with the toe of his boot. The teenager didn’t turn toward Hick or even acknowledge his existence, but instead stared intently up at the church’s door. Hick adjusted his hat and started to walk in the teen’s direction when angry voices inside the church caused him to pause in his steps. The church door flew open and a man Hick didn’t recognize stomped down the porch and stopped in astonishment.

  “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed. “You scared the shit out of me! Who are you?”

  “He’s a friend of mine,” Father Grant said quietly from the doorway.

  The man turned and looked at the priest in surprise. “A friend?”

  “Sheriff Hick Blackburn, this is Ike Davis, President of the School Board.”

  “Sheriff?” the man repeated in surprise. “Sheriff of what?”

  “Cherokee Crossing,” Hick replied, holding out his hand.

  The man shook the hand extended and explained, “Sorry if I was a little rude. Didn’t expect to find anyone out here in the middle of the night.”

  “Understandable,” Hick answered.

  The man hesitated a moment, looking Hick over and then said, “I best get my boy home. We need to be up early for church and the missus will be worried about us. You know how mothers are.” He gave Hick a weak smile and turned back to Father Grant. “I’ll think on what you said, but I reckon I know best.” He paused with his hand on the door and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.” With that, he and his son got into the car and they drove off into the misty night.

  Father Grant watched them leave and then said, “Won’t you come in, Sheriff? I didn’t expect you.”

  The sanctuary was dark except for a flickering candle that hung from the ceiling. Esther Burton’s typewriter was covered with black vinyl and her chair was pushed under the desk. The light pouring from the office of Father Grant was the only sign of life in the stillness.

  Hick followed Grant into his office. There was a still-smoking cigarette in an ashtray and the side chair was pushed away from the desk. It seemed Ike Davis had left in a hurry.

  “What was that all about?” Hick asked.

  Grant looked tired. There were bags under his eyes and his shoulders drooped. He sank into the chair at his desk and shrugged. “Same old story.”

  “There’s lots of old stories.” Hick moved the chair back to Grant’s desk and took a seat.

  “True enough,” Grant said. “Seems this one doesn’t have a happy ending. Broken Creek’s been preparing to desegregate their schools next year. We simply can’t afford to maintain two separate systems. Fayetteville and Charleston are doing it. Ike has been working on the plan for months. I thought he’d ironed out the details. The students were to be told this term so they’d be prepared for it. He had supportive teachers lined up and the PTA had been notified. Now, it seems, it won’t happen … not anytime soon anyway.” He shook his head. “Every time we come close to taking a step forward something happens. People are afraid of change, and it’s a damned shame.”

  “Why the change of heart?”

  Grant gazed past Hick and then shrugged. “I can’t say. Ike had instigated the whole thing. He was the one who convinced the school board to implement a plan. Said it was ‘morally right’ and he aimed to do it. I can’t explain it.”

  “You know, there’s never been a single colored family ever lived in Cherokee Crossing. I never even met a black man until I went into the army. The colored soldiers couldn’t eat at our mess, or sleep in our tents. They were just ‘attached’ to our unit because the army was segregated.” Hick frowned and looked into the priest’s face. “But they fought and bled and died just as easy as any white man.”

  Father Grant ran his hand across his beard. “Broken Creek, Arkansas has always been a friendly town. White folks and black folks work together in the fields, they shop together, the kids all play together. It was just logical to mix the schools. As far as I could see most people thought it was a good idea. I hadn’t heard of any real opposition.”

  “I wonder what happened?”

  Grant answered with a look of bewilderment. “Ike came over here tonight unannounced and informed me he was publicly withdrawing his support for the plan at some rally planned for Wednesday night. It doesn’t make sense. We’ve spent hours working on this, but I guess someone confronted him, and he got cold feet. I simply don’t understand. It’ll happen sooner or later. It has to.” He rubbed his eyes. “Ike wants me to inform my Parish tomorrow that, in spite of what the Supreme Court says, Broken Creek will not be desegregating any time soon. He’s talked to all the colored pastors tonight because he thinks delivering the news from the pulpit will make it easier for folks to swallow.”

  “And will it?”

  “The little colored children in Broken Creek attend school in a one-room building four miles outside of town. There’s no indoor plumbing, sunshine streams through cracks in the walls and ceiling, it leaks like a sieve when it rains, and it’s infested with rats, fleas, and cockroaches. The older kids leave home at six in the morning to travel fourteen miles to go to another county. Nothing I, or anyone else, can say will make this news any easier to take.” He frowned and set both hands on his desk as if to declare the topic closed. “Well, you didn’t come here to listen to my troubles. What’s on your mind?”

  “I wanted to let you know you were right. Right about the boy, right about Brewster. Something stinks to high heaven about the case against Thad Burton.”

  “I see.” Father Grant leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling as if he could find answers waiting for him there. “So what’s to be done?”

  Hick shook his head. “I don’t know. I do know that whoever was driving that truck had been drinking moonshine bought at a particular still. I know the man who runs the still doesn’t sell to colored folks. And I know that Thad Burton is not guilty.”

  “Well that eliminates one person in a town of twelve hundred,” Grant said with a tired sigh. “What good is that?”

  “Not much, but it’s a start. There’s a lot of investigating to be done.”

  Grant leaned forward. “The Judge returns from his fishing trip on Wednesday. Esther told me Thad plans to confess as soon as he sees the judge. Brewster’s convinced the family it will be the best thing. No trial, the boy goes to the juvenile farm for six years and then he’s home.”

  “Is there any way to convince Thad to plead not guilty or at least to stall for a couple of days?”

  “Thad’s daddy is convinced a plea is the only way to save his son. Brewster told Enos the courts would look at Thad as an adult if it goes to trial.”

  “An adult? That’s ridiculous. He’s just a kid.”

  “You ever hear of George Stinney?” Grant asked.

  Hick thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Don’t think so. Why?”

  “He was just fourteen when the state of South Carolina executed him. The jury spent all of ten minutes bef
ore they threw away that colored boy’s life. You may not have heard of him, but I guarantee you Thad’s daddy has.”

  “You’re saying Brewster intimidated the family into a guilty plea?”

  “Yes. I am absolutely saying that.”

  “You think it’d help if I spoke with Thad’s father?”

  Father Grant regarded Hick. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but, no, it won’t help.”

  “I’d like to try.”

  Grant shrugged. “Enos works at the Pig Shack, a barbecue joint on the south side of town. It’s a popular spot for Sunday lunch, and he’ll be there in a few hours to get the fires going to roast the pigs. You can wait here. Get some shut-eye in the meantime.”

  “He won’t be in church later?” Hick asked.

  “No,” Grant said with a short laugh. “Enos isn’t a church-going man.”

  As Hick approached, he saw Enos Burton hoist half a hog off his broad shoulder and slap it down onto the grill. He picked up a rake and bent to smooth the glowing embers into an even pile. Without turning or stopping his work, Enos growled, “What you want?”

  “I want to talk to you about your son.”

  The raking stopped as Enos straightened his six-foot five frame and turned to face Hick. His skin shined with sweat and his face was set in a tight scowl. “What about?”

  “I want you to tell him to plead not guilty.”

  Enos squinted and took a step forward. “What business is it of yours?”

  Hick held out his hand. “My name’s Hick Blackburn. I’m the sheriff of Cherokee Crossing.”

  Enos glanced at the outstretched hand but didn’t take it. “What you doing in Broken Creek?”

  “Father Grant called me.”

  Enos rolled his eyes and set the rake aside. He poured a pile of salt on his hands and began to rub it into the hog’s skin. The two men were silent until Enos slapped the hog on the rump and closed the lid of the smoker with a hard thunk. He wiped his hands on a stained apron and turned to Hick. “Tell that priest I know he mean well, but he don’t know what it’s like for colored folks.”

  “I think he does.”

  Enos snorted a bitter laugh. “You white folks are something else. You like to pretend you know what’s best for us, that you got our interests at heart. But at the end of the day you get to go home and be safe and white. We don’t get to leave. We always black.”

  “I’m not gonna deny that what you say is true,” Hick said, “but, can you at least stall for a couple of days? Tell Thad to not say anything? Buy me some time?”

  “Buy you time for what?”

  “I know Thad didn’t run over that man. I know Brewster, and I know he set your son up. Give me a few days, and I’ll try and figure this thing out.”

  “Why?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  Enos stepped forward. “This is my boy. I want to hear those reasons.”

  “I got history with Brewster,” Hick said. “Let’s just say, I owe him one.”

  “You want me to risk my boy’s life so you can get back at Brewster?”

  “He won’t be risking his life.”

  “Brewster say he will.”

  “You trust Brewster?”

  Enos looked Hick up and down. “I don’t trust you none neither.”

  “Fair enough,” Hick said. “I can’t think of a reason why you should.”

  Enos picked up a poker, stepped to a second smoker, and and stirred the embers of another fire. After a moment, he turned and pointed the poker at Hick. “You just like that priest. He tell Esther the same thing. I told that girl not to take up with that religion. Why she gotta leave her mama’s church, I’ll never know. And now that white man telling her Thad gonna be okay. But that ain’t the way it work, not for us. I can’t get him no lawyer. The lawyer they’ll send ain’t gonna do nothing for him. Don’t you understand? Iffen he don’t confess and it goes to court, he ain’t got a chance. Let me do what I think best for my boy. He’s a good son, he helps his mama … he wants to be a preacher. If we do what ol’ Brewster tell us, in six years he’ll be home again. If we don’t, we gonna lose him forever.”

  “So you’ll tell him to plead guilty.”

  “Yes, sir. My mind’s made up”

  “Then I don’t have much time,” Hick said with a sigh.

  He turned to go, but Enos called after him. “Tell me the truth. Why you messin’ with this? Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

  Hick turned and held Enos’s gaze. “Your son’s innocent. He’s just a boy. It ain’t right.”

  Enos said nothing more, so Hick turned and walked back to his car for the long drive home.

  8

  Sunday, July 18, 1954

  “Headed to the diner for coffee,” Adam said as Hick stepped from the car in front of the station. “Let’s talk there.”

  “Sounds perfect.” Hick suppressed a yawn and stretched his back. “I haven’t slept all night.”

  The bell no longer clanged when the diner’s door opened and it wasn’t the busy place it used to be, but Bud still brewed the best coffee in the county and business always picked up on Sundays after church.

  The two men took a booth toward the back of the restaurant and waited for Jenny Williams, the new waitress, to set two cups of coffee on the table. Adam blew on his and then took a long drink. He set the cup on the saucer, and waited as Hick poured cream into his cup and took his time stirring it.

  “Well, let’s have it,” Adam said, finally.

  Hick sat the spoon down and rubbed his temples. As tired as he was, he thought Adam looked worse. Lines rimmed Adam’s red eyes, and Hick realized the night shift was taking a greater toll on his brother-in-law than it used to. “Well,” he said. “Royal was right. It’s pretty clear Brewster set the kid up.”

  “What about the moonshine?”

  Hick’s thumb absentmindedly caught a drop of coffee on the side of the cup. “All I can tell you about the moonshine is that the kid didn’t buy it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I talked to the moonshiner and he—”

  “You what?”

  “He’s not in our county so it’s not like I could arrest him. Anyway, I talked to him to find out if he sells to colored folks.”

  “And?”

  “And he’s not the most pleasant man on earth. No, he didn’t sell any ‘shine’ to that kid.”

  Adam leaned back in the booth and drummed his fingers against the table. “But why would Brewster frame a kid? What can he gain from it?”

  “He’s covering for someone. We both know he’s got a long history. Maybe it’s even one of his kin. Remember Mule and Hoyt and how he made sure they’d get off? There’s also a missing hobo that might be the culprit. If this hobo flew the coop, it might be more work than Brewster’s willing to put in.” Hick shook his head. “Think about it. A poor Negro is the perfect scapegoat. Brewster is the law, so it’s easy to convince the family that the kid should plead guilty. He’s a minor so he won’t be gone long, and since he’s colored the family knows they can’t assume justice. What else could it be? We know the victim’s family’s not pressuring him because they don’t even know about the accident.”

  Hick reached into his pocket and handed Adam the photo found in the victim’s notebook. “Brewster threw this into an evidence box without even checking the missing persons’ records.”

  Adam took the photo, then glanced at the door, nodding his head toward it. Hick turned to see Wayne Murphy, the town’s newspaperman and no friend to the sheriff’s office, enter and take a seat at the counter. “I doubt the press over in Broken Creek is putting pressure on Brewster, seeing as the victim was a vagrant.” Adam put the photo in his shirt pocket and sat back to make room for a plate of fried eggs and bacon.

  “So, why the hurry to get Thad to—”

  “We may be about to find out,” Adam interrupted. “We’ve got company.” Before Hick could even turn in the booth, Earl Brewster wa
s beside the table.

  “Gentlemen.” Brewster’s voice was thick with rage.

  Hick looked up and motioned with his cup of coffee. “Would you like to have a seat, Sheriff?”

  “No. I’ll make this short and sweet, so even ya’ll can understand.” He bent over and placed his thick, fleshy hands on the table. Heavy jowls wobbled beneath reddened cheeks and dark narrowed eyes. “I hear you been poking around in matters that ain’t your business. I suggest you keep to your own people and leave mine to me.”

  Adam leaned back in his seat, his demeanor relaxed and downright neighborly, but Hick knew better. “Poking around? Now why would we be doing that?”

  “My deputy told me Blackburn stopped by asking a lot of questions. And, I got a witness says he’s been seen with that papist again.”

  “A witness?” Hick repeated in surprise. “Since when it is a crime to visit someone? Father Grant is my friend, so I reckon I can visit him any time I want.”

  “Midnight sure is a funny time to go calling. I know exactly what you’re up to. Thad Burton’s sister works at that church, and I know that Catholic is trying to get folks riled up. I tell you that boy ran over that bum plain and simple, and I got all the proof I need.”

  “Sounds like an open and shut case, then,” Hick said with a shrug.

  “That’s right. Thad’s daddy and me had this thing buttoned up.”

  “Then why are you here?” Hick asked.

  “I said we had everything buttoned up. And now you gone and found the kid a fancy lawyer.” Hick was surprised and his face showed it. Brewster shook his head in disgust. “I know you talked to Enos, but hell, I didn’t reckon he was stupid enough to risk getting his boy tried as an adult.”