The Truth About Grace

by Cassie Dandridge Selleck

  “And no one ever suspected him of killing the boy?” Barry asked again.

  “Why would they?” Miss Ora asked. “Marcus was never on the radar. We didn’t report the rape, so there was no connection at all to Skipper Kornegay.”

  Barrett blew out a long whistling breath and rubbed his forehead like it hurt, then turned to me. I handed Miss Ora a cup of water and sat back down. She took a sip right away and smiled gratefully.

  “I’m curious about those wounds, Mrs. Beckworth. You bandaged his head. Wouldn’t someone have noticed that?”

  Miss Ora spoke slow, like she was talking to a dense child. “He died in Georgia, in a car accident.”

  “Still…no one put two and two together?” Barry pushed.

  Miss Ora pushed back. “No one looked any further than Eddie, Mr. Hammond. He lived in the woods nearby and Ralph Kornegay made up his mind who did it the day they found his son’s body.”

  I reached over and patted Miss Ora’s hand, her cue to let me speak. I understood Barry’s confusion. I’d asked all these questions myself at one point or another. I took a deep breath and said what I’d never had the courage to say before. “I don’t know if you know much about the African American culture, but we’re pretty specific about funerals…what we call home-goings. We have a viewing beforehand, and usually an open casket throughout the service. But in this case, none of us saw Marcus before we buried him. That was at the funeral director’s insistence. There was simply not enough of his upper body left to reconstruct. So, even if they had thought of Marcus as a suspect, which they apparently did not, there really wasn’t much evidence to be found.”

  “Ah, Patrice, that’s tough. I’m sorry.”

  That’s part of his charm, the way he empathizes even as he is digesting the details of a confession. He shook his head, I could almost see his wheels spinning. He stood and paced, stopped to straighten a plaque on the wall, then returned to sit on the edge of his desk near Miss Ora.

  “So, let me get this straight, Mrs. Beckworth – you knew about the rape and didn’t report it. And you knew about the boy’s death and you didn’t report that, either.”

  “That’s correct,” she said.

  “And you covered for Marcus?”

  “I did.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that this might be wrong?”

  “I’m not an idiot, Mr. Hammond. It was a risk I was willing to take under the circumstances. And if there was any doubt in my mind, it was dispelled when I saw what Ralph Kornegay’s men did to Eddie when they arrested him. Lord only knows what they’d have done to Marcus.”

  “Wow.” Barry looked back at me. “This is a lot, Patrice. I need time to pull some case law and see if we have any guidelines.” He stood and returned to his chair, pulled out a legal pad and flipped it onto the desk blotter. “I mean, at first thought, it’s entirely possible that the statutes have run out on everything. I’m thinking maybe accessory after or tampering with evidence. I don’t know where this would fall on the obligation to report a death, but that’s a second- or third-degree felony depending on the circumstances. I guess I’ll have to assign someone to cover this, but I’ve got to be careful even there.”

  “It’s a mess,” I agreed.

  “I’m just…” he hesitated. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re bringing this to me.”

  “Who else would I go to?”

  He shrugged. “Good point.”

  “I mean, obviously, I’m not in trouble. It’s just…I’m an attorney now. I feel a moral and ethical obligation to report what I know. Besides the fact that Miss Ora was determined to tell Grace’s story.”

  “Grace is the sister who was raped?”

  I nodded. “But she only found out recently she was actually raped. My mother told her it was just a bad dream, a nightmare, that it didn’t actually happen.”

  “And she believed that?”

  “Not really, but what was she going to do? She was six, for God’s sake. It messed her up. Truth is, she’s not a very reliable or even sympathetic witness. She’s been an addict for years. But she remembers most of what happened if it comes down to that.”

  Barry closed his eyes. “But the rapist is dead, and the brother who killed him is dead, and the man who served time for something I’m assuming he had nothing to do with, is dead. And all I have is your say-so on all of it. Is there any evidence at all?

  Miss Ora shook her head. I interrupted.

  “I’m not convinced there’s no evidence. I pulled the police report. I find no mention of the knife Marcus said he took away from Skipper. A switchblade. Seems odd the murder weapon isn’t even mentioned. It may not mean anything, but it sort of stood out to me.”

  “We’ll take a look at that.” He made a note on his pad, then turned to Miss Ora. “So what do you want out of this, a clear conscience?”

  “No, I want to clear his name,” Miss Ora said.

  “The homeless guy?”

  Miss Ora glared at our state’s attorney. “His name was Eldred Mims.”

  Barry froze for a brief second, then nodded. “He had another name, though, didn’t he? The papers made a big deal of it. What was it they called him?”

  “They called him the Pecan Man,” I said. “But we called him Eddie.”

  “That’s right. I do remember because we talked about the case in law school. Who confesses to murder, for crying out loud, let alone if you didn’t do it? No evidence to speak of, and he just up and says ‘Yep. Guilty.’ I guess I find that the hardest to believe.”

  “You and me both,” I said. “But that’s not all. Turns out Eddie was my grandfather. And that, of course, is really the answer to your question. Who does that? A man who loves his family.”

  17 – Grace

  I hadn’t been alone since before Mr. Pecan died, and it felt strange. I made some sugar water for the hummingbird feeder in the backyard. I’d seen a scout buzz the lobelia and knew there’d be more to follow if I had the feeders ready. Miss Ora and I sit out there sometimes on the garden bench and watch them little things dive bomb each other, fightin’ over what’s plentiful and easy to share. I sat there for a minute, watching to see if they’d come, but I got antsy real fast. It ain’t the same out here without Miss Ora. It ain’t the same without Mr. Pecan, but he been gone for a long, long time.

  I went inside and decided to make cookies like Mama used to make. I dug around the pantry for flour and sugar, but all I found was white sugar and self-rising flour and that would never do. Then I remembered she had Tupperware canisters up in the cabinet and I looked up there to see what she had. I found the all-purpose flour, and a collection of tea bags that looked like they’d been there since I was little. Then I found an old tin canister of baking powder behind the plastic ones and pulled it out. Who keeps baking powder ‘til it’s older than Jesus? It don’t last a year, much less two decades. When I went to throw it out, though, something thumped the inside like it was one big lump. I opened up the canister to find a wad of hundred-dollar bills fat as a cucumber. I peeled one off and put the canister in the cupboard behind the spices. I felt guilty for a minute, but then I realized she probably don’t even remember it’s there, if she ever knew at all. I checked the clock and called an old friend of mine. I walked downtown to the drug store and bought a pack of gum and a tube of lipstick. I ain’t had new lipstick in years, and the color looked perfect on me. I walked back home slow, and Kenny drove by about two blocks from Miss Ora’s. He pulled over and I stuck my head in the passenger side and handed him two twenties. He gave me what I needed and pulled away smooth as silk. I palmed the baggie and slid it into my pocket.

  It’s just in case, I told myself. But I knew better.

  18 – Patrice

  We got home from Barry Hammond’s office to find the kitchen a wreck. Grace was proud though, and she promised to have everything clean before supper, so I didn’t say much. I couldn’t imagine where she’d get money for drugs, so I willed myself to believe she was ju
st lonely and bored.

  Shawn and Rochelle arrived about twenty minutes after we did. They were excited about the cookies. I’m not a huge fan of sugar, so I just stayed out of the way. Miss Ora and I made tea together and sat out on the front porch while Grace and the kids hung out in the kitchen laughing and talking. I remember closing my eyes, savoring the moment. Maybe there was hope after all.

  19 – Grace

  My kids loved them cookies. I froze some of ’em just so’s I could have ’em ready when they got home from school. It’s like they cut on a switch or somethin’, like we never been apart. They show me their homework every day now – even Shawn startin’ to let me back in. Been a long time since I had so much fun with my babies.

  I went through them first two bills pretty quick, but I was careful to slow down after that. I don’t wanna get back to where I was with the dope. I just need a little to keep me going some days.

  Even Kamilah says I’m doing better. Seems like it’s easier to talk to her when I feel more like myself.

  20 – Patrice

  I couldn’t get a read on where Barry Hammond meant to go with the information I gave him. I still had some questions of my own, so I decided to delve a little deeper into my initial investigation. I found a phone number for Horace Lindsey and called him from my office. He answered on the third ring. I introduced myself and asked him if he had time to answer some questions about an old case.

  “Depends on which case.” His voice was low and gravelly and punctuated with wheezy intakes of breath. A smoker, I thought. Heavy one.

  My gut told me to play this one close to my chest, so I gave him details that weren’t exactly true or false.

  “Well, my client is Ora Lee Beckworth and the case involved my brother.”

  “I don’t know that I can help you much. That don’t ring any bells right off.”

  “I’d really appreciate your help. Your name’s on one of the reports. It won’t take long, I promise. I can come by your house, or I have an office downtown if you want to stop by there.”

  “How ’bout tomorrow after breakfast. I eat at the café ever’ mornin’, I can stop by right afterwards, long as you’re there early enough.”

  “That’ll be fine. I’ll be here whenever you can make it.”

  I gave him the address and crossed my fingers.

  I needn’t have worried, though. The next morning, Mr. Lindsey strolled into my office dressed in a pair of black jeans and a western cut plaid shirt, both of them ironed with crisp pleats in the legs and arms. Something told me this was his version of dressed up. I was right about him being a smoker, but perhaps wrong about the mode of delivery. His clothes bore the woody scent of cigars, which was slightly more tolerable than the smell of old cigarette smoke. He was a good old boy, no doubt, but there was a hint of decency in his eyes. I felt almost immediately at ease, despite the circumstances.

  His handshake was firm and two-handed and he called me “Little Lady” three times before I laughed and said, “I think being past the age of forty disqualifies me from that title, Mr. Lindsey.”

  He took it as a joke but stopped himself the next time he said it.

  “So, which case did you say this was Lit…uh, Miss Lowery?”

  “Well, it’s an old one.” I motioned for him to sit and slid into my own chair behind the desk.

  “No wonder it didn’t sound familiar. I’m gettin’ forgetful in my old age. Remind me what it was about.”

  “It was the Kornegay murder, Mr. Lindsey.” I held my breath while he thought.

  “The Kornegay murder?”

  “Skipper Kornegay,” I said, thinking he just couldn’t place it.

  “I know his name. There was only one Kornegay murder. I thought you said this one had somethin’ to do with your brother. That’s what threw me. You said Miss Ora and your brother. They’s only one case ever involved Miss Ora, and that’s ’cause she took in the man that killed the Chief’s son.

  “Look, I don’t want to cause you any trouble here. I just have some questions. We’ve gotten some recent information that points to Eldred Mims’ innocence and I’m just looking into it. Unofficially at this point.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ about that old man innocent. He confessed plain as day.”

  “I know the case. I also know some facts you may not know. I won’t keep you long. Just a couple of questions, okay?”

  “Fire away.”

  “Like I said, there is some new evidence...I’m sorry…information, not evidence. Evidence is what I’m looking for here. There is some new information that points to a different…”

  I took a deep breath. I was obviously not at my best here. I choked on the word “killer” before I even spoke it, flipped quickly in my head to “perpetrator” and still couldn’t find a word that felt right to describe my brother. I should not be doing this. I’m too close.

  “You okay, Ma’am?”

  I looked up and Horace Lindsey was leaning forward, his elbows pointing outwards as he was poised to rise up out of the chair.

  I shook my head to clear my thoughts and forced a smile.

  “I’m fine. This is hard for me. Just bear with me a minute and I’ll get it together, I promise.”

  He relaxed and waited. I made a mental note then. The mark of a good investigator – doesn’t feel the need to fill a silence with his own voice. Just sits there and listens.

  “Okay, let’s try this again. I got some new info on the case and pulled the police report just to check a few things. Looks like you filed the initial report, so I came to you first.”

  He rubbed his jaw and thought for a moment. “Could be, but not likely. I was on scene first and found the boy’s body, but I would have briefed the investigator and turned over my notes to him. Doubtful I’d have filed the report, though I may have signed it.”

  “Gotcha. Well, there was one thing I was curious about and I didn’t see any mention of it in the report. I was told that Skipper Kornegay was killed with his own knife, a switchblade, but I don’t see any mention of it in the report. Did you recover a knife at the scene?”

  I waited for a moment, expecting him to answer, but he just sat there looking at his hands.

  “Mr. Lindsey? Did you hear the question?”

  “I heard. I’m just tryin’ to figure out who woulda told you it was the boy’s knife. It’s been a lot of years and my memory ain’t what it once was, but I don’t remember anyone discussin’ whose knife it was outside of law enforcement.

  “Then you did recover the knife. Why wasn’t it in the report?”

  “It was in the report. I documented it, tagged it, and took pictures of it myself. I didn’t know at the time it belonged to the Chief’s son, but I was pretty sure it was the knife that done the damage. That boy was slap full of holes.”

  “Let me ask you this, then,” I said. “When did you know it was Skipper’s knife?”

  He squirmed a little and the chair creaked under his weight.

  “Chief Kornegay recognized it right off. He’s the one gave it to the boy.”

  “Any idea why it wouldn’t be in the report now?”

  “Well, I got an idea, but I ain’t gonna say what it is. That case is closed and oughta stay that way. Ain’t gonna do nobody any good to dig up old bones.”

  I hesitated another minute before I revealed anything to the old man. I didn’t want to cause him any trouble.

  “Mr. Lindsey, I am one hundred percent certain that Eldred Mims did not kill Skipper Kornegay. And the reason I know this is because my brother is the one who did.”

  I watched a succession of emotional responses pass across Horace Lindsey’s face. Confusion, doubt, horror, guilt, more doubt.

  “Who is your brother? How is that possible?” he finally managed to ask.

  “Marcus Lowery was his name. He died before you even found Skipper’s body.”

  “So he helped the old man kill the boy?”

  “I’m telling you…Eddie didn’t do it at all
. Marcus killed him all by himself.”

  “How do you know this? How do you know?” He looked and sounded almost frantic. There is more to this than I thought. I just don’t know what.

  “My brother confessed to Miss Ora that night. He died in a car accident the next day and no one ever suspected him at all.”

  “No wonder…” Mr. Lindsey stopped himself. “Why would the old man confess if he didn’t have anything to do with it?”

  “You know, I can only surmise it was to protect my family. The story is long, Mr. Lindsey, and I don’t have all the answers. But I do know the truth.”

  “Why’d he kill the boy, then?”

  “Marcus said it was self-defense – that Skipper attacked him and he fought back. I knew my brother and I know he would not have made the first move. It just wasn’t who he was…”

  “He cut that boy to shreds, Miss Lowery. Did you see the pictures I took?”

  I nodded. “I did. Hard to look at. Hard to know my brother was capable of doing so much damage to another human being. There are extenuating circumstances that put it into perspective, though.”

  “Such as?” he asked.

  “He raped my six-year-old sister.”

  “Sounds like your brother was a friggin’ monster.”