That Night at the Palace

by Watson, L. D.

  Nathaniel proudly sat down with all confidence that whatever the defense countered would sound foolish in comparison to the speech he had made before Judge Buckner.

  “Thank you for your long-winded discourse, Mr. Cockwright,” Judge Buckner said to a round of muffled snickers. “Would the accused like to rebut?”

  Nathaniel ignored the admonition. He was used to the judge’s sarcasm. The important thing was that the press and spectators had heard what he’d had to say.

  The lead attorney stood and answered, “No thank you, your honor.”

  Nathaniel couldn’t help but smile.

  “How does the defendant plea?”

  The attorney stood again. “He pleads not guilty, your Honor.”

  “I’d like to hear it from the defendant, if you don’t mind Counselor.”

  The attorney sat down and nodded to Jesse, who stood. “Not guilty, your Honor.”

  As Jesse sat down, Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, trying hard to contain his elation. Had the dumb kid and his lawyers pleaded guilty, this thing would have been over and done with in a couple of days, but as it was, Nathaniel had the chance to keep this in the headlines for a month or more.

  “That will be all for now, Bailiff. Please lead the defendant down to the sheriff’s office. I’d like to see the lead attorneys for both sides in my chambers now,” Buckner ordered and then slammed down his gavel and left the room.

  #

  Wilhelm Dinkler III shook hands with County Attorney Cockwright, who for some reason he wanted to call Cockfight, and seated himself in one of the two chairs in front of the judge’s enormous mahogany desk. Wilhelm, Wil to his friends, had defended over a hundred criminal cases. This was his twenty-fifth murder case and by far the most publicized. Normally he went to great lengths to protect his client from even being mentioned in the press, but this C.A. had quite a head start. It was rumored around the courthouse that he had contacted the newspapers the very minute he heard about the crime. This, of course, was going to make things considerably more difficult because the jury would, most likely, have their opinions formed before the trial began, which quite frankly was what this idiot C.A. apparently wanted. The fool needed an edge. His speech showed what kind of attorney he was. In Houston, on an even field, Dinkler would have had this thing won on the first day of testimony.

  On the bright side, the C.A. had almost no case. A halfwit fresh out of law school could poke holes in his case. Dinkler had yet to lose a murder trial. The C.A. was clearly trying to railroad the kid to further his political ambitions. Dinkler knew all about Cockwright’s various failed attempts at running for office.

  That’s it. He’s the one they called ‘Cockfight’ at some debate.

  Judge Buckner, now having changed out of his robe in his private bathroom, walked in and sat down behind his desk. He had his jacket off, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. He was wearing a tie, but the knot was loosened.

  Dinkler smiled. Judges were all the same. Heaven help the attorney who walked into those chambers sans coat and with his tie loose, but in all his years in the legal trade Dinkler had never met a judge in his chambers who had on a coat and knotted tie.

  “Gentlemen, this case has not even begun, and this kid has already been hung in the press. I had to park two blocks away, and this was just the arraignment. I’m afraid we will have trouble getting a jury. I have half a mind to send it over to Anderson County.”

  “Your honor,” Nathaniel blurted.

  “That’s what I thought, Cockwright,” Judge Buckner said before Nathaniel could finish his sentence. “Now you listen to me. I don’t want any more of those half-hour speeches. This nonsense ends here and now.”

  Nathaniel cringed. “I apologize, sir. It couldn’t have been that long, though.”

  “Thirty-seven minutes forty-eight seconds. I owe the bailiff two bits. I told him you couldn’t keep it under forty-five.

  “Now, I want this kid to get a fair shake, so quit the foolishness with the newspapers. And, by god, you better not be wasting my time. My phone was ringing ‘til almost midnight with people from Elza who claim this kid didn’t do it.”

  “My case is solid, your honor.”

  “Well you better have more than you put in the brief, because if Mr. Dinkler here spent more than a week in law school he’ll chew this up without needing his teeth.

  Dinkler simply smiled as he realized that this meeting was to pull the reins in on the C.A.

  “Mr. Dinkler, do you have any questions?”

  “No, your honor.”

  “Are you having any more problems with the Sheriff’s Office or the C.A.’s office?” Buckner asked, with a glance at Cockwright.

  “No, sir. We’re not having any problems.”

  “How much lead-time do you need? I’d like to get this thing over with as quickly as possible.”

  “I think a week or so will be sufficient.”

  “Good,” Buckner said as he looked down at the calendar on his desk. “Let’s start working on getting a jury on Monday, and with some luck we can begin on the following Friday. Any objections?”

  Both attorneys shook their heads.

  “Good,” Buckner said and then looked at Cockwright. “Remember what I said about the press.”

  #

  SHANTYTOWN

  ELZA, TEXAS

  November 21, 1941

  Darnell “Shakes” Blankenship walked along the railroad tracks toward the shantytown holding a rolled up newspaper under his arm. The shantytown wasn’t what it once had been. None of them were. Most of the people who had populated these little villages around the country had moved on to California or were slowly finding work.

  Shakes, of course, had not.

  Oh, he wasn’t the hermit he had been a few years before. He spent more time riding the rails and less in his little villa in New Birmingham. In some ways, Shakes was a new man. He was a man with a purpose. He still had trouble with the drink, and he doubted that he’d ever have a job, but he was now a man who knew where he was going and why.

  Right that minute Shakes was headed to his little home in the Southern Hotel. In Atlanta, a couple of days before, he had seen a newspaper. He was in the first boxcar headed west by lunchtime.

  He walked on past the shantytown and turned up the little overgrown lane that led to New Birmingham. He had no plan. He really wasn’t sure what he could do, but the mathematician in him refused to believe that this couldn’t possibly be a simple coincidence.

  #

  CHEROKEE COUNTY COURTHOUSE

  RUSK, TEXAS

  5:30 p.m., November 21, 1941

  Nathaniel Cockwright was having another bad day. He leaned back in his chair and put his feet on his desk. He’d have a drink, but Cherokee was a dry county, and it wouldn’t look good for the C.A. to keep liquor in his office when everyone knew that you had to drive thirty miles to get a bottle.

  It had all started so perfectly. He had made a grand show for the reporters on the courthouse steps. He then made an excellent presentation for the judge, who apparently knew nothing about presiding over a murder trial.

  That was where it all headed downhill. First the judge gave him a pretty good lecture about using the press. Nathaniel expected as much, but he hadn’t expected it in front of the defense attorney. Buckner didn’t needed to humiliate him and then threaten a change in venue. That was utterly unnecessary. The threat was also not as effective as Buckner may have thought. This case would be a cakewalk almost anywhere. All Nathaniel needed to do was set the scene. No jury would let this one go without a conviction once they got the gory details.

  The problem Cockwright had was compelling evidence. The judge seemed convinced that this Houston lawyer could take apart the prosecution, which again, Nathaniel doubted. Still, just a little more evidence would sew it up. He had the kid at
the place of death at the time of the murder. He had motive, sort of. And he had the kid openly threatening to kill the victim. With a jury made up of East Texas tomato farmers that should make the case, but Nathaniel would feel a lot better with a little more, especially after the remarks Buckner made.

  All day he, Primrose, and Coleman had been down in Elza knocking on doors. Well, it was mostly Primrose because Coleman was almost useless at that sort of thing. Nevertheless every time those two checked in, they had nothing. And by nothing, Cockwright meant just that. It seemed that the whole town had closed ranks. No one wanted to help. Those people who did talk seemed to think that Jesse was a model citizen. Not a single person believed he did it.

  Then there was the problem with the two girls. First, the girl at the heart of all this, her testimony could set this thing up. The only problem was that neither of those two bumbling idiots could find her. Elza was not a big place. Coleman and Primrose shouldn’t have had any problem, but so far, the two clowns hadn’t so much as laid eyes on her. Then there was the murderer’s girlfriend. She had to be feeling pretty humiliated since her boyfriend had just killed his buddy because both boys were in love with another girl. In a normal world, she would be ready to sell the kid up the river, but not in Elza. This doll insisted that the punk didn’t do it and threatened to call the police chief if Primrose didn’t get off her porch.

  So when Primrose and Coleman walked into his office after wasting another day in Elza, Nathaniel was, understandably, not in a particularly good mood.

  “Good news, boss,” Primrose opened with a big smile.

  Cockwright closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He was in no mood for Roosevelt Primrose. “What’d you do, win the Hit Parade?”

  Primrose looked at Coleman. “You go first.”

  “The chief and that Ranger are holding out on us. They got prints off the car.”

  Cockwright’s eyes opened. “When?”

  “The day after. The car was down at a local garage and the Ranger took prints.”

  “Where’s the car now?”

  “It’s being moved to the sheriff’s impound yard as we speak.”

  “Who has the prints?”

  “Most likely the Ranger took ‘em back to Dallas to have ‘em processed.”

  Cockwright sat up. “If they match the kid’s, we’ve got ‘im.”

  “I’d say so.”

  “I want photographs of the car, and get me those prints.”

  “That’s the other news, boss,” Primrose piped in. “I had a chat with the undertaker. The chief had a kid take crime-scene photographs. He took a lot of shots, and according to the undertaker, he got every detail.”

  The gears in his head started turning as Nathaniel’s day suddenly picked up. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. Coleman, get on the phone to Austin right now. Tell them that I want those prints. No. Tell them that you’re going to Dallas with the kid’s prints and you want them compared right away. Then bring the results back yourself. We’re not trusting that dimwit Ranger any more than we have to.”

  “You want me to drive to Dallas tonight?”

  Nathaniel exhaled, trying not to lose his temper. The sooner he got out of this one-horse town the better.

  “Take a county car and get a hotel room somewhere halfway. I want those prints in my hand by noon tomorrow.”

  “Well, I don’t know if I can make it back by noon,” Coleman debated with a tone that showed he was convinced that he couldn’t possibly make Cockwright’s deadline.

  “Just go and get back as soon as you can,” Cockwright ordered in exasperation.

  “Yes, sir,” Coleman said and immediately turned and got out before a full-blown Cockwright fit.

  “Should I get the Sheriff to send someone for the photographs?” Primrose asked, preparing himself for an outburst.

  “No,” Nathaniel answered, as he thought, “No, I don’t want the sheriff involved. You go personally and bring them back here.”

  Corcwright’s mind was churning.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Cockwright continued. “We’re going to take the whole jury down to Elza to see the site for themselves. Then we’re going to pass out copies of the photographs. That will do it. No Texas jury will let this kid off after seeing it up close and personal.”

  #

  MAIN STREET

  ELZA, TEXAS

  August 7, 1936

  As the late-summer heat settled in, so did the change of pace in and around Elza. With temperatures hovering in the upper nineties, farm work tended to shift to the early mornings and late evenings. With their afternoons free, a lot of the farmers who previously had taken advantage of the newly established “Elza Farm Delivery Service” now came into town to replenish their supplies and, more importantly, to catch up on the local gossip that was regularly distributed under the awning at McMillan’s. Thus, on this exceptionally hot afternoon, Jesse, Cliff, and Jewel had little more to do with their day than sit on the curb in front of the Palace sipping RC Colas.

  “We could sit out here all day and not see her, you know,” Cliff piped.

  “Who?” Jesse asked.

  Jewel and Cliff looked at each other.

  “Do we have to go through this every day?” Jewel asked out of exasperation.

  Jesse’s face showed that he was genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Honestly, Jewel, he’s the smartest and dumbest person I’ve ever met all at the same time.”

  Jewel began to giggle as Gemma and her younger sister Jettie came out of Anna-Ruth’s dress shop and began walking north on the sidewalk. Jesse’s eyes focused on Gemma.

  “Where do you suppose they’re goin’?” Cliff asked, not expecting an answer.

  “McMillan’s to get the mail,” Jewel answered matter-of-factly.

  Jesse and Cliff looked at her.

  “They go every day.”

  “How do you know that?” Cliff asked.

  “I saw Gemma a couple of weeks ago while you two were off on a delivery. She said they go every afternoon to get the mail and the afternoon paper.”

  “How come we haven’t seem ‘em?” Jesse asked.

  “Because you two are always on deliveries or off fishin’.

  Jesse stood. “Come on,” he ordered.

  Jewel stood also, with a big grin on her face. “Come on,” she ordered Cliff who was still sitting.

  Reluctantly Cliff stood. “Great, we get to go watch Don Juan shudder and stammer and generally embarrass the entire male gender.”

  A few minutes later the three of them came to the porch under the awning of McMillan’s General Merchandise store. As usual, a few of the older locals were sitting out front, and with them was Chief Hightower and the Lowery brothers, Toad and Hunker.

  When the kids arrived, the two Crawford girls had already gone inside. Jesse, Cliff, and Jewel were in the process of heading in when Chief Hightower stood with a Dr Pepper in his hand and looked down the highway.

  “They’re here.”

  Everyone out front stood and watched as a line of trucks with music blasting came rolling east along highway 84.

  “It’s the carnival,” Cliff observed with a sense of excitement.

  Every summer for as far back as any of the kids could recall, a carnival had rolled into town and set up camp in a field on the south end of Main Street just past the domino hall. For kids, like Jesse, Jewel, and Cliff, it was one of the most exciting weekends of the year. All the farmers and their families would come in for the event, even folks from as far away as Reklaw, Sacul, and Maydelle would show up.

  The kids watched with understandable excitement as the colorful trucks drove past and made the turn up Main Street with music blasting on loud speakers. The carnival always slipped out of town in the night, almost unnoticed, but coming into town, the s
how did everything possible to draw attention.

  After they had passed, Cliff walked over to the chief. “Chief Hightower, did you know they were comin’?”

  “Of course. They always send an advance man to lease a lot,” he answered with a grin, knowing that it aggravated the boy that something this big was going on without him knowing beforehand.

  “Yesterday you and me sat right here and argued about who was the better hitter, Lou Gehrig or Paul Warner. And, you’re still wrong, by the way. Gehrig can hit circles around Warner.”

  “Well, he didn’t last night.”

  “Maybe not, but in twenty years, folks will still be talking about how good Gehrig was, and no one’s goin’ to remember Paul Warner.”

  “Well, in twenty years, if Lou Gehrig is still hittin’ homers, I’ll concede.”

  “He probably will be, but that’s not the point. The point is, we sat here and argued baseball for the better part of an hour, and you didn’t feel like it was important to mention that the carnival was comin’ to town?” The boy argued with exasperation.

  “I guess I figured that you’d see ‘em when they got here just like everybody else.”

  “It wouldn’t have hurt for you to mention it.”

  “Well, Cliff, I didn’t realize that aside from keeping the peace my job required me to report all interesting happenings to you.”

  Frustrated, Cliff turned and walked back to his two friends. “Maybe you should put it on your list of things to do.”

  Jefferson laughed and took a sip of his Dr Pepper as Cliff joined his two friends who were well entertained by Cliff’s frustration with the chief.