They finally decided to leave the truck parked by the highway and walk down the alley and carry Sarah back. Cliff had brought along an old tarp, so they wrapped her up. Then the two tried to lift her. Neither boy expected that she would be so heavy. The boys were already worn out from pushing the truck up to the highway. They finally decided that it would be easier to push the truck down the alley, put Sarah in and then push it back to the highway.
Once they were finally in the truck, neither boy spoke. They both knew where they were going and what they had to do.
Jesse drove slowly into New Birmingham. Without headlights it was difficult to see, but he could make out the main road and the mine and smelter at the end of the street.
The old Ford coughed as they passed the Southern Hotel.
Inside the hotel Shakes woke with a start. In all the time he had lived there the only sound he had heard at night was the occasional hoot owl. Suddenly it sounded as if an army was passing through. He leaped to his feet from his little bed and crept to the door. Out front he saw an old Ford stake-bed slowly pass by. The truck came to a stop at the old mineshaft.
Shakes crept through the darkness along the main street in order to watch. Two boys got out of the truck. They couldn’t have been more than ten or twelve years old. Shakes finally got close enough to recognize them. They were the two boys who visited his little paradise a few weeks before. He clearly got a look at the one who had tried to come into the hotel.
Shakes watched as the boys lifted something off the back of the truck. It was heavy. Much too heavy for two boys of that size to carry, but they struggled and managed to get it to the edge of the shaft. Though he wasn’t sure, Shakes thought that it looked like a body. They then tied a rope around it and looped the rope around the axel of the truck and began lowering it into the shaft. It was all they could do to lower it without losing control. Both boys were on the ground with their feet jammed against the rear tire of the truck as they let the rope slowly slide through their hands. Finally they came to the end of the rope. The boys held tight for a moment as they whispered back and forth. Finally they let go of the rope. A moment later Shakes heard a loud splash.
The boys then got into the truck and drove out of town.
Chapter 12
NECHES RIVER BRIDGE
8:40 a.m., Thursday December 4, 1941
Nathaniel Elbridge Cockwright was on his way to having the day of his life. Up to this point the case hadn’t been going as well as he’d planned. The fingerprints had been solid, and there was no question that they belonged to Rose, and there was equally no question that Rose had opportunity, motive, and ability. All things considered, it should be a simple case to prosecute. The kid did it; it was just a matter of convincing the jury to convict.
Wilhelm Dinkler III, however, was not making it all that easy. Dinkler had managed to claim that Rose’s prints could be months old, and pointed out that Jesse had been seen in the car any number of times and even managed to produce a witness, well, actually, seven witnesses, who claimed to have seen the defendant behind the wheel of that particular car more than once. It took some smooth talking for Nathaniel to sway the jury. The bottom line, as Nathanial so eloquently pointed out, was that all the witnesses were residents of Elza, and it had become well known that the residents of Elza were almost completely and, quite frankly, inexplicably united in support of the young killer. As a matter of fact, and Nathaniel used this in his argument, at that very moment there hung a banner across Main Street reading “Free Jesse.” One couldn’t blame them too much. The kid had grown up in the town, and those people were understandably hesitant to believe that one of their own would do such a thing, another argument that Nathaniel had used. Still, the punk had murdered one of their own. It’s hard to believe that the entire town would behave so foolishly. How would these cow-herders feel if the kid somehow got acquitted and went out and did it again?
Fortunately these turnip-growers had someone like Nathaniel to protect them from their own poor judgment. That, of course, is why governments and laws exists. The simple and uneducated elect those who are wiser and better equipped to make decisions that the masses are not capable of making on their own.
Fortunately for the people of Elza, the course of the trial was about to change. Everything had been planned. Nathaniel had orchestrated the entire trial to lead up to this day. He’d managed to get just what he wanted on the jury. With the exception of two, all the jurors were low-income farmers, or in the case of three, wives of farmers. The two exceptions were no less helpful to the prosecution. One of them was a railroad worker who spent most of his days fending off hobos, and the other was a parts manager at the Ford dealership in Jacksonville. None, not a single juror, was anywhere remotely as privileged as the defendant. All it was going to take was for those twelve hard-working citizens to get one good look at the place where this son of a rich oil man left his “best friend,” the son of a poor dirt-farmer, to die, and the case would be over. Dinkler could do what he wanted; he wouldn’t be able to get that image out of those people’s minds.
Nathaniel had arranged for three dozen copies of the crime scene photos to be printed and ready so that each juror, and of course Judge Buckner, could stand on that bridge and look down and see just how brutally this innocent kid had been killed. There was not a jury in Texas that would vote to acquit after that.
Nathaniel stood with a broad smile next to the bridge with Primrose, who had in his hands the photographs. Dinkler, his client, and the three witnesses, as well as the judge, two bailiffs, and the twelve jurors, walked toward them along the tracks. Cockwright couldn’t help but smile; he was about to hit a grand slam, and there was nothing this Houston lawyer could do about it.
As they approached, Judge Buckner stepped up on the tracks between the two iron supports of the bridge and addressed the group, “Once again, you are to behave just as if we were still in the courtroom. Jury, until we adjourn to the vehicles, you are not to speak to one another, and any questions to the attorneys or witnesses are to be directed first to me. Witnesses, you are all still under oath. Does anyone have any questions?”
Cockwright rolled his eyes. Of course, those dimwitted hoe-pullers had questions. Only five of them had better than a fifth-grade education.
Judicial integrity was, of course, imperative, but Nathaniel couldn’t understand why Buckner was so insistent that there be no outsiders present - not even the press. This case was the biggest story in Texas, and this little excursion was going to introduce the most important testimony in the case. Not allowing the press was going to cheat the people of the state the right to see judicial process played out at its finest.
Nevertheless, despite Nathaniel’s protests, the Judge’s word was final, and he had decided that the press had to remain all the way down the tracks at the road crossing, which meant that not a single photograph of Nathaniel making his case right above where the bloody killing took place was going to make the morning papers. Once more, Nathaniel Elbridge Cockwright was going to be cheated out of a guaranteed vote-winning opportunity.
“Since there are no questions,” Buckner continued, “Mr. Cockwright, you may call your first witness.”
Nathaniel had thought long and hard about how proceed. He could make a long impassioned speech and then call the witness. Or he could start by passing out the photographs and then let the witness speak. Finally he decided to play this with caution. He’d begin by letting the witness tell his story, followed by letting the half-wit police chief tell his story. Then he’d pass out the photographs and ask for the judge to allow the jurors to view the scene for themselves. The way Nathaniel saw it, the more he built up the scene, the greater the impact.
“I’d like to call Mr. Hunker Lowery, your Honor.”
That name in itself said everything one needed to know about the collective intelligence of the resident of Cherokee County Texas. Who, other than ano
ther back-woods pea-farmer, would name his kid, Hunker? Nathaniel didn’t at first believe that Hunker was a real name until he’d had Coleman check the county records. Sure enough, it was right there. Along with his equally dimwitted brother, Toad, who quite coincidentally, looked like a toad.
“Mr. Lowery, will you step up here onto the bridge?”
Lowery walked up to Buckner.
“Mr. Lowery, I will remind you that you are still under oath.”
“Yes, sir, your honor, sir,” Hunker replied. Chief Hightower had spent more than an hour that morning telling the two brothers how to behave in court. That was all the more difficult since, although court was taking place, they were not physically in a courtroom. The concept of being in court while not being in court completely dumbfounded the Lowery brothers. Hunker especially couldn’t understand why he had to get dressed up just to go down to the bridge. He also didn’t understand why he couldn’t bring his rifle.
“Mr. Lowery,” Nathaniel, began, “you were the first to spot the deceased?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please tell the jury what happened.”
Hunker swallowed hard. He wasn’t accustomed to speaking to large groups of people.
“Well, me and Toad, we’d been huntin’.”
“Toad? Would be your brother?” Nathaniel interrupted for clarification.
“Well, yeah. He’s right over there,” Hunker explained pointing at his brother. “You met him last week, don’t you remember?”
“Yes, Mr. Lowery, I remember your brother. I just wanted to clarify for the jury. Please continue.”
Hunker paused, not having a clue what the word “clarify” meant. He froze for a moment as he looked at the faces of the jurors, all of whom seemed to know what the C.A. had just said. He finally looked at Chief Jefferson Hightower, who was standing next to Toad. Jefferson smiled slightly and nodded his head.
“Well,” Hunker continued hesitantly as he glanced back at the C.A., expecting to be interrupted. “Me and Toad was walkin’ across this bridge when I saw the tail of this big gator. I didn’t waste no time ‘cause gators move real quick, and if ya don’t shoot quick ya ain’t gonna get no second chance. They’ll duck under.”
“Where exactly were you and your brother standing when you spotted the alligator?” Nathaniel asked.
Hunker pointed to the other end of the bridge. “We was right over there.”
“And where was the alligator?”
“The gator was right down there,” Hunker said as he turned and pointed to the riverbed just below where he was standing.
“Please tell us what happened next.”
Hunker didn’t answer. He just looked down the slope.
“Mr. Lowery, please continue your story,” Nathaniel repeated.
Hunker just stared down the slope, now showing some shock on his face.
“Good lord, that’s Jewel Stoker,” he said as he suddenly leaped off the bridge and down the slope.
“Mr. Lowery, you are under oath,” Nathaniel said, almost yelling as Hunker disappeared from sight.
On the opposite side of the tracks Chief Hightower suddenly realized what was happening and ran across. When he got to the side of the bridge he looked down and said, “Dear God,” as he looked at Jewel Stoker’s mangled body impaled upon a small stump left broken from when they pulled Cliff’s body from the same spot.
“Your honor,” Nathaniel said in dismay as the judge also ran to look over the side of the bridge.
“Dear Lord,” Buckner said when he saw the girl’s body lying on her back with a piece of tree stump protruding out of her chest.
“Your honor, please,” Nathaniel pleaded,
Buckner furiously whipped his head toward the C.A. “Nathaniel, shut up!” He then looked at one of the bailiffs. “Jimmy, get the jury out of here right now!”
As the bailiff began herding the jury away, Jesse, followed by his attorney, and Toad Lowery rushed across the tracks and looked down from the bridge. Hunker was next to the body.
“It’s Jewel Stoker alright,” Hunker yelled up. “She’s been here a while, Jefferson. The critters have been eatin’ all over her. Ain’t no gator tracks, though. That one I shot must be the only one around here.”
“Get back up here, Hunker,” the Chief ordered. “Be careful not to step in any tracks.”
Jefferson then turned to the Judge. “Your honor, I need to ask you to get your people out of here.”
“Understood Chief,” Buckner began just as Nathaniel got to the side of the bridge.
“Your, honor, you can’t send the jury off, I need to set the scene, and I have pictures.”
“Damn it, Nathaniel, you open your mouth again and I’m pullin’ you off this case and sendin’ it up to Anderson County.”
The judge looked at Dinkler and Jesse, who were standing next to him.
“Mr. Dinkler, I need you to get your client back to the courthouse, right now,” Buckner ordered.
Then the judge looked at Jesse who was standing stunned as he looked down at the riverside.
“Are you okay, son?” Buckner asked tenderly.
Jesse just stood there without saying a word. Dinkler grabbed his arm and pulled, but Jesse didn’t budge.
“Please, Jesse.” We need to go,” Dinkler said.
Finally Jesse looked at him and the two walked away.
“Go with them, Cockwright,” Buckner ordered to Nathaniel, who was still staring off the bridge.
Nathaniel looked at Jefferson with eyes wide. “You’re going to get crime scene photographs of this aren’t you?”
“Go!” Buckner ordered, and Nathaniel headed away with a bit of delight.
As they were walking away, the Chief looked over at Toad, who was staring off the bridge. “Toad, you’re a deputy again. Go into town and find Corporal McKinney. Also find Shorty and Hobe and tell them that they’re deputies, too.”
“Does this mean that we get paid again?”
“Yes, Toad,” Jefferson answered somewhat impatiently. “You and your brother will get paid. Now go get the Corporal.”
Toad headed down the tracks and looked over at his brother who was coming up the slope. “Hunker, we’re deputies again.”
“Hunker,” Jefferson said, looking at the two, “go down the tracks a bit and make sure nobody comes down here.”
Hunker nodded and scuffled off with his brother.
The judge watched with disgust as the C.A., now joined by his deputy, walked somewhat joyfully to their car, then he turned to the Chief. “That kid didn’t do this, did he, Chief?” He said evenly.
“No, sir, he didn’t.”
“He didn’t kill that kid we’re tryin’ him for either, did he?”
Jefferson looked at the judge somewhat uncomfortably but also with a bit of new respect. “No, sir, he didn’t. We know who did it. We don’t know where he is, and we don’t have enough evidence, but we know who he is.”
“I’m going to put this case on hold, so you can have some more time. The C.A.’s almost dancin’ ‘cause he’s got another murder to prosecute. The papers will be all over this. Most likely they’re goin’ to be pointin’ all their fingers at that boy.”
Buckner looked back down the hill, “You’ve got to get this guy, Chief. This is a mean one. When you and that Ranger get finished here, I want you two to come see me. I don’t care if it’s after midnight, just come out to my house and wake me up. You got that?”
“Yes, sir, Judge.”
Jefferson watched as the judge continued to look down at Jewel.
“Good God, Chief. I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Jefferson looked down the slope. “That’s what I said when we found Cliff.”
#
RUSK, TEXAS
9:15 p.m., Thursday December 4, 1941
It had been a long afternoon and evening for Chief Hightower and Corporal McKinney. It was almost noon before Toad had managed to find the Corporal and get him back to the river. They then spent the next three hours searching the riverbed and railroad tracks for evidence. After that the chief and corporal spent the rest of the day driving all over East Texas trying to find Richard Crawford. They were on the way home for the evening when Jefferson suddenly remembered that the judge had all but ordered him to give him a report.
On the way to Judge Buckner’s house, Jefferson and McKinney had quite a discussion as to whether it was ethical or even legal to report their findings in an active murder investigation. It seemed all the more questionable considering that Buckner was the judge presiding over one of the murder cases that they were investigating. But, as Corporal McKinney pointed out, for that very reason they had no choice but to obey his demand.
It was after nine o’clock when they finally walked into the judge’s home. The house was one of the largest, if not the largest, in Rusk, with an enormous wide, white porch supported by white Roman columns. Inside the house, the judge brought coffee as the three of them settled around a huge mahogany dining room table. Jefferson was somewhat uncomfortable. The only time he had been in a house anywhere near that large was only a few weeks earlier when he first questioned Jesse Rose, and that house wasn’t nearly as large as Judge Buckner’s.
“I appreciate the two of you coming. I know this is highly irregular, and I’m going to probably have to recuse myself from these proceedings, but it can’t be helped. The fact of the matter is that I have a County Attorney whose only interest in this case is getting his face in the papers in order to run for some statewide office. This morning I realized that we have a serious killer running around this county, and the only officials interested in catching him are sitting in this room.
That Night at the Palace Page 29
