Confession

by Gary Whitmore

Sam and Elmer got inside his car. After he started it up, Sam turned his car around and drove back down the road.

  He got to the end and turned left on the two-lane road. Then about five hundred yards, he turned right to Elmer’s driveway, which led to that old farmhouse he saw earlier.

  “I don’t recall seeing this farmhouse when I was here in sixty-five”.

  “It was here, but I use to have lots of trees and bushes by the street. So you couldn’t see it from the road.”

  They went inside Elmer’s house and it was in dire need of a good cleaning. His wife Edith would have a hissy fit if she saw how Elmer didn’t keep the house to her spic and span standards.

  They went to his kitchen where he immediately started cleaning the fish for frying after the pot of coffee was brewed.

  “You said you remembered that day?” Sam said while he sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and his note pad ready.

  “I sure do,” Elmer said while he dropped two fish into a frying pan.

  “Did you see anything that night?”

  “I was on the front porch smoking my cigar. My wife, Ethel wouldn’t allow me to smoke in the house, she said it stunk everything up,” Elmer said then he paused for a minute.

  “And?”

  “Oh yeah, then I heard numerous blood curdling screams from the woods across the road in the direction of the lake. I ran back inside and grabbed my rifle, a Winchester Model seventy. Then I ran down my front yard to the trees by the road. I hid behind a tree and looked in the direction of the dirt road by the sign for the lake. It was quiet but something still seemed odd with those screams. So I waited and I waited. Then I saw some car headlights drive down the road. The car stopped, and then it drove a little farther down the road and stopped. Then the car drove out of the dirt road and turned right onto the road in front of my house. It raced away down the street.”

  “Do you recall what type of car?” Sam asked while he jotted down that information.

  “Sure. I still remember that day like it was yesterday. It was red Chevy. I believe it was a, ah,” Elmer said then he strained to remember. “Ah yes, it was a newer Impala with a young man driving. But it was dark so I couldn’t see much of his face, but I knew he was young,” Elmer replied. Then is eyes lit up when he remembered something else. “Oh yeah, there was someone in the passenger seat, but I couldn’t tell if it was a woman or man since it was dark.”

  “I don’t recall the local Sheriff telling me this information. If he did, I would have talked with you back then,” Sam said a little concerned.

  “I didn’t say anything because I thought it was just two teenagers fooling around by the lake. That use to be a hangout for them having sex,” Elmer said with a grin.

  Sam looked disappointed as that information could have helped when he was investigating the case.

  “But I did see the Sheriff in town a week later. I went ahead and told him what I saw,” Elmer added.

  “Why didn’t he pass that onto me?” Sam said and looked upset.

  “Maybe it's because he was Klan and hated government agents in his jurisdiction. He remembered the FBI being all over the town of Philadelphia back in sixty-four. He said he could do a better job of catching that killer than that stupid FBI agent,” Elmer said while he removed the two fried bass and placed them on some plates.

  Elmer’s comment hurt Sam’s feeling a little.

  “Yep. We had a few Klan hangings in our neck of the woods, not much. It was terrible, but we knew it would be better to keep our mouths shut,” Elmer said while he walked the bass over to the table.

  “Looks good,” Sam said while he grabbed his fork.

  They ate their trout dinners while they talked.

  “So, are you trying to catch that killer?”

  “I sure hope so,” Sam replied after he finished chewing on some bass.

  “Good, I remember reading how that killer got away. He should spend the rest of his life in jail!” Elmer said then took a bite of bass.

  They continued to eat and talk.

  After they finished the bass, Sam and Elmer sat in his living room couch and drank coffee to go with their small talk.

  “Well Elmer, I have to be hitting the road. I’m driving down to Curtis, Mississippi,” Sam said while he got off the couch.

  Elmer looked disappointed while he got off the couch.

  He walked Sam to the front door.

  “Thank you so very much for your time, Elmer,” Sam said while he extended out his hand.

  “My pleasure and I’ll pray that you catch that killer.”

  Elmer opened the door for Sam and watched him leave.

  He closed the door and looked at his empty house. He looked sad, as he loved the company Sam. He was again lonely. He sure missed his wife Edith.

  Sam got in his car and headed back to Downing so he could take the road south to Mississippi.

  Meanwhile, back in St. Cloud, Becky and Marty were still cleaning Allan’s house.

  She cleaned the bathroom while Marty vacuumed the carpet. The vast majority of Allan’s belongings were packed away in boxes.

  There was one special box where Becky packed all of Allan’s family photo albums. She was taking that box home. The rest of them were going to be sold at their garage sale or donated to Goodwill.

  Hours later, Sam drove to the outskirts of Curtis, Mississippi and found a Motel 6. He pulled into the parking lot and parked his car.

  Fifteen minutes later, Sam was in his hotel room and took a nice hot shower to get reenergized. Doing this investigative work on the road after forty years was exhausting at his age.

  After his shower, he lay on the bed and reviewed his notes. His shower didn’t help, as he got sleepy. His eyelids slowly closed and he fell asleep with his notepad in his hand.

  Elsewhere in Curtis, Billy stood in his den and stared at his pictures of Allan and himself on fishing and camping trips. He was on his fifth glass of whiskey and water. He looked pissed while he stared at the pictures. “I thought we would keep this our secret? What happened big brother? You lied to me!” Billy scolded the memories with Alan.

  Two hours later in Sam’s hotel room, he was sound asleep on the bed and mumbled while he tossed and turned.

  His cell phone rang on the bedside table. He jumped up startled, and he looked around a little confused and dazed. He realized it was his cell phone ringing. He reached over and opened it up. He looked at the viewfinder then quickly looked at his watch.

  “Hello darling. Sorry I didn’t call sooner. I was exhausted and fell asleep,” Sam answered his cell phone.

  “Maybe you should come home.”

  “I can’t. I’m getting some great information,” Sam said with a determined look that he was going the whole nine yards.

  “If you must,” she replied, as she knew there was no way she could change his mind. “Anyway, what time will you be home tomorrow?”

  Sam cringed. “I know I'm on the verge of being killed, again, but I made a side trip to Tennessee and talked with this helpful old man.”

  “I thought you were going straight to Mississippi?” she snapped at him from the phone.

  “I know, I’m now in Mississippi. I’ll be here at least tomorrow. I have some research to conduct,” Sam said.

  There was a few seconds of silence, which seemed like an eternity to Sam. “Okay, but don’t forget Kristen’s play. She has her heart set on you attending,” she said. “Plus be extra careful. I want you back home alive.”

  “I won’t miss her play. And don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. After all, I did this for forty years without being shot.”

  There was a long moment of silence from his cell. “Sam, this is starting to worry me sick. No wonder your wife divorced you,” she said with a worried tone.

  “I know honey. If I don’t try this one last time, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

  There was another long moment of silence on the cell phone. “Okay. Be careful.”


  Sam closed his cell phone and looked at the five file folders and Allan’s book on the bed. He started to have the urge for a good stiff drink of whisky.

  Back in Florida, Marty grabbed Allan’s old laptop. Since Becky was sound asleep in bed, Marty powered up the laptop.

  He started to navigate through all the files on that computer to search for any possible evidence Allan had saved.

  Chapter 23

  Sam slept in and woke at nine that morning in Curtis, Mississippi.

  He got out of bed and took a shower.

  He changed clothes and stashed his file folders in his overnight bag.

  He left his room with his book.

  Sam drove around Curtis to get a feel for the town. Since it wasn’t that huge, with a population of three thousand, nine hundred and eighty-seven people.

  He drove around and eventually found the Stein Chevrolet dealership.

  Sam drove farther down the street.

  He stopped when he found a nice family style diner.

  He went inside for breakfast.

  After breakfast, Sam drove to the Curtis Library. He parked his car and walked inside with his book in hand.

  Sam walked up to the front counter where Sara Cunningham, an old white haired African-American woman worked.

  “Excuse me, I need to search for some old newspaper articles from this area.”

  Sara glanced up from her desk. “I’ll show you where the reel machine is located,” she said with a smile then she walked out from behind the counter.

  Sam followed Sara to the back of the library where the reel machine was located.

  “The reels are organized by years and months,” she said while she pointed to a cabinet with drawers. “Come see me if you have any problems,” she said with a smile.

  She walked away and headed back to the front counter.

  Sam opened up the drawer with “1945 – 1950” drawer.

  He removed the “Aug - Dec 1948” reel and sat down at the reel machine.

  He read the placard on the machine and inserted the reel.

  His cell phone rang, and he opened it up and looked in the viewfinder.

  “Hey Charles,” Sam quickly answered.

  “Dad, those two guys, John Watson and Joe Vaughn checked out. The third guy, Billy Stein, was in the Army Reserves from nineteen sixty-three until nineteen sixty-seven. He spent his duty at Camp Shelby in Mississippi,” Charles replied from Sam’s cell phone.

  “Okay, thanks son.”

  “Were are you now?”

  “Curtis, Mississippi.”

  “Please be careful,” Charles responded.

  “I will. I’ll talk to you later,” Sam said then closed his cell phone.

  Sam started viewing the reel.

  He spent twenty minutes and went through the whole reel, and found nothing. He scratched his head then opened up his book to the first chapter. “He stated it happened in the summer of nineteen forty-eight,” Sam said while he looked at the book.

  Sam got up and walked back to the front counter.

  “Excuse me, I need some assistance with finding some articles,” Sam told Sara.

  She smiled and walked out from behind the counter.

  “What’s the problem?” she asked while she walked to the machine and Sam tagged along.

  “I’m looking for an article that probably came out in August of forty-eight,” he said while they walked to the reel machine.

  What’s the article about?” Sara said. “I’ve lived in Curtis my whole life. I might remember.”

  “It’s about a redneck that raped then killed a young black girl. Then he tried to kill a young boy and his older brother killed the redneck with a baseball bat. And I believe a black man was blamed then hung for the death of the redneck,” Sam told her.

  Sara looked at Sam as that sounded so familiar. “Are you from around here?”

  “No ma-am, I’m from Florida. My name is Sam Woods and I’m a retired FBI agent,” he told her while he removed his wallet and showed her his identification card and Florida driver’s license.

  “How did you know about what happened with Abraham Jones?” she curiously asked.

  “This book started off with that story,” he said while he showed her the A Killer’s Tale book.

  Sara looked at the book. “I don’t read murder books,” she said then her eyes lit up when she saw the author’s name. “Allan Stein wrote it. I loath him and his brother,” Sara said with hatred in her eyes.

  Sam knew he found a friend. “So that really happened?”

  “Yes, but I remember it happening around July nineteen forty-nine,” she said while she opened up a drawer and removed a “Jan – Jul 1949” reel. She sat down and inserted it into the machine.

  Within a few minutes, the article from August 4, 1949 from the Curtis Bugle appeared. The article was about Kenny Booker found naked, dead, near the dead naked body of Carrie Washington, a teenaged colored girl. It further stated that Sheriff Jimmy Nathan would conduct an investigation.

  Sam looked at the screen then got a smirk. He printed out two copies.

  “Why would a retired FBI agent be concerned with something that happened over fifty years ago?”

  Sam showed her the book and told her the story of the October Slayer case and why he thought the book would reveal the identity of the killer.

  “Like I said, I didn’t read that book. But here’s what I know. Little Stevie Jones ran home one August day scared to death. He told his daddy he saw a white man being beaten to death in the woods with a baseball bat by a white boy he recognized. The man fell to the ground near a naked colored girl.”

  “That follows the book.” Sam replied.

  Sara thought for a few seconds. “I don’t recall if I ever heard who beat that white man.”

  Sam looked disappointed with that part of her memory.

  “Then two nights later, six KKK men busted into Abraham’s home and dragged him outside. They strung up a rope and hung poor Abraham for killing that white man. Apparently, he was a KKK man from Washburn County. Anyway, after Abraham was killed, his mother, Marsha, sent Stevie to live with her sister in Alabama to save him from being beaten or hung,” Sara said while her eyes welled up. It had been a long time since she thought about those days.

  “Now there was this other story in Allan’s book where the Sheriff of the town, raped young black girls in sixty-one and tried to get them to testify in court that a young black man raped them.”

  Sara thought about what Sam told her. She opened up another drawer and removed a “Jan – Jul 1962” reel. She ejected the other reel and inserted the new one.

  A few minutes later, she found a Curtis Bugle news article for February 21,1962. It was about Jerome Franklin, a young colored man that was sentenced to twenty years for rape.

  “Poor Jerome. We in the black community knew he was innocent and that Sheriff Stein framed him.”

  “Sheriff Stein?”

  “Yes. Billy Stein was the Sheriff at the time. He got the job because of his father’s influence. Shorty after he took over in sixty-one, he was rumored to be raping numerous black girls to show off his power,” Sara said while these old memories were making her angry.

  Sam found that information interesting. “This is sounding just like the book,” he said while he printed out two copies of that news article.

  Sara picked up the book. “You need to talk with Martha Jones. She’ll tell you some more good information about the white man beaten to death,” she told Sam.

  “I would like that. Where does she live?”

  “She’s my neighbor. I’ll take you there,” Sara offered.

  “Thank you,” he replied then followed Sara to the doors of the library.

  Sam followed Sara in her car to Marsha’s house out in the country.

  After some quick introductions and why it was important for Sam to talk to Marsha, she invited them inside. They sat down on her couch.

  Marsha was an old African Americ
an woman with a head full of white hair and face full of wrinkles. Half of her teeth were long gone.

  “I remember that day like it was yesterday. My boy Stevie ran into the house sweaty, out of breath and scared to death. After he calmed down, he told us how he just saw Billy Stein beat a white man to death with a baseball while his older brother, Allan, watched. Then Billy ran off while Allan stayed behind. He looked the two dead bodies over,” she told Sam then her eyes welled up. “Then two nights later, some KKK thugs broke into our home and dragged my Abraham outside. The hung him saying he killed that white man, who was KKK,” Marsha said then her eyes filled with tears.

  “Can I talk to Stevie?”

  “No you can’t. He joined the Army in sixty and had a great career. Then he went to Vietnam in seventy and was found stabbed to death in an alley in Saigon,” she told him while her eyes welled up again.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about that.”

  “The Army investigated but couldn’t identify the killer,” Marsha added. “So typical.”

  Sam felt so sorry for the horrible events in Marsha’s life. “I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to spend time with you.”

  “Mister Woods, I think Billy is the killer you want,” Marsha said with conviction.

  Sam stood up. “Thank you ma-am. I’m going to find out if that’s true,” he said.

  Marsha and Sara walked Sam to her front door. Then Sara’s eyes lit up when she had an idea. “You need to talk to Gertie,” Sara said.

  “Gertie?” Sam curiously asked.

  “Yeah, Gertie from the sixty-two story,” Sara said.

  Sam felt like he struck gold. “Where were you back in the sixties when I needed a good lead?” he asked Marsha and Sara.

  “Hiding scared from the law, as they were in cahoots with the Klan,” Sara said.

  “But no more!” Marsha added.

  Fifteen minutes later, Sam followed Sara’s car a little farther down the street to another house in the country.

  They turned down a dirt road.