by Parrish, PJ
The journal. Dodie had to know about it. “Sheriff…”
“Yeah?”
“Where are my clothes?”
“Why?”
“I need them. Check the cabinet.” Louis moved gingerly, pointing to the cupboard.
Dodie frowned. “Louis, we threw them away.”
Louis fell back, grimacing in pain, his fist doubled. “No, goddamn it, no.”
“What the hell do you need bloody clothes for?”
“I had proof. Sheriff. I had Kelly nailed.”
“For the lynching?”
Louis nodded, pain shooting through his abdomen. He tightened, gritting his teeth.
“You all right?” Dodie asked.
“I don’t believe this.”
“It was just a bunch of bloody clothes, Louis.”
“No, no, there were some papers. Earl kept a journal. He wrote it all down.”
“He admitted to it? On paper?”
“The whole thing. Him, Max, George and Kelly. They killed Eugene Graham in the summer of ‘55.”
Dodie sat back down with a thud. “Jesus Christ…”
The nurse returned with a paper cup. She helped Louis take the two pills, straightened his blanket, checked his IV, then slipped back out.
“Louis,” Dodie said. “You know some 30-year-old piece of paper won’t get anyone convicted. Especially since there ain’t no witnesses left. Plus, they was minors in '55. Ain’t no court could touch ’em.”
“Still,” Louis said softly. “I wanted people to know. I wanted you to know.”
“Why, Louis? It was over. Why?”
Louis looked at him. But before he could answer, Dodie held up a hand, shaking his head slowly.
“I know why,” he said. “It was because it was the truth.”
Louis closed his eyes with a sigh. Dodie looked at him for a long time, thinking back to his conversation with Kelly. He started to speak when his eyes drifted to the fading scar on Louis’s neck. He cleared his throat.
“I fired Larry. Kelly gave him a job.”
“Figures.”
“He took twenty stitches in the face.”
“Should’ve been a hundred and twenty.”
“Yeah, well, you did a number on him.”
Louis didn’t reply. The sleeping pill was kicking in. Dodie stood up. “I reckon you need your rest. I’ll be headin’ home.”
Louis nodded sleepily. Dodie touched his arm. “I’ll stop back tomorrow and see if you need anything.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Louis said, closing his eyes.
Dodie went to the door then paused, turning around. “Louis, you’re a good cop. I’ve been meaning to tell you that for some time now,” he said. “I always knowed it. I knew it since that day in the woods last December.”
Louis didn’t reply.
“Louis?”
Dodie pulled on his cap and left.
Chapter 33
Louis got out of his car and waited while the black Lincoln cruised to a stop in the next parking place. He looked at his watch. Right on time.
Winston Gibbons and a second black man got out of the Lincoln. They straightened their dark overcoats, shared a smile, and looked over at Louis.
Louis moved up the walk of the courthouse, bypassing the sidewalk that led to the station. Although the wound in his side was still sore, there was a spring to his step.
Mayor Kelly was coming out of the double doors, and both of them stopped. For a second, the two men eyed each other warily.
The two FBI agents stopped a few steps behind Louis. Kelly slowly came down to Louis. Louis felt his muscles tighten but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was just being in the presence of Kelly and knowing what he had done.
“Good morning, Kincaid.”
Louis nodded.
“Glad to see you’re all right.”
Louis didn’t reply as he stared at Kelly. Finally Kelly cleared his throat. “Look, Kincaid, I know what you think of me, but you’re wrong.”
“I am not wrong,” Louis said, shaking his head.
Kelly offered a half smile. “You still think I’m guilty of something. I assure you I am not. This whole mess with Max and Grace…and that boy…What’s his name again?”
Louis clenched his jaw. “Eugene Graham.”
Kelly nodded. “It’s all very tragic. And although I don’t agree with your methods and the end result, I have to commend you on your determination. If it were up to me, though, innocent or not, I’d still have you in jail for assault on a police officer.”
“It wasn’t up to you. It was up to Sheriff Dodie.”
“Well, the man never did have very good judgment.”
Louis took a deep breath. “Mayor, were you aware Earl Mulcahey kept a journal?”
“No. Why would I care?”
“He wrote it all down.”
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Kincaid. Wrote all what down?”
Kelly’s face remained impassive. Louis hesitated. Was it possible the “Wallie” in the journal was a different Walt? Was Kelly innocent after all?
“The whole story of the lynching. How Earl and Max and George…” Louis stopped. “How they lynched Eugene Graham.”
Kelly sighed. “Just another story that somebody will use to disgrace the fine state of Mississippi.”
“You folks don’t need help doing that.”
“Kincaid, let me tell you something,” Kelly said. “This whole thing never had to end like it did. You think I stonewalled you because of my beliefs. My feelings about race played no part in my desire to see this case closed quietly.” Kelly stopped, taking a breath. “Do you know where Neshoba County is, Kincaid?”
“Yes.”
“And how do you know of it?”
“That’s where the three civil-rights workers were killed in 1964.”
Kelly met his eyes. “Twenty years later, they still talk about it. Tourists who drive into that town ask where the earthen dam is. They stop to have their pictures taken in front of the jail. That is that town’s sad legacy, Kincaid, a shadow cast forever. I didn’t want the same thing to happen here.”
“It’s not the crime that casts the shadow. Mayor, it’s the absence of justice,” Louis said tightly. “Maybe if you recognized that, then people would begin to forget. And maybe forgive.”
Kelly’s eyes hardened. “Look, Kincaid, we know better than anybody what our sad history is. We’re working hard to put it behind us. But people like you, with your self-righteous vendettas, you keep kicking up the same old dirt. And one day it has to stop.”
Louis remained silent.
“I’m proud to be a Southerner, Kincaid,” Kelly said quietly. “I know who I am and what I stand for. Do you?”
Louis smiled. “Yes, I do. And the strange part is, I have you and your friends to thank for it.”
Kelly blinked several times then gave him a tight smile of his own. “Then at least one good thing has come out of all this.” Kelly turned away from Louis and continued down the walk, eyeing the two FBI agents as he passed.
“Kelly,” Louis called.
The mayor turned, squinting into the sun.
“You might want to watch this,” Louis said, continuing up the steps.
Gibbons and his partner followed Louis through the door and up the marble steps to the second floor. Louis and the two distinguished black men parading through the courthouse corridors drew stares from curious clerks and receptionists. Louis heard the door below open and knew Kelly had come back in the building.
Louis pushed open the door labeled Mayor’s Office, and strode by the wide-eyed clerk to the secretary’s desk. The woman’s eyes moved nervously across the faces of the three men. Louis saw his cousin Charles glance up, his eyes widening.
Larry, dressed in a cheap suit and thin tie, was standing by the window, feeding papers into a noisy shredder. As if he sensed trouble, Larry raised his head slowly.
His flecked green eyes grew dark as they settled on Louis, th
en changed abruptly, glazing over with apprehension as they shifted to Gibbons and his partner. The two FBI agents walked as a pair to Larry, looked at each other, then at Larry.
“What the fuck’s goin’ on here?” Larry asked.
“Are you Lawrence Cutter?”
Larry’s eyes darted to Louis. Louis smiled, folding his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I’m Cutter,” Larry said, looking back at Gibbons. “Who wants to know?”
“Agent Gibbons and Agent Marks. Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“That’s the FBI, Larry,” the secretary said softly.
“I know who the hell it is.”
“You are under arrest for violating the civil rights of Louis Washington Kincaid on the night of January twentieth.”
“What?”
Gibbons took out his handcuffs. He looked at Marks and smiled. “I haven’t done this since 1969.” He looked back at Larry. “Turn around. You have the right to remain silent…”
“This is a fuckin’ joke,” Larry said, turning slowly.
Gibbons cuffed Larry; Marks grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the window.
“Wait! Somebody call Kelly,” Larry yelled.
Marks led Larry to the door, jerking him to a halt in front of Louis. “Don’t worry,” Louis said, “cops don’t live long in prison.”
“Fuck you, Kincaid.”
Marks pulled Larry out the door. Louis took a second to scan the astonished faces and when he reached Charles, he grinned. Charles looked as if he had seen a ghost. Then slowly he began to smile.
Louis hurried down the steps after Gibbons and Marks. The two agents shoved by Kelly, yanking Larry along. Louis stopped at the bottom step.
Kelly gripped the bannister. “We had a deal, Kincaid.”
Louis looked at him. “Deal? I don’t make deals, Kelly.”
Kelly pointed toward the station house, sputtered something and hurried past Louis and up the stairs. Louis continued on down the steps, shoving open the courthouse door. He watched as Agent Marks put Larry in the backseat of the Lincoln. He waited until the car pulled away then made a sharp right to the sheriff’s office.
He stopped at the entrance. He had been out of the hospital less than a week and this was the first time he had set foot back inside the office. He thought it would feel odd, but strangely, he found it comforting.
Inside, Junior was coming out of Dodie’s office, coffee in hand. Louis went to his desk, feeling Junior’s eyes following him. On top of the desk was a cardboard box, which held all his personal items. Louis picked up the small wooden box that was sitting on top, turning it over in his hands.
Junior ambled over. “How ya doin’, Louis?”
“It’s still sore.”
“Louis, I want you to know I didn’t have any thin’ to do with what happened in your cell that night.”
“I never thought that. Junior.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want you to.”
Louis looked back at the cardboard box, realizing in that moment there was nothing he really wanted to keep. He pulled out his glasses and stuck them inside his shirt pocket, under the Michigan jacket and looked back at Junior.
“Where you goin’ now?” Junior asked.
“Back to Michigan.”
“Gonna be a cop there, too?”
Louis smiled faintly, thinking of his application still on file with the Detroit police force. “I hope so.”
Junior’s eyes wavered and he looked away. “You could stay here.”
Louis was so stunned at first he couldn’t think of a reply. Before he could say anything. Junior added, “I guess maybe that’s not a very good idea, is it?”
Louis shook his head. “No, Junior, I guess not.”
Junior sighed and the radio crackled with the voice of a deputy Louis did not recognize. Junior wandered off and Louis looked toward Dodie’s closed door. Tucking the small wood box under his arm, he went to the door, knocked softly and poked his head in.
“Sheriff?”
Dodie was standing at the desk, bent over a cardboard box. He looked up in surprise. “I thought you were gone.”
“I wouldn’t leave without talking to you—you know that.” Louis noticed the clutter on Dodie’s desk, stacks of papers, notebooks, the bottle of Jim Beam, and a picture of Margaret. “What is all this?” he asked.
“I’ve resigned.” Dodie said.
“Resigned? Why?” Louis asked.
“It was time.”
“But you love this job.”
Dodie took a deep breath. “I used to love it, Louis. It ain’t the job it used to be. Things are different. These are different times and the rules changed on me. I reckon it’s time I bowed out gracefully.”
“They applied pressure, didn’t they?”
“No, this was my decision, Louis. I didn’t have to do it.”
Louis suddenly thought back to Kelly and what he said outside. A deal? Had Dodie made some kind of deal with Kelly about Larry? If this was part of a deal, what was Dodie getting out of it?
‘Sheriff—”
Dodie held up a hand. ‘It’s over, Louis. Let it be.”
Louis watched him for a minute. Dodie blinked back the hurt in his eyes. Louis looked away, not knowing what to say. “You heard anything about Leverette?” he asked finally.
“Yeah,” Dodie said. “He’s stayin’ home with Ethel. They’re doin’ okay, I guess.” He smiled slightly. “Looks like she’s gonna let him go ahead with that Laundromat idea.”
Louis nodded. He hesitated, then set the wood box down on the desk and reached in the back pocket of his jeans. He removed his badge from the leather holder and held it out to Dodie.
“I need to give you this.”
Dodie looked at the badge for a moment, then took it. He sat down in the chair, swinging slightly, rubbing the badge with his thumb.
Louis found it hard to look at him and he let his gaze wander. The wall to the sheriff’s right was bare.
“You took the flag down,” Louis said.
“Seemed time.”
Louis let out a breath and stepped forward, extending his hand. Dodie stood up and shook it, and Louis met his eyes. They were empty gray pools. Louis forced himself to pull his hand away.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Hell, I dunno. Maybe me and Margaret will move to Florida.”
Louis laughed softly. “You’ll never leave this place.”
Dodie smiled. “You’re right. But I’ll be okay.”
Louis nodded. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, picking up the wood box. “I got you something.”
Dodie’s brows knitted together as he looked at the flat wood box. He took it, opening the lid gingerly. Nestled inside, in a bed of red felt and ribbon, were eight glass cylinders, each holding a cigar.
“Macanudo? Never heard of ’em,” Dodie said, looking up at Louis.
“I had Agent Gibbons bring them up from Jackson,” Louis said. “Supposed to be the best you can buy. Thought it was time for you to move up from those damn El Productos.”
Dodie smiled awkwardly. “Well, thank you, Louis. I’ll keep ’em for a special occasion.” He carefully closed the box and set it down on the desk.
“I better get going,” Louis said quietly.
Dodie nodded quickly. “Yeah. You have a good trip, you hear?”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
Louis hesitated, wanting to say more but knowing there was nothing else. He left the office, closing the door softly behind him. He walked through the station, waving at Junior who returned the acknowledgment with a nod of his head. He paused at the door, taking a final look.
The door burst open behind him, catching him in the back and making him wince. Mike squeezed through.
“Oh, man, sorry, Louis.”
Louis tensed at the sight of Mike’s bland young face. For a second, he thought about slamming him up against the wall and putting a gun up to his head just so the kid would think twice the next time he p
ulled out his gun. But the penitent look in Mike’s eyes stopped him.
“Jesus, Louis, I’m glad you’re not gone yet,” Mike said quickly. “I—I wanted to tell you, I mean, I didn’t mean to…I prayed that—” Mike’s face was flushed. “Aw shit, Louis, I’m so sorry, man.”
Louis sighed. He nodded toward the holster on Mike’s hip. “Be careful with that the next time you have to pull it,” he said.
Mike nodded furiously and held out a box to Louis.
“What’s this?”
“It’s nothin’ great. But I thought it was the least I could do.”
Louis opened the flaps of the box and looked down to see a sweatshirt. He lifted it and noticed the small off-color patch on the front. “Mike, these are my sweats. I thought—”
Mike grinned. “I patched up the bullet hole there. Man, I betcha I washed them things twenty times. Pressed ’em, too.”
Louis lifted out the sweats. Underneath was the Ziploc bag. A slow smile spread across Louis’s face.
Mike’s own smile faded. “I didn’t read it, Louis, I swear.”
Louis looked at him. “What?”
“I didn’t read it. I figured maybe it was some love letter from Abigail, and I wouldn’t do that, I swear.”
Louis laughed. “Jesus, Mike, you are a piece of work. And I love you for it.”
Junior looked up and groaned. “Louis, don’t you be saying that shit to him.”
Louis headed back to Dodie’s office. He walked in without knocking and Dodie looked up at him from his chair.
“I have something else for you,” Louis said, popping open the bag. He pulled out the papers, unfolded them and laid them on the desk. Dodie picked them up and winced.
“Smells like bad tuna fish. What is it?”
Louis grinned. “Don’t read it now. Read it one night when you’re laying in bed next to Margaret and drinking a beer and thinking about what a rotten son of a bitch Kelly is.”
Dodie sifted through the papers, his brows knitted. He looked up at Louis. “This here’s Earl’s journal, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
The comers of Dodie’s mouth twitched into the beginnings of a smile.
Louis leaned over the desk. “Sheriff, I don’t know what they said to you to get you to resign, but whatever it was, maybe you can fight it with this.”
