by John Grisham
"Listen, son, I'm not going to tell you anything useful, you understand?"
"Why not?"
"Some things I can talk about, some I can't."
"Sam wasn't alone when he bombed the Kramer office, was he?"
Lettner smiled again and studied his line. The rod was sitting in his lap. "Anyway, by late '65 and early '66, we had a helluva network of informants. It really wasn't that difficult. We'd learn that some guy was in the Klan, and so we'd trail him. We'd follow him home at night, flashing our lights behind him, parking in front of his house. It'd usually scare him to death. Then we'd follow him to work, sometimes we'd go talk to his boss, flash our badges around, act like we were about to shoot somebody. We'd go talk to his parents, show them our badges, let them see us in our dark suits, let them hear our Yankee accents, and these poor country people would literally crack up right in front of us. If the guy went to church, we'd follow him one Sunday, then the next day we'd go talk to his preacher. We'd tell him that we had heard a terrible rumor that Mr. Such and Such was an active member of the Klan, and did he know anything about it. We acted like it was a crime to be a member of the Klan. If the guy had teenage children, we'd follow them on dates, sit behind them at the movies, catch them parking in the woods. It was nothing but pure harassment, but it worked. Finally, we'd call the poor guy or catch him alone somewhere, and offer him some money. We'd promise to leave him alone, and it always worked. Usually, they were nervous wrecks by this time, they couldn't wait to cooperate. I saw them cry, son, if you can believe it. Actually cry when they finally came to the altar and confessed their sins." Lettner laughed in the direction of his line, which was quite inactive.
Adam sipped his beer. Perhaps if they drank it all it would eventually loosen his tongue.
"Had this guy one time, I'll never forget him. We caught him in bed with his black mistress, which was not unusual. I mean, these guys would go out burning crosses and shooting into black homes, then sneak around like crazy to meet their black girlfriends. Never could understand why the black women put up with it. Anyway, he had a little hunting lodge deep in the woods, and he used it for a love nest. He met her there one afternoon for a quickie, and when he was finished and ready to go, he opened the front door and we took his picture. Got her picture too, and then we talked to him. He was a deacon or an elder in some country church, a real pillar, you know, and we talked to him like he was a dog. We ran her off and sat him down inside the little lodge there, and before long he was crying. As it turned out, he was one of our best witnesses. But he later went to jail."
"Why?"
"Well, it seems that while he was sneaking around with his girlfriend, his wife was doing the same thing with a black kid who worked on their farm. Lady got pregnant, baby was half and half, so our informant goes to the hospital and kills mother and child. He spent fifteen years at Parchman."
"Good."
"We didn't get a lot of convictions back in those days, but harassed them to a point where they were afraid to do much. The violence had slowed considerably until Dogan decided to go after the Jews. That caught us off guard, I have to admit. We had no clue."
"Why not?"
"Because he got smart. He learned the hard way that his own people would talk to us, so he decided to operate with a small, quiet unit."
"Unit? As in more than one person?"
"Something like that."
"As in Sam and who else?"
Lettner snorted and chuckled at once, and decided the fish had moved elsewhere. He placed his rod and reel in the boat, and yanked on the starter cord. They were off, racing once again downstream. Adam left his feet over the side, and his leather moccasins and bare ankles were soon wet. He sipped the beer. The sun was finally beginning to disappear behind the hills, and he enjoyed the beauty of the river.
The next stop was a stretch of still water below a bluff with a rope hanging from it. Lettner cast and reeled, all to no effect, and assumed the role of interrogator. He asked a hundred questions about Adam and his family - the flight westward, the new identities, the suicide. He explained that while Sam was in jail they checked out his family and knew he had a son who had just left town, but since Eddie appeared to be harmless they did not pursue the investigation. Instead, they spent their time watching Sam's brothers and cousins. He was intrigued by Adam's youth, and how he was raised with virtually no knowledge of kinfolks.
Adam asked a few questions, but the answers were vague and immediately twisted into more questions about his past. Adam was sparring with a man who'd spent twenty-five years asking questions.
The third and final hot spot was not far from Calico Rock, and they fished until it was dark. After five beers, Adam mustered the courage to wet a hook. Lettner was a patient instructor, and within minutes Adam had caught an impressive trout. For a brief interlude, they forgot about Sam and the Klan and other nightmares from the past, and they simply fished. They drank and fished.
Mrs. Lettner's first name was Irene, and she welcomed her husband and his unexpected guest with grace and nonchalance. Wyn had explained, as Ron drove them home, that Irene was accustomed to drop-ins. She certainly seemed to be unruffled as they staggered through the front door and handed her a string of trout.
The Lettner home was a cottage on the river a mile north of town. The rear porch was screened to protect it from insects, and not far below it was a splendid view of the river. They sat in wicker rockers on the porch, and opened another round of brew as Irene fried the fish.
Putting food on the table was a new experience for Adam, and he ate the fish he'd caught with great gusto. It always tastes better, Wyn assured him as he chomped and drank, when you catch it yourself. About halfway through the meal, Wyn switched to Scotch. Adam declined. He wanted a simple glass of water, but machismo drove him to continue with the beer. He couldn't wimp out at this point. Lettner would certainly chastise him.
Irene sipped wine and told stories about Mississippi. She had been threatened on several occasions, and their children refused to visit them. They were both from Ohio, and their families worried constantly about their safety. Those were the days, she said more than once with a certain longing for excitement. She was extremely proud of her husband and his performance during the war for civil rights.
She left them after dinner and disappeared somewhere in the cottage. It was almost ten o'clock, and Adam was ready for sleep. Wyn rose to his feet while holding onto a wooden beam, and excused himself for a visit to the bathroom. He returned in due course with two fresh Scotches in tall glasses. He handed one to Adam, and returned to his rocker.
They rocked and sipped in silence for a moment, then Lettner said, "So you're convinced Sam had some help."
"Of course he had some help." Adam was very much aware that his tongue was thick and his words were slow. Lettner's speech was remarkably articulate.
"And what makes you so certain?"
Adam lowered the heavy glass and vowed not to take another drink. "The FBI searched Sam's house after the bombing, right?"
"Right. »
"Sam was in jail in Greenville, and you guys got a warrant."
"I was there, son. We went in with a dozen agents and spent three days."
"And found nothing."
"You could say that."
"No trace of dynamite. No trace of blasting caps, fuses, detonators. No trace of any device or substance used in any of the bombings. Correct?"
"That's correct. So what's your point?"
"Sam had no knowledge of explosives, nor did he have a history of using them."
"No, I'd say he had quite a history of using them. Kramer was the sixth bombing, as I recall. Those crazy bastards were bombing like hell, son, and we couldn't stop them. You weren't there. I was in the middle of it. We had harassed the Klan and infiltrated to a point where they were afraid to move, then all of a sudden another war erupted and bombs were falling everywhere. We listened where we were supposed to listen. We twisted familiar arms until they
broke. And we were clueless. Our informants were clueless.
It was like another branch of the Klan had suddenly invaded Mississippi without telling the old one."
"Did you know about Sam?"
"His name was in our records. As I recall, his father had been a Klucker, and maybe a brother or two. So we had their names. But they seemed harmless. They lived in the northern part of the state, in an area not known for serious Klan violence. They probably burned some crosses, maybe shot up a few houses, but nothing compared to Dogan and his gang. We had our hands full with murderers. We didn't have time to investigate every possible Klucker in the state."
"Then how do you explain Sam's sudden shift to violence?"
"Can't explain it. He was no choirboy, okay? He had killed before."
"Are you sure?"
"You heard me. He shot and killed one of his black employees in the early fifties. Never spent a day in jail for it. In fact, I'm not sure, but I don't think he was ever arrested for it. There may have been another killing, too. Another black victim."
"I'd rather not hear it."
"Ask him. See if the old bastard has guts enough to admit it to his grandson." He took another sip. "He was a violent man, son, and he certainly had the capability to plant bombs and kill people. Don't be naive."
"I'm not naive. I'm just trying to save his life."
"Why? He killed two very innocent little boys. Two children. Do you realize this?"
"He was convicted of the murders. But if the killings were wrong, then it's wrong for the state to kill him."
"I don't buy that crap. The death penalty is too good for these people. It's too clean and sterile. They know they're about to die, so they have time to say their prayers and say good-bye. What about the victims? How much time did they have to prepare?"
"So you want Sam executed?"
"Yeah. I want 'em all executed."
"I thought you said he wasn't a bad guy."
"I lied. Sam Cayhall is a cold-blooded killer. And he's guilty as hell. How else can you explain the fact that the bombings stopped as soon as he was in custody?"
"Maybe they were scared after Kramer?"
"They? Who the hell is they?"
"Sam and his partner. And Dogan."
"Okay. I'll play along. Let's assume Sam had an accomplice."
"No. Let's assume Sam was the accomplice. Let's assume the other guy was the explosives expert."
"Expert? These were very crude bombs, son. The first five were nothing more than a few sticks wrapped together with a fuse. You light the match, run like hell, and fifteen minutes later, Boom! The Kramer bomb was nothing but a half-ass rig with an alarm clock wired to it. They were lucky it didn't go off while they were playing with it."
"Do you think it was deliberately set to go off when it did?"
"The jury thought so. Dogan said they planned to kill Marvin Kramer."
"Then why was Sam hanging around? Why was he close enough to the bomb to get hit with debris?"
"You'll have to ask Sam, which I'm sure you've already done. Does he claim he had an accomplice?"
"No."
"Then that settles it. If your own client says no, what the hell are you digging for?"
"Because I think my client is lying."
"Too bad for your client, then. If he wants to lie and protect the identity of someone, then why should you care?"
"Why would he lie to me?"
Lettner shook his head in frustration, then mumbled something and took a drink. "How the hell am I supposed to know? I don't want to know, okay? I honestly don't care if Sam's lying or if Sam's telling the truth. But if he won't level with you, his lawyer and his own grandson, then I say gas him."
Adam took a long drink and stared into the darkness. He actually felt silly at times digging around trying to prove his own client was lying to him. He'd give this another shot, then talk about something else. "You don't believe the witnesses who saw Sam with another person?"
"No. They were pretty shaky, as I recall. The guy at the truck stop didn't come forward for a long time. The other guy had just left a honky-tonk. They weren't credible."
"Do you believe Dogan?"
"The jury did."
"I didn't ask about the jury."
Lettner's breathing was finally getting heavy, and he appeared to be fading. "Dogan was crazy, and Dogan was a genius. He said the bomb was intended to kill, and I believe him. Keep in mind, Adam, they almost wiped out an entire family in Vicksburg. I can't remember the name - "
"Pinder. And you keep saying they did this and that."
"I'm just playing along, okay. We're assuming Sam had a buddy with him. They planted a bomb at the Pinder house in the middle of the night. An entire family could've been killed."
"Sam said he placed the bomb in the garage so no one would get hurt."
"Sam told you this? Sam admitted he did it? Then why in the hell are you asking me about an accomplice? Sounds like you need to listen to your client. Son of a bitch is guilty, Adam. Listen to him."
Adam took another drink and his eyelids grew heavier. He looked at his watch, but couldn't see it. "Tell me about the tapes," he said, yawning.
"What tapes?" Lettner asked, yawning.
"The FBI tapes they played at Sam's trial. The ones with Dogan talking to Wayne Graves about bombing Kramer."
"We had lots of tapes. And they had lots of targets. Framer was just one of many. Hell, we had a tape with two Kluckers talking about bombing a synagogue while a wedding was in progress. They wanted to bolt the doors and shoot some gas through the heating ducts so the entire congregation would be wiped out. Sick bastards, man. It wasn't Dogan, just a couple of his idiots talking trash, and so we dismissed it. Wayne Graves was a Klucker who was also on our payroll, and he allowed us to tap his phones. He called Dogan one night, said he was on a pay phone, and they got to talking about hitting Kramer. They also talked about other targets. It was very effective at Sam's trial. But the tapes did not help us stop a single bombing. Nor did they help us identify Sam."
"You had no idea Sam Cayhall was involved?"
"None whatsoever. If the fool had left Greenville when he should have, he'd probably still be a free man."
"Did Kramer know he was a target?"
"We told him. But by then he was accustomed to threats. He kept a guard at his house." His words were starting to slur a bit, and his chin had dropped an inch or two.
Adam excused himself and cautiously made his way to the bathroom. As he returned to the porch, he heard heavy snoring. Lettner had slumped in his chair and collapsed with the drink in his hand. Adam removed it, then left in search of a sofa.
20
THE late morning was warm but seemed downright feverish in the front of the Army surplus jeep, which lacked air conditioning and other essentials. Adam sweated and kept his hand on the handle of the door which he hoped would open promptly in the event Irene's breakfast came roaring up.
He had awakened on the floor beside a narrow sofa in a room which he had mistaken for the den, but was in fact the washroom beside the kitchen. And the sofa was a bench, Lettner had explained with much laughter, that he used to sit on to take off his boots. Irene had eventually found his body after searching the house, and Adam apologized profusely until they both asked him to stop. She had insisted on a heavy breakfast. It was their one day of the week to eat pork, a regular tradition around the Lettner cottage, and Adam had sat at the kitchen table guzzling ice water while the bacon fried and Irene hummed and Wyn read the paper. She also scrambled eggs and mixed bloody marys.
The vodka deadened some of the pain in his head, but it also did nothing to calm his stomach. As they bounced toward Calico Rock on the bumpy road, Adam was terrified that he would be sick.
Though Lettner had passed out first, he was remarkably healthy this morning. No sign of a hangover. He'd eaten a plate full of grease and biscuits, and he'd sipped only one bloody mary. He'd diligently read the paper and commented about this an
d that, and Adam figured he was one of those functional alcoholics who got plastered every night but shook it off easily.
The village was in view. The road was suddenly smoother and Adam's stomach stopped bouncing. "Sorry about last night," Lettner said.
"What?" Adam asked.
"About Sam. I was harsh. I know he's your grandfather and you're very concerned. I lied about something. I really don't want Sam to be executed. He's not a bad guy."
"I'll tell him."
"Yeah. I'm sure he'll be thrilled."
They entered the town and turned toward the bridge. "There's something else," Lettner said. "We always suspected Sam had a partner."
Adam smiled and looked through his window. They passed a small church with elderly people standing under a shade tree in their pretty dresses and neat suits.
"Why?" Adam asked.
"For the same reasons. Sam had no history with bombs. He had not been involved in Klan violence. The two witnesses, especially the truck driver in Cleveland, always bothered us. The trucker had no reason to lie, and he seemed awfully certain of himself. Sam just didn't seem like the type to start his own bombing campaign."
"So who's the man?"
"I honestly don't know." They rolled to a stop by the river, and Adam opened his door just in case. Lettner leaned on the steering wheel, and cocked his head toward Adam. "After the third or fourth bombing, I think maybe it was the synagogue in Jackson, some big Jews in New York and Washington met with LBJ, who in turn called in Mr. Hoover, who in turn called me. I went to D.C., where I met with Mr. Hoover and the President, and they pretty much crawled my ass. I returned to Mississippi with renewed determination. We came down hard on our informants. I mean, we hurt some people. We tried everything, but to no avail. Our sources simply did not know who was doing the bombing. Only Dogan knew, and it was obvious he wasn't telling anybody. But after the fifth bomb, which I think was the newspaper `office, we got a break."
