The Crossing (24 page)

U
nlike yesterday, I awoke to a beautiful morning.
 
Blue skies, white fluffy clouds and a small breeze would make it a beautiful day for a parade – unfortunately!

I broke one of my own rules and was up and dressed before 8:00 AM.
 
I had a stop to make before going downtown, and I definitely didn’t want to miss any of the excitement that I expected and dreaded.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Nickie fixed me a coffee to go and I was quickly off to 812 17
th
Avenue, the home of Thomas and Nora Whitmore.
 

The small white house on a shady street seemed to be a thousand miles away from the troubles brewing on Main Street, and perhaps it was.
 
Unfortunately, it had felt the brunt of grief and loss this small town had extended over the past several days.
 
They had buried their only daughter yesterday and would soon be burying their son-in-law; this was a sad home.

Regardless of the poor timing, I needed to have my second visit with Nora Whitmore and I needed to do it today.

Her 1959 Chevrolet Truck, along with a newer model sedan, was parked in the small gravel driveway.
 
I left the Ford on the street, walked up on the small porch and gently knocked on the screen door; it was only a moment before Nora opened the front door.
 
She was wearing a plain blue cotton dress, partially covered by an apron.
 
It appeared that she and her husband were having breakfast.
 

I knew she didn’t want her husband to know about our previous meeting, so I spoke first to avoid her being embarrassed.

“Mrs. Whitmore, my name is Carson Reno.
 
I am sorry to bother you, and I wouldn’t do so if it weren’t important.
 
I met your husband a few days ago and he invited me to come by if necessary.
 
I wonder if I might have a minute of your time.”

“Yes, Mr. Reno, please come in.
 
We are having coffee, would you like a cup?” Nora said walking me into their small kitchen.

Glancing to my left, I saw Thomas Whitmore in their living room area.
 
He was still wearing pajamas and sitting in a straight back chair holding a framed photo – a photo I assumed to be of his daughter, Tammy.
 
Thomas didn’t speak or acknowledge my presence.

“Please sit down,” Nora said offering me a seat at the kitchen table. “How do you take your coffee, Mr. Reno?”

“Just black, Mrs. Whitmore.
 
Thank you.”

Nora sat a cup of coffee in front of me and then took a seat at the table directly across me. “I apologize for Thomas, he’s been quite upset since Tammy’s funeral and I don’t think he will be of much help.
 
Sorry.”

“Actually, Mrs. Whitmore, I really wanted to talk with you.”

“Oh, really?” she seemed surprised.

“Yes, I have a personal question and a request.
 
And if I am out of line or you don’t want to help, I will certainly understand.
 
But, I want to make sure the person responsible for your daughter’s death is brought to justice.
 
If it’s Henry Walker, so be it.
 
If it’s somebody else, I’m sure you would want the right person punished.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Thomas Whitmore look up from the photograph and begin to listen to our conversation.

“We want justice, Mr. Reno, anything you need from us, please don’t be shy about asking.
 
So tell me, what can we do?”

“Did Tammy have a favorite piece of jewelry?
 
A piece that she might have worn a lot, but didn’t have on the night of...the night she died?” I stuttered.

“Why, yes…yes she did.
 
How did you know?” Nora asked.

“I didn’t, Mrs. Whitmore, I was just hoping.
 
Do you happen to have that piece here?”

“Tammy has a gold necklace with a gold cross - she loved that necklace.
 
We gave it to her for graduation and she left it here a few days ago; I think she was afraid she would lose it.
 
It has a bad clasp, and we were going to get it fixed for her but…” Nora’s eyes filled with tears.

“May I borrow that necklace?
 
It might help me find the person who murdered your daughter, and I promise to return it within just a couple of days.”

Thomas Whitmore got up and walked into the kitchen where we were talking.
 
He was carrying the framed photograph in his right hand.

“What is this all about?” he asked roughly.

“Mr. Whitmore, I am asking for your help in finding the person who murdered your daughter,” I offered.

“Find him?
 
It’s that
nigger
locked up in Leroy’s jail!
 
Has somebody already let him loose!” he yelled.

“No sir, Henry Walker is still in jail and will remain there until he goes to trial or someone else is charged with the crime,” I answered still sitting at the kitchen table.

“Someone else?
 
You think someone else did it.
 
Not that
nigger,
Henry Walker?” Thomas’ voice was a little lower.

“Yes sir, I do.
 
And if you’ll let me borrow that necklace, it might help me prove it.”

Thomas Whitmore stood silent for few moments then looked at Nora. “Give him what he wants,” he said, walking back into the living room and sitting down in the straight back chair again.

Nora didn’t speak, but got up and disappeared into some other part of the house.
 
She quickly returned carrying a small-chained gold necklace with a medium sized gold cross attached.
 
She handed it to me and sat back down.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
“Mrs. Whitmore, I promise to return this back to you as quickly as possible, certainly no more than a couple of days.”

“Keep it for as long as you need it,” she said wiping tears from her cheek. “Just do justice for our daughter.”

“You have my promise,” I assured her.

I thanked her for the coffee and quickly left their home.
 
Thomas Whitmore didn’t speak or acknowledge my goodbye, he just continued to sit and stare at the framed photograph.

I put the small necklace in the glove compartment of the Ford and headed toward City Hall.
 
It was almost time for the parade!

~

I
parked several blocks away from Main Street and walked up 12
th
Avenue toward the steps of City Hall.
 
With the exception of the annual Strawberry Festival, I don’t think I had ever seen this many people aligning Main Street, and, like the Strawberry Festival, most of them didn’t live in Humboldt!
 
They had come to demonstrate or to see the excitement.

A rally had already started with a large group assembled in the parking lot across from the Methodist Church.
 
They were shouting and singing loud, but under control.
 
A Tennessee Highway Patrol motorcycle trooper was closely watching their activities.

Both sides of Main Street were overflowing with demonstrators and spectators.
 
It appeared the colored demonstrators had gathered on the south sidewalk that was nearest City Hall, and the younger white groups had chosen the north sidewalk.

City police, Sheriff Deputies and Tennessee Highway Patrol Officers were positioned in the street, making a small barrier between the two.
 
I saw Chief Raymond Griggs standing on the City Hall steps near the door, so I walked up and stood next to him.

“Hello, Carson,” Raymond said as he lit a cigarette.

“Has it started yet?” I asked.

“If you mean the parade, no.
 
But it’s time and I expect them to begin any minute now.
 
Their plan is to march from Main Street Elementary School and be in front of City Hall when Leroy arrives with Henry.
 
Judge Graves has court open upstairs and your friend, Jack Logan is already up there.
 
I’ve got a jail cell ready for Henry; I just hope everything goes according to plan,” Raymond said shaking his head.

“What about the NAACP lawyer, Benjamin Abernathy? Have you seen him?” I asked.

“I don’t know him, but I would suspect he might be leading one of these marching groups, don’t you?”

“Actually I would have expected him to be upstairs in the courtroom preparing to defend his client,” I said frankly. “I guess he is just here for the show, like most everybody else.”

“Yes, I guess so,” Raymond muttered. “By the way, Carson, Leroy said you wanted to meet with some of my officers tomorrow.
 
What is that all about?”

“After this fiasco is over, I would like to meet with any officers you have on duty; along with any deputies Leroy has on duty,” I answered.

“I understand that, but why?” Raymond asked again.

“A development in my investigation of Tammy Blurton’s murder,” I said quietly.

“Ah shit, Carson!
 
Can’t you just let this go?
 
Henry Walker’s guilty and it seems everybody knows it but YOU!
 
Why make more trouble?”
 
Raymond crushed out his cigarette and quickly lit another.

“Raymond,” I argued, “Henry Walker deserves the same rights to justice as anyone else – colored or white.
 
I’ve got some new evidence, and I just want to make you and your department aware of it.
 
If you act on it fine, if you don’t…then that’s your call.
 
I do know Leroy is interested in what I have found and I would hope your office would be too.”

“Bullshit,” Raymond blurted; just as a group of THP Motorcycle Officers started their engines. They had been parked in front of City Hall and quickly headed their bikes east on Main Street.

The parade had started and I could faintly hear the chanting and singing of the marchers.

In a few moments, I saw the large group carrying banners and signs headed in my direction.

The parade was over very quickly and all the marching demonstrators took positions in the street just outside City Hall.
 
Across the street, the young white crowd started getting louder and you could feel the tension growing.

Almost immediately three of Leroy’s cruisers pulled through the crowd and stopped quickly, just below where Raymond and I were standing.

Within moments, Leroy, along with several THP Troopers whisked Henry Walker from the car, up the steps and through the doors of City Hall.
 
Inside, Raymond’s officers stood guard on the door making certain none of the demonstrators entered the building.
 
Raymond entered behind the THP Troopers and I followed quickly behind him.

Henry was safely in the building, but things in the street continued to heat up.
 
It started with several of the young white protesters setting fire to a truck that just happened to be parked in a nearby alley.

It escalated when several demonstrators met in the middle of the street, starting a fistfight.

Keeping his promise, Chip and his Troopers started arresting the demonstrators.

Mayhem continued in the streets for the next hour, while the preliminary hearing got underway in the courtroom upstairs in city hall.

~

A
preliminary hearing is just that – preliminary.
 
It has a two-fold purpose: first, to determine if a crime has been committed; second, to determine if the accused is to be held over for trial.
 
Both sides have the option of calling witnesses and presenting evidence, if they desire.

District Attorney Griffin Hawks was in court representing Gibson County, and Jack Logan was sitting at the defendant table with Henry Walker.