“I have no interest,” Pete said.
“They’re comin’ from all over—Tupelo, Jackson, Memphis.”
“I have no interest.”
“That’s what I figured. You doin’ all right back here?”
“Doin’ fine. I’ve seen worse.”
“I know. Look, Pete, just so you’ll know, I stopped this afternoon and had a word with Jackie Bell, at the parsonage. She’s holdin’ up okay, I guess. Kids are a mess, though.”
Pete glared at him without a trace of sympathy, though he thought about saying something smart like “Please give her my regards.” Or, “Aw shucks, tell her I’m sorry.” But he only frowned at the sheriff as if he were an idiot. Why tell me this?
When it was obvious Pete would not respond, Gridley backed away and said, “If you need anything, let me know.”
“Thanks.”
Chapter 5
At 4:00 a.m., Florry finally abandoned all efforts at sleep and went to the kitchen to make coffee. Marietta, who lived in the basement, heard noises and soon appeared in her nightshirt. Florry said she couldn’t sleep, didn’t need anything, and sent her back to her room. After two cups with sugar, and another round of tears, Florry bit her lip and decided the dreadful nightmare might inspire creativity. For an hour she fiddled with a poem but tossed it at dawn. She turned to nonfiction and began a diary dedicated to the tragedy in real time. She skipped a bath and breakfast and by 7:00 a.m. was in Clanton, at the home of Mildred Highlander, a widow who lived alone and was, as far as Florry knew, the only person in town who understood her poetry. Over hot tea and cheese biscuits, they talked of nothing but the nightmare.
Mildred took both the Tupelo and the Memphis morning papers and, expecting the worst, they were not disappointed. It was the lead story on the front page of the Tupelo paper with the headline “War Hero Arrested For Murder.” Memphis, with obviously less interest in what happened down in Mississippi, ran the story on the front page, metro section, under the headline “Popular Preacher Shot Dead At Church.” The facts varied little from one article to the other. Not a word from the suspect’s lawyer or any of the authorities. General shock around town.
The local paper, The Ford County Times, was a weekly that hit the stands early each Wednesday morning, so it missed the excitement by one day and would have to wait until the following week. Its photographer, though, had nailed Pete Banning as he walked into the jail, and the same photo was used by both the Memphis and the Tupelo papers. Pete, with three good-ole-boy cops in mismatching uniforms and hats, being led into the jail with a look of complete indifference.
Since it seemed as though Clanton was suffering from a case of collective lockjaw, the reporters dwelled on Pete’s colorful record as a war hero. Relying heavily on their archives, both newspapers detailed his career and his exploits as a legendary soldier in the South Pacific. Both used smaller photos of Pete when he returned to Clanton the year before. Tupelo even used a photo of Pete and Liza during a ceremony on the courthouse lawn.
Vic Dixon lived across the street from Mildred, and was one of the few people in Clanton who subscribed to the Jackson morning paper, the largest in the state but one with a slim following in the northern counties. After he read it that morning with his coffee, he walked over and offered it to Mildred, who had requested it. While in her den, he spoke to Florry and passed along his condolences, or sympathies, or whatever the hell one is supposed to offer to the sister of a man who is charged with murder and appears guilty of it. Mildred shooed him away, but only after squeezing a promise that Vic would save his dailies.
Florry wanted everything for her file, or scrapbook, or nonfiction account of the nightmare. She wanted to save, record, and preserve it all. For what purpose she was not quite certain, but a long, sad, and also truly unique story was unfolding, and she had no intentions of missing any of it. When Joel and Stella finally returned home, she wanted to be able to answer as many questions as possible.
She was disappointed, though, when she realized that Jackson, which was farther away from Clanton than Tupelo or Memphis, had even fewer details, and fewer photos. It ran the rather lame headline “Prominent Farmer Arrested in Clanton.” Nevertheless, Florry clipped a subscription coupon and planned to mail it with a check.
Using Mildred’s private line, she called Joel and Stella and tried to assure them that things at home were not as catastrophic as they might seem. She failed miserably, and when she finally rang off both her niece and her nephew were in tears. Their father was in jail, damn it, and charged with an awful murder. And they wanted to come home.
At nine, Florry braced herself and drove to the jail in her 1939 Lincoln. It had less than twenty thousand miles on the odometer and rarely left the county, primarily because its owner had no driver’s license. She had flunked the test twice, been stopped by the police on several occasions, without penalties, and continued to drive because of a handshake agreement with Nix Gridley that she would drive only to town and back, and never at night.
She walked into the jail, into the sheriff’s office, said hello to Nix and Red, and announced that she was there to see her brother. In a heavy straw bag, she had packed three novels by William Faulkner, three pounds of Standard Coffee, mail-ordered from the distributor in Baltimore, one coffee mug, ten packs of cigarettes, matches, a toothbrush and toothpaste, two bars of soap, two bottles of aspirin, two bottles of painkillers, and a box of chocolates. Every item had been requested by her brother.
After some awkward conversation, Nix finally asked her what was in the bag. Without offering it, she explained there were a few harmless items for her brother, stuff he had requested.
Both cops made a mental note to write this down and pass it along to the prosecutor. The prisoner planned his crime so carefully he made a list of items to be brought to the jail by his sister. Clear evidence of premeditated murder. An honest but potentially damaging mistake by Florry.
“When did he request these items?” Nix asked nonchalantly, as if it meant nothing.
Florry, eager to cooperate, said, “Oh, he left a note with Nineva, told her to bring it to me after he was arrested.”
“I see,” Nix said. “Tell me, Florry, how much did you know about his plans?”
“I knew nothing. I swear. Absolutely nothing. I’m as shocked as you, even more so because he’s my brother and I can’t imagine him doing anything like this.” Nix glanced at Red with a look that conveyed doubt, in something. Doubt that she knew nothing beforehand. Doubt that she knew nothing about motive. Doubt that she was telling everything. The look exchanged between the two cops startled Florry, and she realized she shouldn’t be talking. “Could I please see my brother?” she practically demanded.
“Sure,” Nix said. He looked again at Red and said, “Go fetch the prisoner.” When Red stepped out, Nix took the bag and examined its contents. This irritated Florry, who said, “What are you looking for, Nix, guns and knives?”