Confession (29 page)

“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.

S
am 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.

H
e
drove around and
eventually found the Stein Chevrolet dealership.

Sam drove farther down the street.

He stopped when he fo
und 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 boo
k.
” 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 American 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.

They pulled their cars into the dirt driveway, parked and got out.

Sam, with his book in hand, saw a worn wooded house in dire need of some coats of paint with a front porch that was lopsided.

Sara walked Sam to the front screen door and she knocked on it.

Gertie Howie, an old African-American woman appeared at the screen door.

“Sara!” she said excited to see her. 

“Listen Gertie, this is Sam Woods, a retired FBI agent and he really needs to talk to you.”

“Well, if you say I need to talk to him, then I will.  Please come inside,” Gertie said then opened up the screen door.

They went inside where Sara told Gertie Sam’s story.

“Betsy, you need to come in the living room,” Gertie called out.

A few minutes later, Betsy Howie, Gertie’s older daughter joined them and was told the story.

“It's time to get this out in the open.  I'm too old to be scared of Billy Stein,” Gertie said.

Betsy nodded in agreement.

Sam looked in the direction of the kitchen when he saw some movement.  He saw Candice Howie.  She was a middle-aged African-American woman had lighter skin as compared to Gertie and Betsy.

“It was Billy Stein that raped me when I was a fourteen year old girl back in sixty-one,” Gertie said.

“Betsy, did Billy Stein threaten to hang your father if you told anybody about the rape?”

“How did you know that?” Betsy said.

“It was in a book written by Allan Stein,” Sam said while he showed them the book.

Gertie took the book and looked it over with Betsy. 

“Allan Stein was another one I never trusted,” Gertie said while he handed the book back to Sam.

“I didn't want any part of sending an innocent man to jail, so I refused to lie for Sheriff Stein.  Besides, we knew Jerome Franklin, and he was a friend and had a good heart,” Betsy said.

Gertie nodded in agreement.

“Why didn't he hang your father?” Sam asked Betsy.

“He didn't realize my husband was killed by the Klan eight years before that in Georgia.  Besides, he already had that Edwards girl claim Jerome raped her,” Gertie added.

“The judge was buddies with Alvin Stein,” Betsy said.

“Does that girl still Edwards girl still live around here?” Sam asked.

“Poor Sandy!  Guilt got the best of her and she committed suicide back in sixty-six,” Gertie replied.

“For years, Billy Stein would drive by our house, just to let us know he's keeping an eye on me,” Betsy said.

“Then we heard his wife left him years later,” Gertie added.

“His wife?” Sam asked curiously.

“Yes sir.  She ran off sometime in the early seventies,” Sara said.

“Do you know where she is today?”

“No, but her best friend is still around.  She might know,” Gertie said then looked over in the direction of the kitchen.  “Candice, get me the address of Pam Stone,” Gertie called out.