Justification For Killing (22 page)

Hearing the Captain’s
remark, “How’d you know my name? I never told you my
name!”

“
Oh... oh... uh... must
have heard one of the other guards referring to you, I
guess.”

Turning to walk away,
Tippit turned his head and spoke over his shoulder saying, “Try to
get some rest you’ll probably get out of here tomorrow or the next
day for sure.”

“
Wait Officer Tippit. I
would like to speak with you.”

Returning to the Captain’s
cell, “What do you want?” The guard asked harshly.

“
How long have you been
with the Dallas police?”

“’
Bout eleven years now, I
guess. Why? What’s it to you?”

“
Nothing, just wondering.
I have a feeling you plan on making policing your lifelong
career.”

“
Yeah, I’ve been givin’ it
some thought lately. When I first joined the force I really wanted
to be a detective, but all they had was a patrolmen’s job. I have
to split time between patrol duties and jailer duties. With the
patrolmen and jailer experience under my belt, I believe I have a
good chance passing the detective’s test and finally becoming a
plain-clothes detective. A detective’s pay is a lot more than a
patrolman. I’ve got a family to support I need the extra money.
I’ve already had to pick-up some extra jobs on the side... but like
I said, what’s it to you?”

“
You seem like a nice
enough young man, and I would like to do something to help
you.”

“
What are you talkin’
about, how can you help me? You’re just a bum... a thieving bum at
that!”

“
I’m much older than you,
and you are right I cannot help you right now, but I can give you a
sound piece of advice: ‘people you come into contact with, are not
always whom you think they are’. And another thing - ‘life does not
always turn out as we expect.’ Officer Tippit, if this were your
last day on Earth what would you do.”

“
That’s a stupid
question.”

“
Maybe, but think about it
for a second.”

“
I dunno... well, I guess
I would tell my wife Marie and my children, Brenda, Curtis and
Allen I love them. I guess there ain’t nothin’ else I would do
special.”

“
Remember what you just
said when you get off duty tonight. Do it! I cannot emphasis it
enough. Officer Tippit wake them up and tell them what they mean to
you. We never know what tomorrow might bring. What time does your
shift end?”

“
At 2 p.m. tonight, then
back on jailer duty again tomorrow night.”

“
You sure? I think you
will be on patrol duty tomorrow.”

“
What
do
you
think? You
don’t know nothing ‘bout our schedule. You’re just a
prisoner.”

“
I... uh... I just thought
you would rotate from jail duty to patrol duty. Anyway, I believe
I’ll be out of here tomorrow. The jail could have a more important
guest for my cell. Execution, huh? That was a good one. Don’t
forget your wife and children, please.”

“
You’re talkin’ crazy. I
don’t need your advice.”

“
Yeah, may seem like it
today but you see the side wall of my cell where all the previous
inmates have scratched notes? Once I’m out of here, I left some
advice on that wall too. It will be under 12/22/63.”

“
What are you talkin’
about?”

“
Remember, just read it
Officer Tippit - before 12:30 tomorrow!”

“
Aw, you bum... what are
you, a psychic? All you bums got a plan don’t you? You’re probably
innocent too, right? Well forget it. It won’t work with
me.”

The time was 1:30 a.m.
Eleven hours to go.

It was early Friday
morning November 22, 1963. The Dallas police’s Handbook of
Procedures states a police officer cannot enter an inmates cell
unless a second officer is on hand, as a backup. Officer Tippit was
alone. He could not enter the cell and read the wall tonight unless
he found another officer to provide backup for him. It appeared
Tippit was not too interested in the scribbling of a thieving
derelict anyway.

Captain Scarburg arose
early, passed on the breakfast but drank the black coffee and sat
quietly on the side of his bunk. The sun was beginning to cast a
glimmer of light through the barred window onto the cold, unpainted
concrete floor directly in front of him.

The time was 7:06
a.m.

“
Dog-gone-it, five hours to go - where in the heck are you
Clem?” For the next four and a half hours, hands behind his head,
he lay motionless on his back in his bunk staring at the ceiling.
The hours dribbled by 7:30, 8:30, 9:30, 10:30 and finally 11:30.
One last time he went to the cell door and checked the
clock
. One hour! I only have one more
hour! If Clem arrived at this exact moment, I don’t know if I can
out-process and get into position on the roof before
12:30.

Back over to his
bunk he sat with his chin in his hands thinking. The lock on the
door to the cellblock clanked with the hard, metallic sound they
make as a guard entered. He jumped to his feet and hurried to the
cell bars. As the guard walked across the floor, Captain Scarburg
watched his movement intently.
I can’t
tell, is he coming my way?
His shoe
leather snapped loudly on the concrete as the guard moved down the
long hallway.
Come on, come on let it be
me.
There were only two prisoners in the
cellblock. Another inmate was in cell Number One. The Captain was
in Number Two. Approaching the first cell, the guard stopped,
reached for his belt and unsnapped the large key ring full of keys
- fumbling for a second or two he found the correct four and one
half inch long brass key
. Darn, I was sure
it was my time to get out of here.
The
clock was running out.

The time was 11:55 a.m.
Only thirty-five minutes left.

It appeared the prisoner
in Number Two was not to be freed this morning in time to meet his
rendezvous with destiny. The guard walked swiftly toward the exit,
returning his keys to his belt as he approached the
door.

By-Ned, he’s walking
away!

But suddenly the guard
stopped, turned and walked back toward the Captain’s cell. “Oh,
almost forgot about you Mr. Doess. Charges against you have been
dropped.” Unlocking the cell door, he motioned toward the door the
first inmate was now exiting, “You are free to go, best of luck to
you. Stop outside, there are some papers you will have to sign and
you can pick up any personal articles the arresting officers might
have confiscated.”

“
Thanks... oh, thank you.” Looking at the clock, as he had
done a hundred times during the previous night, he thought,
this is going to be tight!

The time was 12:05 p.m.
Twenty-five minutes to go.

Swinging open the heavy,
steel, cell door he almost ran to the metal door leading outside to
freedom. Before he could reach and grasp the door handle the door
swung open. He practically ran into another police officer, Officer
Johnny Kennedy, (if he only knew, thought Captain Scarburg), who
had been on the night shift before Tippit of the previous night,
along with a prisoner and a second jailer. The two jailers had an
obviously drunk man in handcuffs. “Excuse us...,” said the first
guard, “I’m just comin’ on duty Mr. Doess.”

“
Yes I remember you from
early last evening. Oh, by the way, what happened to Officer
Tippit?”

“
They moved him to patrol
duty today because the Presidents coming. They needed extra patrol
duty. Heard your charges were dropped - take care and good
luck.”

“
Good luck to you too
Officer John Kennedy.”

“
It’s Johnny, Mr. Doess,
not John.”

“
Sorry, I guess I had the
President’s name on my mind.” The Captain could not afford to waste
time with this officer, “Yeah, Officer Kennedy, got sprung! Charges
aren’t dropped yet, just getting bailed out now, but I’ll be a free
man just as soon as a judge signs the papers,” he said as he
hurried through the door the second jailer was holding open for
him.

Under his breath, soft
enough Captain Scarburg could not hear, Officer Kennedy replied,
“Worthless bum...! Good riddance...!”

The time was 12:12 p.m.
Eighteen minutes to go.

A large outstretched hand
greeted the Captain as he arrived in the outer room, “I’m sorry
John! I got back as quick as I could.” It was Clem.

“
No time... no time...
come on Clem we’ve got to go. You can tell me all about it later,
where do I sign out?”

One of the Judicial
Officers instructed him to take a seat and the Discharge Officer
would see him as soon as the Judge signed his release papers. He
was now fighting the clock.

Captain Scarburg and Clem
both fidgeted in their hard plastic and steel chairs, which filled
the Booking/Discharge room. The stark hardness of the chairs did
nothing for their hind sides as they awaited the Captain’s name to
be called.

Back in the cellblock
Officer Kennedy proceeded to the Number Two cell, his partner stood
guard by the exit door. Slamming and locking his inebriated
prisoner’s cell door Officer Kennedy turned to leave but remembered
something Officer J. D. Tippit had told him earlier. He now had to
see what Mr. Doees had written on the wall.

Opening the cell
door with a loud clang he walked over to the note filled
wall.
What did Mr. Doees say last night?
Look for something under... under... darn, wish I had been
listening when Tippit was talkin’. Where the heck is it,
he thought taking a cursory look over the wall at
the dozens of handwritten, scribbled notes.
What a mess! We’re goin’ to have to paint this wall. This
thing’s got too much junk written on it.
Hastily he glanced over the wall again,
shucks, there ain’t nothing here worth
readin’.

Walking to the broom
closet at the far end of the cellblock Officer Kennedy removed a
gallon of grey paint and two paintbrushes. Opening cell Number
Two’s door he grabbed the newly arrived inmate and impatiently
demanded, “Come here... help me paint this wall.” His partner
remained at his station by the door - as stated, unless it was an
emergency both officers could not be in a cell at the same
time.

As he began to slap the
paint on the wall the drunk commented, “Ossifer, ossifer... uh...
uh... yeh know Lee Oswall?”

“
What? Wall? Yeah paint
the wall. Shut your whiskey talkin’ mouth and keep painting that
wall?”

“
Hoos Oswall? Hoos Jack
Ruby?

“
What are you mumbling
about? I said ‘Shut up’ just paint!”

The drunk would not be
quiet, “whats thuh School Buildin’ and thuh Texas Movie Theater? It
must be today at 12:30, ain’t today the 22th... I betcha some other
bum...” interrupting his thought he stopping to burp and at the
same time almost throwing up, continued... “said these thangs. Huh,
Ossifer, what yew thank?”

“
Shut up you drunken bum
and paint over that trash on the wall. I ain’t tellin’ you
agin!”

They had the wall
re-painted in cell Number Two in a few minutes. “There, the wall
looks better, nice and fresh. Now I don’t have to look at all that
worthless scribbling done by them bums. Come on you’re goin’ to
cell Number One ‘till this paint dries.”

The prisoner in cell
Number Two’s last brush strokes covered over, what was likely, the
most momentous piece of historical information ever written about
an American tragedy before the event had even happened. Underneath
the coat of fresh, grey paint had been ample assassination data
that could have ensured the immortalization of Officer Kennedy’s
name in the history books of the future. A Kennedy would be in
history books all right, but his name would not be Johnny, but John
– John Fitzgerald Kennedy would become the American icon, but
Officer Johnny Kennedy’s name would never be remembered. History
would forget his name. The “scribbling” read:

11/22/63 12:30
pm

JFK Killed

Texas School Book Building
6th Floor

Lee Harvey Oswald did
it

He will kill Officer J.D.
Tippit 1:15 on 10th St

Catch him in Texas Movie
Theater

I’m just a patsy he’ll
say

Jack Ruby 11:31 am Sunday
11/24/63 will kill Lee Harvey Oswald.

Beware basement Dallas
City police station

Back in the processing
waiting room Captain Scarburg’s previous jail cell buddy, the
prisoner from cell Number One was called to the Discharge Desk. The
Captain watched as, it seemed, an endless stream of papers were
being shoved in front of prisoner Number One to sign. After the
last release document had been notated, the bag of his valuables
was emptied out on the table, and another paper pushed in front the
prisoner to annotate. He looked at his belongings and of course
signed and initialed the paper. Turning to Clem the Captain spoke
almost in a whisper, “Clem hurry downstairs, get the car, and drive
it around to the front police station entrance on Houston. We’re
running out of time.”