The Boys from Biloxi: A Legal Thriller (33 page)

The stranger talked for two minutes, then left, walked back to the parking lot, and drove away. He told Noll that Bayard Wolf had told the cops everything before he died. They knew Malco ordered the contract and Noll handed over $20,000 to Wolf. They knew the Rifleman pulled the trigger.

The Biloxi DA was investigating the Cromwell killing.

He had learned to build bombs ten years earlier when he joined the Klan. At the time he worked for a contractor who often demolished old buildings to make way for new ones. In his day job, he learned the basics of demolition and became adept at the use of TNT and dynamite. With his hobby, he enjoyed building bombs that leveled black churches and the homes of sympathetic whites. He hit his stride in 1969 when the Klan declared war on the Jews in Mississippi and began an eighteen-month terror campaign. They accused the Jews of funding the civil rights nonsense and vowed to run them out of the state, all three thousand of them. His bombs destroyed homes, businesses, schools, and synagogues. Finally, the FBI moved in and put an end to his fun. He was indicted but acquitted by an all-white jury.

Now he was freelance, picking up work occasionally when a crooked businessman needed a building blown up in an insurance scam. His bombs hadn’t killed anyone in years and he was delighted with the challenge.

The name embroidered above the left pocket of his brown shirt was
lyle
, and Lyle he would be until the job was over. His real identity was hidden with his wallet, cash, and two pistols under the bed of his motel room a mile away.

At 12:05
p.m.
, on Friday, August 20, 1976, Lyle waited in the cab of his pickup truck, a dark blue 1973 Dodge half-ton. He was parked on a narrow street near the courthouse with an easy escape route. He picked a Friday in August because the county’s legal business came almost to a halt at that time. The courthouse was
virtually deserted. The lawyers, judges, and clerks not on vacation were slipping away for a long lunch that would lead to a long weekend. Many would not return for the afternoon.

Lyle didn’t want collateral damage, unnecessary victims. Nor did he want witnesses, people who might later claim to have seen a UPS delivery man on the second floor just before the explosion. Russ, the real UPS guy, delivered on Tuesdays and Thursdays and was well known to the courthouse regulars. An odd delivery on a Friday might get a look or two.

From the bed of his pickup he collected three boxes, all brown cardboard. Two were empty and had no labels or markings of any type. The third was ten by fourteen inches and six inches deep. It weighed five pounds and contained a block of Semtex, a moldable, plastic, military explosive. The shipping label addressed the package to
The Honorable Jesse Rudy, District Attorney, Room 214, Harrison County Courthouse, Biloxi, Mississippi
. The sender was
Appellate Reporter, Inc.,
with an address in Wilmington, Delaware. It was a legitimate company that had been publishing law books for decades. Three weeks earlier, Mr. Rudy had received an identical package, delivered by Russ. Inside were two thick, leather-bound books, along with a letter from the company asking him to try a free subscription for six months.

Two nights earlier, on August 18, Lyle had broken into the courthouse, picked the lock to the DA’s office, and confirmed that the first two books had been received. They were on display on a shelf with dozens of treatises, most of which gave the appearance of never being used. He also checked the master calendar on the secretary’s desk and saw that Mr. Rudy had an appointment at 12:30 on August 20. More than likely the secretary would be out for lunch, as would Egan Clement, his assistant. The target would be hanging around, waiting for his appointment.

Cradling the three boxes with both arms, and using them to partially hide his face, Lyle hurried up the stairs to the second floor, and in doing so did not see another person. As he passed the
courtroom door he walked between two lawyers who appeared to be disagreeing quietly. He hurried on, and outside the DA’s office he left the two empty boxes in the hallway and stepped inside as he tapped on the door.

“Come in,” a man’s voice called.

Lyle walked in with a smile and said, “Package for Mr. Jesse Rudy.” He placed it on the desk as he spoke.

“That’s me,” Mr. Rudy said, barely looking up from a document. “Who’s it from?”

“Got no idea, sir,” Lyle said, already retreating. He had no worries about being recognized and later identified. Later, Mr. Rudy wouldn’t be around to point a finger.

“Thanks,” he said.

“No problem, sir. Have a good day.”

Lyle was out of the office in seconds. He picked up the two empty boxes, used the top one as cover, and walked casually down the hall. The two lawyers were gone. There was no one in sight, until, suddenly, Egan Clement appeared at the top of the stairs. She was carrying a paper bag from a deli and a bottle of soda. She glanced at him as she walked by. Lyle thought,
Oh shit!
and had to make a quick decision. In a few short seconds Egan would be in the office and would become collateral damage.

Lyle dropped the boxes and removed from his pocket a remote detonator. He crouched beside the banister for cover, and pressed the button, at least thirty seconds before he’d planned to.

The thrill of bomb-making was to be close enough to feel and hear it, and sometimes even to see it, but yet far enough away to avoid debris. He was much too close and would pay a price.

The explosion rocked the modern building, which seemed to bounce on its concrete foundation. The sound was deafening and burst eardrums in the clerks’ offices on the first floor. It shattered every window on both levels. It knocked people down. It rattled walls and shook off portraits, framed photographs, bulletin boards, notices, and fire extinguishers. In the main courtroom, light
fixtures crashed onto the empty spectator pews. Judge Oliphant was sitting alone at a table in his chambers having a sandwich. His tall glass of ice tea tilted, flipped, and spilled. He ran into his courtroom, stepped on bits of broken glass, yanked open the main doors, and was hit with a wave of smoke and dust. Through it, he saw someone move along the floor down the hall. He took a deep breath, held it, and scrambled toward the person, who was moaning. It was Egan Clement, with blood oozing from her scalp. Judge Oliphant dragged her back to the courtroom and closed the doors.

Lyle was knocked off balance and sent tumbling down the steps to the landing halfway between the first and second floors. He took a blow to the head and for a moment was out of it. He tried to collect himself and keep moving but his right leg was white-hot with pain. Something was broken down there. Panicked voices filled the air and he could see people running for the double front doors. Dust and smoke were engulfing the entire building.

The detonator. Lyle managed to clear his head for a second to think about the detonator. If they caught him with it he wouldn’t stand a chance. Clutching the stair rail, he struggled down the lower steps and made it to the lobby where he crawled to the front door. Someone helped him outside. Someone else said, “It’s a compound fracture, buddy. I can see the bone.”

Bone or not, he couldn’t hang around. “Can you get me outta here?” he asked, but everyone was hurrying away from the building.

On the courthouse lawn, dozens of dazed people staggered out of the building, and once clear and safe, turned to look at it. Some had dust in their hair and on their shoulders. Some pointed to the DA’s office on the second floor where smoke and dust boiled out.

The explosion was heard throughout downtown Biloxi and other people made their way to the courthouse. Then the sirens began to wail, as they would for hours, and this attracted even more onlookers. First the police cars, then the firetrucks, then the ambulances. Several policemen arrived on foot, sprinting and
breathing heavily. They secured the exterior doors as the firemen frantically unraveled their hoses. The crowd was growing and the curious were commanded to stand back.

Gage Pettigrew heard the noise and commotion and hustled over to see what was happening. By the time he arrived it was an accepted fact that Jesse Rudy’s office had been bombed. No, there was no report of casualties. He tried to get closer and talk to a policeman, but was asked to move away. He ran back to his office and was about to call Agnes at home when Keith walked through the rear door and asked what was happening. He was returning from a hearing in Pascagoula. His first impulse was to run to the courthouse and check on his father, but Gage said he couldn’t get near the building.

“Please go home and sit with your mother, Keith. I’ll go back over there and ask around. I’ll call you when I know something.”

Keith was too stunned to argue. Gage walked him to his car and watched him drive away, and kept mumbling to himself, “This cannot be happening.” Sirens wailed in the distance.

Other than a nasty blow to the head, Egan appeared to be in good shape. Her wound was treated and she was strapped to a gurney and taken away in an ambulance. A secretary in the chancery clerk’s office was injured when a large filing cabinet toppled over and pinned her underneath. She left in the second ambulance. Lyle managed to grapple his way around to the side of the courthouse where he removed his brown shirt and stuffed it and the detonator into a large plastic garbage can. He was determined to get to his truck, drive away, go to the motel, and regroup. And as soon as physically possible, get the hell out of Biloxi. His plans went haywire, though, when he tripped and fell on a sidewalk. A first responder saw him, saw the blood and the exposed bone, and called for a stretcher. Lyle tried to resist, said he was fine and so on, but he was losing strength and fading. Another medic stepped over and they managed to get him on the stretcher and into an ambulance.

The fire was confined to the west end of the second floor and
was extinguished quickly. The fire chief was the first one into the district attorney’s office. The walls of the reception room were charred and cracked; an interior wall had been blown in half. The desks and chairs were splintered. The metal file cabinets were dented and ripped open. Debris and plaster dust covered the floor and mixed with the water to form sticky mud. The door leading to Jesse’s office had been torn, and from where he stood the fire chief could see the victim.

The remains of a corpse had been blown face-first into an exterior wall. The back of his head was missing, as were the left leg and right arm. The white shirt was nothing but shreds, all covered in blood.

For the Rudy family, the clock had never ticked slower. The afternoon dragged on as they waited for the inevitable. Keith and Ainsley sat with Agnes in the sun room, her favorite place in their home. Beverly and Laura were due any moment. Tim was trying to catch a flight out of Missoula.

Gage and Gene Pettigrew manned the front of the house and kept the crowd away. Friends descended on the home and were asked to please leave. Maybe later. The family wasn’t receiving guests. Thanks for your concern.

A Biloxi policeman arrived with the news that Egan Clement was being treated at the hospital and doing okay. She suffered a concussion and a cut that required a few stitches. Evidently she was somewhere near the door of the office when the explosion occurred. The FBI and state police were on the scene.

“Can you keep Fats Bowman away from it?” Gage asked.

The policeman smiled and said, “Don’t worry, Sheriff Bowman will not be involved.”

The corpse would not be moved for hours. There was no hurry. The crime scene would be examined for days. A few minutes after
three, an FBI technician carefully removed the wallet from the left rear pocket of the deceased and confirmed his identity.

The wallet was handed to Biloxi’s chief of police, who left the courthouse and drove straight to the Rudy home. He knew Keith well and was burdened with the responsibility of breaking the unspeakable news. The two of them huddled in the kitchen, away from Agnes and the girls.

Keith recognized the wallet and looked at his father’s driver’s license. He gritted his teeth and said, “Thank you, Bob.”

“I’m so sorry, Keith.”

“So am I. What do you know?”

“Not much so far. The FBI lab guys are on the way. Some type of bomb that went off somewhere close to your father’s desk. He didn’t have a chance.”

Keith closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “When can we see my dad?”

The chief stuttered and stumbled for words. “I don’t know, Keith. I’m not sure you want to see him, not like this.”

“Is he in one piece?”

“No.”

Keith took another deep breath and struggled to keep his composure. “I guess I gotta tell Mom.”

“I’m so sorry, Keith.”

Fortunately, at least for the investigation, Special Agent Jackson Lewis was on the Coast when he heard the news. He arrived at the courthouse at 12:45, and quickly established that the FBI was in charge. He made sure the building was locked and secured. Only the front door would remain open, for investigators. He asked the sheriff’s deputies to control the crowd and traffic, and he asked the Biloxi police to question the spectators and get the name of every person who was in the building at noon. When two FBI technicians arrived, he ordered them to photograph the license plates of every vehicle parked downtown.

He asked the state police to go to the hospital and take statements of those who were injured. In the ER, they found half a dozen people with cuts severe enough to require stitches. Four were complaining of severe pain in their ears. One unidentified man had a broken leg and was in surgery. Egan Clement was being x-rayed. A secretary was being treated for a concussion.

The officers decided their visit was premature, so they left for two hours. When they returned, they found Egan Clement in a private room, sedated but awake. Her mother stood on one side of her bed, her father on the other. Egan had been informed of Jesse’s death and was, at times, inconsolable. When she was able to talk, she told them what she remembered. She had left the office around 11:30 to run a quick errand and stop by Rosini’s Grocery for deli sandwiches. Chicken for her, turkey for Jesse. She returned to the courthouse around noon and remembered how it cleared out at lunchtime every Friday, especially in August. She walked up the
stairs, and passed a UPS delivery man without speaking, which she thought was odd because Russ always spoke. No big deal. It wasn’t Russ. And he was carrying boxes away from the second floor. Odd, too, for a Friday. She glanced back at him, and that was the last thing she remembered. She did not hear the blast, did not recall being knocked out by it.

The officers didn’t press and said they would return later. They thanked her and left. She was sobbing when they closed the door.

As the hours passed, more crime scene vans arrived from Jackson and they parked haphazardly in the street in front of the courthouse. Two large tents were erected to protect the team from the August sun and heat and to serve as temporary headquarters. The deputies encouraged those in the crowd to leave. Downtown streets were cordoned off, and as shoppers and employees left for the day, the empty parking spaces were secured with orange cones.

Jackson Lewis asked the Biloxi police to inform the downtown merchants and office workers that they could remain open over the weekend, but there would be no parking. He wanted the area locked down for the next forty-eight hours.

In a brief statement to the press, the chief of police confirmed that Mr. Jesse Rudy, the district attorney, had been killed in the explosion. He would not confirm that it was actually a bomb and deferred further questions until a later, unspecified time.

The man with the compound fracture and head injury had no wallet or ID on him and was unable to cooperate with the ER team when he was wheeled in. He drifted in and out of consciousness and was unresponsive. Regardless, surgery was needed immediately to repair his leg. X-rays of his head revealed little damage.

Lyle was actually alert enough to talk, but he had no desire to. His thoughts were only of escape, which at the moment looked unrealistic. When the anesthesiologist tried to quiz him, he became
unconscious again. The surgery lasted only ninety minutes. Afterward, he was moved to a semi-private room for recovery. An administrator appeared and politely inquired if he could answer a few questions. He closed his eyes and appeared unconscious. After she left, he stared at his left leg and tried to collect his thoughts. A thick white plaster cast began just below his right knee and covered everything but his toes. The entire limb was suspended in midair by pulleys and chains. An escape was impossible, so he lost unconsciousness when anyone entered the room.

Agnes whispered to Laura that she would like to lie down. Laura took one elbow, Beverly the other, and Ainsley followed them out of the sun room and down the hallway to the master bedroom. The shades were pulled tight; the only light a small lamp on a dresser. Agnes wanted a daughter on each side, and they lay quietly together in the dark and unbearable gloom for a long time. Ainsley sat on the corner of the bed, wiping her cheeks. Keith came and went but found the room too heavy and miserable. Occasionally, he walked to the den and chatted with the Pettigrew brothers, who were still guarding the front door. Beyond it, out in the street, neighbors were milling about, waiting to see someone from the family. There were several news teams with brightly painted vans and cameras on tripods.

At five o’clock, Keith walked to the end of the driveway and nodded to the neighbors and friends. He faced the cameras and made a brief statement. He thanked the people for coming and showing their concern. The family was trying to accept the horrific news and waiting for relatives to arrive. On behalf of the family, he was requesting everyone to honor their privacy. Thanks for the prayers and concerns. He walked away without taking questions.

Joey Grasich appeared from the crowd and Keith invited him into the house. Seeing a childhood buddy brought out a lot of
emotions, and Keith had his first long cry of the day. They were alone in the kitchen. So far, he had shown little emotion in front of the women.

After half an hour, Joey left and drove around the block. Keith checked on the women and said he was going to the hospital to see Egan. He ducked through the backyard and met Joey on the next street. They got away without being seen and drove to the law office where they parked. They walked three blocks to the barricades and chatted with a Biloxi policeman who was guarding the sidewalk.

Behind him, the courthouse was crawling with police and investigators. Every firetruck and patrol car in the city and county was there, along with half a dozen from the state highway patrol. Two FBI mobile crime units were parked on the lawn near the front door.

The window of Jesse’s office had been blown out and the bricks around it were charred black. Keith tried to look at it but turned away.

As they were walking back to the office, they saw a woman place a bouquet of flowers on the front steps of Rudy & Pettigrew. They spoke to her, thanked her, and noticed several other arrangements folks had dropped off.

At the hospital, Keith tapped on the door to Egan’s room and eased inside. Joey didn’t know her and stayed in the hall. Her parents were still there, and she had held her composure for some time, until she saw Keith. He hugged her gently, careful not to touch a bandage.

“I just can’t believe it,” she said over and over.

“At least you’re safe, Egan.”

“Tell me it’s not true.”

“Okay, it’s not true. You’ll go to work tomorrow and Jesse’ll be yelling about something, same as always. This is just a bad dream.”

She almost managed a smile, but clutched his hand and closed her eyes.

Her mother nodded and Keith thought he should leave. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said and carefully kissed Egan on the cheek.

As he and Joey left her room and headed for the elevators, they passed Room 310, semi-private. Lying in the first bed, with his leg in the air, was the man who killed Jesse Rudy.