The boys from biloxi, p.32
The Boys from Biloxi, page 32
They followed him out of town, along Highway 90, then north on Highway 49. Another tail picked him up in Hattiesburg, another in Jackson. Six hours later, Henry was followed as he skirted downtown Memphis on the bypass and picked up Highway 51 north. In the town of Millington, he stopped to fill up his tank and buy a soft drink from the convenience store, hobbling painfully and trying to keep any weight off his bum leg. Two hours later, he was trailed at the edge of Union City and followed until he finally made it home.
Inside, he went straight to the kitchen for a glass of water. He took a handful of pain pills, gulped them down, and wiped his mouth with a forearm. He made it to the sofa where he collapsed. His leg felt like red-hot spears were jabbing into his flesh and muscles.
After a few moments, the pain began to subside and he could breathe normally for the first time in hours. He had replayed his mistakes a thousand times in the hospital and didn’t want to go there again. He considered himself extremely lucky to have escaped with so many cops around.
What a bunch of morons down there.
* * *
Late Tuesday afternoon, Keith and Tim drove to the firm’s office downtown. They admired the incredible collection of flower arrangements that completely covered the porch and most of the small front lawn. They walked a few blocks to the barricades and checked on the courthouse. Keith spoke to a Biloxi policeman he knew and thanked him for his condolences. Back at the firm, they entered Jesse’s office, and for a long moment stood in the center of it, taking in their father’s life. On the Ego Wall were diplomas, awards, photos, and newspaper clippings from the Camille days. On his credenza were a dozen photos of Agnes and the children at various ages. The desk, seldom used for the past five years, was in perfect order, with gifts the children had given: a silver letter opener, fancy quill pens he never used, a bronze clock, a magnifying glass he didn’t need, and a baseball signed by Jackie Robinson. Jesse had seen him play in an exhibition game in 1942.
Their sense of loss was unfathomable. The emotional devastation was overwhelming; the physical pain, after five days, was numbing. A man they had worshipped because of his unabashed love for his family, his integrity, courage, grit, intelligence, and affability, was gone, taken from them in his prime. They and their sisters had never for once given thought to losing their father. He was an enormous presence in their lives, and he would always be there for them. He couldn’t be dead at the age of fifty-two.
Tim, the most emotional of the four, stretched out on the sofa and covered his eyes. Keith, the most stoic, sat at his father’s desk for a long time with his eyes closed and tried to hear Jesse’s voice.
Instead, he heard a faint tapping at the front door. He glanced at his watch and jumped to his feet. He had forgotten the five o’clock appointment.
He greeted Judge Oliphant warmly and led him to the conference room on the first floor. He was in his late seventies and had always been sharp and spry, but at that moment he looked as though he had aged. He moved with a slight limp, and said no to coffee. His close friendship with Jesse Rudy had begun during the Camille litigation and only grown deeper when the new DA assumed an office just down the hall. They were so close that the judge fretted over the issue of impartiality. Jesse often grumbled that Oliphant was so concerned about being fair that he went out of his way to make it hard for the State. They yielded no ground to each other in open court, then laughed about their theatrics over drinks and cigars.
The judge was devastated by Jesse’s death and was obviously grieving. They commiserated for a while, but Keith soon grew weary of it. To keep traffic away from the house and Agnes, he was meeting friends at the office. Each visit began with the usual round of tears and condolences, and they were taking a toll.
“Not only was it a cold-blooded murder,” Oliphant was saying, “but it was an attack on our judicial system. They bombed the courthouse, Keith, the very place where justice is pursued. I suppose they could’ve killed Jesse in any number of places, they seem adept at these matters, but they chose the courthouse.”
“And who are ‘they’?”
“The same people Jesse went after. The same people he indicted, dragged into court, my courtroom, and frightened them so much they pled guilty.”
“Malco?”
“Of course it’s Malco, Keith. Jesse’s put away more than his share of criminals in five years, same as any other DA, I guess. That’s what the job entails. But Lance Malco was the big fish, and he left behind a criminal syndicate that is still operating and capable of getting revenge.”
Keith said, “The moment I heard that a bomb had gone off in the courthouse, I said the word ‘Malco.’ It’s so obvious that you have to wonder if they’re really that brazen, or stupid.”
“They’ve flaunted the law for so long they believe they’re above it. This shocks me, shocks all of us, but it should not be surprising.”
Neither spoke for a long time as they weighed the implications of what they had already decided. Finally, Keith asked, “You think Lance ordered the hit from prison?”
“I’m going back and forth. It would be easy for him to do and he has nothing to lose. But, he’s too smart for that. Lance avoided attention, went out of his way to operate in the shadows, didn’t like to be seen or read about himself. Right now everybody on the Coast, especially law enforcement, is thinking the same thing: Malco.”
Keith was nodding and said, “I agree. Lance is too smart, but Hugh is an idiot. Now he’s got the power and wants to prove he’s a real crime boss. By murdering the DA he becomes a legend, if he gets away with it.”
“It will be difficult to prove, Keith. Contract killings are virtually impossible because the guilty party touches nothing.”
“But the cash.”
“But the cash, and it’s untraceable.”
Another pause as they listened to voices outside. More flowers were being delivered.
The judge said, “You know, Keith, Governor Finch will appoint an interim DA to fill the vacancy. I know Cliff. We were in the state legislature together. He also served as DA for eight years. I want you to consider asking him for the job. I’m sure you’ve thought about it.”
“I have, but only in passing. I have not mentioned it to Ainsley or my mother. I doubt either will be too excited.”
“So you’ll consider it?”
“I’ve talked to Egan and she has no interest. She plans to take some time off. I can’t think of anybody else who’ll want the job, especially now. Good way to get hurt.”
Oliphant smiled and said, “You’ll be a natural, Keith, and you can pick up where Jesse left off.”
“And I’ll be in the middle of the investigation. Governor Waller called last night with his condolences. As you know, he and Dad had become friends. He promised to talk to Governor Finch and push him to give it priority. The state police and FBI seem to be working together for a change. I want to be there, Judge, in the middle of it.”
“I’ll talk to Governor Finch.”
“And I’ll talk to my mother, but not now. Let’s wait until after the funeral.”
* * *
With Father Norris in control and guiding the family, the proceedings went strictly by the Catholic book. On Friday night, a huge crowd gathered at St. Michael’s for the prayer vigil. Father Norris led the prayers and asked several friends to read Holy Scripture. Since there would be no eulogies the following day at the Requiem Mass, they were delivered during the vigil. A childhood friend from the Point went first and broke the ice with a funny story from way back then. Judge Oliphant spoke eloquently of Jesse’s humble beginnings, his determination to become a lawyer by taking night classes at Loyola in New Orleans, his drive and ambition. But above all, his courage.
Former governor Waller described what it was like for a DA to receive death threats for simply doing his job. He had been there and he knew the fear. Jesse’s courage had cost him his life, but the job he started would one day be finished. The thugs and mobsters who killed him would get their day in court.
Amongst the family, there was no doubt about who would speak. Tim knew he could not keep his composure. Beverly and Laura happily deferred to their older brother. When Keith stepped to the pulpit there was complete silence in the church. In a strong, articulate voice, he thanked everyone on behalf of the family. He assured them that the family would not only survive, but would endure and prevail. His mother, Agnes, and his siblings, Beverly, Laura, and Tim, appreciated the prayers and the outpouring of support.
Jesse taught him many lessons about life, and also about the law. Great trial lawyers aren’t born; they’re made. The great ones simply tell the jury a story, one that he has a thorough command of. The story must be written and rewritten, and edited some more, to the point where the lawyer knows every word, pause, and punch line by memory. The delivery is smooth but not too polished, not in any way rehearsed. Listening to Keith speak without notes and without a single wasted syllable, it was hard to believe he was only twenty-eight years old and had taken only three jury trials all the way to verdicts.
He told stories of fishing with his father in the Mississippi Sound, of playing baseball in the backyard, of a thousand games with Jesse always in the stands. He never missed one. When Keith was fifteen, Jesse took him to court to watch a trial, and over dinner they discussed every move made by the lawyers and the judge. Many trials followed. By the time he was sixteen he was wearing a coat and tie and sitting right behind Jesse.
Keith’s voice never cracked. His delivery was as smooth as a veteran stage actor’s. Though he kept his composure, his eulogy was extremely emotional. He ended with: “Our father did not die in vain. His work had just begun, and his work will be finished. His enemies will die in prison.”
* * *
The Requiem Mass drew an even larger crowd that overflowed the sanctuary. Those who arrived late were directed to a large canopied tent beside the church building. A PA system relayed the events: the sprinkling of holy water on the coffin as it entered the front doors; the family receiving the coffin at the altar and placing an open Bible on it; the reading of Holy Scripture by Beverly and Laura; a solo by a soprano; a reading from the Gospel of Luke by Jesse’s brother; a reflection on the verses by Father Norris, followed by a lengthy homily in which he talked about death in the Christian world and said marvelous things about Jesse Rudy; an organist played a beautiful hymn; Tim read a prayer and managed to get through it; communion took half an hour, and when it was over Father Norris sprinkled more holy water on the coffin as he gave the final commendation.
Chapter 43
On the Tuesday after Labor Day the courthouse reopened for business. The west half of the second floor was blocked off with a temporary partition as work crews finished the cleanup and began the repairs. Judge Oliphant was eager to tackle his docket and schedule hearings.
Two days later, in his courtroom, a brief ceremony took place. Pursuant to an appointment by Governor Cliff Finch, Keith Rudy would fill the vacancy left by the death of his father and serve as district attorney for the remainder of the term, through 1979. Judge Oliphant read the appointment and swore in the new DA. Agnes and Ainsley watched proudly, though with plenty of quiet doubts. Both had been opposed to Keith taking the job, but his mind was made up. To Agnes, he was like Jesse in so many ways. When he felt he was right, it was impossible to dissuade him.
Beverly and Laura looked on, along with Egan, the Pettigrew brothers, and a handful of other friends. They were all still sleepwalking through the aftermath of the murder, but Keith’s appointment gave them hope that justice would be served. There were no speeches, but a reporter from the Register covered it and chatted with Keith when it was over. His first question was one that was obvious: “Can you be fair and objective if you prosecute the person or persons responsible for the murder of your father?”
Keith knew it was coming and replied: “I can be fair but I don’t have to be objective. In any murder investigation, the police and prosecutor determine guilt long before the jury, so in that respect they’re not exactly objective. I can only promise to be fair.”
“If the murder is solved, will you handle the trial?”
“It’s much too early to talk about a trial.”
“Do you know of any suspects?”
“No.”
“Will you be involved in the investigation?”
“At every turn. We’ll follow every lead, look under every rock. I will not rest until this crime is solved.”
Similar questions dogged him during his first days in office. Reporters hung around Rudy & Pettigrew and were repeatedly asked to leave. A steady flow of friends and well-wishers stopped by for a somber word or two and Keith quickly grew tired of their presence. The front door was eventually locked. Gage and Gene worked in the downstairs conference room and kept an eye on the foot traffic. The phone rang nonstop and was routinely ignored. Clients were asked to be patient.
With most of the DA’s records destroyed, one of Keith’s first challenges was to reconstruct the files and determine who had been indicted and what was the status of each defendant. Without exception, the local bar rallied behind him and provided copies of all records. Judge Oliphant ran interference and gave no ground to the defense attorneys. Rex Dubisson spent hours with Keith and walked him through the ins and outs of the job. Pat Graebel, next door in the Nineteenth District, did the same and made his staff available.
Keith began each day by taking Agnes to morning Mass at St. Michael’s.
* * *
Two days after Keith became the DA, Hugh made another journey north into no-man’s-land to visit his father. The cotton was in full bloom and the flatlands were as white as snow on both sides of the highway. It was somewhat interesting to watch the Delta change colors with the season as the crops got ready for the harvest, but he still found it depressing. He perked up at the sight of his first cotton picker, a bright green John Deere mechanized creation that resembled a giant insect creeping through the snow. Then he saw another and soon they were everywhere. He passed a trailer headed for the gin, loose bolls flying into the air and landing like litter on the sides of the highway.
Five miles south of the prison, he saw a sight so startling that he slowed and almost stopped on the shoulder of the road. A prison guard with a shotgun and a cowboy hat sat in the saddle of a quarter horse and watched a gang of about a dozen black inmates pluck bolls of cotton from stalks that were almost chest-high. They stuffed the cotton into thick burlap sacks they dragged behind them.
It was September of 1976, more than a hundred years after emancipation.
Parchman covered 18,000 acres of rich soil. With its endless supply of free labor it had been, historically at least, a cash cow for the state. Back in its glory days, long before the intervention of federal litigation and notions of prisoners’ rights, the working conditions had been brutal, especially for black inmates.
Hugh shook his head and moved on, stunned again by the backwardness of Mississippi, and happy to be from the Coast. A different world.
Lance had so far avoided picking cotton, a loathsome job now reserved as punishment. He lived in Unit 26, one of many separate “camps” scattered throughout the sprawling farm. Though the federal courts had repeatedly told the state to desegregate Parchman, there were still a few places where inmates with a little cash could survive without the fear of violence. Unit 26 was the preferred address, though the cells lacked air-conditioning and ventilation.
Hugh cleared the front gate and followed well-marked roads into the depths of the farm. He parked in the small lot of Unit 26, cleared another security post, and entered a red-brick administration building. He got frisked again, then led to the visitation room. Lance appeared on the other side of a mesh screen and they said hello. Though the visits were supposed to be confidential, Lance trusted no one at the prison and cautioned Hugh about saying too much.
Other than a few more gray hairs and wrinkles around his eyes, Lance had changed little in sixteen months. The cardiac problems that had practically killed him the year before had mysteriously vanished. He claimed to be in good health and surviving the ordeals of prison. He worked in the library, took walks around the camp several times each day, and wrote letters to friends, though all mail was screened. In cautious terms, they talked about the family businesses and Hugh assured him all was well. Fats sent his regards, as did Nevin and the other guys. Carmen was doing much better now that Lance was away, though Hugh downplayed his mother’s happiness. Lance feigned concern for her well-being.
They talked about everything but the obvious. Jesse Rudy’s death was never mentioned. Lance had not been involved in it, and he was worried sick that his unpredictable son had done something stupid.
All suspicions were on Hugh because there were no other credible suspects.
* * *
Like his predecessor, Bill Waller, Governor Finch had served two terms as a district attorney. The brutal murder of one of their own was unthinkable, and he made its investigation his highest priority. He formed a joint task force with the state police and FBI, and promised full cooperation and funding.
In late September, the task force met in secret for the first time in a hotel in Pascagoula. Special Agents Jackson Lewis and Spence Whitehead were there on behalf of the FBI. The head of the state police, Captain Moffett, presided. He was flanked by two of his investigators. Two more of his men, state troopers in uniform, guarded the door. Keith took notes and said little.
