Confession by Gary Whitmore - HTML preview

Chapter 23

Sam slept in and woke at nine that morning in Curtis, Mississippi, got out of bed, took a hot shower, and then changed clothes.

After stashing his file folders in his overnight bag, Sam left his room with his book.

Sam drove around Curtis to get a feel for the town. It was small, with a population of three thousand nine hundred and eighty-seven.

It didn’t take long to locate the Stein Chevrolet dealership.

Sam drove farther down the street, stopping when he found a lovely family-style diner.

He went inside for breakfast.

After breakfast, Sam drove to the Curtis Library, parked his car where another car was parked in the lot, and walked inside with his book.

Sam entered the library, which appeared void of visitors.

Sam walked up to the front counter where Sara Cunningham, an old white-haired African-American woman, looked bored.

“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,” Sara said with a warm smile, then walked out from behind the counter, happy to have a visitor.

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, pointing to a cabinet with drawers. Come see me if you have any problems,” she said with another warm smile.

Sara walked away and headed back to the front counter.

Sam opened up the “1945 – 1950” drawer.

He removed the “Aug - Dec 1948” reel and sat down at the reel machine.

After reading the placard on the machine and inserting the reel, his cell phone rang.

“Hey, Charles,” Sam quickly answered the call.

“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.”

“Where 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.

After twenty minutes of going through the whole reel, Sam found nothing. Then he opened 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 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,” Sam 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, and 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. Then he removed his wallet and showed her his identification card and Florida driver’s license.

“How did you know what happened with Abraham Jones?” she asked curiously.

“This book started with that story,” he said while showing her the book A Killer’s Tale.

Sara looked at the book. “I don’t read murder books,” she said, then her eyes widened. “Allan Stein wrote it. I loathe 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 opening a drawer and removing 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 teenage colored girl. It further stated that Sheriff Jimmy Nathan would conduct an investigation.

Sam looked at the screen, smirked, then printed two copies.

“Why would a retired FBI agent be concerned with something that happened over fifty years ago?” Sara inquired.

Sam showed her the book and told her the story of the October Slayer case, explaining why he thought the book would reveal the killer’s identity.

“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 book,” 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. At the same time, her eyes welled up, as 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 another drawer and removed a “Jan – Jul 1962” reel, then 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. Shortly 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 sounds just like the book,” he said while printing two copies of the 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 library’s doors. She locked the front doors.

Sam followed Sara in her car to Marsha’s house 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 sofa.

Marsha was an old African American woman with a head full of white hair and a face full of wrinkles. Half of her teeth were long gone.

“I remember that day like it was yesterday. Stevie ran into the house sweaty, out of breath and scared. 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, and then her eyes welled up. “Then, two nights later, some KKK thugs broke into our home and dragged my Abraham outside. They 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 at 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 promised.

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 had 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 wooden house with a lopsided front porch that needed some paint.

Sara walked Sam to the front screen door and 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, I will if you say I need to talk to him. Please come inside,” Gertie said, opening the screen door.

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

“Betsy, you need to come into 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, a middle-aged African-American woman with lighter skin than 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 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 toward the kitchen. “Candice, get me Pam Stone’s address,” Gertie called out.

Sam watched while Candice walked over to the phone and opened a book.

“Did Billy know about Candice?” Sam asked Betsy.

“Yes, and that’s another reason he would drive by our house.”

Candice walked over to a piece of paper with Pam’s address.

“I’ll call Pam and let her know you’re coming. She volunteers at the hospital, so you can probably visit her after six tonight,” Gertie said.

Sam stood up. “I can’t thank you enough for the valuable information you provided.”

“I just hope you catch this killer,” Gertie said.

“I’ll do my best, ma’am,” Sam said. He started to step outside, then remembered something. “Do you know how I can contact Jerome Franklin? I can imagine he’s out of prison by now.”

“He’s down in Jackson,” Betsy said while she left the kitchen. “I can call him to see if he’ll speak with you,” she added.

“My number is five, five, five, eighteen oh four,” Sam said.

Betsy nodded, said she had gotten his number, and then walked back into the kitchen.

Sam and Sara left the house. They walked over to their cars.

“Thank you so much, Sara. You’ve been a big help,” Sam told her.

“I hope you catch that killer,” she replied.

Sam kissed her cheek to thank her again.

They both got inside their cars and drove away.

Sam went in one direction while Sara drove back to the library.

A little while later, Sam pulled into Stein Chevrolet’s parking lot. He got out of his car with his A Killer’s Tale book in hand, two folded pieces of paper stuffed inside.

Sam walked over to the new car area and looked around, pretending to be shopping for a car.

A few minutes later, Cecil Hackman, a salesman, walked up to Sam with hunger in his eyes for a sale. “Well, hello, sir; looking for a new Chevy today?” Cecil asked.

“I’m thinking about a Corvette. I’ve always wanted one, and now that I’m getting older, I figured it’s time to live a little,” Sam replied with a smile.

“I can help. I’m Cecil Hackman,” he said with dollar signs in his eyes.

Sam hesitated for a few seconds, and then a smirk grew. “I’m Robert Fillert from Boldger, Alabama.”

They shook hands.

“Well, let me show you some of the Corvettes we have in the lot,” Cecil said, then escorted Sam to the other end of the lot.

Then, twenty minutes later, after giving Sam a test ride in a red Corvette, Cecil took Sam inside his cubicle to draw up the sales papers.

“Have a seat, Mister Fillert. Can I get you some coffee?” Cecil asked.

“Sure, black only,” replied Sam while he set his book on Cecil’s desk.

Cecil eyed the book but didn’t give it any thought as he walked out of his cubicle.

Sam stood up and watched to make sure Cecil couldn’t see him. He sat back down and grabbed a pen from the desk.

Cecil poured some coffee into a Styrofoam cup and returned to his cubicle.

He walked back into his cubicle and set the cup on his desk before Sam.

Sam took a sip of coffee while he schemed in his

head.

“Okay, let’s get things going,” Cecil said. “Where is the bathroom?” Sam said while he grabbed his book and stood up.

“Over there, past the coffee pot,” Cecil said while he stood up and pointed in the direction Sam needed to

head.

“I’ll be back,” Sam said, then walked off in that direction.

Cecil started working on the paperwork for the sale of a Corvette. He was dancing in his seat while thinking of his commission.

Sam walked over to the coffee pot and then turned in another direction. He passed Judy’s desk.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I’m looking for the bathrooms,” Sam said. He looked around and saw Billy in his office, buried in paperwork. Billy was too busy to notice Sam.

Judy got up from behind her desk and walked up to Sam.

“It’s over there past the coffee pots,” Judy said while she pointed in the right direction.

“Thank you,” Sam said, then walked toward the bathrooms.

Sam went into the men’s room and came back out a few seconds later.

Sam walked by the table with the coffee pot, dropped those two pieces of paper on the table, discreetly found an exit, and rushed out of the building.

Outside, Sam rushed over to his car, got inside, started it up, and drove out of the lot.

A car quickly pulled into the parking lot. Inside was Henry Peabody, an accountant. He parked his car and got out with a briefcase in hand.

He rushed over to the front doors.

Inside his office, Billy continued to work on his paperwork.

Henry rushed into his office. “Billy! You’ve been ignoring me for the past couple of weeks. I need documentation showing those trips to Asia were business-related. We have the IRS meeting in the morning,” Henry said while he rushed up to Billy’s desk.

“Judy, get Henry a cup of coffee here,” Billy roared.

Henry pulled up a chair beside Billy, opened his briefcase, and removed a stack of papers.

Judy walked into Billy’s office with a cup of coffee in one hand and the two papers Sam had dropped off in her other hand.

She set the coffee cup in front of Henry and dropped the two papers before Billy.

“I found these by the coffee pot,” she said, then walked out of his office looking bothered.

Billy looked at one of the papers.

It was a copy of the news article from the Curtis Bugle, dated August 4, 1949. It was about the redneck and the colored girl found dead in the woods. “Billy Stein did this” was handwritten at the bottom of this article.

He looked pissed while he looked at the other paper.

It was a copy of the Curtis Bugle news article dated February 21, 1962. It was about Jerome being sentenced for rape. “Billy Stein did this” was handwritten at the bottom of this article.

Billy looked furious while he stared at the papers.

“Billy, I need documentation that these were legitimate business trips,” Henry said, a little irritated that Billy was ignoring him.

“I don’t have any fucking documentation,” Billy said while he jumped out of his chair and stormed out of his office.

Billy stormed over to Judy’s desk. “Who left these?” he barked.

“I don’t know, sir,” Judy replied.

Billy rushed away and into the sales area, where Cecil stared out the windows at the lot.

“What the hell are you looking at?” Billy snapped at him.

“Somehow, I lost a customer,” Cecil said, looking baffled.

“Lost a customer? How the hell can you lose a customer?” Billy asked, ready to slap Cecil.

“Don’t know. I had a Robert Fillert ready to buy a Corvette. Then he left my desk and never returned to the bathroom.”

“I should fire your ass,” Billy said, then he stormed away.

Billy got five feet away from Cecil, and then it hit him like a ton of bricks. Billy rushed back to Cecil. “Did you say Robert Fillert?”

“Yes, sir. He said he was from Boldger, Alabama. He looked to be in his seventies,” Cecil replied, then thought for a few seconds. I don’t know where Boldger, Alabama, is located.”

“You’re the biggest dumbass I’ve ever known!” Billy barked out, then stormed back to his office, ready to kill someone.

Cecil got nervous and knew Billy would probably fire him, then moved back to his desk.

Meanwhile, back in Kissimmee, Florida, Becky sat in her den.

She looked at all the memories of her life with Allan, and her eyes welled up as she remembered all those good times.

Marty entered the room with a check in hand. “A check came for thirty-three thousand dollars in royalties from Dad’s book. That’s going to help the kids through college.”

“I know,” she said, but her eyes filled with tears when she saw a picture of Becky and Allan at Disney. Allan wore Mickey Mouse ears on his head.

Marty looked at Becky and wanted to tell her that he checked Allan’s computer and found no notes about his research for A Killer’s Tale. He decided he better not say a thing, so he walked out of the room.