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CHAPTER FOUR

The Klan

Before Carl Lee Hailey could go on trial, he had to go in front of a jury of citizens of Ford County. It was their job to decide if the two murders had happened and if it was reasonable for Carl Lee to stand trial. This was the first opportunity for Rufus Buckley to get some of the publicity he wanted so much.

The grand jury made its decision. There was a case against Carl Lee and he would have to stand trial for murder. It was then Rufus Buckley’s turn to stand on the front steps of the courthouse in the middle of a crowd of reporters and cameramen.

Buckley had copies of the legal documents with Carl Lee’s name on. He waved these in front of the cameras. He talked like a priest in church, saying how terrible it was for people to take the law into their own hands. He praised the jury for the decision they had made. He accused Carl Lee Hailey of being a lawless man and said he wanted the trial to happen soon. He guaranteed he would prove that Carl Lee Hailey was guilty of murder. He guaranteed Carl Lee Hailey would die on the electric chair. He was rude, unpleasant, self-important. He was himself.

A few of the reporters left, but he did not stop talking. He told those who remained about his skill as a lawyer and his success as a prosecutor. More reporters left. More cameras were turned off. He praised Judge Noose for his wisdom and fairness. He praised the intelligence and good judgment of Ford County jurors.

When he finished speaking, there were no reporters left. They had grown tired of him.

Stump Sisson was the Ku Klux Klan’s leader in Mississippi. He had called the meeting at a small hut deep in the forest in Nettles County, two hundred and thirty miles south of Ford County.

There were no special clothes or speeches. The small group of Klansmen discussed the events in Ford County with Freddie Cobb, brother of Billy Ray. Freddie had called a friend, who had contacted Stump to arrange the meeting.

“When’s the nigger’s trial?”

“I’m not sure,” Cobb said. “I think it’ll probably be later in summer.”

He was most worried, he said, by all the talk about the nigger saying he was insane and going free. It wasn’t right. The nigger killed his brother in cold blood, planned the shooting. What could the Klan do about it? Cobb complained that the niggers had so much protection these days that no one could do anything against them.

“Hell, white people ain’t got a chance, except for the Klan. Who else will march and stand up for white people? All the laws work to help the niggers. That’s why we called the Klan.”

“What about your brother. Did he rape her?”

“We’re not sure, probably not. Willard, the other one, said he did it, but Billy Ray never did. He always had plenty of women. Why would he rape a little nigger girl? And if he did, what’s the big problem?”

“Who’s the nigger’s lawyer?”

“Brigance, a local boy in Clanton. Young, but pretty good. He told some reporters the nigger, would say he was insane and would go free.”

“Who’s the judge?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Sisson and the Klan members listened carefully to this mindless farmer. They liked his complaints about the government, but they had also read the papers and watched TV and they knew his brother had received justice. But at the hands of a nigger. It was unthinkable.

The case could be useful to them. With the trial several months away, there was time to plan. They could march during the day around the courthouse in their Klan uniform of tall hats and masks. The press would love it - hate them, but love the arguments, the anger. And at night they could frighten people with their burning crosses and threatening phone calls. There would also be violence. They knew what the sight of the Klan did to crowds of angry niggers.

Ford County could be their playground for search and destroy, hit and run. They had time to organize and call in people from other states. The Hailey case could be used to bring together all the Southern whites who still refused to accept the rights of blacks to a place in society.

“Mr. Cobb, can you get us the names and addresses of the nigger, his family, his lawyer, the judge, and the jurors?” asked Sisson.

Cobb thought about this.

“Everybody except the jurors. They aren’t been chosen yet. What’re you thinking?”

“We’re not sure, but the Klan will most likely get involved. We need to remind people we’re still here, and this could be a good opportunity.”

“Can I help?” Cobb asked.

“Sure, but you’d need to be a member.”

“We ain’t got any Klan up in Clanton. It stopped meeting a long time ago. My grandfather used to be a member.”

“You mean the grandfather of this man was a Klansman?”

“Yes,” Cobb answered proudly.

“Well, then we must get involved.”

Buckley’s four o’clock press conference did not come on the early evening news. Jake laughed when first the national TV channels and then Memphis, then Jackson, then Ripelo, ended their broadcasts with no news about the Hailey trial, and no pictures of Buckley on the screen.

At ten, Jake and his wife Carla lay in the dark on the sofa, waiting for the news. Finally, there was Buckley, on the front steps, waving papers and shouting while the reporter explained that this was Rufus Buckley, the man who would prosecute Carl Lee Hailey. The camera was pointed at Buckley for a few seconds, and then the camera moved around the town square to give a wonderful view of the center of Clanton. It finally came back to the reporter for two sentences about a trial in late summer.

“Buckley’s really horrible,” Carla said, and turned off the sound of the TV. “You know what I dislike most about your murder trials?”

She kicked the cushions off the sofa with her thin, brown, almost perfect legs.

“The blood, the pain?”

“No.” She let her shoulder-length hair fall around her as she fell back on the sofa.

“The loss of life?”

“No.”

She was wearing one of his old shirts. She began to play with the buttons.

“The horrible possibility of an innocent man facing the electric chair?”

“No.”

She unbuttoned the shirt. The blue television screen was the only light in the room. It was enough for Jake to see her almost perfect arms reach out for him.

“The emotion, the desire …”

“That’s more like it,” she said, and slid an almost perfect brown leg up, up, up to the back of the sofa, where it gently came to rest.

They moved closer to each other and she turned off the TV. The room was warm and dark.