Three Classic Thrillers (109 page)

Lee had little to say about her own life. She left home in a hurry at the age of eighteen, the week after high school graduation, and went straight to Nashville to get famous as a recording artist. Somehow she met Phelps Booth, a graduate student at Vanderbilt whose family owned banks. They were eventually married and settled into what appeared to be a miserable existence in Memphis. They had one son, Walt, who evidently was quite rebellious and now lived in Amsterdam. These were the only details.

Adam couldn’t tell if Lee had transformed herself into something other than a Cayhall, but he suspected she had. Who could blame her?

Lee left as quietly as she had come. Without a hug or a farewell, she eased from their home before dawn, and was gone. She called two days later and talked to Adam and Carmen. She encouraged them to write, which they eagerly did, but the calls and letters from her became further apart. The promise of a new relationship slowly faded. Their mother made excuses. She
said Lee was a good person, but she was nonetheless a Cayhall, and thus given to a certain amount of gloom and weirdness. Adam was crushed.

The summer after his graduation from Pepperdine, Adam and a friend drove across the country to Key West. They stopped in Memphis and spent two nights with Aunt Lee. She lived alone in a spacious, modern condo on a bluff overlooking the river, and they sat for hours on the patio, just the three of them, eating homemade pizza, drinking beer, watching barges, and talking about almost everything. Family was never mentioned. Adam was excited about law school, and Lee was full of questions about his future. She was vibrant and fun and talkative, the perfect hostess and aunt. When they hugged good-bye, her eyes watered and she begged him to come again.

Adam and his friend avoided Mississippi. They drove eastward instead, through Tennessee and the Smoky Mountains. At one point, according to Adam’s calculations, they were within a hundred miles of Parchman and death row and Sam Cayhall. That was four years ago, in the summer of 1986, and he already had collected a large box full of materials about his grandfather. His video was almost complete.

______

Their conversation on the phone last night had been brief. Adam said he would be living in Memphis for a few months, and would like to see her. Lee invited him to her condo, the same one on the bluff, where she had four bedrooms and a part-time maid. He would live with her, she insisted. Then he said he would be working in the Memphis office, working on Sam’s case as a matter of fact. There was silence on the other end, then a weak offer to come on down anyway and they would talk about it.

Adam pushed her doorbell at a few minutes after
nine, and glanced at his black Saab convertible. The development was nothing but a single row of twenty units, all stacked tightly together with red-tiled roofs. A broad brick wall with heavy iron grating along the top protected those inside from the dangers of downtown Memphis. An armed guard worked the only gate. If not for the view of the river on the other side, the condos would be virtually worthless.

Lee opened the door and they pecked each other on the cheeks. “Welcome,” she said, looking at the parking lot, then locking the door behind him. “Are you tired?”

“Not really. It’s a ten-hour drive but it took me twelve. I was not in a hurry.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No. I stopped a few hours ago.” He followed her into the den where they faced each other and tried to think of something appropriate to say. She was almost fifty, and had aged a lot in the past four years. The hair was now an equal mixture of gray and brunette, and much longer. She pulled it tightly into a ponytail. Her soft blue eyes were red and worried, and surrounded by more wrinkles. She wore an oversized cotton button-down and faded jeans. Lee was still cool.

“It’s good to see you,” she said with a nice smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Let’s sit on the patio.” She took his hand and led him through the glass doors onto a wooden deck where baskets of ferns and bougainvillea hung from wooden beams. The river was below them. They sat in white wicker rockers. “How’s Carmen?” she asked as she poured iced tea from a ceramic pitcher.

“Fine. Still in grad school at Berkeley. We talk once a week. She’s dating a guy pretty serious.”

“What’s she studying now? I forget.”

“Psychology. Wants to get her doctorate, then maybe teach.” The tea was strong on lemon and short on sugar. Adam sipped it slowly. The air was still muggy and hot. “It’s almost ten o’clock,” he said. “Why is it so hot?”

“Welcome to Memphis, dear. We’ll roast through September.”

“I couldn’t stand it.”

“You get used to it. Sort of. We drink lots of tea and stay inside. How’s your mother?”

“Still in Portland. Now married to a man who made a fortune in timber. I’ve met him once. He’s probably sixty-five, but could pass for seventy. She’s forty-seven and looks forty. A beautiful couple. They jet here and there, St. Barts, southern France, Milan, all the places where the rich need to be seen. She’s very happy. Her kids are grown. Eddie’s dead. Her past is tucked neatly away. And she has plenty of money. Her life is very much in order.”

“You’re too harsh.”

“I’m too easy. She really doesn’t want me around because I’m a painful link to my father and his pathetic family.”

“Your mother loves you, Adam.”

“Boy that’s good to hear. How do you know so much?”

“I just know.”

“Didn’t realize you and Mom were so close.”

“We’re not. Settle down, Adam. Take it easy.”

“I’m sorry. I’m wired, that’s all. I need a stronger drink.”

“Relax. Let’s have some fun while you’re here.”

“It’s not a fun visit, Aunt Lee.”

“Just call me Lee, okay.”

“Okay. I’m going to see Sam tomorrow.”

She carefully placed her glass on the table, then
stood and left the patio. She returned with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and poured a generous shot into both glasses. She took a long drink and stared at the river in the distance. “Why?” she finally asked.

“Why not? Because he’s my grandfather. Because he’s about to die. Because I’m a lawyer and he needs help.”

“He doesn’t even know you.”

“He will tomorrow.”

“So you’ll tell him?”

“Yes, of course I’m going to tell him. Can you believe it? I’m actually going to tell a deep, dark, nasty Cayhall secret. What about that?”

Lee held her glass with both hands and slowly shook her head. “He’ll die,” she mumbled without looking at Adam.

“Not yet. But it’s nice to know you’re concerned.”

“I am concerned.”

“Oh really. When did you last see him?”

“Don’t start this, Adam. You don’t understand.”

“Fine. Fair enough. Explain it to me then. I’m listening. I want to understand.”

“Can’t we talk about something else, dear? I’m not ready for this.”

“No.”

“We can talk about this later, I promise. I’m just not ready for it right now. I thought we’d just gossip and laugh for a while.”

“I’m sorry, Lee. I’m sick of gossip and secrets. I have no past because my father conveniently erased it. I want to know about it, Lee. I want to know how bad it really is.”

“It’s awful,” she whispered, almost to herself.

“Okay. I’m a big boy now. I can handle it. My father checked out on me before he had to face it, so I’m afraid there’s no one but you.”

“Give me some time.”

“There is no time. I’ll be face-to-face with him tomorrow.” Adam took a long drink and wiped his lips with his sleeve. “Twenty-three years ago, Newsweek said Sam’s father was also a Klansman. Was he?”

“Yes. My grandfather.”

“And several uncles and cousins as well.”

“The whole damned bunch.”

“Newsweek also said that it was common knowledge in Ford County that Sam Cayhall shot and killed a black man in the early fifties, and was never arrested for it. Never served a day in jail. Is this true?”

“Why does it matter now, Adam? That was years before you were born.”

“So it really happened?”

“Yes, it happened.”

“And you knew about it?”

“I saw it.”

“You saw it!” Adam closed his eyes in disbelief. He breathed heavily and sunk lower into the rocker. The horn from a tugboat caught his attention, and he followed it downriver until it passed under a bridge. The bourbon was beginning to soothe.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Lee said softly.

“Even when I was a little kid,” he said, still watching the river, “I loved history. I was fascinated by the way people lived years ago—the pioneers, the wagon trains, the gold rush, cowboys and Indians, the settling of the West. There was a kid in the fourth grade who claimed his great-great-grandfather had robbed trains and buried the money in Mexico. He wanted to form a gang and run away to find the money. We knew he was lying, but it was great fun playing along. I often wondered about my ancestors, and I remember being puzzled because I didn’t seem to have any.”

“What would Eddie say?”

“He told me they were all dead; said more time is wasted on family history than anything else. Every time I asked questions about my family, Mother would pull me aside and tell me to stop because it might upset him and he might go off into one of his dark moods and stay in his bedroom for a month. I spent most of my childhood walking on eggshells around my father. As I grew older, I began to realize he was a very strange man, very unhappy, but I never dreamed he would kill himself.”

She rattled her ice and took the last sip. “There’s a lot to it, Adam.”

“So when will you tell me?”

Lee gently took the pitcher and refilled their glasses. Adam poured bourbon into both. Several minutes passed as they sipped and watched the traffic on Riverside Drive.

“Have you been to death row?” he finally asked, still staring at the lights along the river.

“No,” she said, barely audible.

“He’s been there for almost ten years, and you’ve never gone to see him?”

“I wrote him a letter once, shortly after his last trial. Six months later he wrote me back and told me not to come. Said he didn’t want me to see him on death row. I wrote him two more letters, neither of which he answered.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m carrying a lot of guilt, Adam, and it’s not easy to talk about. Just give me some time.”

“I may be in Memphis for a while.”

“I want you to stay here. We’ll need each other.” She hesitated and stirred the drink with an index finger. “I mean, he is going to die, isn’t he?”

“It’s likely.”

“When?”

“Two or three months. His appeals are virtually exhausted. There’s not much left.”

“Then why are you getting involved?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because we have a fighting chance. I’ll work my tail off for the next few months and pray for a miracle.”

“I’ll be praying too,” she said as she took another sip.

“Can we talk about something?” he asked, suddenly looking at her.

“Sure.”

“Do you live here alone? I mean, it’s a fair question if I’m going to be staying here.”

“I live alone. My husband lives in our house in the country.”

“Does he live alone? Just curious.”

“Sometimes. He likes young girls, early twenties, usually employees at his banks. I’m expected to call before I go to the house. And he’s expected to call before he comes here.”

“That’s nice and convenient. Who negotiated that agreement?”

“We just sort of worked it out over time. We haven’t lived together in fifteen years.”

“Some marriage.”

“It works quite well, actually. I take his money, and I ask no questions about his private life. We do the required little social numbers together, and he’s happy.”

“Are you happy?”

“Most of the time.”

“If he cheats, why don’t you sue for divorce and clean him out. I’ll represent you.”

“A divorce wouldn’t work. Phelps comes from a very proper, stiff old family of miserably rich people.
Old Memphis society. Some of these families have intermarried for decades. In fact, Phelps was expected to marry a fifth cousin, but instead he fell under my charms. His family was viciously opposed to it, and a divorce now would be a painful admission that his family was right. Plus, these people are proud bluebloods, and a nasty divorce would humiliate them. I love the independence of taking his money and living as I choose.”

“Did you ever love him?”

“Of course. We were madly in love when we married. We eloped, by the way. It was 1963, and the idea of a large wedding with his family of aristocrats and my family of rednecks was not appealing. His mother would not speak to me, and my father was burning crosses. At that time, Phelps did not know my father was a Klansman, and of course I desperately wanted to keep it quiet.”

“Did he find out?”

“As soon as Daddy was arrested for the bombing, I told him. He in turn told his father, and the word was spread slowly and carefully through the Booth family. These people are quite proficient at keeping secrets. It’s the only thing they have in common with us Cayhalls.”

“So only a few know you’re Sam’s daughter?”

“Very few. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“You’re ashamed of—”

“Hell yes I’m ashamed of my father! Who wouldn’t be?” Her words were suddenly sharp and bitter. “I hope you don’t have some romanticized image of this poor old man suffering on death row, about to be unjustly crucified for his sins.”

“I don’t think he should die.”

“Neither do I. But he’s damned sure killed enough people—the Kramer twins, their father, your father,
and God knows who else. He should stay in prison for the rest of his life.”

“You have no sympathy for him?”

“Occasionally. If I’m having a good day and the sun is shining, then I might think of him and remember a small pleasant event from my childhood. But those moments are very rare, Adam. He has caused much misery in my life and in the lives of those around him. He taught us to hate everybody. He was mean to our mother. His whole damned family is mean.”

“So let’s just kill him then.”

“I didn’t say that, Adam, and you’re being unfair. I think about him all the time. I pray for him every day. I’ve asked these walls a million times why and how my father became such a horrible person. Why can’t he be some nice old man right now sitting on the front porch with a pipe and a cane, maybe a little bourbon in a glass, for his stomach, of course? Why did my father have to be a Klansman who killed innocent children and ruined his own family?”