Witch Ball (14 page)

"I just don't know. I've been so angry...at Coach, at everyone." He faced me. His mouth turned down at the corners. "Truly, I
am
guilty of one thing."

They say confession is good for the soul. But I'm not sure it's good for the one hearing the confession. I thought of those movies where the cops shine a bright light on someone to make them
come clean. This confession was making me feel queasy. Do cops feel this way, or priests? It was almost as if I were stained by Eric's confession. I wanted to get as far away from him as I could, but my knees had turned to putty. I couldn't move.

"Eric, I'd better go home," I said
, doubting that my legs would support me.

"I have something else to tell you,
Truly. This is so hard to say."

I knew something terrible was coming, and did not want to hear it.

I wished I could stick my fingers in my ears, and scream.

"Truly, you're a sweet girl. Maybe I shouldn't tell you this, but I have to. I was one of the people who beat up your aunt."

The world around us became intense and vivid. I remember everything,
the
pink and cream clouds in wispy curls against the pale sky, the flutter of
reeds
as the river's tiny waves lapped against them. Behind us, children
squealed
, their high-pitched voices full of delight. I couldn't look at Eric.

"I know you don't understand, but I felt like we were fighting back."

August in Mississippi is a horrible month. The sun is relentless. Blacktop covering the streets melts into a sticky mess. Yet, a chill rushed through my body, and I shivered.

None of this made sense to me. I had to find my voice. "How could
you think an old lady would be capable of murder?"

"She, or
he
, I don't know what to say, is a freak. I can't imagine what
she
might do. She could be a witch, or a murderer, or anything."

"Eric, you have to go the police."

"I can't."

"If you don't, I will."

"What if they don't believe me?"

"They have to. They just have to.
"

 

 

 

 

 

 

I
did not believe that Eric was a murderer. I thought he was telling the truth, but I was not completely sure
why
I believed him. He seemed so helpless, and I knew he needed my friendship now. That's the strange thing—I was angry at him, repulsed by his actions, but at the same time, wanted to help him.

I convinced Eric that we should go to my father's office to call the police. I got my feet under me, and we walked the seven blocks to City Hall without speaking. It felt like seven miles.

Dad took us into a conference room, where Eric told him everything, the mugging of Fleur, the discovery of Coach's body. It all spilled out of him in a flood of emotion and relief. Dad phoned Eric's father.

Hunter Alexander was not the man I expected. He was shorter than my Dad, with dirty fingernails and greasy hair. When Mom told me about how he had betrayed her all those years ago, I thought that I would hate him forever. Now, I saw tears in his eyes, and only felt sorry for him.

Our fathers sat so close to each other that their shoulders almost touched. That, too, was unexpected, as if they had forgotten that they were once enemies, rivals in love. This afternoon they were just fathers, teammates in defense of a boy. They listened together to Eric's account, then called the police. Two uniformed officers came immediately and arrested Eric on suspicion of the murder of Lewis Russell. His "partners in crime," Greg Carson and Butch Hollis,
were soon picked up as well.

The Commercial Dispatch
handled the arrests as a straight news report. For them it was a "just the facts, ma'am" sort of story. They didn't editorialize or rush to judgment. However,
The Packet
sensationalized their article with lots of re-hashed details about the murder. In their account, the attack on the "victim" was grisly and brutal. They claimed to have formerly undisclosed crime-scene photos. No one actually believed this, because everyone knows that
The Packet
has no scruples and would have published any pictures they possessed weeks ago. 

The "gang" members, as they were referred to by
The Packet
, were vigilantes, with motive and opportunity. These "thugs" were out to avenge the sexual abuse of track team members that had been going on for years. According to this paper, the suicide of Skip Daigle was "the last straw, sending them into a murderous rage."

I had trouble picturing Eric, or the others, as villains, deeply entrenched in a life of crime. To me, they were still boys. However, Eric was nineteen, Butch and Greg were eighteen. According to
Mississippi law they were adults and would be tried as such.

Many people considered this a crime of revenge, therefore
warranted. In Columbus, and most of Mississippi, justice can be very personal. The law moves too slowly. It is generally accepted that sometimes there is nothing wrong with speeding things up. Because of this deeply rooted conviction, the boys received a great deal of public support. Men were quoted as saying things like, "I would' done it myself, if I knower about it.", or "that pervert deserved what he got."

Sadly, this attitude incriminated Fleur as well. As a homosexual man, who dressed as a woman, she was considered a freak of the highest order. Most people found it impossible to distinguish between being gay and being a pedophile. By this logic, Fleur was "asking for it
," that is, to be attacked. As I said before, there isn't much sympathy for anyone who is "different." The Bible is filled with quotes about homosexuality, and it seems that everyone in Columbus knows them all by heart.

I knew that Eric had a lot of passion. However, I had only seen it when he talked about The Underground Railroad, and escaped slaves. When it came to getting excited about things closer, like when I wanted so badly for him to kiss me, he was way too reserved. Now, he had real reasons to
indentify with the slaves—abuse, and being forced to commit acts that are repulsive. I wonder if he thought of it that way?

In many ways, the cloud over the city was lifted. Eric, Greg, and Butch were now the prime suspects, possibly the only suspects. They were in police custody, so the people of
Columbus could relax. The population was out of danger from the murderers.

There were still many curious details that were difficult to explain. In
Mississippi almost everyone owns a gun, which raised the question of why anyone would be strangled.

There was a demand for quick justice. A trial date was set for early in October. Judge
James Sanders would hear the case.

 

 

 

 

 

 

S
chool started, but I found it hard to concentrate on anything except Eric's trial. I became a sort of celebrity of the junior class because I knew Eric and was close to the whole incident. Much to my surprise, the kids were more fascinated by Aunt Fleur than they were grossed out by her "uniqueness." Some wanted to meet her, and the girls, especially, were anxious to learn about spells.

I was invited to every party, even some thrown by seniors. That would have been important to me just six or eight weeks ago. Now, I was flattered but not overly excited. I was concerned
with more important matters.

My dad also became deeply involved. He and Hunter Alexander worked together as if they had been partners for many years. Dad's connections at City Hall gave him insight about which lawyer to employ. They were lucky to get Patrick Adams, known for his tenacity.

Mr. Adams is a local. He graduated from Columbus High, then attended the University of Mississippi in Oxford. He was a cum laude graduate in college, and in the top ten of his class in law school. His education credentials might be impressive, but they are not as important as being a son of Columbus.

I could tell that Dad was really getting into the whole situation. He told Mom and
I that being convicted would ruin the lives of these three boys. "I can't let that happen," he said, "because I believe that they are innocent of murder."

Mom just grunted. Dad may have put their high school history behind him; however, it was apparent that she had not.

"Kay," he said, "why don't you come to Adams' office when we meet tomorrow afternoon? I think we are making great progress."

"Maybe next time
," she said into her book.

I was thinking that Dad would have made a good attorney. I said, "I know the emphasis is on the murder, but other things happened too. Like the brick thrown through
Fleur's window...and the killing of Michael-Ray."

"Yes, Gertrude, we know all about that. Eric and his friends claim to have had nothing to do with it. They say they didn't do those things."

"But if they didn't do it, then who did?"

"Gertrude, you have to understand that a broken window, or even a dead cat, is not nearly as important as a murder."

Mom didn't contribute anything to the conversation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

T
he evidence against them for the real crime was circumstantial at best. They all confessed to the attack on Aunt Fleur and her friends, but steadfastly maintained that they were not murderers.

Mrs. Miller, the lady from across the street who saw several boys going into Coach's house on the night of the murder, turned out to be worthless as a witness. She could not swear that these were the same boys that she saw. She couldn't even remember how many she saw.

The motive for murder was not strong enough. Eric and Greg and Butch all admitted to hating the coach. They were angry about Skip's suicide. They knew first-hand how much emotional damage
Coach had done to so many kids. According to them, Skip's death was only the tip of the iceberg.

The case against them was weak. If they had so much fury in them, enough to kill someone, why didn't they do it sooner? And when they attacked Fleur and her friends, they beat them, hurt them badly, but did not go far enough to kill. Why did they kill the coach?

It was evident too (in my opinion) that they were still children. Although they were all old enough to be tried as adults, I could only see them as boys, not as men. This is probably why I felt sorry for them. I suppose that Dad did, too. Most people realized that they weren't totally guiltless. I think the boys were guilty of unsophisticated thinking (not exactly a crime). They couldn't distinguish between being gay and being a pedophile. Of course, they were not alone in that respect; most of Columbus shared the belief, and used Biblical quotes to back up that judgment.

There was still the question of how to charge them. Luckily, they would probably not be charged with first-degree murder, and therefore not face the death penalty. If they went to the house with the intention of beating up the coach, but did not plan to kill him, then they would face a charge of second-degree murder, which carries a sentence of twenty-five years to life in prison.

Mississippi also has something called a "Depraved Heart Murder." This is a murky definition, much like second-degree murder, except that it always carries life in prison. Second-degree would be the best defense—that is, if they would confess to the crime, or be found guilty. The boys never waivered in their story, that they were not responsible for the murder. Their statements were that they found the coach's body, and that he was already dead.

Judge Sanders declined to try them together. It was decided that Eric would be the first to go on trial.

Lawyer Pat (as Dad called him) had a lot to deal with in mounting a defense. Dad knew Mr. Adams well, and assured me that he would do his best job for Eric. I was terrified, because that just did not sound good enough to me.

The
Columbus atmosphere turned even more hostile, more menacing, and it was all directed at Aunt Fleur. She began receiving horrible phone calls. Angry voices said things like, "Get out of town, you pervert," or, "we don't need your kind here." Once I picked up the phone and a woman's voice said, "Now the works of the flesh are manifest—which are adultery, fornication, uncleanness, and lasciviousness. You bitch!"

Notes were left on her door. She didn't always show them to me. I figured she was protecting me from the language. All of a sudden, we heard the word "
tranny" over and over again. Before this case, I doubt if most people around here knew that transvestites, or transsexuals, existed, but now it seemed that everyone had learned the insulting slur. Maybe it was better when they just thought she was a witch.

It all struck me as being very strange. It was evident that the people who left the notes and made the phone calls knew nothing about her. Fleur is gentle and refined. I have never heard her use anything like the vulgar language in the notes. It was also confusing as to why she was the object of such loathing. She hadn't done anything. Why weren't they angry at coach?

A few days before the trial began she received a summons from the District Attorney's office in Columbus. She would have to testify at the trial.

 

 

 

 

 

 

W
hen
the trial finally began, everyone in Columbus had already formed their opinion. That was easy to do since the details had been relentlessly played out in the media. In the eyes of the public, this trial was a mere formality.