The Governor's Sons (34 page)

“But—
you
didn’t have anything to do with those murders?”

“No—I didn’t,” her tone was bitter.
 
“But now I’ll have a chance to do something bigger!
 
That incident was peanuts compared to killing Harland Hall!”

Otis couldn’t believe what Libby was saying.
 
He had to do something.
 
Though all he could think of was turning himself in.
 
Perhaps Ash could see that he was granted immunity for the information he’d provide.
 
After all, his bombs hadn’t killed anybody.
 
But even if he had to serve time, Otis thought, he deserved it.
 
He’d have to suffer the consequences for his illegal actions.

“Libby, I can’t go on doing this for you.
 
I’m the Governor’s brother-in-law.”

“He treats you like dirt!
 
And he’s a traitor to States’ Rights!
 
He deserves whatever misery the White Knights of Righteousness bring to his administration!”

“Look, it’s no skin off my nose if Ash doesn’t think too highly of me—but he’s married to my sister—he’s Gavin’s father.
 
And Libby—the colored people can’t help being colored.
 
But we can’t go around killin’ ‘em!”

“But we can put a stop to this whole Civil Rights movement!”

“Who are we to play God, Libby?
 
Does He want us runnin’ around killin’ Negroes because—”

“You just don’t get it, do you?!”

“Libby--”

“I’ve known all along that you were nothing but an idiot, a useful idiot!”

Her words cut like a white hot knife through his heart. Otis turned away from her and walked to the phone.

“What are you doing?”
 
Libby asked, alarmed.

Otis said nothing as he reached for the phone.

“You can’t!” she shouted.

Otis turned toward her, only to find himself looking down the barrel of a small caliber revolver.
 
A loud blast was the last thing he heard. The bullet lodged right between his eyes.

****

Libby watched as Otis’s lumbering body teetered backward and hit the floor with a loud thud.
 
Blood streamed from the back exit wound creating a red river around his head.
 
After shoving the gun back into her thigh holster, Libby quickly surveyed her surroundings.
 
She’d dispose of the gun and holster later.
 
Right now she had to deal with the crime scene.

No one would have heard the gunshot at the big house.
 
Leona was off because Otis’s parents had gone out of town for the weekend.
 
They wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.
 
The mansion sat secluded, away from the neighbors.
 
Anyone who could’ve heard it might’ve thought it was a car backfiring.

Despite the absence of Mr. and Mrs. Stokes, Libby still had to work fast. She didn’t want too much time to pass until calling the police.

Otis’s place was always a mess, but to make it look even worse, Libby overturned a chair and water stained coffee table.
 
She then grabbed a pair of scissors from Otis’s worktable.
 
After poking a hole in her plaid skirt, she tore the fabric with her hands.

Before Libby notified the authorities, she’d have to call Operations Headquarters.
 
She’d need a pay phone for that.
 
Although Libby didn’t think Otis’s phone was tapped, she couldn’t be sure.
 
The closest phone booth was a five minute drive away.
 
She reached for her purse, but then thought better of it.

Having time to grab her car keys wouldn’t be a realistic scenario for the story she was formulating.
 
She collected a few coins from a glass jar of change on an end table, and shoved them into her pocket.
 
For a dramatic touch, she threw the jar to the floor.
 
It shattered into a hundred shards, scattering copper and silver all over the floor.
 
Then she kicked over the table.

Libby glanced at her watch.
 
If she set out on foot, and ran at least part of the way, she could reach the pay phone in about 20 minutes.
 
She’d make up some excuse for not stopping at a nearby residence.

Libby peered over at Otis’s body.
 
Blood stained his face and oozed all around him saturating the light blue carpet, turning it to a deep maroon. Good riddance, Libby thought, as she bolted from the carriage house.

****

No stars were visible in the sky, and the warm air felt thick and muggy.
 
It was well past midnight and no one was around to see her.
 
Winded, Libby’s running had decreased to a fast paced walk after only a few minutes.
 
Using her skirt, Libby wiped fingerprints from the gun as she approached the Coleridge River.
 
While crossing the Manchester Bridge above it, she tossed the gun and holster over the edge.
 
Using the light of the street lamps along the bridge, she watched the gun sink, and the current carry away the holster.

After she’d crossed the bridge and traveled a while longer, the park wasn’t too far away.
 
Libby could see the large lit clock and ornamental night lamps in it a short distance ahead.
 
She tried to run the last several yards, but shortness of breath she blamed on smoking, caused her to walk.
 
Once Libby got there, she stopped to grab a stick that lay on the ground, then swiped it across her arms and legs to create some scratch marks before throwing it aside.

By the time Libby reached the pay phone, she was sweating and out of breath.
 
She shut herself in the booth then dug frantically in her pocket for a dime.
 
Her hand shook as she fumbled for the slot.
 
Upon hearing the tone, she hesitated before dialing Operations Headquarters.

After two rings, the raspy voice answered.
 
“Yes.”

“It’s me.”

There was a slight pause.
 
“Yes, Libby.
 
What kind of progress are you making?”

“I have a problem.”

“What is it?”

“I had to eliminate the brother-in-law.”

“Why?”
 
Number One sounded enraged.
 
“He was our best way in for this job!”

“But he was gonna turn me in!
 
What choice did I have?
 
Look, I don’t have much time.
 
I have to call the police!”

“With a story?”

“Yes!”

Another brief pause.
 
“Sounds like you might need help killing Harland Hall.”

“I don’t need any help!
 
I prostituted myself to that shmuck for over a year and I just killed him because he was onto us!”

“It was your choice to be a whore, and if you hadn’t been so inept at handling things you wouldn’t have had to kill him!
 
I’ll have to send in Caldwell.”

“I don’t need Caldwell!
 
I can do this!
 
I can use the boy.”

“I don’t know how useful he’ll be without his uncle.
 
But regardless, Libby—you have a deadline—meet it!
 
If it’s not done by the agreed upon date, I’m sending in Caldwell.
 
Now, clean up your mess.”
 
The line went dead.

Libby fumed as she slammed down the phone, but then quickly gathered her wits and dialed zero.

“Operator,” a nasal voice answered.

“I need help,” Libby declared in desperation.
 
“My boyfriend’s been shot!
 
He might be dead! I was there!
 
I saw it!
 
They tried to get me but I got away!”

“I’m sending an ambulance and the police,” the operator said.
 
“Where is your boyfriend?”

“At 42 Loveland Circle, the carriage house around back.”

“And where are you?”

“At the pay phone in Strawberry Patch Park, near the Piggly Wiggly.”

“Help is on the way.”

Moments later, Libby heard a loud siren and saw bright blue lights as the police car arrived.
 
Under the street lamps, she saw two large officers in crisp black uniforms and caps step from the vehicle.
 
Libby ran to them in tears, appearing on the verge of collapse.

“I need an ambulance for my boyfriend!
 
I have to go back to him!
 
Maybe there’s a chance that
 
he’s not dead!” she cried hysterically.

“Ma’am,” one of the policemen said, “an ambulance is taking him to the hospital and we’ll take you there to see him, but first we need you to calm down and tell us what happened.
 
I’m Officer Timmons.”

Libby noticed that he was quite attractive.
 
The visible blond curls peeking from beneath his cap glistened under the street light.

“And this is Officer Brooks,” Timmons motioned to his partner.
 
Brooks nodded as he removed a small notepad from his pocket.
 
He was handsome too, a solidly built Rock Hudson look alike.

“They broke into my boyfriend’s house,” Libby wailed.
 
“They shot him in cold blood—and then—they tried to rape me!”
 
More tears and dramatics followed as Libby fell to her knees.
 
The officers stooped down next to her.
 
“I—I managed to get away!
 
I ran through the woods.
 
They tried to follow me, but I lost them.
 
When the coast was clear, I came here!”

“Can you describe the people that did this?” Brooks asked as he took notes

Libby was silent for a moment as she looked down.
 
Slowly, she raised her gaze to Timmons.
  
She began to cry, leaning against him, burying her head in his broad, muscled chest.
 
She gripped his shirt like a lifeline.

“It was terrible,” she sniffed.
 
“There were two of them.”
 
A dramatic pause followed.
 
“Two of the biggest, meanest, most menacing looking Negroes I’ve ever seen.”

Brooks scribbled quickly on his notepad.

“And they said, ‘This is a taste of things to come—when Harland Hall comes to town.’ ”

Shortly after breakfast, Ash gathered a few files from his office desk in the Governor’s Mansion.
 
He’d leave for his State House office
 
in just a few moments.
 
As he began to place the files in his black leather briefcase, his direct phone line rang.
 
“Governor Ash Kroth,” he said.

“Good morning, Governor Kroth,” a strong voice replied.

At first Ash couldn’t speak.
 
His heart always blocked his throat whenever Harland called.
 
As he held the phone, his palms began to sweat.
 
Before Ash could respond, his son said, “Harland Hall, here.”

A large thump from Ash’s heart seemed to jump start his speech.
 
“Uh—yes—Mr. Hall.”
 
Ash forced the words.
 
He put his files down and turned toward the tall window behind his mahogany desk.
 
Although the office faced the rear of the estate with a view of the Coleridge River, rolling hills, and magnolia trees, Ash saw nothing.

“First of all, I want to extend my sincere condolences upon the death of your brother-in-law.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Hall.
 
He was uh…” Ash couldn’t think of anything positive Otis had been.
 
“He’ll be missed.”

“Yes, sir.
 
And I believe, under the circumstances, my coming into town this week wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“I agree,” Ash said. “The funeral is Friday.
 
Why don’t you plan on coming next week?”

Harland hesitated.
 
“Governor, what about the investigation?”

“I can take time out from it to meet with you.
 
And for your safety, I insist you stay with my family at the Governor’s Mansion.”

“Governor Kroth--I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Nonsense.”

“You’re offering the invitation rather easily.”
 
Harland sounded wary.
 
“I don’t want to walk into a trap.
 
I can assure you, that despite what Mr. Stokes’s--lady friend said--I had nothing to do with your brother-in-law’s death.
 
And I don’t know of anyone who would’ve wanted to harm him.
 
Governor, as you know, I don’t condone violence of any kind and I run a non-violent organization—”

“Mr. Hall,” Ash interrupted, insulted.
 
There wasn’t an article that existed about Harland Hall that Ash hadn’t read.
 
“I’m well aware of what you do, and I know you didn’t have anything to do with the murder.
 
For the record, as far as I’m concerned, there’s something fishy about the whole thing.”