The Pecan Man(22)

“I know you didn’t do this. I’m going to get you out of here.”

He didn’t respond.

“Do you understand me? I’m going to get you out of here before they hurt you again.”

“Don’t,” was all he said before he cut his eyes away again.

I wasn't one to pray often. I was raised Methodist myself and we were taught not to bother God with anything real specific, just the Lord’s Prayer at night and a litany of blessings on friends and family. I looked down at the frail man who had tended my flowers with care and never asked a thing of me and I felt compelled to ask for help.

I bowed my head and spoke aloud, “Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us…” My voice caught. I tried again. “Forgive us our trespasses…” I couldn’t go on.

A feeble voice rose up, “As we forgive those who trespass against us.”

I didn't cry at my own husband's funeral, but I cried then. And the tears didn't stop until the Public Defender arrived to meet his new client.





Eleven





Jeffrey Thatcher was a huge man who wore a stained white shirt and a crooked tie that barely reached his midriff. It may not be fair to claim that the man was disinterested. He seemed genuinely concerned that Eldred Mims was injured, but in retrospect I believe he was more worried about the impact to his career than anything else. Doing the right thing is apparently harder than it sounds when politics are involved.

He didn’t want me to stay while he talked to his client, but Eddie managed to convey that he wanted me there.

“I’m Jeffrey Thatcher, Mr. Mims. You are Eldred Mims, correct?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You have a middle name, Sir?”

“Uh-uh.”

“No middle name at all?”

“Uh-uh.”

The entire conversation went this way. I filled in where I could, explaining about Eddie’s family in Alabama and providing what little information I knew, including the general area of the woods where I thought Mr. Mims lived.

“Were you - umm - home the night Skipper Kornegay was killed, Mr. Mims? I believe that was on Thanksgiving sometime around 8:30 p.m.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Mr. Mims had Thanksgiving dinner at my house that day, Mr. Thatcher. He went home around sometime around 3 o’clock.” I decided to tell the absolute truth to a point. I knew Eldred Mims hadn’t killed anyone, so I clung to “the truth shall set you free” and hoped for the best. I just knew in my heart they had no evidence against him and I prayed they’d exonerate him and never solve the case. It was incredibly naive of me to even think it possible.

“Did you see or speak to anyone after you left Mrs. Beckworth’s house that evening?”

“Mmm-mmm.”

I was looking down and I actually remember raising my eyebrows at his answer. I knew for a fact Marcus followed him home.

“Absolutely no one? You’re sure?”

“Mmm-hmm,” He nodded and gave me a pointed look which Jeffrey Thatcher missed as he made notes on his legal pad.

The next few questions were a blur as I mentally raced through all the reasons why Eddie might deny the truth about Marcus. I still had not decided whether I would ask Eddie about it later when I snatched myself back to attention.

“I have to ask you about the murder itself now, Mr. Mims. Do you still want Mrs. Beckworth to stay?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Eddie nodded.

“I need for you to tell me the truth, now. I’m your attorney and that means I won’t repeat what I hear, unless you ask me to speak for you in court. Do you understand that?”

Eddie nodded again.

“Did you kill Skipper Kornegay, Mr. Mims?”

Eddie looked away for a moment, stared at the wall beside him as if trying to memorize something written there. He sighed once and looked back at Jeffrey Thatcher. There were unshed tears in his eyes.

“No, Sir.” He shook his head and winced in pain.

“Is there any evidence, anywhere that would support or refute that claim?”

I glared at the man. Why couldn’t he just put it in plain English?

“What I mean is, is there anything that would make it look like you did commit the murder, or is there anything that would prove you didn’t?”

Eddie looked away again.

“No, sir," he said through clenched gums.



Chip Smallwood arrived with a cup of lukewarm soup, just as Jeffrey Thatcher was packing his ancient leather briefcase.

“I’ll leave you to your supper, Mr. Mims. Here’s my card if

you have any questions. I’ll be back in touch with you sometime tomorrow.”

“Wait a minute!” I said. “What about getting him out of here?”

“And taking him where? A hospital?" Mr. Thatcher looked confused.

“Not a hospital - home!"

“Mrs. Beckworth, my client has been charged with murder. What’s more, he has no home to which he can go. Even if we could get the judge to set a reasonable bail, which is highly doubtful, I don’t think I could get a bondsman to post it for him. Mr. Mims will be here a while. I think you’d better get used to the idea.”