Adam watched and waited until it was obvious no quick answer was forthcoming. The delay in itself was an admission. He tapped his pen nervously on the legal pad. He took quick breaths and noticed an increase in his heartbeat. His empty stomach was suddenly jittery. Could this be the break? If there had been an accomplice, then perhaps they had worked as a team and perhaps Sam had not actually planted the dynamite that killed the Kramers. Perhaps this fact could be presented to a sympathetic judge somewhere who would listen and grant a stay. Perhaps. Maybe. Could it be?
“No,” Sam said ever so softly but firmly as he looked at Adam through the opening.
“I don’t believe you.”
“There was no accomplice.”
“I don’t believe you, Sam.”
Sam shrugged casually as if he couldn’t care less. He crossed his legs and wrapped his fingers around a knee.
Adam took a deep breath, scribbled something routinely as if he’d been expecting this, and flipped to a clean page. “What time did you arrive in Cleveland on the night of April 20, 1967?”
“Which time?”
“The first time.”
“I left Clanton around six. Drove two hours to Cleveland. So I got there around eight.”
“Where’d you go?”
“To a shopping center.”
“Why’d you go there?”
“To get the car.”
“The green Pontiac?”
“Yes. But it wasn’t there. So I drove to Greenville to look around a bit.”
“Had you been there before?”
“Yes. A couple of weeks earlier, I had scouted the place. I even went in the Jew’s office to get a good look.”
“That was pretty stupid, wasn’t it? I mean, his secretary identified you at trial as the man who came in asking for directions and wanting to use the rest room.”
“Very stupid. But then, I wasn’t supposed to get caught. She was never supposed to see my face again.” He bit the filter and sucked hard. “A very bad move. Of course, it’s awfully easy to sit here now and second-guess everything.”
“How long did you stay in Greenville?”
“An hour or so. Then I drove back to Cleveland to get the car. Dogan always had detailed plans with several alternates. The car was parked in spot B, near a truck stop.”
“Where were the keys?”
“Under the mat.”
“What did you do?”
“Took it for a drive. Drove out of town, out through some cotton fields. I found a lonely spot and parked the car. I popped the trunk to check the dynamite.”
“How many sticks?”
“Fifteen, I believe. I was using between twelve and twenty, depending on the building. Twenty for the synagogue because it was new and modern and built with concrete and stone. But the Jew’s office was an old wooden structure, and I knew fifteen would level it.”
“What else was in the trunk?”
“The usual. A cardboard box of dynamite. Two blasting caps. A fifteen-minute fuse.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“What about the timing device? The detonator?”
“Oh yeah. I forgot about that. It was in another, smaller box.”
“Describe it for me.”
“Why? You’ve read the trial transcripts. The FBI expert did a wonderful job of reconstructing my little bomb. You’ve read this, haven’t you?”
“Many times.”
“And you’ve seen the photos they used at trial. The ones of the fragments and pieces of the timer. You’ve seen all this, haven’t you?”
“I’ve seen it. Where did Dogan get the clock?”
“I never asked. You could buy one in any drugstore.
It was just a cheap, windup alarm clock. Nothing fancy.”
“Was this your first job with a timing device?”
“You know it was. The other bombs were detonated by fuses. Why are you asking me these questions?”
“Because I want to hear your answers. I’ve read everything, but I want to hear it from you. Why did you want to delay the Kramer bomb?”
“Because I was tired of lighting fuses and running like hell. I wanted a longer break between planting the bomb and feeling it go off.”
“What time did you plant it?”
“Around 4 a.m.”
“What time was it supposed to go off?”
“Around five.”
“What went wrong?”
“It didn’t go off at five. It went off a few minutes before eight, and there were people in the building by then, and some of these people got killed. And that’s why I’m sitting here in a red monkey suit wondering what the gas’ll smell like.”
“Dogan testified that the selection of Marvin Kramer as a target was a joint effort between the both of you; that Kramer had been on a Klan hit list for two years; that the use of a timing device was something you suggested as a way to kill Kramer because his routine was predictable; that you acted alone.”
Sam listened patiently and puffed on his cigarette. His eyes narrowed to tiny slits and he nodded at the floor. Then he almost smiled. “Well, I’m afraid Dogan went crazy, didn’t he? Feds hounded him for years, and he finally caved in. He was not a strong man, you know.” He took a deep breath and looked at Adam. “But some of it’s true. Not much, but some.”
“Did you intend to kill him?”
“No. We weren’t killing people. Just blowing up buildings.”
“What about the Pinder home in Vicksburg? Was that one of yours?”
Sam nodded slowly.
“The bomb went off at four in the morning while the entire Pinder family was sound asleep. Six people. Miraculously, only one minor injury.”
“It wasn’t a miracle. The bomb was placed in the garage. If I’d wanted to kill anyone, I’d have put it by a bedroom window.”
“Half the house collapsed.”
“Yeah, and I could’ve used a clock and wiped out a bunch of Jews as they ate their bagels or whatever.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“As I said, we weren’t trying to kill people.”
“What were you trying to do?”
“Intimidate. Retaliate. Keep the damned Jews from financing the civil rights movement. We were trying to keep the Africans where they belonged—in their own schools and churches and neighborhoods and rest rooms, away from our women and children. Jews like Marvin Kramer were promoting an interracial society and stirring up the Africans. Son of a bitch needed to be kept in line.”
“You guys really showed him, didn’t you?”
“He got what he deserved. I’m sorry about the little boys.”
“Your compassion is overwhelming.”
“Listen, Adam, and listen good. I did not intend to hurt anyone. The bomb was set to go off at 5 a.m., three hours before he usually arrived for work. The only reason his kids were there was because his wife had the flu.”
“But you feel no remorse because Marvin lost both legs?”
“Not really.”
“No remorse because he killed himself?”
“He pulled the trigger, not me.”
“You’re a sick man, Sam.”
“Yeah, and I’m about to get a lot sicker when I sniff the gas.”
Adam shook his head in disgust, but held his tongue. They could argue later about race and hatred; not that he, at this moment, expected to make any progress with Sam on these topics. But he was determined to try. Now, however, they needed to discuss facts.
“After you inspected the dynamite, what did you do?”
“Drove back to the truck stop. Drank coffee.”
“Why?”
“Maybe I was thirsty.”
“Very funny, Sam. Just try and answer the questions.”
“I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“I needed to kill a couple of hours. By then it was around midnight, and I wanted to spend as little time in Greenville as possible. So, I killed time in Cleveland.”
“Did you talk to anyone in the café?”
“No.”
“Was it crowded?”
“I really don’t remember.”
“Did you sit alone?”
“Yes.”
“At a table?”
“Yes.” Sam managed a slight grin because he knew what was coming.
“A truck driver by the name of Tommy Farris said he saw a man who greatly resembled you in the truck
stop that night, and that this man drank coffee for a long time with a younger man.”
“I never met Mr. Farris, but I believe he had a lapse of memory for three years. Not a word to anyone, as I recall, until another reporter flushed him out and he got his name in the paper. It’s amazing how these mystery witnesses pop up years after the trials.”
“Why didn’t Farris testify in your last trial?”
“Don’t ask me. I suppose it was because he had nothing to say. The fact that I drank coffee alone or with someone seven hours before the bombing was hardly relevant. Plus, the coffee drinking took place in Cleveland, and had nothing to do with whether or not I committed the crime.”
“So Farris was lying?”
“I don’t know what Farris was doing. Don’t really care. I was alone. That’s all that matters.”
“What time did you leave Cleveland?”
“Around three, I think.”
“And you drove straight to Greenville?”
“Yes. And I drove by the Kramers’ house, saw the guard sitting on the porch, drove by his office, killed some more time, and around four or so I parked behind his office, slipped through the rear door, planted the bomb in a closet in the hallway, walked back to my car, and drove away.”
“What time did you leave Greenville?”
“I had planned to leave after the bomb went off. But, as you know, it was several months before I actually made it out of town.”
“Where did you go when you left Kramer’s office?”
“I found a little coffee shop on the highway, a half mile or so from Kramer’s office.”
“Why’d you go there?”
“To drink coffee.”
“What time was it?”
“I don’t know. Around four-thirty or so.”
“Was it crowded?”
“A handful of people. Just your run-of-the-mill all-night diner with a fat cook in a dirty tee shirt and a waitress who smacked her chewing gum.”
“Did you talk to anybody?”
“I spoke to the waitress when I ordered my coffee. Maybe I had a doughnut.”
“And you were having a nice cup of coffee, just minding your own business, waiting for the bomb to go off.”
“Yeah. I always liked to hear the bombs go off and watch the people react.”
“So you’d done this before?”
“A couple of times. In February of that year I bombed the real estate office in Jackson—Jews had sold a house to some niggers in a white section—and I had just sat down in a diner not three blocks away when the bomb went off. I was using a fuse then, so I had to hustle away and park real fast and find a table. The girl had just sat my coffee down when the ground shook and everybody froze. I really liked that. It was four in the morning and the place was packed with truckers and deliverymen, even had a few cops over in a corner, and of course they ran to their cars and sped away with lights blazing. My table shook so hard that coffee spilled from my cup.”
“And that gave you a real thrill?”
“Yes, it did. But the other jobs were too risky. I didn’t have the time to find a café or diner, so I just sort of rode around for a few minutes waiting for the fun. I’d check my watch closely, so I always knew about when it would hit. If I was in the car, I liked to be on the edge of town, you know.” Sam paused and took a long puff from his cigarette. His words were slow and careful. His eyes danced a bit as he talked
about his adventures, but his words were measured. “I did watch the Pinder bombing,” he added.
“And how’d you do that?”
“They lived in a big house in the suburbs, lots of trees, sort of in a valley. I parked on the side of a hill about a mile away, and I was sitting under a tree when it went off.”
“How peaceful.”
“It really was. Full moon, cool night. I had a great view of the street, and I could see almost all of the roof. It was so calm and peaceful, everyone was asleep, then, boom, blew that roof to hell and back.”
“What was Mr. Pinder’s sin?”
“Just overall general Jewishness. Loved niggers. Always embraced the radical Africans when they came down from the North and agitated everybody. He loved to march and boycott with the Africans. We suspected he was financing a lot of their activities.”
Adam made notes and tried to absorb all of this. It was hard to digest because it was almost impossible to believe. Perhaps the death penalty was not such a bad idea after all. “Back to Greenville. Where was this coffee shop located?”
“Don’t remember.”
“What was it called?”
“It was twenty-three years ago. And it was not the kind of place you’d want to remember.”
“Was it on Highway 82?”
“I think so. What are you gonna do? Spend your time digging for the fat cook and the tacky waitress? Are you doubting my story?”
“Yes. I’m doubting your story.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t tell me where you learned to make a bomb with a timing detonator.”
“In the garage behind my house.”
“In Clanton?”
“Out from Clanton. It’s not that difficult.”
“Who taught you?”
“I taught myself. I had a drawing, a little booklet with diagrams and such. Steps one, two, three. It was no big deal.”
“How many times did you practice with such a device before Kramer?”
“Once.”
“Where? When?”
“In the woods not far from my house. I took two sticks of dynamite and the necessary paraphernalia, and I went to a little creek bed deep in the woods. It worked perfectly.”
“Of course. And you did all this study and research in your garage?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Your own little laboratory.”
“Call it whatever you want.”
“Well, the FBI conducted a thorough search of your house, garage, and premises while you were in custody. They didn’t find a trace of evidence of explosives.”
“Maybe they’re stupid. Maybe I was real careful and didn’t leave a trail.”
“Or maybe the bomb was planted by someone with experience in explosives.”
“Nope. Sorry.”
“How long did you stay in the coffee shop in Greenville?”
“A helluva long time. Five o’clock came and went. Then it was almost six. I left a few minutes before six and drove by Kramer’s office. The place looked fine. Some of the early risers were out and about, and I didn’t want to be seen. I crossed the river and drove to Lake Village, Arkansas, then returned to Greenville. It was seven by then, sun was up and people were moving around.
No explosion. I parked the car on a side street, and walked around for a while. The damned thing wouldn’t go off. I couldn’t go in after it, you know. I walked and walked, listening hard, hoping the ground would shake. Nothing happened.”