The Last Juror

"Exactly."

Harry Rex's phone had never stopped ringing. He glared at it during a pause, then said, "I got work to do."

"I guess I'll go see the Sheriff. See you later." I was out of his office when he yelled, "Say, Willie. One other thing."

I turned to face him.

"Sell it, take the money, go play for a while. You've earned it."

"Thanks."

"But don't leave Clanton, you hear?"

"I won't."

Mr. Earl Youry ran a road grader for the county. He graded the rural roads that ran into very remote places, out from Possum Ridge and far beyond Shady Grove. Since he worked alone, it was decided that he should hang around the county barn for a few days where he had many friends, all of whom had rifles in their trucks and were on high alert. Sheriff McNatt huddled with Mr. Youry and his supervisor and worked out a plan to keep him safe.

Mr. Youry called the Sheriff and said he had important information. He admitted his recollection was less than thorough, but he was certain that the crippled boy and Mo Teale had been adamant in their refusal to impose the death penalty. He remembered that they had a third vote, maybe it was one of the women, maybe the colored lady. He just couldn't recall exactly, and, after all, it had been nine years. He posed the same question to McNatt—"Why would Da

When I walked into the Sheriff's office, he had just finished his conversation with Mr. Youry, and he was as bewildered as he should have been. I closed the door and relayed my conversation with Miss Callie. "I saw her notes, Sheriff," I said. "The third vote was Maxine Root."

For an hour we rehashed the same arguments I'd had with Sam and Harry Rex, and again it made no sense. He did not believe that the Padgitts had bought or intimidated either Le

But, both of us conceded, with Lucien Wilbanks involved it was entirely possible Padgitt knew more about the deliberations than we did. Anything was possible.

And nothing made sense.

While I was sitting in his office, he called Maxine Root. She worked as a bookkeeper at the shoe factory north of town, and had insisted on going to work. McNatt had been in her office that morning, inspecting the place, talking with her boss and coworkers, making sure everyone felt safe. Two of his deputies were outside the building, watching for trouble and waiting to haul Maxine back home at quitting time.

They chatted on the phone like old friends for a few minutes, then McNatt said, "Say, Maxine, I know that you and Mo Teale and the Fargarson boy were the only three who voted against the death penalty for Da

"Well, it's not important how I found out. What's important here is that makes me real nervous about your safety. Extra nervous."

He listened to her for a few minutes. As she rambled on he interrupted occasionally with such things as: "Well, Maxine, I can't just charge out there and arrest the boy."

And, "You tell your brothers to keep those guns in their trucks."

And, "I'm workin' on the case, Maxine, and when I get enough evidence I'll get a warrant for his arrest."

And, "It's too late to give him the death penalty, Maxine. You did what you thought was right at the time."

She was crying when the conversation ended. "Poor thing," McNatt said, "her nerves are shot to hell."

"Can't really blame her," I said. "I'm ducking under windows myself."

Chapter 40

The funeral for Mo Teale was held at the Willow Road Methodist Church, number thirty-six on my list and one of my favorites. It was barely in the city limits of Clanton, south of the square. Because I had never met Mr. Teale, I did not go to his funeral. However, there were many in attendance who had never met him.

Had he died of a heart attack at the age of fifty-one, it would have been sudden and tragic and his final service would have drawn an impressive crowd. But being gu

I stayed away and worked on his obituary. His oldest son had been kind enough to stop by the office and give me the details. He was thirty-three—Mo and his wife jump-started their family—and he sold new Fords over in Tupelo. He stayed for almost two hours and desperately wanted me to assure him that Da

Interment was at the Clanton cemetery. The funeral procession stretched for blocks and, for good measure, swung by the square and proceeded down Jackson Avenue, just outside the Times. It did not disrupt traffic at all—everyone was at the funeral.

Using Harry Rex as an intermediary, Lucien Wilbanks arranged a meeting with Sheriff McNatt. I was specifically mentioned by Lucien, and specifically not invited. Didn't matter; Harry Rex took notes and told me everything, with the understanding that nothing would get printed.

Also present in Lucien's office was Rufus Buckley, the District Attorney who had succeeded Ernie Gaddis in 1975. Buckley was a publicity hog who, though reluctant to meddle in Padgitt's parole, was now anxious to lead the mob to lynch him. Harry Rex despised Buckley, and the feelings were mutual. Lucien despised him too, but then Lucien disliked virtually everyone because everyone certainly disliked him. Sheriff McNatt hated Lucien, tolerated Harry Rex, and was forced to work the same side of the street with Buckley, though he loathed him in private.

Given those conflicting sentiments, I was quite pleased not be invited to the meeting.

Lucien began by saying that he had talked with both Da

Not surprisingly, Da

Le

"How many of these witnesses are named Padgitt?" McNatt asked.

"We're not giving names, yet," Lucien said, stonewalling as any good lawyer should.

Eleven days later, on June 3, Mo Teale was shot at approximately nine-fifteen in the morning. At that precise moment, Da