"Seven years. I was a freshman at Pepperdine when the idea hit. It's been a challenge." He fast-forwarded through the pathetic scene of Marvin Kramer spilling from his wheelchair after the second trial, and stopped with the smiling face of a local anchorwoman as she chattered on about the opening of the third trial of the legendary Sam Cayhall. It was 1981 now.
"Sam was a free man for thirteen years," Adam said. "What did he do?"
"He kept to himself, farmed a little, tried to make ends meet. He never talked to me about the bombing or any of his Klan activities, but he enjoyed the attention in Clanton. He was somewhat of a local legend down there, and he was sort of smug about it. Mother's health declined, and he stayed at home and took care of her."
"He never thought about leaving?"
"Not seriously. He was convinced his legal problems were over. He'd had two trials, and walked away from both of them. No jury in Mississippi was going to convict a Klansman in the late sixties. He thought he was invincible.
He stayed close to Clanton, avoided the Klan, and lived a peaceful life. I thought he'd spend his golden years growing tomatoes and fishing for bream."
"Did he ever ask about my father?"
She finished her wine and placed the glass on the table. It had never occurred to Lee that she would one day be asked to recall in detail so much of this sad little history. She had worked so hard to forget it. "I remember during the first year he was back home, he would occasionally ask me if I'd heard from my brother. Of course, I hadn't. We knew you guys were somewhere in California, and we hoped you were okay. Sam's a very proud and stubborn person, Adam. He would never consider chasing you guys down and begging Eddie to come home. If Eddie was ashamed of his family, then Sam felt like he should stay in California." She paused and sunk lower into the sofa. "Mother was diagnosed with cancer in 1973, and I hired a private investigator to find Eddie. He worked for six months, charged me a bunch of money, and found nothing."
"I was nine years old, fourth grade, that was in Salem, Oregon."
"Yeah. Evelyn told me later that you guys spent time in Oregon."
"We moved all the time. Every year was a different school until I was in the eighth grade. Then we settled in Santa Monica."
"You were elusive. Eddie must've hired a good lawyer, because any trace of Cayhall was eliminated. The investigator even used some people out there, but nothing."
"When did she die?"
"Nineteen seventy-seven. We were actually sitting in the front of the church, about to start the funeral, when Eddie slid in a side door and sat behind me. Don't ask how he knew about Mother's death. He simply appeared in Clanton then disappeared again. Never said a word to Sam. Drove a rental car so no one could check his plates. I drove to Memphis the next day, and there he was, waiting in my driveway. We drank coffee for two hours and talked about everything. He had school pictures of you and Carmen, everything was just wonderful in sunny Southern California. Good job, nice house in the suburbs, Evelyn was selling real estate. The American dream. Said he would never return to Mississippi, not even for Sam's funeral. After swearing me to secrecy, he told me about the new names, and he gave me his phone number. Not his address, just his phone number. Any breach of secrecy, he threatened, and he would simply disappear again. He told me not to call him, though, unless it was an emergency. I told him I wanted to see you and Carmen, and he said that it might happen, one day. At times he was the same old Eddie, and at times he was another person. We hugged and waved good-bye, and I never saw him again."
Adam flipped the remote and the video moved. The clear, modern images of the third and final trial moved by quickly, and there was Sam, suddenly thirteen years older, with a new lawyer as they darted through a side door of the Lakehead County Courthouse. "Did you go to the third trial?"
"No. He told me to stay away."
Adam paused the video. "At what point did Sam realize they were coming after him again?"
"It's hard to say. There was a small story in the Memphis paper one day about this new district attorney in Greenville who wanted to reopen the Kramer case. It was not a big story, just a couple of paragraphs in the middle of the paper. I remember reading it with horror. I read it ten times and stared at it for an hour. After all these years, the name Sam Cayhall was once again in the paper. I couldn't believe it. I called him, and, of course, he had read it too. He said not to worry. About two weeks later there was another story, a little larger this time, with David McAllister's face in the middle of it. I called Daddy, he said everything was okay. That's how it got started. Rather quietly, then it just steam-rolled. The Kramer family supported the idea, then the NAACP got involved. One day it became obvious that McAllister was determined to push for a new trial, and that it was not going to go away. Sam was sickened by it, and he was scared, but he tried to act brave. He'd won twice he said, he could do it again."
"Did you call Eddie?"
"Yeah. Once it was obvious there would be a new indictment, I called him and broke the news. He didn't say much, didn't say much at all. It was a brief conversation, and I promised to keep him posted. I don't think he took it very well. It wasn't long before it became a national story, and I'm sure Eddie followed it in the media."
They watched the remaining segments of the third trial in silence. McAllister's toothsome face was everywhere, and more than once Adam wished he'd done a bit more editing. Sam was led away for the last time in handcuffs, and the screen went blank.
"Has anyone else seen this?" Lee asked.
"No. You're the first."
"How did you collect it all?"
"It took time, a little money, a lot of effort."
"It's incredible."
"When I was a junior in high school, we had this goofy teacher of political science. He allowed us to haul in newspapers and magazines and debate the issues of the day. Someone brought a front page story from the L.A. Times about the upcoming trial of Sam Cayhall in Mississippi. We kicked it around pretty good, then we watched it closely as it took place. Everyone, including myself, was quite pleased when he was found guilty. But there was a huge debate over the death penalty. A few weeks later, my father was dead and you finally told me the truth. I was horrified that my friends would find out."
"Did they?"
"Of course not. I'm a Cayhall, a master at keeping secrets."
"It won't be a secret much longer."
"No, it won't."
There was a long' pause as they stared at the blank screen. Adam finally pushed the power button and the television went off. He tossed the remote control on the table. "I'm sorry, Lee, if this will embarrass you. I mean it. I wish there was some way to avoid it."
"You don't understand."
"I know. And you can't explain it, right? Are you afraid of Phelps and his family?"
"I despise Phelps and his family."
"But you enjoy their money."
"I've earned their money, okay? I've put up with him for twenty-seven years."
"Are you afraid your little clubs will ostracize you? That they'll kick you out of the country clubs?"
"Stop it, Adam."
"I'm sorry," he said. "It's been a weird day. I'm coming out of the closet, Lee. I'm confronting my past, and I guess I expect everyone to be as bold. I'm sorry."
"What does he look like?"
"A very old man. Lots of wrinkles and pale skin. He's too old to be locked up in a cage."
"I remember talking to him a few days before his last trial. I asked him why he didn't just run away, vanish into the night and hide in some place like South America. And you know what?"
"What?"
"He said he thought about it. Mother had been dead for several years. Eddie was gone. He had read books about Mengele and Eichmann and other Nazi war criminals who disappeared in South America. He even mentioned Sao Paulo, said it was a city of twenty million and filled with refugees of all sorts. He had a friend, another Klansman I think, who could fix the paperwork and help him hide. He gave it a lot of thought."
"I wish he had. Maybe my father would still be with us."
"Two days before he went to Parchman, I saw him in the jail in Greenville. It was our last visit. I asked him why he hadn't run. He said he never dreamed he would get the death penalty. I couldn't believe that for years he'd been a free man and could've easily run away. It was a big mistake, he said, not running. A mistake that would cost him his life."
Adam placed the popcorn bowl on the table, and slowly leaned toward her. His head rested on her shoulder. She took his hand. "I'm sorry you're in the middle of this," she whispered.
"He looked so pitiful sitting there in a red death row jumpsuit."