The Last Mile

  movements. Lots of bad things were happening. Hell, there were so many explosions in Birmingham they started calling the place ‘Bombingham.’”

  “How was the bombing here accomplished?” asked Decker.

  “Dynamite.”

  “And no one saw anyone place the explosives?” asked Jamison.

  “Apparently not.”

  Decker said, “In the information your office earlier provided to Agent Bogart it was said that the church was actually under police surveillance because of threats made against the church pastor, who had marched with Martin Luther King Jr. on numerous occasions. And the pastor had also joined in a lawsuit against the city of Cain and the state of Mississippi for discriminatory acts under the Civil Rights Act.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  Decker said, “So how could someone plant a bomb large enough to blow up a church and kill fifteen people when the police were watching the place and no one sees them?”

  Pierce simply shook her head. “That’s anyone’s guess.”

  “We need more than a guess,” replied Decker.

  “But it was so long ago, I don’t see how you can find a definitive answer now.”

  “Well, in the Birmingham case they finally prosecuted some of the men for the crime many years after the fact. So maybe we can do the same here. Can you tell us about Thurman’s father, Travis Huey?”

  “What about him?”

  “His politics.”

  “He was a good man. Did right by the state.”

  “I meant what was his position on the Civil Rights Act?”

  Pierce frowned. “I have no way of knowing that.”

  “I would assume if he was governor and then the U.S. senator from Mississippi during the 1950s and beyond that his politics leaned more toward George Wallace than Hubert Humphrey?”

  “I really couldn’t say. I never knew him.”

  “But assuredly there must have been histories written about such a prominent man.”

  “Look, if you’re asking whether Mr. Huey was a racist, I will just say that, based on my limited knowledge, he was a man of his time. And a states’ rights man.”

  Decker said, “Does his son share those views?”

  “This is not the 1950s,” replied Pierce.

  “The problem is not everyone seems aware of that,” said Decker.

  “If you want to know about Thurman Huey’s beliefs, I suggest you take it up directly with him.”

  “In Mr. Montgomery’s arrest record, only part of which we’ve seen, does it note where he was arrested?”

  Pierce looked down at the file and sifted through a few pages. “Yes, it does.”

  “And how close was that location to the church?”

  She seemed to stiffen, as though she had finally connected the dots in her mind. “Um, well, it actually seems that it was only a few blocks away from the church.”

  “And is it possible that the officers who were guarding the church were also the ones pursuing and then arresting Mr. Montgomery?”

  “I have no way to determine that.”

  “You have the arrest report and the officers’ names were surely on it.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think there’s any way to determine which officers were watching the church at that time.”

  “But it’s possible that they were one and the same?”

  “Anything is possible,” she replied sharply.

  “And what was the explanation given at the time as to how the bomb was planted and detonated while the church was supposedly under police protection?”

  “I’m not sure any explanation was ever given, because no arrests were made. It seemed that folks assumed whoever did it slipped past the officers somehow.”

  “And the officers’ testimony regarding their whereabouts at the time?”

  “There was nothing in the file about that.”

  “But if they did pursue Montgomery and arrest him, that means the church would have been left unguarded, correct?”

  “Accepting your premise, which I don’t necessarily, the answer is yes.”

  “And the time of Mr. Montgomery’s arrest was nine-ten in the evening?”

  “That’s what the files indicate, yes.”

  “And the time of the bombing?”

  Pierce’s gaze dropped to the file. Her voice shook slightly when she said, “The best guess was about nine-fifteen.”

  “Interesting coincidence,” said Bogart sternly.

  “Well, don’t look at me, as I said, I wasn’t even born at the time,” retorted Pierce indignantly.

  “And his obituary said that Nathan Ryan was one of the first on the scene,” said Decker.

  “I read that too, after Agent Bogart contacted me. I wasn’t aware of it before.”

  “But the church was in a predominantly black area. It was nighttime. Why would Ryan have been in the area at all? Did he live close by?”

  Pierce shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “You said you know some of the Ryans?” asked Jamison.

  “Yes.”

  “Could you get us their contact information?” said Bogart.

  Pierce looked across at Decker with unfriendly eyes. “Are you really suggesting that this Montgomery person was used as a distraction to get the police on guard to leave their posts so the bombing could take place?”

  “No, I’m suggesting that the local police knew exactly what was going on and were ordered to leave their posts to arrest Montgomery so the bomb could be planted and then detonated.”

  She paled. “Ordered? By whom?”

  “Well, that’s for us to find out,” replied Decker.

  CHAPTER

  57

  AFTER SEVERAL PHONE calls made to various Ryans in town, they arrived at a small, neat bungalow in a modest surburban neighborhood. The houses were shaded with mature trees, and the laughter of children playing filtered through the air.

  Mildred Ryan was in her late eighties and wispy white hair covered her pink scalp. Time had bowed her back and shrunk her frame. She wore large black-rimmed glasses that seemed to swallow her tiny face. She sat huddled in a shawl in a comfortable chair in a bedroom of the bungalow, which was owned by her daughter.

  That daughter, Julie Smithers, was eyeing Decker and his group suspiciously as they stood in the doorway of the bedroom.

  “I really don’t see what my mother can tell you. It was a long time ago and her memory is not that good.”

  Smithers was short, built like a bulldog, and her face held the same stubborn features of that canine breed.

  Bogart said smoothly, “We just want to ask a few questions. If she’s not up to it we’ll leave and come back another time.”

  Ryan looked up from the Bible she was reading, her finger touching each word. “Just tell them to come on in, Jules, and ask their questions. I’m up for it,” she said in a drawl that signaled her Mississippi roots.

  Decker said, “Doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with her hearing.”

  “Just don’t overtire her,” warned Smithers.

  She left and Decker and the others moved slowly into the room.

  Ryan pointed to two chairs, one of which Jamison took, and the other one Bogart offered to Decker. He sat down and slid the chair closer to Ryan. Bogart and Mars stood behind him. She looked up at all of them.

  “Haven’t had this many visitors in years,” she said.

  Bogart showed her his badge and said, “Mrs. Ryan, thank you for meeting with us.”

  “You’re welcome. And what is this about?”

  Decker said, “Your husband, Nathan?”

  “He’s dead. Long time ago.”

  “We know. But we wanted to ask some questions about him. Having to do with the church bombing back in 1968. Do you remember that?”

  The shrunken woman seemed to collapse inward even more at these words. “Hell, who could forget? All those little colored children. It…it was such a shame.” She shook her head. “It’s the devil’s work.
I said so then and I say so now.”

  “We understood that your husband was one of the first on the scene of the bombing. That’s what his obituary said.”

  She froze for a moment and then looked up at Decker. “What exactly is all this about?”

  “You know that no one was ever arrested for the murders?”

  “I know that.”

  “Well, we’re here to see if we can find out who did it.”

  “They’re all probably dead.”

  “Maybe, but maybe not. If they were young back then they could still be alive. Like you are,” he added.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “But you might know more than you think,” said Bogart.

  She looked up and suddenly registered on Mars. “When I said ‘colored’ just now, I didn’t mean any disrespect. Just the term we used back then. Should’ve said African American, or black. I’m sorry, young man.”

  “That’s okay,” said Mars.

  “It was just different back then,” mumbled Ryan. “Just different.”

  “But maybe you can answer some of our questions,” prompted Decker.

  “I’m old. I don’t remember much. It was a long time ago. I…I just want to be left alone.” Ryan looked back down at her Bible, her finger moving along the words, her mouth opening as she silently read them.

  Decker glanced at Jamison, who said, “Do you read from your Bible every day, Mrs. Ryan?”

  Ryan nodded. “I’m on Deuteronomy. The fifth book of the Hebrew Bible. Do you know it? I find young people don’t read the Bible anymore. Rather play video games or watch filth on the TV.”

  “Moses’s three sermons to the Israelites,” replied Jamison. This drew surprised stares from all the men, and Ryan as well.

  Jamison explained, “My uncle was a minister. I used to help teach Sunday school. The Israelites were on the plains of Moab. They were about to enter the Promised Land. This was after the forty years of wanderings, which was explained in the first sermon.”

  “I’m impressed, child,” said Ryan.

  “Now, if memory serves me correctly,” continued Jamison, “the third sermon talks about how if Israel is unfaithful and the loss of their lands follows, it can all be made right so long as they repent. I guess that was great comfort to them.”

  Ryan was staring at her. “Why?” she said in a fierce whisper.

  “Well, like us, the Israelites were only human. They made mistakes. God understood that. So if they fell down, they had another chance to make it right. So long as they repented, repented of their sins. Tried to do the right thing. That takes real strength. And real faith.”

  Jamison fell silent and closely watched Ryan.

  The old woman slowly closed her Bible, set it on the table next to the bed, clasped her hands in her lap, and said, “What sorts of questions do you folks have?”

  Decker gave Jamison an appreciative glance and then turned back to Ryan.

  “Do you know why your husband would have been so close to the church that night that he was one of the first on the scene after the bombing? From what we found out, there were houses all around the church, where I’m sure people ran out when the bombing happened. Was he driving by for some reason? Did he tell you about it?”

  Ryan cleared her throat and took a moment to drink from a glass of water that sat next to her Bible. “Nathan was a good man. I want you to understand that. He was a good man,” she said more emphatically.

  “I’m sure he was,” said Decker.

  “Mississippi was falling apart back then. Hell, the whole South was. From the forties to the sixties and on. Riots, lynchings, shootings, things blown or burned up. Folks murdered. Federal marshals all over the place. The National Guard. Coloreds”—she stopped and shot Mars a glance—“I mean, African Americans, demanding things from the whites. It all shook us to our souls. That Thurgood Marshall winning all those court cases. Dr. King marching around like Sherman to the sea. Many folks saw it as the apocalypse.”

  “Did you see it that way?” asked Jamison.

  “I was scared,” she admitted. “The world I knew was turning upside down. Now, don’t get me wrong. It didn’t surprise me. Hell, if I’d been them, I’d have been demanding the same damn things. But, see, I wasn’t them, if you can understand that.” She glanced at Mars and then looked away. “And I was raised a certain way, and taught things that, thankfully, they don’t teach anymore. At least out in the open,” she added, with another nervous glance in the direction of Mars.

  She grew quiet and no one interrupted the silence.

  She continued, “Reverend Sidney Houston was the pastor at that church. He could deliver a sermon like no one else, I can tell you that.”

  “How did you know that?” asked Decker. “Did you ever attend a service?”

  Her eyes grew wide behind the spectacles. “Oh my goodness, no. I would’ve been tarred and feathered and run out of town. But you see, Reverend Houston would sometimes take the sermon outside on the front lawn of the church. And his voice carried. It was deep and powerful. And, well, some of us would get close enough to hear. The man knew his scriptures. And delivered the message forcefully. Made the church I went to seem downright boring by comparison.”

  “Okay,” prompted Decker.

  Ryan started talking faster and with more assurance. “He was a firebrand, that man was. He was taking on Cain like King was doing to Selma. Like that Marshall fellow had been doing to every court in the South. And that brought him up against some very powerful people hereabouts.”

  “Do you know who they were?” asked Decker.

  “Nathan worked in the mayor’s office. He was assistant mayor, in fact, at the time.”

  “And the mayor was Thurman Huey,” began Decker.

  She waved her hand dismissively. “The only reason Thurman Huey had that job was because of his daddy. He was barely out of college, still more boy than man. Nathan rightly should have been the mayor, but once Travis Huey spoke, that was that,” Ryan added, the bitterness clear in her tone. “You know, Travis Huey was a hero to many of us back then. We saw him as our protector.”

  “And now?” asked Jamison.

  Ryan pointed to her Bible. “He was a false prophet, spewing evil and hatred. And violence,” she added.

  “Do you think he had anything to do with the church bombing?” asked Decker.

  “Not Travis Huey. He’d never get his hands dirty.”

  “And his son?”

  Now Ryan seemed to shrink once more. She shook her head. “I don’t know one way or another.”

  “What about your husband?”

  She let out a long sigh. “I think…I think Nathan had some inkling. Some…” Her voice trailed off and she suddenly looked panicked, as though these long-ago memories were surrounding her and there was no escape from them.

  “He had an idea that something bad was going to happen?” suggested Decker. “And that was why he was near the church that