folks got to be able to work in people’s houses. You take Mrs. Wingate, living here all by herself. What she gone think?”
“I wouldn’t worry, Maebelle. The law will follow its course.”
“I seen all kinds of laws, Mr. Charlie. I seen laws come and I seen them go. Whatever gone happen, it best happen quick.”
Maebelle headed for the front of Mrs. Wingate’s house. The wind had shifted to the southwest and the sky had cleared. The air was beginning to warm. I came up to the porch and ate a biscuit. Maebelle had sprinkled a little brown sugar and black peppercorns on her ham when she fried it. I thought I could eat the whole basket. I found a handkerchief and wrapped a biscuit in it for later in the day. I tucked the cover cloth back in the basket and set it on the table in the kitchen.
The cabinet above the sink in the bathroom was open, and from the doorway I could see my reflection in the mirror. I did look thin. And wan. When warm weather came on, I would go down to the Roads more, get out in the sunlight. Smoke fewer cigarettes. Maybe by fall I would be ready to go back to school. But now I needed to go by the newspaper.
Mr. Hobgood tossed back a glass as I walked in and placed it on his desk pad. He looked terrible. The circles around his eyes were always dark and this morning they looked like bruises.
“People are stirred up, Mears,” he said. “They want blood.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good job reporting on the inquest.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“What was the name of that colored lawyer? The one the father went to on Wine Street?”
“George Washington Fields.”
“Fields, that’s right. Better see what you can find out from him. Make sure he’s representing the girl before the grand jury.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Mrs. Belote’s brother. Hobbs.” He rummaged around on his desk. “Where’s that infernal note? Oh, here. Lewter F. Hobbs. Hobbs-Newby Equipment Co., Inc. Norfolk. Supposedly he’s friends with Montague. They went to school together or some damn thing. See what you can find out there.”
“He’s friends with the Commonwealth’s attorney?”
“Yes, yes, Edgar Montague. No need to shout, Mears!” Mr. Hobgood pressed his hand to his forehead.
“No, sir.” I leaned forward. “Would you like some water, Mr. Hobgood?”
“No, Mears, I’m fine. Oh, be sure to check with Sheriff Curtis. Heard a Negro assaulted a white girl on Buckroe Beach.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have a cigarette, Mears?”
“Yes, sir.” I handed him my Luckies. He shook a cigarette out and returned the pack.
“I owe you,” he said. He took a wooden match from his desk drawer and scratched it on his shoe. After he lit the cigarette, he blew the match out. He studied the white smoke purling from the tip.
“I need to explain something, Mears,” he said. “This business. It’s about the truth, right?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Indeed it is, Mears.” He puffed at the cigarette and leaned back in his chair. “It’s about the truth. When the truth sells papers. Do you understand?”
When I asked Sheriff Curtis about the assault, he sighed and shook his head. He was slumped in his chair. He looked tired. “About the last thing we needed right now, Charlie. We had a couple folks outside again last night. What I’m worried about is a deputy going off half-cocked and shooting somebody.” He poured coffee from the pot on the stove.
“Well, the assault,” he said. “Lawyer’s daughter in Phoebus. Colored boy’s in the house. Turns out he’s the gardener. Neighbor lady decides to bring over some cornbread right out of the oven for supper. There he is, inside with the lawyer’s fifteen-year-old girl. Girl starts screaming, says he broke open the door, intending to have his way. Course he’s a good-looking young buck. Now you know and I know, Charlie.”
He looked at me sternly.
“Hell, maybe you don’t know.” He sighed. “Deputy said there wasn’t a scratch on the door. Hardware like new. Girl swore an affidavit, so that’s all there is for it. He’s there in a cell next to your girl. Name’s John Wesley.” He nodded. “That’s right, like the preacher.” He sipped his coffee and leaned back in the chair. “So we might get even more folks coming round, hollering. Colored girl’s scared half to death as it is. She asked for you, by the way.”
I looked at the jail door. “Go on, go on,” he said. “It ain’t locked. Just be quick.”
“Mr. Charlie!” Virgie spoke before I was to her cell. “You was right. I has me a lawyer. Mr. Fields, got his office right down the street from us. Mr. George Washington Fields.”
The colored boy stood in his cell and stared, but did not speak.
“That Johnny,” Virgie said, nodding toward his cell.
“Miss Hattie ask me come into the house,” Wesley said. “I ain’t breaking down no door.”
“Don’t talk, Johnny,” Virgie said. “That what Mr. Charlie told me, and he right.” Wesley slumped onto his cot.
“Can you read, Virgie?” I said.
“Miss Price taught me some,” she said. “But it been a while.”
“All right,” I said. “I have to go. I’ll be back soon.”
“See you then, Mr. Charlie. You ain’t talked to my daddy, has you?”
I shook my head.
Sheriff Curtis had the deputy’s report ready. I took down the full names of the individuals and the address for my story on the assault. Then I confirmed with the clerk of court that George Fields was representing Virginia Christian. Fields had named a second attorney, James Thomas Newsome. I had covered one of Newsome’s cases in Newport News. He was an excellent advocate. I could follow up on the attorneys later. For Lewter Hobbs and Montague, the Commonwealth’s attorney, I’d have to catch the ferry over to Sewell’s Point. I decided to head to the shipyards instead.
While I waited outside the dry docks, I took Maebelle’s biscuit from my pocket and ate it. Then I smoked a cigarette. As soon as the shift whistle blew, men began to emerge. Cahill was not nearly as tall as the others walking down the steel ramp, but somehow he took up space. The denim cap he wore flopped back on his head. A man walking next to him said something and Cahill laughed heartily, throwing his chin up. His white teeth flashed under his thick moustache. He put his hand on the man’s shoulder and laughed again. His forearm was thick and pocked with burns. A red bandanna was tied around his neck. His denim overalls were dirty with oil and grease below the line where his welder’s apron would fall.
“Mr. Cahill? May I speak with you?” Cahill paused and studied me.
“Well,
