The grand jury adjourned at nine. Mast met with the U.S. Marshal, and planned the arrests for early the next morning. Jaynes and Sprawling found late flights from New Orleans back to D.C.
Chapter 37
HANDLED a car wreck once, just after I joined the firm. It happened on 49, up in Stone County, near Wiggins. Our clients were going north when a flatbed truck pulled out from a county road, right in front of them. A big wreck. Three people were in our car, the driver was killed, his wife was severely injured, a kid in the backseat had a broken leg. The flatbed truck was owned by a paper company, heavily insured, and so the case had potential. They gave it to me, and I jumped in gung ho because I was new. There was no doubt the truck was at fault, but its driver, who was not hurt, claimed our car was speeding. This became the big issue-how fast was our dead driver going? My accident reconstructionist estimated his speed at sixty miles per hour, which was not too bad. The highway was posted for fifty-five; everybody does at least sixty. My clients were driving to Jackson to visit family, and were in no hurry.
"The accident reconstructionist hired by the truck's insurance company estimated my guy's speed at seventy-five, and this, of course, would've seriously hurt our case. Any jury will frown on twenty miles over the speed limit. We found a witness, an old man who was either the second or third person on the scene. His name was Mr. Clovis Goodman, age eighty-one, blind in one eye and couldn't see out of the other."
"Seriously?" Sandy asked.
"No, but his vision was somewhat impaired. He was still driving, and on that day he was puttering down the highway in his 1968 Chevrolet pickup when our car passed him. Then, just over the next hill, old Clovis happened upon the wreck. Clovis was a very tender old man, lived alone, no close family, forgotten and neglected, and seeing this horrible accident moved him deeply. He tried to help the victims, and hung around for a while, then he left. He didn't say anything to anybody. He was too upset. He told me later he didn't sleep for a week.
"Anyway, we got word that one of the later arrivals had actually videoed the accident scene while the ambulances and cops and fire trucks were there. Traffic was backed up, people were bored, and, hell, they'll video anything, so we borrowed the tape. A paralegal analyzed it and took down all the license plate numbers. Then he found the owners, trying to find witnesses. That's how we found Clovis. He said he practically saw the wreck, but was too upset to talk about it. I asked him if I could come out for a visit, and he said yes.
"Clovis lived in the country, out from Wiggins, in a small white-frame house he and his wife had built back
before the war. She had been dead for many years. So had his only child, a son who'd gone astray. He had two grandchildren; one lived in California and the other near Hattiesburg. He hadn't seen either in years. I learned all this within the first hour. Clovis was a lonely old man, gruff at first, as if he didn't trust lawyers and resented wasting time, but not long into the first visit he was boiling hot water for instant coffee and telling family secrets. We sat on the porch, in rocking chairs with a dozen old cats swarming under our feet, and talked about everything but the wreck. Fortunately, it was a Saturday, so I could waste time and not worry about the office. He was a wonderful storyteller. The Depression was a favorite topic, as was the war. After a couple of hours, I finally mentioned the car wreck, and he went quiet and looked pained and informed me softly that he just couldn't talk about it yet. Said he knew something important, but it wasn't the right time. I asked him how fast he was driving when our car went by. He said he never got above fifty. I asked him if he could estimate how fast our car was going, and he just shook his head.
"Two days later, I stopped by late one afternoon, and we settled back on the porch for another round of war stories. Promptly at six, Clovis said he was hungry, said furthermore that he loved catfish, and asked if I would like to join him for dinner. I was single at the time, and so Clovis and I left for dinner. I drove, of course, and he talked. We had greasy catfish at six bucks for all you can eat. Clovis ate real slow, his chin just inches above the pile of fish. The waitress put the check on the table and Clovis never saw it. It sat there for ten minutes. He kept talking with a mouthful of hush puppies. I figured the dinner was money well spent if Clovis ever came through with his testimony. We eventually left, and driving back to his house he announced he needed a beer, just one beer for his bladder, and at that moment we just happened to be nearing a country store. I parked. He didn't move, and so I bought the beer too. We drove and drank, and he said he'd like to show me where he grew up. It wasn't far away, he said. One county road led to the next, and after twenty minutes I had no idea where I was. Clovis couldn't see very well. He needed another beer, also for his bladder. I asked directions from a store clerk, and Clovis and I set sail again. He pointed this way and that, and we finally found the town of Necaise Crossing in Hancock County. Once we found it, he said we could turn around. He forgot the part about his childhood home. More beer. More directions from the store clerks.
"When we got near his house, I realized where we were, and I started asking questions about the car wreck. He said it was still too painful to talk about. I helped him into the house and he fell onto the sofa, snoring. It was almost midnight. This went on for about a month. Rocking on the front porch. Catfish on Tuesdays. Road trips for his bladder. The insurance policy had limits of two million. Our case was worth every bit of that, and, though Clovis didn't know it, his testimony was getting more crucial by the day. He assured me no one else had contacted him about the accident, so it was critical that I nail down his facts before the insurance boys found him."
"How much time had passed since the accident?" Sandy asked.
"Four or five months. I finally pressed him one day. I told him that we had reached an important point in the lawsuit, and it was time for him to answer some questions. He said he was ready. I asked him how fast our car was going when it passed him. He said it sure was awful, seeing those people hurt like that, crushed and bleeding, especially the little boy. The poor old man had tears in his eyes. A few minutes later, I asked him again, 'Clovis, can you estimate how fast the car was going when it passed you?' He said he sure would like to help the family. I said they would certainly appreciate that. And then he looked me square in the eyes, and said, 'How fast do you think it was going?'
"I said that in my opinion it was going about fifty-five miles an hour. Clovis said, 'Then that's what it was. Fifty-five miles an hour. I was doing fifty, and they just barely eased past me.'
"We went to trial, and Clovis Goodman was the best witness I've ever seen. He was old, humble, but wise and thoroughly believable. The jury ignored all the fancy accident reconstruction testimony and hung their verdict on Clovis. They gave us two point three million dollars.
"We kept in touch. I did his will for him. He didn't have much; just the house and six acres, seven thousand dollars in the bank. When he died, he wanted everything sold and the money given to the Daughters of the Confederacy. Not one relative was mentioned in his will. The grandson in California had been gone for twenty years. The granddaughter in Hattiesburg hadn't made contact since he received an invitation to her high school graduation in 1968. He neither attended nor sent a gift. He seldom mentioned them, but I knew Clovis longed for some connection with his family.
"He got sick and couldn't live by himself, so I moved him into a nursing home in Wiggins. I sold his house and farm, and handled all of his financial affairs. At the time, I was his only friend. I sent him cards and gifts, and every time I went to Hattiesburg or Jackson I would stop and visit for as long as I could. At least once a month, I would go get him and take him to the Catfish Cabin. Then we'd take a road trip. After a beer or two he'd start with his stories. I took him fishing one day, just me and Clovis in a boat for eight hours, and I've never laughed so hard in my life.