The Dark-Thirty Read Free Page B

steps of the First Baptist Church and wailed for justice. The governor consoled the widow. “Don’t you worry none, Miz Holt. The truth will come out. You can count on it.”
    Meanwhile, the burden of the investigation was dropped into the lap of Chief Burton Baker and his four-man Tyre police department. He decided to question Hoop Granger, whose filling station was near the Holt estate. Maybe he’d seen something.
    Hoop Granger sat by the dirt-streaked window and watched Chief Baker walk toward Simm’s Ironwork Shop, where Hoop and the other local riffraff hung out. Hoop, who’d been a difficult child, was a downright ornery man. He’d grown up bitter as quinine and meaner than a swamp snake. He made a living as a self-taughtauto mechanic, having inherited the service station out on Highway 49 from his father.
    Hoop warned his friends that Baker was coming. The men greeted the officer coolly.
    “Like to ask you a few questions, Hoop,” Baker announced.
    “I’m wondering, Chief, why you wasting time talking to me, when you ought to be over in the Corners arresting one of them darkies for murdering Holt.”
    “Why are you jumping on the defensive?” Baker was obviously annoyed. “I came to find out if you saw something.”
    Hoop turned to the window. “I might have.”
    “Hoop, if you know anything, you’d better tell me now. Did you see somebody from the Corners out at the Holt place?”
    “I seen Alvin …” Hoop swallowed hard. His eyes darted around, never making eye contact. “Alvin Tinsley. Yeah. He went up to Holt’s on the day of the murder.”
    Alvin Tinsley was a young black man who was respected by both the white and black communities. He’d grown up in Tyre, and after working his way through Tuskegee Institute in veterinary science, he’d come back home. But the state of Mississippi had denied him a veterinarylicense. Then Alvin saved one of Riley Holt’s prize walking horses, and the powerful Holt made sure Alvin got his license. Holt immediately hired Alvin to take care of all the animals on the Holt plantation.
    Chief Baker looked around. Hoop’s friends were nodding their heads in agreement.
    “Hoop, come on over to the station and we’ll talk more,” he said. He opened the door, then added, “I’m going to send for Alvin. We can get to the bottom of this right now.”
    On his way out, Hoop turned to the chief. “You know the road leading up to the Holt place goes right by my station, so I see everything. And I swear I saw Alvin go by—looking mad enough to kill.”
    Half an hour later Alvin Tinsley was shown into the chief’s office. Politely removing his hat, he took the seat Chief Baker offered him. Hoop shifted uneasily in his chair as he watched a black man being given the same courtesy as a white.
    His mind went back twenty years when he and Alvin had sat in this same office. He remembered accusing Alvin of another crime—of hanging Miz Jasper’s cat. And he rememberedAlvin admitting that he’d done it … just as Hoop had made him do. “If you don’t say you did it, I’ll tell my daddy to fire your daddy, then he won’t have no job.”
    Hoop still remembered Chief Baker’s eyes staring at him. “Are you sure this is what happened?” he’d said.
    “Sure, Chief,” Hoop had answered. “It was just like I said. Alvin killed that dumb ol’ cat for scratching him, but he’s sorry.”
    “It’s strange to me … the only one who’s got scratches on his hand is you, Hoop.”
    But Alvin had held to Hoop’s story and taken the punishment without complaint.
    Now here they were again, sitting before Chief Baker.
    “Seems like we’ve done this before,” Baker said, sighing. “How’s Miz Cora Mae?” he asked, putting off official business. Then, “Alvin, can you tell me about your movements on or around the thirteenth of June 1938 …? That was last Thursday.”
    “Mama’s doing nicely,” Alvin said, answering the chief’s first question. “I was