Justice was sailing right along until Truitt called up the miscegenation case. The two lovers had been caught in the act in the back of a pickup truck parked in an area known for such activities. Deputy Roy Lester had received an anonymous tip by phone that the two were planning such a rendezvous, and he got there first. The identity of the tipster was unknown. Lester hid in the darkness and was pleased to learn that the tip was accurate. The white man, who later admitted to having a wife and a kid, drove his truck to a spot very near Lester’s hiding place, and commenced to partially undress while the black girl, aged eighteen and single, did likewise. The area being deserted at that moment, they decided to get down to business in the back of the truck.
Testifying before the grand jury, Lester claimed he watched calmly from behind some trees. In truth, though, he found the encounter quite erotic and was anything but calm. The grand jurors hung on every word, and Lester was discreet, even understated, with his descriptions. As the white man was reaching his climax, Lester jumped from his hiding place, brandished his weapon, and yelled, “Stop right there!” Which was probably the wrong command because who could really stop at that critical juncture? As they hurriedly dressed, Lester waited with the handcuffs. He walked them to his patrol car hidden down a dirt trail, and hauled them to jail. Along the way, the white man began crying and begging for mercy. His wife would certainly divorce him and he loved her so.
When he finished his testimony, the room was silent, as if the grand jurors were lost in their own imaginations and wanted more of the narrative. Finally, Mr. Phil Hobard, a science teacher at Clanton High and a transplanted Yankee from Ohio, asked, “If he’s twenty-six years old and she’s eighteen, then why is having relations against the law?”
Truitt was quick to take control of the discussion. “Because sex between a Caucasian and a Negro is against the law, and it’s against the law because the state legislature made it illegal many years ago.”
Mr. Hobard was not satisfied. He ignored the frowns from his colleagues and pressed on. “Is adultery against the law?”
A few of the men dropped their stares and glanced at some papers on the table. Two even squirmed, but the zealots looked even fiercer as if to say, “If it’s not it certainly should be.”
Truitt replied, “No, it is not. At one time it was, but the authorities found it rather difficult to enforce.”
Hobard said, “So, let me get this straight. In Mississippi today it’s not against the law to have sex with a woman who’s not your wife so long as she is of the same race. A different race, though, and you can be arrested and prosecuted, right?”
“That’s what the code says,” Truitt answered.
Hobard, who was evidently the only one on the grand jury with the courage to dig deeper, asked, “Don’t we have better things to do than to prosecute two consenting adults who were evidently having a lot of fun, in bed, or in the back of a truck, or wherever?”
Truitt replied, “I didn’t write the law, Mr. Hobard. And if you want to change it, then take up the matter with your state senator.”
“Our state senator is an idiot.”
“Well, perhaps, but that’s outside the scope of our jurisdiction. Are we ready to vote on this indictment?” Truitt asked.
“No,” Hobard said sharply. “You’re trying to speed things along. Fine, but before we vote I’d like to ask my colleagues on this grand jury how many of them have ever had sex with a black woman. If you have, then there’s no way you can vote to convict these two people.”
An unseen vacuum sucked all the air out of the room. Several of the grand jurors turned pale. Several turned red with anger. One zealot blurted, “Never!” Others spoke:
“Come on, this is ridiculous.”
“You’re nuts. Come on, let’s vote!”
“It’s a crime and we have no choice.”
Nix Gridley stood in a corner, looked at their faces, and managed to conceal a smile. Dunn Ludlow was a regular at the colored whorehouse in Lowtown. Milt Muncie had kept the same black mistress for at least as long as Nix had been sheriff. Neville Wray came from an old family of plantation owners who had been mixing and mingling for generations. Now, though, all fifteen were posturing in various awkward stages of piousness.
The state’s antimiscegenation law was similar to others throughout the South and had little to do with sex between white men and black women; such relations were hardly frowned on. The purpose of the law was to protect the sanctity of white women and keep the Negroes away from them. But, as history had proven many times, if two people want to have sex they do not spend time thinking about code sections. The law prevented nothing, but was used occasionally as punishment after the fact.
Truitt waited until all comments ceased, then said, “We need to move along. Can we have a vote here. All in favor of these two being indicted, raise your hands.” Fifteen hands went up, all but Hobard’s.
An indictment did not require a unanimous vote. Two-thirds would suffice, and Truitt had never lost one. The grand jury soon dispatched with the other cases, and Truitt said, “And now we come to the matter of Mr. Pete Banning. First-degree murder. I’m sure you all know as much as I do. Sheriff Gridley.”
Nix stepped over some boots and shoes and managed to return to the seat at the end of the table. Half the men were smoking and Nix told Roy Lester to crack a window. Truitt lit a cigarette and blew smoke at the ceiling.
Nix began with the crime scene and passed around two photos of Dexter Bell lying dead in his office. He described the scene, recounted the testimony of Hop Purdue, and told the story of driving out to arrest Pete, who told him where to find the gun. Nix produced the gun and three slugs, and said there was no doubt they did the damage. The state police had sent a report. Since his arrest, Pete Banning had refused to discuss the case. He was represented by Mr. John Wilbanks. If indicted, it appeared as though there would be a trial in the near future.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Truitt said. “Any questions?”
A hand shot up and Milt Muncie asked loudly, “Do we have to vote on this? I mean, I know Pete Banning and I knew Dexter Bell, and I really don’t want to get involved here.”
“Neither do I,” said Tyus Sutton. “I grew up with Pete Banning and I don’t feel right sittin’ in judgment.”
“That’s right,” said Paul Carlin. “I’m not touchin’ this case, and if you try to force me, then I’ll just resign. We can resign from this grand jury, can’t we? I’d rather resign than deal with it.”
“No, you can’t resign,” Truitt said sharply as his rubber stamp unraveled.
“How about we abstain?” asked Joe Fisher. “It makes sense that we have the right to abstain in a case where we are personally acquainted with those involved, right? Show me where in the law it says we can’t abstain when we want to.”
All eyes were on Truitt, who, in matters of grand jury procedure, usually made up the rules as he went along, as did all DAs around the state. He could not remember any reference to abstentions in these situations, though, truthfully, he had not looked at the code sections in years. He had become so accustomed to the rubber-stamp approach that he’d neglected the procedural intricacies.