The Chamber (Page 39)

"Why’d you go there?"

"To drink coffee."

"What time was it?"

"I don’t know. Around four-thirty or so."

"Was it crowded?"

"A handful of people. Just your run-of-themill all-night diner with a fat cook in a dirty tee shirt and a waitress who smacked her chewing gum.

"Did you talk to anybody?"

"I spoke to the waitress when I ordered my coffee. Maybe 1 had a doughnut."

"And you were having a nice cup of coffee, just minding your own business, waiting for the bomb to go off."

"Yeah, I always liked to hear the bombs go off and watch the people react."

"So you’d done this before?"

"A couple of times. In February of that year I bombed the real estate office in Jackson – Jews had sold a house to some niggers in a white section – and I had just sat down in a diner not three blocks away when the bomb went off, I was using a fuse then, so I had to hustle away and park real fast and find a table. The girl had just sat my coffee down when the ground shook and everybody froze. I really liked that. It was four in the morning and the place was packed with truckers and deliverymen, even had a few cops over in a corner, and of course they ran to their cars and sped away with lights blazing. My table shook so hard that coffee spilled from my cup."

"And that gave you a real thrill?"

"Yes, it did. But the other jobs were too risky. I didn’t have the time to find a cafe or diner, so I just sort of rode around for a few minutes waiting for the fun. I’d check my watch closely, so I always knew about when it would hit. If I was in the car, I liked to be on the edge of town, you know." Sam paused and took a long puff from his cigarette. His words were slow and careful. His eyes danced a bit as he talked about his adventures, but his words were measured, "I did watch the Pinder bombing," he added.

"And how’d you do that?"

"They lived in a big house in the suburbs, lots of trees, sort of in a valley. I parked on the side of a hill about a mile away, and I was sitting under a tree when it went off."

"How peaceful."

"It really was. Full moon, cool night. I had a great view of the street, and I could see almost all of the roof. It was so calm and peaceful, everyone was asleep, then, boom, blew that roof to hell and back."

"What was Mr. Pinder’s sin?"

"Just overall general Jewishness. Loved niggers. Always embraced the radical Africans when they came down from the North and agitated everybody. He loved to march and boycott with the Africans. We suspected he was financing a lot of their activities."

Adam made notes and tried to absorb all of this. It was hard to digest because it was almost impossible to believe. Perhaps the death penalty was not such a bad idea after all. "Back to Greenville. Where was this coffee shop located?"

"Don’t remember."

"What was it called?"

"It was twenty-three years ago. And it was not the kind of place you’d want to remember."

"Was it on Highway 82?"

"I think so. What are you gonna do? Spend your time digging for the fat cook and the tacky waitress? Are you doubting my story?"

"Yes. I’m doubting your story."

"Why?"

"Because you can’t tell me where you learned to make a bomb with a timing detonator."

"In the garage behind my house."

"In Clanton?"

"Out from Clanton. It’s not that difficult."

"Who taught you?"

"I taught myself. I had a drawing, a little booklet with diagrams and such. Steps one, two, three. It was no big deal."

"How many times did you practice with such a device before Kramer?"

"Once."

"Where? When?"

"In the woods not far from my house. I took two sticks ‘of dynamite and the necessary paraphernalia, and I went to a little creek bed deep in the woods. It worked perfectly."

"Of course. And you did all this study and research in your garage?"

"That’s what I said."

"Your own little laboratory."

"Call it whatever you want."

"Well, the FBI conducted a thorough search of your house, garage, and premises while you were in custody. They didn’t find a trace of evidence of explosives."

"Maybe they’re stupid. Maybe I was real careful and didn’t leave a trail."

"Or maybe the bomb was planted by someone with experience in explosives."

"Nope. Sorry."

"How long did you stay in the coffee shop in Greenville?"

"A helluva long time. Five o’clock came and went. Then it was almost six. I left a few minutes before six and drove by Kramer’s office. The place looked fine. Some of the early risers were out and about, and I didn’t want to be seen. I crossed the river and drove to Lake Village, Arkansas, then returned to Greenville. It was seven by then, sun was up and people were moving around. No explosion. I parked the car on a side street, and walked around for a while. The damned thing wouldn’t go off. I couldn’t go in after it, you know. I walked and walked, listening hard, hoping the ground would shake. Nothing happened."

"Did you see Marvin Kramer and his sons go into the building?"

"No. I turned a corner and saw his car parked, and I thought dammit! I went blank. I couldn’t think. But then I thought, what the hell, he’s just a Jew and he’s done many evil things. Then, I thought about secretaries and other people who might work in there, so I walked around the block again. I remember looking at my watch when it was twenty minutes before eight, and I had this thought that maybe I should make an anonymous phone call to the office and tell Kramer that there was a bomb in the closet. And if he didn’t believe me, then he could go look at it, then he could haul ass."

"Why didn’t you?"

"I didn’t have a dime. I’d left all my change as a tip for the waitress, and I didn’t want to walk into a store and ask for change. I have to tell you I was real nervous. My hands were shaking, and I didn’t want to act suspicious in front of anybody. I was a stranger, right? That was my bomb in there, right? I was in a small town where everybody knows everyone, and they damned sure remember strangers when there’s a crime. I remember walking down the sidewalk, just across the street from Kramer’s, and in front of a barbershop there was a newspaper rack, and this man was fumbling in his pocket for change. I almost asked him for a dime so I could make a quick call, but I was too nervous."

"Why were you nervous, Sam? You just said you didn’t care if Kramer got hurt. This was your sixth bombing, right?"

"Yeah, but the others were easy. Light the fuse, hit the door, and wait a few minutes. I kept thinking about that cute little secretary in Kramer’s office, the one who’d shown me to the rest room. The same one who later testified at trial. And I kept thinking about the other people who worked in his office because when I went in that day I saw people everywhere. It was almost eight o’clock, and I knew the place opened in a few minutes. I knew a lot of people were about to get killed. My mind stopped working. I remember standing beside a phone booth a block away, staring at my watch, then staring at the phone, telling myself that I had to make the call. I finally stepped inside and looked up the number, but by the time I closed the book I’d forgotten it. So I looked it up again, and I started to dial when I remembered I didn’t have a dime. So I made up my mind to go into the barbershop to get some change. My legs were heavy and I was sweatin’ like hell. I walked to the barbershop, and I stopped at the plate glass window and looked in. It was packed. They were lined up against the wall, talking and reading papers, and there was a row of chairs, all filled with men talking at the same time. I remember a couple of them looked at me, then one or two more began to stare, so I walked away."