The Biloxi DA was investigating the Cromwell killing.
Chapter 38
He had learned to build bombs ten years earlier when he joined the Klan. At the time he worked for a contractor who often demolished old buildings to make way for new ones. In his day job, he learned the basics of demolition and became adept at the use of TNT and dynamite. With his hobby, he enjoyed building bombs that leveled black churches and the homes of sympathetic whites. He hit his stride in 1969 when the Klan declared war on the Jews in Mississippi and began an eighteen-month terror campaign. They accused the Jews of funding the civil rights nonsense and vowed to run them out of the state, all three thousand of them. His bombs destroyed homes, businesses, schools, and synagogues. Finally, the FBI moved in and put an end to his fun. He was indicted but acquitted by an all-white jury.
Now he was freelance, picking up work occasionally when a crooked businessman needed a building blown up in an insurance scam. His bombs hadn’t killed anyone in years and he was delighted with the challenge.
The name embroidered above the left pocket of his brown shirt was lyle, and Lyle he would be until the job was over. His real identity was hidden with his wallet, cash, and two pistols under the bed of his motel room a mile away.
At 12:05 p.m., on Friday, August 20, 1976, Lyle waited in the cab of his pickup truck, a dark blue 1973 Dodge half-ton. He was parked on a narrow street near the courthouse with an easy escape route. He picked a Friday in August because the county’s legal business came almost to a halt at that time. The courthouse was virtually deserted. The lawyers, judges, and clerks not on vacation were slipping away for a long lunch that would lead to a long weekend. Many would not return for the afternoon.
Lyle didn’t want collateral damage, unnecessary victims. Nor did he want witnesses, people who might later claim to have seen a UPS delivery man on the second floor just before the explosion. Russ, the real UPS guy, delivered on Tuesdays and Thursdays and was well known to the courthouse regulars. An odd delivery on a Friday might get a look or two.
From the bed of his pickup he collected three boxes, all brown cardboard. Two were empty and had no labels or markings of any type. The third was ten by fourteen inches and six inches deep. It weighed five pounds and contained a block of Semtex, a moldable, plastic, military explosive. The shipping label addressed the package to The Honorable Jesse Rudy, District Attorney, Room 214, Harrison County Courthouse, Biloxi, Mississippi. The sender was Appellate Reporter, Inc., with an address in Wilmington, Delaware. It was a legitimate company that had been publishing law books for decades. Three weeks earlier, Mr. Rudy had received an identical package, delivered by Russ. Inside were two thick, leather-bound books, along with a letter from the company asking him to try a free subscription for six months.
Two nights earlier, on August 18, Lyle had broken into the courthouse, picked the lock to the DA’s office, and confirmed that the first two books had been received. They were on display on a shelf with dozens of treatises, most of which gave the appearance of never being used. He also checked the master calendar on the secretary’s desk and saw that Mr. Rudy had an appointment at 12:30 on August 20. More than likely the secretary would be out for lunch, as would Egan Clement, his assistant. The target would be hanging around, waiting for his appointment.
Cradling the three boxes with both arms, and using them to partially hide his face, Lyle hurried up the stairs to the second floor, and in doing so did not see another person. As he passed the courtroom door he walked between two lawyers who appeared to be disagreeing quietly. He hurried on, and outside the DA’s office he left the two empty boxes in the hallway and stepped inside as he tapped on the door.
“Come in,” a man’s voice called.
Lyle walked in with a smile and said, “Package for Mr. Jesse Rudy.” He placed it on the desk as he spoke.
“That’s me,” Mr. Rudy said, barely looking up from a document. “Who’s it from?”
“Got no idea, sir,” Lyle said, already retreating. He had no worries about being recognized and later identified. Later, Mr. Rudy wouldn’t be around to point a finger.