Otherwise, he was headed for death row and a date with the gas chamber. Keith planned to put Taylor on trial first, before the other two, and get a conviction, one he would use against Noll and Malco.
Grinder was a savvy lawyer who could spot a good deal. He spent hours with Taylor and finally convinced him to take it.
* * *
The truth was that the supreme court was having trouble finding a judge who would volunteer to preside over such a high-profile case against a bunch of thugs who had just bombed the very courthouse where the trial was to take place. It could be dangerous down there!
They finally cajoled a colorful old judge named Abraham Roach to dust off his black robe, come out of retirement, and enter the battle. Roach was from the Mississippi Delta, not far from Parchman, and had grown up in a culture where guns were a part of life. As a child he hunted deer, ducks, quail, and virtually every other wild animal that moved. Back in his prime, and he had served as a circuit judge for over thirty years, he was known to carry a .357 Magnum in his briefcase and keep it close by on the bench. He had no fear of guns or the men who carried them. Plus, he was eighty-four years old, had lived a good life, and was bored.
He arrived in February of 1978 with a bang when he filled two consecutive days with oral arguments covering a range of issues. Because of his age, he took nothing under advisement and ruled on the spot. Yes, the trial would be moved away from Harrison County. No, he would not force Keith Rudy to recuse himself, at least not in the near future. There would be three separate trials and the DA, not the defense, would decide the order.
The murder was now eighteen months in the past. The defendants had been in custody for almost a year. It was time for a trial, and Judge Roach ordered one for Henry Taylor on March 14, 1978, in the Lincoln County Courthouse in Brookhaven, Mississippi, 160 miles northwest of Biloxi.
As the lawyers absorbed the ruling, Keith stood calmly and said, “Your Honor, the State has an announcement. It will not be necessary to put Mr. Taylor on trial. We have signed an agreement with him in which he will plead guilty at a later date and cooperate with the State.”
Joshua Burch grunted loudly as if kicked in the gut. Millard Cantrell turned and pointed an angry finger at Sam Grinder. Their underlings absorbed the blow, whispered loudly, scrambled for files. The unified defense was suddenly in disarray, and Mr. Malco and Mr. Noll had just been pushed much closer to the gas chamber.
Burch managed to get to his feet and began whining about the unfairness of the timing and so on, but there was nothing he could do. The district attorney had enormous power to cut deals, pressure witnesses, and crank up the pressure on any defendant he chose to target.
Judge Roach asked, “Mr. Rudy, when was this deal completed?”
“Yesterday, Your Honor. It’s been in the works for some time, but Mr. Taylor signed it yesterday.”
“I wish you had told me first thing this morning.”
“Sorry, Your Honor.”
Keith was anything but sorry. He had learned the art of the ambush from his father. It was important to keep the defense guessing.
* * *
Henry Taylor left the Hancock County jail in an unmarked car and was driven by the state police to the town of Hernando, six hours due north, almost to Memphis. He was checked into the DeSoto County jail under an alias and given a single cell, the only one with air-conditioning. Dinner was a slab of pork ribs a friendly jailer barbecued on the grill out back. The deputies had no idea who he was, but it was obvious the new prisoner was someone important.
Though he was still incarcerated and would remain so for years, Henry was relieved to be far away from the Coast and the constant threat of getting his throat cut.
He had served one year; only nine to go. He could survive, and one day he would walk out and never look back. His fascination with bombs was already a thing of the past. Lucky he didn’t blow himself up, though he came close.