Write to Life blog

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

The 30th of December, four days after the Murray’s met with Walter Tillman and his lawyer Ralph Summerford, Matt and I purchased a building in old downtown Boaz.  When the Realtor first showed it to us in early November, neither Matt or I remembered that it was the building where the Sand Mountain Bank had started its business operations back in the early 1930’s.  The bank had moved in the late 70’s or early 80’s to a modern building on Broad Street.  Even though for the past 20 years or so the original building had been used as a beauty shop it still revealed the architecture and mystique of a depression era bank.  Matt and I both loved it from the very first visit even though it would require a lot of renovation to convert it into a workable law office.

The building’s owner was a bank out of Gadsden.  It had acquired it two years earlier through foreclosure.  After interviewing several contractors, we decided to take it slow and do some of the initial demolition work ourselves.  We felt the activity might be good for us since we spent most of our days either sitting behind a desk or standing in courtrooms. 

We decided to close Wednesday through Sunday to celebrate the New Year’s Holiday, but mostly to work tearing out a ceiling that had been installed after the bank had moved out.  The ceiling was less than eight feet high and we wanted a reception area with high ceilings that revealed the Bank’s original architecture.

By late Saturday afternoon, Matt and I were nearly exhausted and had just finished toting out another huge pile of ripped paneling and broken two-by-fours when we noticed a single piece of plywood nailed fifteen feet or so up the south wall that we had exposed when we tore out the false ceiling.  The remainder of this wall, that is, the part that we could see, was covered with beautiful pine boards, running vertically, each at least ten inches wide.  These boards came all the way down to the floor and they also were against the wall under the piece of plywood.

We placed our two extension ladders on either side of the piece of plywood, and with crowbars and hammers, removed the four by eight sheet of plywood. After Matt nearly tipped backwards off his ladder we slid the plywood gently down to the floor.  When we looked back up we saw what looked like a solid oak door, closed inside what had to be a hand-carved frame.  We went back up and the door knob resisted only minimally.  I pushed the door open and stepped off my ladder and inside to a dark and musty smelling room.

Matt went out to his truck and brought two flashlights.  We couldn’t believe what we saw.  There were dozens and dozens of cardboard boxes containing manila files.  The ones we opened mainly contained loan files: copies of promissory notes, deeds, mortgages, and sometimes hand-written notes setting out personal property items the borrower was putting up as collateral for the cash the bank was providing.  One note said, ‘Betsy, my finest cow,” and another one I could barely read said “my turning plow, my two and only middle buster plows, and my Georgia stock plow.”

There were two old ladder back chairs almost hidden against the side wall and buried under a pile of wooden boxes.  Each of these boxes had a metal clasp with a lock but none of them were fastened.  I opened one of the boxes and found twelve high-quality journal books, each with a red leather spine.  I glanced through a couple and saw listings of payments the bank had made.  This box contained one journal per month for the year 1938.  I opened several other wooden boxes and found more disbursement journals, but I also found boxes that contained journals with green leather spines.  Rightly so, these were receipts journals.  I looked through the February 1944 journal and saw daily listings of what appeared to be every deposit the bank took in for every day during this month.

After I moved thirty or so boxes from on top of, besides, and in front of the two ladder back chairs, I pulled them into the center of the room.  Matt sat in one and kept on infatuated with the handwritten notes he was finding in loan files. I pulled another wooden box over in front of me and sat down in the other chair.  It contained twelve journals with green spines representing January through December 1972.  There was another journal in this box.  As I removed it, I noticed it’s black leather spine. I opened it and saw an envelope taped to the inside front cover.  It contained a hand-written letter.  The letter was dated December 23, 1946 and read: “Harold, thanks for your friendship and being the most creative bookkeeper in the world.  I appreciate you. Merry Christmas,” signed “Fitz.”  Under the taped envelope and in big bold letters on the inside front cover was written, “Journal No. 15.”

“That’s enough cows, pigs, chickens, and plows for one day. I’m heading home.  You ready?” Matt said wiping his forehead with a blue and white checkered handkerchief.

I agreed, but carried the black-spine journal with me.  We turned off the lights, locked the door, and Matt drove off.  I tied down the pile of lumber and paneling on the back of my truck and headed home glancing down every few minutes to the journal beside me thinking, “red for cash paid out, green for cash taken in, and black for … what?”

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

After Sara Adams’ deathbed confession I filed notice of my intent to take the deposition of David Carl Adams.  The next day his attorney, Tommy Brunner from Gadsden, called me.  He said, as a courtesy he was letting me know that he was filing a Motion to Strike since I had no reasonable expectation of discovering any relevant evidence and that I should know that the Alabama Rules of Civil Procedure did not allow mere fishing expeditions.  I thanked him for his call and asked whether he knew a good criminal defense attorney, that his client was going to need one.  He acted shocked.  I gave him the short version.  He argued that since Mrs. Adams was now dead that the Prosecutor could not use her testimony.  It would be hearsay.  I agreed with him but let him know that Drake vs. Allbright would allow my affidavit to serve as the needed stepping stone to David’s deposition in a civil case.  He said that I was correct if I had a corroborating witness that placed me and Mrs. Adams together at the time of the conversation.  I assured Tommy that Loree Neilson was that witness.

The day before David’s deposition I felt like fishing.  The kind Tommy Brunner spoke about.  For years I had wondered who owned Club Eden.  I felt David’s deposition might be a good opportunity to learn.  Even though the Club was relevant as to where the graduation party took place I had mixed feelings whether a question about its ownership could slip by and generate a response.  I thought it was worth a shot so I drove to the Etowah County Courthouse, Land Records Division, to see if I could develop a chain of title for Club Eden’s property at Aurora Lake.

I succeeded after two hours of reviewing plat maps, and with the help of Francis Frasier, an older heavy-set woman with silky red hair, who claimed to have worked in “these dusty dungeons” for over sixty years.  We found a March 1892 deed from Larson Kittle to a company named The Garden, Ltd.  The transfer included 288 acres along the south side of what became the Aurora Lake reservoir.  There was no way to tell who owned The Garden company.  Francis suggested I call the Secretary of State in Montgomery.  She let me borrow her phone and the nice lady who answered had me an answer in less than five minutes. 

The Garden, Ltd. was formed in 1890.  There were five shareholders: Earnest Adams, Morton Tillman, Samuel Radford, Franklin Billingsley, and Joseph Ericson.  I had no doubt these were the grandfathers, no, great grandfathers of the Flaming Five.

During David’s deposition, I had just explored Sara’s statements including the direct question whether he had killed Wendi Murray.  Of course, he denied any such thing. I asked him if Walter Tillman was with him when he killed her.  Again, he denied all involvement.  Out of the blue I asked David if he was a shareholder in The Garden, Ltd.  To my surprise he said yes.  Again, to my astonishment he answered every question I could pose related to the Aurora Lake real estate.  He said that he had inherited his shares from his father, Eugene, when he died in 1965. He also confirmed that the other shares were owned by Walter Tillman, Raymond Radford, Fitz Billingsley, and Franklin Ericson. When I asked about the name, The Garden, Ltd., and the purpose of this organization, David said he didn’t know.  He also denied any knowledge about Club Eden.

A short while later I ended the deposition feeling I had wasted my time. David had been well coached, maybe a little too well coached.  I couldn’t help but believe that he was lying.

I had dropped by the restroom on my way out of Tommy’s law office not wanting to engage in small talk as everyone was leaving.  When I came out, Ralph Summerford, Wade Tillman’s lawyer, asked if he could buy me a cup of coffee saying that he had something I would want to hear.

We walked around the corner to a little diner on Chestnut Avenue.  Ralph said that he was now representing Wade’s father, Walter, and wanted to make a deal.  I asked him what he had in mind.  Ralph said Walter would cooperate with me and Matt and pay $50,000 in exchange for confidentiality and an immunity agreement from the Prosecutor.  Ralph asked if we could talk off the record.  I agreed.  Walter had admitted that he was present when David ended Wendi’s life.  Ralph said that Walter had tried to stop David and encouraged him to go to the authorities before doing anything stupid. 

I told Ralph that he knew my clients could not grant Walter any type of immunity, that would have to come from the District Attorney.  Ralph said that he knew that but my encouragement might be enough to convince the DA, especially if Walter would agree to testify against David.  I asked Ralph what Walter could offer concerning my client’s wrongful death case.  If I took the deal, there would be no testimony from Walter Tillman but he would provide us with names and documents that would lead us to Club Eden and enough evidence that Matt and I should be able to tie David and the other three, Raymond Radford, Fitz Billingsley, and Franklin Ericson, and all members of the Flaming Five, to the deaths of Wendi and Cindi Murray. 

I told Ralph that if he would draft the agreement, including the exact evidence that Walter had, that Matt and I would discuss it.  I agreed with Ralph that if we failed to reach an agreement, Matt and I would treat these negotiations with strict confidence.

Two days later and right before 8:00 a.m., Ralph hand-delivered a packet to my office asking me to review the agreement draft and for an opportunity to meet before he drove back to Birmingham.  I told him I had a motion docket in Albertville at 9:00 and could meet with him after lunch.

When Ralph arrived at 1:30, Matt and I had spent nearly two hours reviewing the agreement along with several exhibits.  The first exhibit was a copy of the organizing document for Club Eden.  It was dated June 23, 1899.  The initial club members were Earnest Adams, Morton Tillman, Samuel Radford, Franklin Billingsley, and Joseph Ericson.  The Club was formed for promoting and directing business operations and community life in Boaz, Alabama, and to enhance fellowship and progress among members.  The second exhibit was a copy of Club Eden’s bylaws.  All members were required to take an oath swearing to never disclose Club “business or non-business, or anything even remotely related to the Club.”   Punishment included the branding of a cross on the forehead, and the option of death by hanging but only by unanimous decision. 

Another exhibit stated that The Garden, Ltd. was formed in 1890 to purchase and manage the real estate that would become the headquarters of Club Eden. The Club was not officially documented until 1899. 

Walter detailed the names and membership dates for all members since Club Eden was officially formed.  This list included five generations.  I quickly noticed that I was the only member from outside the Adams, Tillman, Radford, Billingsley, and Ericson families.  Also, I noted that the Flaming Five’s sons were now members having all taken the oath last year, 1996, when the oldest of the youngest generation was 15. 

Walter described in another exhibit that after each of their sons came home that Saturday morning that all ten of them met at the Church’s fellowship hall.  They drove three cars, Wade and John’s Blazers, and James’ van, to Little Cove Road.  The girls’ blue Plymouth was parked about 200 feet down a little lane, barely wide enough to ride a bicycle without scrapping outcropping limbs.  The two girls were another fifty feet or so down a ravine with limbs and leaves and rocks piled over and around them. David, Franklin, Raymond and Fitz carried the two girls up the embankment and down to James’ van.  That’s when they noticed one of the girls was still alive.  James said that it was Wendi.  Nothing was done to her there.  The rest of them wiped down the inside of the Plymouth with bleach and water that they had brought.  They piled into the three vehicles and drove to Franklin’s farm on Martin Road.

Walter then described how John had pulled a front-end loader out of the barn and Raymond and Fitz pulled the girls from the back of James’ van and put them in the front bucket of the loader. John drove the tractor to the backside of their property and David then dug a hole while the rest stood around watching.  When David finished, he motioned for Walter to come over.  They talked for quite a while about having a type of ceremony for the girls.  Walter finally agreed to say a prayer but he didn’t want everybody there.  David made everybody else go back to the barn and wait on him and Walter.  When they were gone Walter said a prayer and David smothered Wendi.  He used the front-end loader to push them into the hole and to pile dirt over them.  David also pushed a dead tree over the grave that was on the ground nearby.  They then scattered a ton of leaves over the grave.  David and Walter walked back to the barn and without another word being said all ten of them got in the three vehicles, drove to the Church, where they all went their separate ways.  

After reviewing all the exhibits, I noted a few discrepancies compared to statements made by Cynthia Radford and Sara Adams.  I chose to ignore them, and instead, to read the agreement.  It was simple.  In exchange for the information contained in the packet and $50,000, my clients would release Walter from all liability related to the deaths of Wendi and Cindi Murray.  Also, Matt and I would agree, on behalf of the Murrays, to encourage the District Attorney to grant Walter immunity from all prosecution in exchange for his truthful testimony.

I told Ralph that I felt like my clients would agree but obviously I had to have their approval.  I promised him that I would meet with them as soon as possible.  When Ralph was leaving, I told him that I had a question.  Without letting me finish, he said, “I know you want to know why Walter didn’t try to include his son Wade in these negotiations.”  I told him he was correct.  Ralph said that he and Walter had discussed it but both had quickly agreed that there was no way in Hell, those were Walter’s words per Ralph, that the Murrays would agree.  They would feel there was no amount large enough to appease for the actions of one of the five who had murdered their daughters.  And, Ralph said, Walter barely could barely scrape together the $50,000. 

Ralph left and I went to my office and stood by my window looking out at a mostly empty parking lot and a bubbling water fountain.  The sun was at just the right angle to refract colored lights through the spewing water.  I couldn’t help but associate water with life.  Jesus said He was the Bread of Life.  Wasn’t He also the Water of Life?  I became angry when I wondered where this Supernatural being, this all-powerful and all-loving God, had been when Wendi and Cindi needed Him the most.  Truthfully, if He is real, He was just as responsible for the deaths of those two precious girls as the Flaming Five and their fathers.  How dark and foreboding this little community in North Alabama seemed, after hearing Pastor Walter describe the horror he and other faithful members of the First Baptist Church of Christ had so quickly and easily managed.

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Wednesday, November 22, 1997 was the second worse day of my life.  It was the day before Thanksgiving and I was in the library researching the admissibility of an excited utterance for a murder case I was working on out of Dekalb County.  Tina tapped on the door, stuck her head in and said, “there is a Loree Nielson here that wants to see you.”  I immediately recalled the day Tina had announced Cynthia Radford’s phone call.  I hoped Ms. Nielson’s personal visit would be a similarly good surprise.  I was not disappointed.

I had Tina bring her into the library.  Loree was the sister of James Adams and the daughter of David and Sara Adams.  Loree told me that her mother lay dying at Gadsden Memorial Hospital and had asked Loree to see if I could come speak with her.  The only thing Loree knew was that it concerned the two girls who went missing 25 years ago.

I drove my car following Loree in hers. I met with Mrs. Adams.  She thanked me for coming and told me that she had to confess a secret before she died.  She kept asking me to forgive her.  Much to my satisfaction, the story Mrs. Adams gave me started off much like the one Cynthia Radford had described.  Their sons had both come home late Saturday morning distraught and panicked.  David, her husband, left with James and didn’t return for several hours.  He made her promise that she would never tell anyone what had happened.  David told her that all ten of them, the Flaming Five and each of their fathers, met, took two vehicles, and drove to Little Cove Road where the two girls and their car were hidden.  Surprisingly, one of the girls was still alive.  The fathers quickly assessed the life-altering trouble their five sons were in and took control.

Franklin Ericson said they could not leave the bodies with their car and suggested they take them to his farm off Martin Road.  That’s what they did, leaving the little blue Plymouth Valiant hidden off Little Cove Road.  Ericson had a front-end loader that he had rented to deepen a dried-up pond.  He used it to dig a hole on the back side of the property.  David Adams and Walter Tillman stayed behind and made everyone else leave.  David told Mrs. Adams that he could not bury Wendi alive.  He said that one of the boys had identified her as the one who was still living.  David told Mrs. Adams how he had used an old cushion from the tractor to smother Wendi.  Then, Pastor Tillman said a prayer and David buried the two girls.  He used Franklin’s front-end loader to push the trunk of a fallen tree over the grave.

Mrs. Adams told me that her secret had haunted her ever since James had shared the horrible news that fateful Saturday morning.

Sara Adams died Thanksgiving morning around 7:00 a.m.  After I had met with her on Wednesday, I had returned to the office and tried to find a court reporter who would meet me at the hospital to properly record her testimony.  The earliest I could arrange was Friday morning.  However, that was an appointment Sara failed to keep.

I thought all weekend about what Wendi must have gone through.  First, she was struck repeatedly with a shovel.  Then, refusing to die while choosing to fight with the hope she could survive a most horrible nightmare, she was smothered to death and pushed into a forgotten grave.

I knew that David Adams was a murderer and Pastor Tillman just as guilty.  But, I also knew that even though they could be prosecuted, it was unlikely they would ever be convicted.  What admissible evidence would the prosecutor have?  Neither David or the Pastor would confess.  Who else knew exactly what had happened after these two criminals had made the others leave?  Even if the Flaming Five and the other three fathers knew, they would never breathe a word.  I even doubted whether Loree knew.  Her mother would only talk with me after Loree had left the room.

After spending most of the long Thanksgiving weekend holed up in my study at home, I decided I would keep this information to myself.  I wouldn’t even share it with Matt.  I knew if I did he would tell me I had to share Mrs. Adams’ story with the District Attorney.  I also knew in my heart that getting justice for Wendi and Cindi would not come from the Marshall County criminal justice system.  I could only hope that Bill and Nellie Murray would win their wrongful death lawsuit letting the world know the truth about the Flaming Five.