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"
You
tried
?
"
"
I
did
,
and
came
up
all
but
empty
.
There
were
a
couple
of
railroad
fellows
who
thought
they
saw
him
in
the
Knoxville
yards
two
days
before
the
Detterick
girls
were
killed
.
No
surprise
there
;
he
was
just
across
the
river
from
the
Great
Southern
tracks
when
they
collared
him
,
and
that
's
probably
how
he
came
down
here
from
Tennessee
.
I
got
a
letter
from
a
man
who
said
he
'd
hired
a
big
bald
black
man
to
shift
crates
for
him
in
the
early
spring
of
this
year
--
this
as
in
Kentucky
.
I
sent
him
a
picture
of
Coffey
and
he
said
that
was
the
man
.
But
other
than
that
--
"
Hammersmith
shrugged
and
shook
his
head
.
"
Does
n't
that
strike
you
as
a
little
odd
?
"
"
Strikes
me
as
a
lot
odd
,
Mr.
Edgecombe
.
It
's
like
he
dropped
out
of
the
sky
.
And
he
's
no
help
;
he
ca
n't
remember
last
week
once
this
week
comes
.
"
"
No
,
he
ca
n't
,
"
I
said
.
"
How
do
you
explain
it
?
"
"
We
're
in
a
Depression
,
"
he
said
,
"
that
's
how
I
explain
it
.
People
all
over
the
roads
.
The
Okies
want
to
pick
peaches
in
California
,
the
poor
whites
from
up
in
the
brakes
want
to
build
cars
in
Detroit
,
the
black
folks
from
Mississippi
want
to
go
up
to
New
England
and
work
in
the
shoe
factories
or
the
textile
mills
.
Everyone
--
black
as
well
as
white
--
thinks
it
's
going
to
be
better
over
the
next
jump
of
land
.
It
's
the
American
damn
way
.
Even
a
giant
like
Coffey
does
n't
get
noticed
everywhere
he
goes
...
until
,
that
is
,
he
decides
to
kill
a
couple
of
little
girls
.
Little
white
girls
.
"
"
Do
you
believe
that
?
"
I
asked
.
He
gave
me
a
bland
look
from
his
too-thin
face
.
"
Sometimes
I
do
,
"
he
said
.
His
wife
leaned
out
of
the
kitchen
window
like
an
engineer
from
the
cab
of
a
locomotive
and
called
,
"
Kids
!
Cookies
are
ready
!
"
She
turned
to
me
.
"
Would
you
like
an
oatmeal-raisin
cookie
,
Mr.
Edgecombe
?
"
