Hangman's Oak

Chapter Three

The basement was finished with wood paneling, carpeting, a bar and two pool tables. Correction. One was for carom billiards. Across the room was a door with a light above it. A sign read, "DO NOT ENTER when light is on." Boatwright took a key from a side table to unlock it.

Cabinets and counters circled the large room. Three photo enlargers were at one end, a sink and developing area at the other. In the middle was a large worktable with a portfolio on it. I put on a pair of two-button shorties from my jacket.

"Are those necessary?"

"Better safe than sorry."

I didn't want to leave fingerprints if the darkroom became important. I opened the portfolio.

"That's the photo. I can't see anything wrong with it. I wonder why Grandfather took it down?"

"No idea. It's unframed. Maybe he did replace it. Which begs the question: where's the frame and the new picture?"

I glanced around but didn't see any frames. One cabinet held thick binders dated on the spines. The oldest was 1945, the newest, 2015. Several were split into half-years. I opened the binder marked 1947. It was full of negatives and glassine envelopes containing test strips with annotations on exposure. Flipping through, I didn't glimpse a test strip or negatives of the lynching. I put the binder back and looked through other cabinets and under counters, finding only photographic supplies.

The only thing out of kilter with the room's tidiness was that the trashcan in the developing area wasn't empty. I knelt and found several rejected photographs of the same subject: six grinning white men crowded around a hanging black man in the dark. The camera's flash caught everything in sharp detail. I felt a twinge of disgust.

Though none of the photographs had writing on them, they had to be the same as the photograph Andy described. There was also a glassine sheet marked with permanent ink that read 'P.J., R.I.P.'.

Was the message printed as part of the photo the police had? Boatwright couldn't see what I'd found. I rolled the sheet tightly slipping it into my inner jacket pocket. I stood and laid the photos on the table.

"God! That's horrid."

"I agree."

"Is that real? Grandfather set up fake scenes all the time. Like that picture of me upstairs."

"I don't think this is fake."

Three of the photos were test strips of variously timed exposures. The others someone rejected for one reason or another. I picked up the best.

"Do you recognize any of these men?"

Boatwright shook his head. "Wait. My God! That's Grandfather. What is this?"

"I'm sorry. I believe it's the lynching of Paul Jasper Monroe in 1947. These men did it."

"Grandfather? Impossible. He couldn't possibly have . . . could he?"

Boatwright leaned against the table. He kept shaking his head.

"Sure you don't recognize anyone else?"

"I don't think so. Maybe. That could be Fred Russell. He died three years ago. The others, I'm not sure. They're so young. Is this why . . . why Grandfather was killed?"

"Possibly. Who uses this darkroom?"

"Only Grandfather, I think. I've never seen anyone else in here."

"But the key is kept in that table outside, right? Anyone could use it?"

"I guess. It wasn't a secret. I doubt it though. This was Grandfather's sanctum."

"Someone removed the tree photo from upstairs and printed these. I've no idea why your grandfather would do it. It implicates him in murder. Whoever did it may be involved in his killing. May I keep this?"

"No! No one can see these. I need to destroy them."

"Wait. These could help find your grandfather's killers. They're valuable evidence. Look. I won't let this out of my hand. No one will see it unless necessary. I will return it."

I didn't tell Boatwright the police already had a copy. I wanted this one, but I couldn't force him to give it to me.

"You really think this will help find his killers?"

"Yes."

"Take it."

I put the photo into a glassine envelope and slipped it inside my jacket. We put the other photos in a cabinet and locked the darkroom. I told Boatwright to keep the key and deny knowing where it was for now. He led me out through the kitchen to avoid speaking to anyone.