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ook so hard he lost his footing and tripped on a street curb。 As he struggled to his feet； he was hit once in the neck and once in the left cheek by flying glass。 He ducked behind a tree as shards and pieces rained around him。 He gaped at the devastation before him； then ran away。
Blood dripped from his cheek and puddled on his shirt。 He was in shock and did not remember much of this later。 Driving the same green Pontiac； he sped away from downtown； and would most likely have made it safely from Greenville for the second time had he been thinking and paying attention。 Two cops in a patrol car were speeding into the business district to respond to the bombing call when they met a green Pontiac which； for some reason； refused to move to the shoulder and yield。 The patrol car had sirens blaring； lights flashing； horns blowing； and cops cursing； but the green Pontiac just froze in its lane of traffic and wouldn't budge。 The cops stopped； ran to it； yanked open the door； and found a man with blood all over him。 Handcuffs were slapped around Sam's wrists。 He was shoved roughly into the rear seat of the police car； and taken to jail。 The Pontiac was impounded。
* * *
The bomb that killed the Kramer twins was the crudest of sorts。 Fifteen sticks of dynamite wrapped tightly together with gray duct tape。 But there was no fuse。 Rollie Wedge had used instead a detonating device； a timer； a cheap windup alarm clock。 He had removed the minute hand from the clock； and drilled a small hole between the numbers seven and eight。 Into the small hole he had inserted a metal pin which； when touched by the sweeping hour hand； would plete the circuit and detonate the bomb。 Rollie wanted more time than a fifteen…minute fuse could provide。 Plus； he considered himself an expert and wanted to experiment with new devices。
Perhaps the hour hand was warped a bit。 Perhaps the dial of the clock was not perfectly flat。 Perhaps Rollie in his enthusiasm had wound it too tight； or not tight enough。 Perhaps the metal pin was not flush with the dial。 It was； after all； Rollie's first effort with a timer。 Or perhaps the timing device worked precisely as planned。
But whatever the reason or whatever the excuse； the bombing campaign of Jeremiah Dogan and the Ku Klux Klan had now spilled Jewish blood in Mississippi。 And； for all practical purposes； the campaign was over。
2
ONCE the bodies were removed； the Greenville police sealed off the area around the ruins and kept the crowd away。 Within hours； the premises were given to an FBI team from Jackson； and before dark a demolition unit was sifting through the rubble。 Dozens of FBI agents solemnly began the tedious task of picking up every tiny piece； examining it； showing it to someone else； then packing it away to be fitted together on another day。 An empty cotton warehouse on the edge of town was leased and became the repository for the Kramer rubble。
With time； the FBI would confirm what it initially assumed。 Dynamite； a timer； and a few wires。 Just a basic bomb hooked together by a hack lucky enough not to have killed himself。
Marvin Kramer was quickly flown to a fancier hospital in Memphis； and listed as critical but stable for three days。 Ruth Kramer was hospitalized for shock； first in Greenville； then driven in an ambulance to the same hospital in Memphis。 They shared a room； Mr。 and Mrs。 Kramer； and also shared a sufficient quantity of sedatives。 Countless doctors and relatives stood vigil。 Ruth was born and raised in Memphis； so there were plenty of friends to watch her。
* * *
As the dust was settling around Marvin's office； the neighbors； some of them storekeepers and others office clerks； swept glass from the sidewalks and whispered to one another as they watched the police and rescue people start the digging。 A mighty rumor swept downtown Greenville that a suspect was already in custody。 By noon on the day of the bombing； it was mon knowledge among the clusters of onlookers that the man's name was Sam Cayhall； from Clanton； Mississippi； that he was a member of the Klan； and that he was somehow injured in the attack； One report provided ghastly details of other Cayhall bombings with all sorts of gruesome injuries and disfigured corpses； all involving poor Negroes； though。 Another report told of the brilliant heroics of the Greenville police in tracking down this madman within seconds of the blast。 On the news at noon； the Greenville TV station confirmed what was already known； that the two little boys were dead； their father was severely injured； and that Sam Cayhall was in custody。
Sam Cayhall came within moments of being released on thirty dollars' bond。 By the time he was rushed to the police station； he had regained his senses and had apologized sufficiently to the angry cops for not yielding as they wished。 He was booked on a very minor charge； and sent to a holding room to be further processed and released。 The two arresting officers sped away to inspect the blast。
A janitor who doubled as the jail medic approached Sam with a battered first aid kit； and washed the dried blood from his face。 The bleeding had stopped。 Sam repeated again that he'd been in a fight in a bar。 Rough night。 The medic left； and an hour later an assistant jailer appeared in the sliding window of the holding room with more papers。 The charge was failure to yield to an emergency vehicle； the maximum fine was thirty dollars； and if Sam could post this sum in cash then he would be free to go as soon as the paperwork cleared and the car was released。 Sam paced nervously around the room； glancing at his watch； softly rubbing the wound to his cheek。
He would be forced to disappear。 There was a record of this arrest； and it wouldn't be long before these yokels put his name and the bombing together； and then； well； he needed to run away。 He'd leave Mississippi； maybe team up with Rollie Wedge and leave for Brazil or some place。 Dogan would give them the money。 He'd call Dogan as soon as he left Greenville。 His car was sitting at the truck stop in Cleveland。 He would swap vehicles there； then head on to Memphis and catch a Greyhound bus。
That's what he would do。 He was an idiot for returning to the scene； but； he thought； if he just kept his cool these clowns would release him。
Half an hour passed before the assistant jailer arrived with another form。 Sam handed him thirty dollars cash； and received a receipt。 He followed the man through a narrow hallway to the front desk of the jail where he was given a summons to appear in Greenville Municipal Court in two weeks。
〃Where's the car？〃 he asked as he folded the summons。
〃They're bringing it。 Just wait here。〃
Sam checked his watch and waited for fifteen minutes。 Through a small window in a metal door he watched cars e and go in the parking lot in front of the jail。 Two drunks were dragged to the desk by a husky cop。 Sam fidgeted； and waited。
From somewhere behind him a new voice called slowly； 〃Mr。 Cayhall。〃 He turned and came face…to…face with a short man in a badly faded suit。 A badge was waved under Sam's nose。
〃I'm Detective Ivy； Greenville P。D。 Need to ask you a few questions