The Fall of Night, Page 3

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  The Fall of Night

  Murders at Mud Creek

  I was about an hour out of Shreveport, Louisiana that night in 1956. I was running with a full load and needed to refuel. The sign on the side of the road read Mud Creek, next right. I had been pushing the rig all day; it had been good weather but nightfall was approaching fast. I was still twenty-five miles from my next stop. I hoped to arrive at my destination within the hour or so. I slowed down to take the exit ramp off the interstate to Mud Creek. As I neared the truck stop, I saw several rigs, campers and other vehicles. I slowly pulled in behind another truck at the fuel pumps to get some diesel. The tires on my rig, as I came to a complete stop, grabbed the ground and clenched the pavement; the air brakes shot out a gushing sound of air. I sat there and waited with my truck idling and looked around. It appeared the town was a pretty good size for out in the bayou. I had been on the road for five days. I left Wichita, Kansas and traveled through Little Rock to Shreveport. I was headed to for Birmingham and then home. While I waited to fuel up, I noticed some ladies of the night talking to the other truckers. Some of them didn’t look too bad and sort of caught my fancy. A little excitement on the road might be intriguing, I thought. The truck in front of me finally pulled off and I eased up to the pumps. AS I was filling up, one the ladies came over and started talking to me.

  “What about it?” she said. “Do you need some company tonight in that big truck of yours?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “What do you have in mind?”

  “A little fun and excitement,” she said as she eased up closer to me, touching her body to mine. “I bet you can really change those gears and show little old me some new things.”

  “I don’t know,” I shyly replied and backed away. “I doubt it. But, just out of curiosity, what’s the going rate?”

  She slipped up her dress, took a card out of her nylons and handed it to me. I took the card and looked at it; it had her name and seven prices on it.

  “You pick and choose what you want and I’ll throw in my phone number for whenever you’re back in town.”

  “Hop into the truck,” I told her. “Let me go pay for my gas and I’ll be right back. Get ready, baby, for you are in for a long haul tonight.”

  Quickly, I went to pay for the fuel inside the truck stop. I stood in line behind the other truckers and overheard some of them talking about two prostitutes who had been found dead, one in Cotton Valley and one near Mud Creek. Finally, I reached the register to pay for my fuel. When I got back to the truck she was sitting in the passenger’s seat. I waved and smiled at her before I opened the door. She smiled and waved back. I climbed up into the truck and tuned the radio to the Louisiana Hayride station. Before I pulled out of the truck stop, I updated my log book because I knew there was a weigh station a few miles up the road at the Mississippi state line; I hoped I wasn’t overweight. I put the truck in gear. The big rig jerked a little and slowly began to move across the parking lot. I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, she had put one of her legs on the dash of the truck. She slipped her nylons off, balled them up and put them in her purse. That alone got me all worked up; my hands quivered so bad I could hardly change gears. She turned to me, laughed, placed her hand on mine and told me to relax. In minutes, I was back on the road. I knew there was a small rest stop not too far up the road where we could take care of business.

  The wheels of the eighteen-wheeler sounded like a symphony as it rolled down the highway. The darkness of the night set a mysterious and intriguing mood. As I drove along, I noticed a few falling stars. I switched on the light inside the truck to get a good look at her and make sure I wasn’t dreaming. She sat in a beautiful ray of light and her eyes sparkled. She kissed the tip of her finger and then placed her finger to the side of my cheek before she reached up and switched off the light.

  I noticed when we left the truck stop that we were being followed. The car only had one headlight and kept its distance. I wondered why I was being followed and was curious to see if it would stop at the rest stop when I did. I didn’t know if she had noticed the car or not but it didn’t appear she had. She leaned forward and picked up my hunting knife from the dash of the truck, took it out of its leather sleeve, played around with it for a little while and then laid it back on the dash. The rest stop was just up ahead so I slowed down and turned on my blinkers. I looked in my side mirror and noticed the car had slowed down as well. I pulled off the highway and eased into the rest stop. The car kept going; it didn’t stop. I tried to see if I could recognize who was driving but I couldn’t. However, I did notice her as she watched the car disappear in the darkness of the night.

  Relieved the car had passed on by; I leaned over for a kiss to set the mood for the night. It startled me when she pushed me away. For some reason or another she had changed her mind and turned cold toward me. I didn’t know what to make of it at first. Then it dawned on me; I figured she wanted her payment first. I pulled out the money and laid it on the truck dash. Instead of getting the money, she grabbed the knife and pulled out a badge. She was an undercover officer. I panicked and tried to take the knife away from her. As we fought for the knife, it scraped the side of my arm deep enough to make it bleed. I was able to wrestle the knife away from her. However, I couldn’t keep her from opening the door of the truck and jumping out. I cranked up the truck, put it in gear and started pulling off. I didn’t get far; I was immediately surrounded by red lights. The one-eyed car came back down the road and pulled up right beside the driver’s door as two more police cars caught my back side. Quickly, the officers surrounded the truck screaming for me to get out of the truck with my hands up. I slowly opened the door and eased out with my hands up; they rushed toward me, put my hands behind my back and cuffed me. They called for the woman but she didn’t answer. They finally found her lying at the foot of the embankment. Apparently, when she jumped from the truck, she fell down the embankment and hit her head on a rock. By the time an ambulance arrived, I was sitting in the backseat of one of the police cars. Luckily, for me she seemed to be alright. They took her to the hospital for observation and me to jail.

  Once at the jail, they read me my rights and began questioning me. I told them my name was Russell Richardson. I tried to explain what had happened and told them it was the first time I had picked up a prostitute. Unfortunately, they already had it in for me. They locked me up and held me for seventy-two hours.

  The police impounded my truck and thoroughly searched it. At first, they couldn’t find any incriminating evidence. It was looking good for me when everything suddenly went bad. One of the officers searching my truck found a woman’s billfold hung in the springs of the passenger’s seat. They also found two women’s photo IDs, a little money, some keys and a little makeup. The photo IDs belonged to Kelly Jean Biggs and Emily Francis Brown; the two prostitutes who had been killed a few months ago. Emily was the sister of Janice Reeves, the undercover officer.

  The officers came back to the jail and told me what they had found and wanted to know how the items got in my truck. I told them I wanted to see a lawyer. I wasn’t going to let them railroad me for something I didn’t do. Everything seemed to be going so fast. It appeared I was being tried and convicted before I even had a trial. I was assigned a defense lawyer from Mud Creek, Wyatt Pelligrin. It wasn’t too long before Mr. Pelligrin came to see me.

  “Mr. Richardson, the officers informed me that you wanted to talk with a lawyer,” stated Mr. Pelligrin.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied. “I need help getting out of this mess.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he replied. “Go back to the beginning and tell me what happened.”

  I went back to the beginning and explained what had happened. I told him I had been set me up for some reason or another.

  “Well there is no entrapment law in Louisiana,” said Mr. Pelligrin. “So,
they can’t charge you for that.”

  About that time Detective Milholland and Detective Janice Reeves, the undercover officer, entered the room. I was placed under arrest for solicitation of a prostitute, attempted aggravated murder and two counts of first degree murder.

  Then Mr. Pelligrin stood up and asked, “What evidence are you basing Mr. Richardson’s arrest on?”

  Milholland answered, “The solicitation charge for picking up Detective Reeves at the truck stop and assuring she was a prostitute, the attempted aggravated murder charge for resisting arrest with a deadly weapon and the two counts of first degree murder for the two prostitutes. We found a woman’s billfold in his truck along with the photo IDs of the two deceased prostitutes.”

  I turned to Mr. Pelligrin, looked at him and said, “I don’t know what they are talking about.”

  “Calm down, Mr. Richardson. Let me handle this. I will start putting together my defense and I’ll talk to you later to get more information,” stated Mr. Pelligrin.

  The two prostitutes had been murdered in and around Bossier and Caddo Parish. The police had set up a sting to catch the killer and I somehow got caught up in the middle of it. I was booked into jail; they took my fingerprints, my mug shot and placed me in a cell.

  The next day the police went back and searched the truck again to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. Unfortunately for me, they had. They found a knife wrapped up in a bloody handkerchief under the seat. The knife was sent to the lab for testing. It just kept getting worse for me; the knife contained the blood of both the prostitutes.

  For days, I sat in my cell and wondered how I got myself in the situation I was in. I had never seen the girls before. In fact, I didn’t even know any girls had been murders until the night at the truck stop. I couldn’t figure out how all the evidence ended up in my truck. I tried with all my might to figure out how that billfold wound up in my truck. But, I couldn’t figure it out. Who could have planted it there was the million dollar question. Mr. Pelligrin worked tirelessly on my case trying to build a good defense for me. He kept telling me to think positive about the case; that was hard to do when all the evidence pointed to me. The district attorney, John D. Kelly, had offered me a plea bargain of ten years for the two first degree murder charges and five to eight years on the lesser charges for a total of thirty-three years; I would be eligible for parole in twenty years. I turned his offer down. I wanted to take my chances with a jury trial. My court date was set within a month. Finally, my day in court came.

  Judge Katherine Millican was the presiding judge. Twelve jurors, seven men and five women had been selected along with three alternates. As Mr. Pelligrin and I made our way inside the courtroom, I noticed there weren’t too many people there. I was being tried for murdering two prostitutes, the solicitation of prostitution and attempted aggravated murder, four counts in all. I had had pleaded not guilty earlier to all four counts. When the bailiff came in, he placed some papers on the judge’s bench and then called the court to order.

  “All rise, Honorable Judge Katherine Millican presiding,” he stated to the courtroom. “You may be seated,” he instructed once Judge Millican took her seat.

  Judge Millican asked Mr. Pelligrin and DA Kelly to approach the bench. She only talked to them for a few minutes before the jury came in.

  All rise,” the bailiff instructed as the jurors came in. “You may be seated. The state of Louisiana vs. Russell Richardson, docket #7536201W. Court is now in session.”

  The state called their first witness, Detective Janice Reeves.

  “Do you swear to tell the whole truth, so help you God?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Mrs. Reeves, can you tell us what happened on the night in question?” the DA asked.

  “Well, sir, we had set up a sting to catch the murderer of the two prostitutes. We felt like we had a serial killer on our hands in Mud Creek,” she explained.

  “Can you tell us why Mr. Richardson’s truck was chosen?” he asked.

  “We targeted all out-of-state trucks. We felt like the killer wasn’t from around here. The way the bodies were disposed of was very elementary, like the killer didn’t know what he was doing or his way around.”

  “I object,” replied Mr. Pelligrin, “that’s speculation.”

  “Objection overruled.”

  “Mrs. Reeves, tell us what took place after you got into the truck,” he said.

  “Well, we left the truck stop and headed east. As we drove along, my partner, Milholland followed us in the distance. I saw Richardson looking in his side mirror several times. I believe he suspected something but I didn’t know what. Not far up the road, Richardson pulled in to a rest stop. We sat there for a few minutes before he reached over and tried to kiss me. I shoved him away and showed him my badge; he went off. I reached for a knife on the dash to defend myself and try to get away. As we each fought for the knife, it accidentally scraped his arm and caused it to bleed. He shoved my head against the window. That’s when I was able to open the door and jump out. When I got out, he cranked up the truck, put it in gear and tried to drive away. When he took off, the door swung shut and knocked me down the embankment where I fell and hit my head on a rock.”

  “Then what happened?” he asked.

  “When I awoke they were putting me in the ambulance and Mr. Richardson was sitting in the backseat of the patrol car.”

  “I have no further questions, your Honor.”

  Mr. Pelligrin stood up, adjusted his glasses and walked to the witness stand.

  “Mrs. Reeves, you stated that Mr. Richardson went off,” he said.

  She looked at him with a puzzled before she responded.

  “Off, like in crazy. It was like he lost his mind.”

  “Are you saying he was not in his right mind?” asked Mr. Pelligrin. “Or, was he unaware of his senses, afraid, angry or was he having a childlike temper tantrum?”

  Looking out across the courtroom at her partner, Milholland, she replied, “I guess it was a little bit of all of that.”

  “I object, your Honor,” said DA Kelly. “The defense is trying to lead the witness.”

  “Objection sustained. Counselor get to your point,” instructed the judge.

  “Now, Mrs. Reeves, let me go back over how you said the events happened. You’re impersonating a prostitute at the truck stop when my client pulls in. You go over to his truck and start up a little hot conversation with him. He finally agrees to your services and you get into his truck. After you all leave the truck stop, he pulls over not too far down the road at a rest stop for some hanky-panky and you turn on him. You flash your badge in his face and reach for the knife on the dash. You and my client start fighting in the cab of the truck, wrestling for the knife. During the struggle my client’s arm gets cut. When he pushes your head against the window, it allows you to get free and jump out of the truck. Could you say you appeared to be a little crazy to him? It sounds to me like he was defending himself.”

  “I object,” cried DA Kelly. “Mr. Pelligrin is badgering the witness.”

  “Objection sustained,” cried out the judge. “Mr. Pelligrin, calm down. Counselor, you may proceed but watch yourself.”

  Mr. Pelligrin took off his black rimmed glasses and held them tightly between his forefinger and thumb.

  “No other questions,” he stated. “But, I would like for the court records to show,” he said, “that I got a little crazy, your Honor.”

  Mr. Pelligrin turned, walked back to the defense table and sat down with a little smirk on his face. Judge Millican slammed the gavel down with a stern look on her face.

  “Counselor, this is a court of law not a circus. Prosecutor, you may call your next witness.”

  “Thank you, your Honor. The state calls Officer Jenkins,” said the DA as he approached the witness stand holding a billfold. “Can you tell us, Officer Jenkins, how you came about this billfold? You were
the one to find it, weren’t you?” DA Kelly asked.

  “Yes, sir,” he replied.

  “And where did you find it?” asked DA Kelly.

  “Under the passenger’s seat of Mr. Richardson’s truck,” he answered.

  “Go ahead and tell us how you found it,” instructed DA Kelly.

  “Mr. Richardson’s truck was impounded at the police garage. Officer Ken and I started going through it to see if we could find any evidence linking him to the murders. We eventually found the billfold stuck under the passenger’s seat in the seat springs. A few hours later, we searched his truck again to see if we had overlooked anything.”

  “And, had you?” questioned DA Kelly.

  “Yes, sir, we had,” he replied.

  “What else did you find?” asked DA Kelly.

  “We found a bloody knife wrapped in a handkerchief.”

  “Do you recognize these two items?” asked DA Kelly as he held up the two pieces of evidence.

  “Yes, sir, they are the billfold and bloody knife we found,” stated Officer Jenkins.

  Then DA Kelly took the billfold and knife to the judge to be marked as exhibits A and B for the state.

  “Let it be known to the court that two photo ID’s were found in the billfold; one belonging to a Miss Kelly Jean Biggs and the other belonging to Miss Emily Frances Brown, both of whom were brutally murdered. No further questions, your Honor.”

  “You may cross examine, Mr. Pelligrin.”

  “Officer Jenkins, there’s no doubt that you and Officer Ken found the billfold in my client’s truck. We all will agree to that. But, for the record, is there any proof that my client hid the billfold and knife in his truck?”

  “No, sir, but,” Officer Jenkins tried to answer before Mr. Pelligrin interrupted him.

  “Officer Jenkins,” asked Mr. Pelligrin, “was Russell Richardson’s fingerprints found anywhere on the billfold or knife?”

  “But, but…,” stuttered Officer Jenkins.

  “Just answer the question,” insisted Mr. Pelligrin.

  Officer Jenkins replied, “No, sir.”

  “That’s all, your Honor,” said Mr. Pelligrin.

  Judge Millican called for a fifteen minute recess. After the recess, everyone came back into the courtroom and the trial resumed. The prosecution called several other witnesses and the defense cross examined each one. About an hour later, Judge Millican dismissed court for lunch. While at lunch, Mr. Pelligrin went over the evidence with me. He asked me how the billfold and knife ended up in my truck.

  “Honestly, Mr. Pelligrin, I vaguely remember the billfold. However, I can’t remember where I saw it. I know it was a dark tan color with a yellow quarter moon in the lower right hand corner. I remember the yellow quarter moon because it seemed odd. It was one of those things that caught my eye. Oh, man, now I remember. A couple of months ago when I was coming through Mud Creek, in pouring rain, I picked up a hitchhiker and gave him a ride about a mile out of town. When he got into the truck, he asked me if he could smoke and I told him it was okay. He rambled in his pockets looking for his lighter. He took out the billfold and laid it up on the console between the two seats. I didn’t pick it up; I just looked at it. I found it odd that a man had a billfold like that. He must have hid the billfold and knife when I stopped at the weight station and got out for a few minutes. I don’t remember seeing the billfold when I got back into the truck; he was smoking a cigarette and looking out the window. I never saw the billfold gain until it appeared in court.”

  “That explains the billfold. What about the knife?” Mr. Pelligrin questioned.

  “I’ve never seen the knife before,” I replied.

  Mr. Pelligrin looked up at me and asked, “How are we going to convince a jury about the hitchhiker?”

  “I have no idea,” I answered.

  “Can you give me a description of him?” asked Mr. Pelligrin.

  “I don’t know about a physical description,” I replied. “He was just an average looking person. However, there was something that caught my eye. He had a gold star tattooed on the left side of his neck with the initials N.M. inside it.”

  The court reconvened. At the end of the day the state rested its case and court was dismissed for the weekend.

  Judge Millican stated, “We will dismiss until Monday morning at nine o’clock at which time Mr. Pelligrin will begin calling his witnesses.”

  I spent the weekend in jail because I was denied bond. Besides, I lived in another state and didn’t have any money. Mr. Pelligrin came by that Saturday afternoon to go over some things for the next week. We didn’t talk much about the hitchhiker; it seemed hopeless that he would ever be found. He told me we needed a miracle and I agreed. Things weren’t looking too good for me. By the time Monday rolled around, we all sat once again in the courtroom.

  Before court began, Judge Millican called DA Kelly and Mr. Pelligrin into her chambers.

  “During the weekend one of the jurors, Thomas Lankford, had a heart attack and is in the hospital,” she informed them. “I have chosen one of the alternates, Nolen Manning, to take his place. Do you both agree to accept this juror?”

  They both agreed to the replacement juror.

  “Then let’s go to court,” she instructed.

  “Court is now in session,” said the bailiff.

  “Mr. Pelligrin, the state has rested and you may call your first witness,” stated Judge Millican.

  Mr. Pelligrin proceeded with his witnesses and the state cross examined each one. As Mr. Pelligrin was questioning one of the witnesses, something suddenly caught his eye. He stopped in the middle of one of his questions and stared at the jury. He slowly slid his black-rimmed glasses down his nose and looked over the top of them.

  “Is there something wrong, Mr. Pelligrin?” questioned Judge Millican.

  “Your Honor, may I approach the bench?”

  “You may,” she replied.

  DA Kelly rose from his seat and approached the bench as well. After they talked amongst themselves, Judge Millican asked the bailiff to approach the bench. She called for a recess until one o’clock p.m.

  “You may rise,” said the bailiff.

  The jury and mostly everyone else left the courtroom. Judge Millican, DA Kelly, and Mr. Pelligrin went to her chambers; I was escorted back to jail

  “Mr. Pelligrin,” she said, “you do know it is probably one shot in a million that the juror you’re talking about is the killer.”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but your Honor I believe he could be the killer. My client mentioned to me that he had picked up a hitchhiker one night with a tattoo on the left side of his neck with the initials N.M. inside it. And, he had possession of the billfold. All I am asking is that you take his prints and compare them to the prints on the billfold.”

  “This is the craziest thing I have ever heard,” Judge Millican replied. “How did he get to become a juror anyway?”

  DA Kelly spoke up, “You know this is nothing but one of Pelligrin’s sideshow antics. As you said earlier, this is a court of law not a circus.”

  “For your sake, counselor, I hope you’re right,” she cried.

  About that time, the bailiff and police entered the judge’s chambers with the juror in question. He was fingerprinted and escorted back out. The prints were sent to the lab to be checked.

  “Well, I guess you can say he was one that fell through the cracks,” stated Judge Millican in frustration. “We might as well sit down until we find out the results. Have a seat, gentlemen.”

  “If you don’t mind, will you excuse me for a few minutes?” requested Mr. Pelligrin.

  “I suppose that will be okay,” she said. “What are you going to do now, pull a rabbit out of your hat?”

  “Who knows what will happen if we leave it to Pelligrin,” replied DA Kelly.

  Mr. Pelligrin came over to the jail to let me know what was going on. I couldn’t believe it. It was the miracle
I needed. But, he told me not to get my hopes up just yet. When he went back to the courthouse, I lay on my bunk and prayed for the best.

  Within an hour, the police brought the results to Judge Millican. Nolen Manning’s prints matched those found on the billfold and bloody knife.

  DA Kelly asked, “Pelligrin are you saying this juror is the killer?”

  “I’m not saying anything,” replied Mr. Pelligrin, “the fingerprints are.”

  They were interrupted when a police officer knocked on the judge’s chambers door. He informed them Nolen Manning had escaped.

  “How did that happen?” asked Judge Millican.

  “He needed to go to the bathroom, so I let him. He escaped through the bathroom window. An APB has been put out on him. We’ll find him, your Honor.”

  But, little did anyone know, Nolen was already on the interstate hitchhiking. An officer on patrol saw a truck driver pick up a man not too far out of Mud Creek that fit Nolen’s description. He called it in and quickly followed suit. The truck driver wanted to pullover as soon as he saw the police in pursuit. However, Nolen wouldn’t let him. They were finally able to stop them before they reached the Mississippi state line. Nolen Manning was arrested without incident and the truck driver was freed to go.

  The news of Nolen Manning’s capture was relayed to Judge Millican, DA Kelly and Mr. Pelligrin. Mr. Pelligrin immediately made a motion to the judge for an acquittal of his client.

  She looked at DA Kelly, then back at Mr. Pelligrin and said, “Motion granted.”