Chapter 2 Censored

⁣The bell that signaled Newt Lee's departure for the factory tour also rang the moment three Atlanta Police Department officers were released from night duty. It was a typical night for police reporters. The office's large printing press churned out pages of printed material to keep the town busy until breakfast and the start of Sunday service, but quiet nights made for tiring nights, which meant happy times.

"Until tomorrow", they screamed and stumbled down the stone steps of the station building. "dear boys, good night". They gathered in the streets of Decatur in the evening mist, surrounded by the cheerful, smiling black people who surrounded them that day. The smell of fried fish and hot dogs is the only thing that stands out among the crowds that once filled the streets from sidewalk to sidewalk. A man asked, "Where's Brett?" he asked.

I think Boots was crying in Rogers' car. someone else commented and we both laughed. Accordingly, the third reporter remained in the car, and the police returned to their places in the station building and spent the remaining time until dawn. A thin ray of light appeared on the misty eastern horizon. The street lights glowed blue and the station clock ticked slowly toward 3 o'clock. That evening, a police officer arrested on suspicion of disorderly conduct heard immigrants muttering somewhere in a cell behind the station. He screamed and moaned all night and she howled like a raccoon, exhausted.

"The boss." An elderly man standing by the door grumbled. His chevron sign meant he was in charge of the department. The sergeant sighed and staggered, waving the keys and saying, "Make sure he shuts up." Deputy Boots was about to begin another deposition in the Grace case when Rogers' phone rang. Okay, Officer V said. Anderson. Who's calling me at this time of night? He stood up slowly, walked over to the phone booth door and opened it. The team glanced at him before sitting down. please come with me It was a box that said Hello. said. It's actually a police station.

You must speak slowly, old man. You confuse me. Then he heard a black man crouching in the shadows of a pencil factory a few blocks away, speaking in the trembling voice of the dead girl found in the basement of the National Pencil Factory on Forsyth Street. When Officer Anderson came out of the phone booth with the news, the sleeping officers were on their feet less than a minute before the emergency. "My car is in front." cried Rogers. We come together.

A moment later he was standing in the doorway, followed by Anderson. Together they jumped into the car and drove down the quiet street, chasing other police officers behind the dust and flashing red lights and waking up a sleeping reporter. At the corner of Prior and Decatur streets, two men noticed a car approaching them. The officers were Dobbs and Brown. The car started shaking. Now enter.

cried Rogers. Not long after, a large car was driving down Marietta Street when it turned toward a black pile known as the National Pencil Company and stopped. Four people got out of the car. Officer Anderson knocked on the door with a clenched fist and everyone gasped with excitement. Quiet footsteps were heard inside. Newt Lee's horrified face looked up at them as the lock shook furiously.

Teeth chatter and the whites of the eyes roll. They shot him and entered the dark gates of the factory. Lee led the way, followed by Anderson. Before he could say anything, the officers asked, "Where's the body?" He was surprised. They shot him. The boys marched single file to the hook, each holding a revolver in his fist.

Newt Lee pointed to an object in the corner with a worried look and led the group into the shadows, up the stairs. That's it, he muttered. The officers knelt down and looked at the girl's horribly mutilated body. He was sitting motionless among the sawdust, his legs bent behind his right side and his head turned forward. The face is facing the wall, unkempt and bruised with dirt. The men knelt down to take a closer look, and as they did so the severity of their injuries became clear.

They confirmed that the white man's hair had been pulled out and he was covered in blood after an aggressive blow to the back of the head. Her lavender silk dress was stained with blood, and the blue ribbon she had so carelessly tied a few hours ago was now dirty and withered. The little white slipper still hung from his right foot. Around my neck was a thick wire that penetrated deep into my skin.

Rough fabric torn from his shirt wrapped around his head. They returned the body. My pants are torn. The stocking holder is broken. White socks fell to my knees. "Oh my God, he's just a kid." Sergeant Brown said, throwing his head back.

Sergeant Dobbs looked around the basement as they stood. He found the girl's other slippers nearby. His thin hat lay by the elevator shaft. Then he discovered something. When he turned to the candlestick, he was holding two dirty yellow pieces of paper with ugly writing on them. The police read the note.

She said she was going to kiss me and lay down like a night witch. But the tall, thin black man did it all by himself. Here's another reader's mom who hired a black person. When I went to draw water, he pushed me out of this hole. I am writing this while walking with a tall handsome black man. There were already doubts in the minds of the white people attending, wondering what it was and what it meant, and the black man turned to Lee and forced the writer of this note to do this terrible thing.

Anderson suddenly walked up to the security guard and placed a rough hand on his shoulder. You did it, he said. Please, I didn't do that. The white men handcuffed Anderson seconds later, and Newt Lee was arrested on suspicion of murder.