Transcript of Interview with Melvin Little conducted by Louella Harper 3/27/1980
Melvin: The
last one was that poor little girl. How
stupid could he be?
The Reverend
came to me. Usually he came in through
the front door, but this time he came in through the back. He said, “Mr. Little, you’ve got to help
me. Now they’re accusing me of killing
my own daughter.”
It wasn’t
his blood daughter, but I knew what he meant.
I said,
“Reverend, you say you didn’t kill this girl.” He always told me he was innocent of the crimes of which he was accused. I said, “You’re my client, so I
have to believe you, but I’m afraid I just can’t defend you anymore.”
Louella: How
did he take your decision?
Melvin: Well,
he was unhappy, but what could he do? I
had to draw the line somewhere. He
begged and begged, but I wouldn’t relent.
I told him to get out of my office.
June 14, 1977
8:07a.m.
Melvin was
working at his desk when he heard a loud thumping sound coming from the back of
the building. His secretary, Lorrie, had
not yet arrived, so there was no one to yell at to go see what the commotion
was all about; Melvin had to investigate the problem himself.
As he
entered the back hallway that led to the supply closet, the rattling thump
continued, and it became evident that someone was banging on the emergency exit
door.
He pushed
the metal bar in the center of the door and it opened to the alleyway. There he saw a tall man dressed in an
expensive three-piece burgundy suit anxiously looking over his shoulder.
“Hello
Reverend,” Melvin said.
The
Reverend rushed in past him. “As much
money as I’ve made for you, I should have my own key to your office.”
“I’m
surprised about that myself,” Melvin said. “I’ll put it on Lorrie’s list of
things to do.” He followed the Reverend
into his office, skirted around his client and took a seat behind his desk where
he could watch as the Reverend paced the room.
“We need a
plan here,” the Reverend said. “We need
to come up with a strategy.” A vein
protruded from his forehead.
“All
right,” Melvin said. He reached under a
stack of papers and pulled out a yellow legal pad. “No charges have been filed yet, but I expect
they will soon. I’ve already arranged
bail, so you shouldn’t have to remain in jail for long.”
“The press
is everywhere. They’re circling around
me like vultures. I barely made it out
of the house this morning. I think someone
has betrayed me.”
“Addresses
are a matter of public record,” Melvin said.
“I bet it
was that reporter who came to my house yesterday. The one from the Sentinel.”
“Who was
that? Easton? If Jim had a scoop, I imagine he’d keep it to
himself.”
“It’s
different this time,” the Reverend said. “Everything is different.”
“Reverend,
I’m not going to sugarcoat this for you.
The killing of that girl attracted a lot of attention, and attention
puts pressure on the politicians, who then put pressure on investigators. They’re going to go after someone real hard and
you’re in the only man in their searchlight.”
“So, what
are you going to do?” asked Reverend Baxter.
He held his gaze on his lawyer as he slowly came around the side of the
desk.
Melvin swiveled toward the man encroaching on
his space. “I’ll get you out of this the
same as always. I just wanted you to
know that this is a high profile case and the DA is going to come after
you. I wanted to let you know what you
were in for.”
The
Reverend came right up to Melvin’s chair, trapping him in the corner.
Melvin
leaned back as far away from the Reverend as he could go, until the back of his
chair touched wood paneling.
The
Reverend bent down at the waist, flattened his hands against Melvin’s
shoulders, and stared menacingly into Melvin’s eyes, now only inches away from
his own. His voice was soft but
clear. “And I want to let you know what
you’re in for if you don’t.”
A little
bell jingled at the front of the building.
“That will
be Lorrie,” Melvin said quietly. He
cleared his throat.
The
Reverend rose to his full height and looked in the direction of the door.
“We’re back
here, Lorrie!” Melvin called.
The
Reverend flashed a disdainful look in Melvin’s direction. He buttoned the front of his jacket and
adjusted his lapels before returning to the client’s side of the desk.
Melvin loosened
his tie. For a moment there was silence
as he watched the Reverend. He took a
deep breath. “There’s going to be a lot
more press coverage this time. You’ll
just have to get used to the vultures circling.
I’m going to have to defend you in the media even more than in the
courtroom, but you shouldn’t speak to any more reporters. They’ll only twist your words to sell papers. They don’t give two figs about what’s true
and what isn’t.”
Lorrie
poked her head in. “You need something,
Mel?”
“No,
Lorrie. Just coffee. Would you like a cup, Reverend?”
The
Reverend shook his head. “Caffeine makes
me anxious.”
“That’ll be
all then Lorrie.”
Melvin
stood up and walked around his desk. He
placed his hand on his client’s back and escorted him out of the office. “You just go home and try not to worry about
any of this. You’ve got the best lawyer
in the state working for you.”
He pushed
open the door, and the Reverend stepped out into the sunlight. Across the street, a man seemed to recognize
them. He dropped a cigarette and started
toward him. “Hey, Reverend. Reverend Baxter!”
His voice
lured others who had congregated at the front of the building. Suddenly reporters were all around, barking
questions.
“Keep
moving, Reverend,” Melvin said. “Get to
the car.” The Reverend put his head down
and barreled through the gathering crowd while his lawyer held up one hand, as
if for peace. “Reverend Baxter won’t be
answering any questions at this time.”
The
reporters continued to shout questions.
Reverend
Baxter maneuvered to his car. He flung
himself into the driver’s seat and closed the door.
Reporters
surrounded the vehicle. They shouted
questions through the open window. Some
took pictures of him sifting through his ring of keys for the one that would
start his car.
A female
reporter thrust a microphone into his face.
“Reverend Baxter, is it true you had a life insurance policy on your
stepdaughter?”
Baxter
found the key and slipped it into the ignition.
“Lady,” he said, gunning the engine. “If you don’t get that fucking microphone
out of my face, I’m going to run over you.”
The woman backed
away two steps and stood there stunned, while the Reverend drove away.
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