Then she somehow managed to get back across the street to her house, which the police, who had now grown in number, were now scouring. “They were standing in my yard, stooping over the blood in the carport, everywhere,” she recalled. “And I saw them and recognized them as the men who had followed Medgar everywhere for months; the men who had tried to run him down a few days before, the men who had asked me if I had used the gasoline can recently, and they looked at me and I screamed at them, ‘Get off my property!’”
