"When you hear that a man has been beaten, dragged and burned, what's the first thing that comes to your mind, regardless of the fact that we are living in the 21st century?" Unger wrote. "Even though most newspapers are reporting the murder as an 'openly gay mayoral candidate found dead,' further investigation is needed."
In her letter, Unger described her son's warnings that people were out to get him. The Justice Department has encouraged others in the community to send in their concerns.
McMillian's death made national headlines. The media descended on Clarksdale to write about the murder of a gay black man in a backward Delta town, coverage that rankled some residents.
"I think we're getting a black eye because we're the Mississippi Delta," Meredith said.
Through it all, the mayoral race continued with a runoff and an election on June 4. Luckett, the winner, agreed that his city was getting a bad rap.
"The thinking is if you're black and you're gay and you're running for mayor, then some redneck is going to get you," he said, sitting inside the restaurant and music venue that he co-owns with actor Morgan Freeman, the Ground Zero Blues Club.
"He wasn't killed because he was black. He wasn't killed because he was gay. It's just a tragic but bizarre set of facts," he said.
Luckett, a millionaire lawyer and businessman, was born and raised in Clarksdale. He speaks with Southern swagger and draws an unmistakable silhouette with his thick, combed-back hair and portly frame. He takes great pride in showing off Ground Zero and the apartments for rent above it and believes that investments like that can help turn Clarksdale around from decay to renewal.
Luckett made a run for governor of Mississippi -- as a Democrat -- and lost. McMillian's supporters said Luckett eyed the mayor's job so he could try again for governor with a feather in his cap -- to be able to say that he was the one who turned things around in his hometown.
McMillian, said his supporters, had momentum and had a real good chance of winning. Without him in the race, Luckett's victory was a landslide.
Several speakers take the microphone at the town hall meeting inside Chapel Hill Missionary Baptist Church. They cry injustice and foul play and direct their venom at Charles Jones, the Coahoma County sheriff.
"The sheriff not responding is about as offensive as you can be," says Parks, the McMillian family attorney who has left George Zimmerman's trial in Florida to be in Clarksdale on this day.
The sheriff's name is the final one on the schedule of events. But he is not here.
People look around the sanctuary. Sitting in the back is the only white person in the room, besides members of the media. It's Will Rooker, the sheriff's spokesman. He makes his way to the podium; all eyes follow him with the precision of an animal stalking its prey.
Rooker looks nervous. He reads from a prepared statement. He says again that authorities have the right man in custody, that there is no evidence to indicate that this is a hate crime.
"The Coahoma County Sheriff's Department is committed to building a case that's completely based on facts," Rooker says. "We can't allow ourselves to be influenced by gossip on social media."
The disappointment is palpable, especially for Unger. She has not learned anything more about why or how her son was killed.
She asks everyone to write to a Department of Justice representative who has come to Clarksdale for this meeting. She is convinced outside help is needed to solve Marco McMillian's murder.
Toward the back of the church, one woman nods her head in agreement. Then, she whispers the title of singer Nina Simone's civil rights anthem. "Mississippi Goddam."