Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(10)
Two loud knocks jarred him upright. The door slid open, and Sheriff Ennis Petrie walked inside, taking the seat across from Bo at the metal desk. Ennis wore a tan button-down shirt with his name stenciled over the front pocket. He was about five foot eight with thinning, reddish-blond hair, a mustache that matched his diminished mane, and a potbelly that hung over his belt. Though physically unimpressive, Ennis had a calm, cool manner that had made him an effective lawman.
“Bo, I read your Miranda rights to you at your office immediately after you were arrested. You agree with that, right?” the sheriff asked.
Bo said nothing, gazing back at Ennis with blank eyes. He had seen too many clients burned by their own tongues at this stage of a case. Bo also knew that there was a video camera rolling from just behind the glass, recording every word, every sound, and every movement. Bo had represented enough criminal defendants to know the way this song and dance worked.
“No problem,” the sheriff said, pulling out a card from his pocket, prepared for Bo’s lack of cooperation. “You have the right to remain silent,” Ennis began, speaking in a clear, deliberate voice as he read from the card. When he finished, he put the card back in his pocket and peered at Bo.
“Bo, we’ve known each other a long time.” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “So I’m going to forego any bullshit. The physical evidence that we have found against you in the first eight hours of this investigation is conclusive and overwhelming. If that weren’t enough, you’re the only person with the necessary motive to commit this kind of atrocity, and it’s been simmering for decades. There are four eyewitnesses who heard you threaten to kill Andy Walton at Kathy’s Tavern just a few hours before we found him hanging from a tree on his farm. An eye for an eye, right, Bo?”
Bo stared blankly back at Ennis, thinking about the confrontation at Kathy’s and the words he had used. No, he thought, sitting still, in no way betraying his fear. Jesus Christ, no.
Finally, after Bo hadn’t said anything for several seconds, Ennis sighed. “Bo, the evidence reflects that earlier this morning, just three hours after you threatened to make Andy Walton pay for his sins eye for eye, tooth for tooth, you shot and killed Andy in cold blood and then hung his body from the same tree limb where you have always claimed your father was lynched by the Ku Klux Klan.” Ennis spoke in a measured voice, but his eyes blazed with fury. “Then you set his corpse on fire and almost burned his farm to the ground.” He paused. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Bo maintained his blank stare for a couple of seconds. Then, slowly and deliberately, he began to nod his head.
Ennis blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. “OK . . . what?”
Bo took a sip of water from the Styrofoam cup on the table, his eyes never leaving the sheriff’s. Finally, he spoke. “I’d like to call my attorney.”
The sheriff smirked and gave a quick nod in the direction of the glass wall. Bo knew the cue. The video had been turned off.
“So that’s how you’re gonna play it?” Ennis asked, a rhetorical question, as he knew Bo was not going to respond. The sheriff started to say more, but his voice was drowned out by the swooshing sound of the metal door opening and sliding shut, and then the clacking of high heels on concrete.
Helen Evangeline Lewis, District Attorney General for the 22nd Judicial District of the State of Tennessee, walked into the cell, a faint smile playing on her lips. At almost sixty years old, Helen was a striking figure, with her pale skin, black hair, and bright-red lipstick, and these features were only intensified by the black suit and high heels she typically wore. Though her face was a bit tight from Botox, she was not an unattractive woman. Scary looking maybe, but not unattractive. The confidence and self-assurance with which she carried herself made her both intimidating and seductive. And a holy terror to deal with in the courtroom.
The sheriff rose from his seat and gestured for Helen to take his place. As she did, Bo watched her, noticing how her body almost slithered, her movements smooth and calculated. Like a poisonous snake.
“So the great Bocephus Haynes wants a lawyer,” she said, her voice reeking with sarcasm. “Don’t you find that comical, Bo?” She smiled, but there was no humor in her eyes.
“A lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client,” Bo said. “I’m sure you’ve heard that one before, General.”
She cackled. “I have. But you? Bo, you’ve de-balled almost as many lawyers in this town as I have. I can’t imagine you trusting your life to anyone in the defense bar here.”
“I didn’t say I wanted a lawyer,” Bo said, glaring at her. “I said I wanted my lawyer.” He paused. “My lawyer ain’t from around here.”
Helen abruptly stood and looked down at Bo, her green eyes burning with intensity. “Well, he better be good.” She started to turn away but then returned her gaze to Bo. “Given the mutilated condition of the body and the multiple felonies involved, we don’t have a choice in the punishment we’ll seek.” She paused, her eyes and voice betraying no emotion. “I’ll ask for the death penalty.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Bo thought he saw Ennis Petrie flinch, but Bo didn’t look at the sheriff. He kept his gaze locked on Helen, forcing himself to remain calm, though he felt goose bumps breaking out on his arms and the back of his neck. “I’d like to call my attorney now.”