Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(22)

Bo sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I went to Kathy’s Tavern on First Street, intending to get drunk and then go to the clearing.”

“The clearing—”

“Where my father was lynched,” Bo interrupted. “I go every year on the anniversary of his death.”

“So what happened at Kathy’s?”

Bo grimaced. Then he relayed his confrontation with Andy Walton and the conversation with Ms. Maggie afterward.

When he was through, Tom let out a low whistle. “Jesus, why didn’t you just handwrite a confession?”

Neither of them laughed.

“You really quoted line and verse the ‘eye for an eye’ line from the Bible?”

Bo nodded.

“And then he’s found hanging from a noose on his farm from the exact tree where your father was lynched.”

Again, Bo nodded. “The same limb, according to Ennis. I . . . had pointed it out to him on a number of prior occasions when I tried to get the sheriff’s department to reopen the investigation.”

Tom pulled at his hair, trying not to despair but hearing the words of Helen Lewis play in his mind. Bo came back to Pulaski for revenge.

“Bad, huh?” Bo asked, but Tom ignored him.

“You said the four eyewitnesses to the confrontation were the bartender Cassie . . .”

“Dugan,” Bo said, completing the sentence as Tom wrote the name down on a yellow legal pad. “The others were Clete Sartain—who was probably in the Klan with Andy, though I can’t confirm that—Andy’s wife, Ms. Maggie, and his brother-in-law, George Curtis.”

Tom wrote each name on the pad, one under the other. “OK, that gives me a place to start. What happened after Kathy’s?”

Bo shrugged. “I got a pint of Jim Beam from my office and took a walk. Ended up at our house on Flower Street that’s now for sale. Just feeling sorry for myself . . . and tying one on pretty good.” He sighed. “Then I went to the clearing on Walton Farm where my father was lynched. I don’t remember much about being there that night, but I know I was there. It had rained a good bit beforehand, and I noticed that my loafers were muddy the next morning.” Bo paused and looked down at the table. “That’s really all I can recall.”

“So you threatened to kill him in front of four eyewitnesses, and you admit to being at the murder scene?”

Bo made no response. He just continued to stare at the table.

“Was anyone with you when you went to the farm or . . . at any time after you left Kathy’s?”

Bo shook his head. “No. I was alone.”

Damnit, Tom thought. He began to pace back and forth over the concrete floor, working through the problems in his mind. Bo had no alibi, he had motive out the yin-yang, and the physical evidence, which they probably wouldn’t see until the preliminary hearing, was described by the sheriff as “conclusive and overwhelming.” Tom quickly came to a stark and rather obvious conclusion. I’m in way over my head.

He returned to his seat and looked his friend dead in the eye. “Bo, I appreciate your faith in me and Rick, but you really need an experienced criminal defense attorney to take this on, preferably someone with local ties. Have you thought about—?”

“I am an experienced criminal defense attorney,” Bo interrupted. “What I need is a good trial lawyer who can talk to a Giles County jury. Someone who hasn’t been roughed up by the General and . . . someone I trust. I realize that we’ll need to retain local counsel, but I don’t want a Pulaski lawyer as lead.” He paused, looking Tom dead in the eye. “I want you.”

When Tom didn’t say anything, Bo chuckled, and the bitterness in his laugh was palpable. “I don’t blame you for being scared. I’d be scared too if you asked the same of me in the face of the story I just told you.” He paused. “I am scared.”

“Bo—” Tom started, but Bo held up his hand to stop him.

“Professor, I haven’t made a lot of friends in the legal community in this town over the years. Some of that is probably because I’m the only black trial lawyer in Pulaski. Even though we’re in 2011, I can still feel a subconscious awkwardness around my white brethren of the bar.” He shrugged. “And some of it is just me. I practice alone. I’ve never had a partner, and I typically blow off the social functions the bar puts on. And I am unapologetically aggressive and relentless when it comes to working a case. That approach has made me a successful attorney.” He paused. “But it hasn’t made me many friends . . . and it’s probably cost me my wife and family.”

“Are things with Jazz really over?”

Bo sighed. “I don’t know. Right now we are separated, and Jazz is living with her parents in Huntsville. She’s enrolled T. J. and Lila in the city schools there for the year, so . . . it ain’t looking good.” Bo chuckled bitterly. “I doubt that being charged with capital murder is going to help my cause.”

“When did things start going south?”

Bo shrugged. “They’ve been strained for a long time. She has always thought my obsession with my father’s murder wasn’t fair to her, to our family . . . and she’s probably right. When the kids really started getting dragged into it, she finally had enough.”

Tom felt another pang of guilt as he saw the anguish on his friend’s face. All that time he was looking out for my butt last year, his own life was in shambles.