Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(24)

“OK . . . Why is it that you want to talk with me? I’m sure you know that the victim, Andy Walton, was my brother-in-law.”

George’s voice betrayed no emotion, but Tom now heard the accent. Southern aristocrat. The kind of voice an actor would use to portray a Southern plantation owner.

“You saw my client and the victim just a few hours before the murder.”

“That’s right,” George said. “Your client threatened to kill my brother-in-law. Said he was going to ‘make him bleed.’” George held up the index and middle fingers of both hands to make the quotation symbol. “I guess he made good on that promise.”

“Were you concerned for Mr. Walton’s life at that point, Doctor?”

George shrugged and took a sip of lemonade, his eyes never leaving Tom’s. “Not really. Andy’s always been able to take care of himself.” He paused. “To tell the truth, I’m shocked that Andy would let anyone, much less Bo Haynes, kill him in the way it went down. Andy . . . was a hard man.”

“He was also dying, right?”

Again, George blinked. “How did you know that?”

Tom considered his response. So far George Curtis hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know. Tom thought Andy’s cancer was a bad fact for the defense. He could almost hear Helen Lewis in her opening—If Bo hadn’t taken his revenge when he did, he might never have gotten the chance. But after several seconds he came clean. “Your sister told Bo at Kathy’s. She told him to let Andy die in peace.”

George grimaced, his first outward show of emotion. “That’s why she blames herself,” he said, shaking his head. “I knew it had to be something like that.” He paused. “She hasn’t said a word since she saw Andy hanging from the tree.”

“She saw?” Tom asked. This was new information.

“Yeah. When the fire department arrived on the scene, the chief said that Maggie arrived just a few minutes after he did.” He paused and shook his head. “I’m not sure she’ll ever be the same.”

“I’m very sorry,” Tom said, meaning it. “Would it be possible to talk with your sister?” Tom knew he was pushing his luck, but Maggie Walton was an important witness.

“No,” George said, his voice hard. “That wouldn’t be possible right now. It’s just too soon.”

The conversation lulled for several seconds, neither of them speaking, and Tom’s sense of discomfort grew. George had an intense gaze that made Tom feel like he was being inspected.

“Doctor, can you think of anyone besides Bo who might have a bone to pick with your brother-in-law?”

George shrugged. “Andy was a polarizing figure in this town. I think there was a general distaste for him. You have to understand, Andy didn’t grow up in Pulaski. He came from over in McNairy County. A lot of folks thought his money was dirty. Then there was his association with the Klan. Not sure many people ever got over that. The people here have always had to deal with the town being the birthplace of the Ku Klux Klan, but it’s a past that Pulaski has tried to distance itself from. Andy’s involvement as Imperial Wizard of the Tennessee chapter was another black eye for the town. But . . . no one wanted him dead. Andy gave a lot of his dirty money to the town. To its businesses and to Martin College and the church.” Curtis chuckled. “What is the old saying? ‘He’s a son of a bitch, but he’s our son of a bitch.’ I think that’s how the town viewed Andy.”

Tom watched the doctor tell the story. He’s enjoying this, Tom thought. It was time to give him a jolt. “Did you resent Andy for buying the family farm and saving your father from bankruptcy while you were in medical school?”

“Who told you that?”

“Raymond Pickalew,” Tom said, his lips curving into a smile. “Ray Ray’s an old friend of mine.”

George returned the smile, but there was no humor behind his eyes. As with Helen, the mention of Ray Ray’s name seemed to rattle the doctor. “Professor McMurtrie, it seems as if you are friends with all of the riffraff in town.”

Tom’s grin widened. “Dr. Curtis, it seems as if you might have a—how did you put it?—distaste for Ray Ray.”

“Raymond Pickalew is a no-count drunk, and he always has been,” George said, the slightest hint of an edge in his voice. Then, relaxing his shoulders, he leaned back in the rocking chair and wrapped his hands behind his back. “But getting back to your question, the truth is that I was relieved that Andy bought the farm. We all were. He saved our ass and allowed my father to die with dignity. We were all indebted to him for that.”

Bullshit, Tom thought but didn’t say. He decided to switch gears.

“Do you know Clete Sartain?” Tom asked.

“Everyone knows Clete,” George said, chuckling. “He sacks groceries at the Johnson’s Foodtown and looks just like Santa Claus. He’s lived in Pulaski forever.”

“Was he with you, Andy, and Mrs. Walton at Kathy’s on the night of the murder?”

George scoffed. “He was there, but I wouldn’t say he was with us. He just happened to be there. Clete is a regular at Kathy’s.”

“Was Clete in the Klan when Andy was the Imperial Wizard of the Tennessee chapter?”