Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(28)
“You mean you think that is the prosecution’s theory?” Tom asked.
“Of course.”
“OK . . . so why would he have gone to the clearing earlier?”
“To scout out the area and to break the surveillance camera.”
Tom paused to eat some of his pancake, which was delicious, but stopped after several bites. He had lost his appetite. Ray Ray’s breakdown of how the prosecution would view the evidence made sense.
And he knew it would also make sense to a jury.
Despite the bad vibes he was feeling, Tom smiled at his friend. “How might I ask did you find out all of this so quickly?”
The Joker grin was back. “The sheriff’s department is a volatile place, Tommy boy,” Ray Ray said, wolfing down the rest of his plate. “A lot of divorces. I got a pretty good settlement for one of the deputies a few years back, and he owed me one.”
Tom shook his head and smiled. This was why he had wanted Ray Ray Pickalew on the team. “Good work, partner.”
“There is a lot of work left to do,” Ray Ray said, his grin gone. “We obviously need to meet with Booker T. and find out everything he knows.”
Tom nodded. “Did your source mention that Bo was at Kathy’s Tavern earlier in the night?”
Ray Ray chuckled. “Yep. My guy said Bo told Andy he was going to give him an ‘eye for an eye’ in front of several eyewitnesses. Do you have the names?”
Tom rattled them off, and Ray Ray said they should split up the interviews. “I’ve known Clete forever. Let me take him. Why don’t you go down to Kathy’s and talk with Cassie? Ms. Maggie is probably off-limits for now and—”
“I’ve already interviewed George Curtis.” Tom paused. “By the way, you were right. He is a bit odd.”
“He’s as queer as a football bat, if you ask me,” Ray Ray said. “But he’s too goddamn proud to come out of the closet. I think his problem is that he’s lived a lie his whole life.”
Tom rubbed his chin, pondering that idea. Could be, he thought. But it didn’t feel right to him.
“We also need to get over to that strip joint and interview any of the employees who came into contact with Andy Walton on the night of the murder,” Tom said, and Ray Ray grinned again.
“That sounds like a job for Ray Ray. I’m already acquainted with the talent there.”
“Don’t enjoy it too much,” Tom said, but the thought that had nagged him earlier was back. “What is the name of that place again?”
“The Sundowners Club. It’s a dive on the outskirts of Pulaski on Highway 64. It’s owned by a sorry son of a bitch named Larry Tucker, who I went to high school with back in the day. Been around since the early ’80s or so. I’m pretty sure Andy Walton bankrolled Larry’s operation. Andy and some other guy . . .” Ray Ray snapped his fingers. “Oh, who was that *? Made a fortune in long-haul trucking. Big SOB from your neck of the woods, Tom. You would know him if I said the name. Jack . . .” He snapped his fingers again. “Oh, shit, what’s his last name? Jack . . .”
“Willistone,” Tom finished Ray Ray’s sentence, his blood going cold. “Jack Willistone.”
16
When they were back at Bo’s office, Ray Ray said he was going to walk over to the courthouse and poke around the clerk’s office. He knew everyone over there, and he might be able to get a feel for who the judge might be for Bo’s case. Ray Ray said the judge would make all the difference in deciding whether to challenge venue. “If we get Harold Page, we’re f*cked and we need to seek a change of venue immediately. Page is an ornery old bastard who seems to hate everyone but Helen Lewis. But if we get Susan Connelly . . . then the choice is not so black and white. Susan is tough on crime, but she’s also fair and, most importantly, smart. Run that by Bo, but I think he’ll agree.”
“Will do,” Tom said, still reeling from the information disclosed by Ray Ray at the Bluebird. The murder scene is the Sundowners Club . . .
Tom and Rick’s star witness in the Willistone case last summer had been a stripper employed by the Sundowners Club named Wilma Newton, whose husband was the driver involved in the accident. She had agreed to testify against the company, saying that her husband was forced to speed by the driving schedule he was put on by Jack Willistone. It had been a great plan—the trucker’s widow sticking it to the company. Unfortunately, Jack got to Newton before the trial, and she did a 180 on the stand, testifying that her husband’s schedule was fine. Luckily, Bo had investigated the Sundowners in the days prior to trial and had learned that Jack Willistone and another man—his “henchman,” Bo had called him—had been meeting with Newton in the weeks leading up to trial. Bo’s investigation had given Tom the ammunition he needed to cross-examine Newton on the stand when she had changed her story.
Jack Willistone was now presumably in prison somewhere. But the last time Tom or anyone else had seen his henchman was when he jumped off the Northport Bridge into the Black Warrior River. His body was never found.
“What about the jury pool?” Tom finally asked, trying to stay focused. Venue was a huge consideration going forward. “With everyone knowing Bo’s history with Andy Walton in Giles County, shouldn’t we move for a change of venue regardless of which judge is appointed?”