Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(29)

Ray Ray was shaking his head before Tom finished. “I think that would be an overreaction. By the time Helen is finished, whichever jury is selected is going to know Bo’s backstory, that he was threatening biblical revenge, and on the night of the murder was seen at the very clearing where both his father and Andy Walton were lynched. Revenge, revenge, revenge. The General will saturate the jury with her theme. Plus this case has already received national news coverage. I saw several stories on CNN over the weekend, all of which mentioned that Bo has claimed since he was five years old that the Ku Klux Klan lynched his father.” He paused. “The bottom line is that every jury pool in this state, if not the whole southern United States, has already been poisoned by Bo’s history.”

“But the folks here know Bo. They’ve heard about his backstory their whole life.”

Ray Ray shrugged. “They also know Andy Walton and his Klan history. I think it’s a wash. People here may not like Bo, but no one really liked Andy either. Again”—he held up his hands—“a wash.”

“So it all comes down to the judge,” Tom said.

“Yep. If we get Susan, we stay. If we get Page, we punt.” He paused again. “And pray.”



After Ray Ray had left for the courthouse, Bo’s secretary, Ellie Michaels, came into the conference room with several documents under her arm. Ellie was a plump black woman in her late fifties who had served as Bo’s secretary, paralegal, and receptionist for the past twenty years. Last night, after his interview of George Curtis, Tom had met Ellie at Bo’s office to discuss the case.

Ellie hadn’t hesitated when Tom had asked if she would stay on to help him and Rick with the trial. “I’ve been with Bo Haynes since he was a pup lawyer and had an Afro haircut. In the early days we were lean and times were tight.” She had laughed loud and hearty. “But these last ten years—lordy mercy, Professor. Every time Bo has won or settled a big case, he has given me a bonus off the top.” Wiping tears from her eyes, she had said, “I’ve sent all five of my children and two grandbabies to college off the money I’ve made working for Bo Haynes. I’d walk barefoot through glass for that man.”

Unfortunately, Ellie knew nothing of relevance from the day of the murder. Yes, she knew that August 18 was the anniversary of Bo’s father’s death, and like every year on the anniversary Bo had been in a foul mood. She also knew about Bo’s split with Jazz, and that he was living at the office. “Such a shame, Professor. Those two are still so much in love.” She had grunted. “They’re just both too stubborn to realize it.”

The office had been plundered by the sheriff’s department all weekend, but Ellie had not let them touch any of Bo’s case files without a court order. “I told ’em straight up no one’s going to be violating the attorney-client privilege on Ellie’s watch, and they shut up quick.” Tom had laughed and been genuinely relieved that Ellie was willing to stay on for the trial.

Now she put the papers that would announce their entry into the fray in front of him side by side. All of the documents had the style of the case front and center: The State of Tennessee v. Bocephus Aurulius Haynes.

“This is the notice of appearance for you, Mr. Drake and Mr. . . . Pickalew.” Ellie said the word “Pickalew” like she had a bad taste in her mouth.

“I get the feeling you don’t like Ray Ray, Ellie.”

She wrinkled up her nose. “One whiff of the man is enough to give a teetotaler like me a buzz.” She snorted. “I bet if you stuck him with a pick, you could fill up a barrel of whiskey.”

Single-barrel Ray Ray, Tom thought, stifling a smile. “He’s good, though, Ellie.”

“I won’t disagree with you on that. I just don’t like smelling him.” She pointed at the other two documents. “This is you and Mr. Drake’s motion for admission to the state of Tennessee pro hac vice.”

“And this is the motion for an expedited preliminary hearing,” Ellie continued. “Mr. Pickalew has already signed everything, so you just need to sign for you and Mr. Drake.”

Tom looked over the paperwork, feeling his heart rate quicken. There was no backing out now, he knew. He signed the documents and handed them to Ellie, who put them back under her arm. Then she smiled down at him.

“What?” Tom asked.

“Wide ass open.”

Tom creased his eyebrows, not getting it.

“It’s what Bo says every time a case is about to start moving.” Her voice began to tremble as she spoke. “He . . . always rubs . . . his hands together and says, ‘All right now, dog, you know what speed we’ve got to take it to now.’”

Tom smiled as Ellie wiped her tears. “Wide ass open,” he said.





17


On the way to the jail, Tom called Rick.

“The Sundowners Club? You have to be kidding?” Rick’s voice was hyper, and Tom could almost feel the kid’s energy from across the phone line.

“I’m not,” Tom said. “Andy Walton was shot and killed at the Sundowners Club, and his body was moved to Walton Farm, where it was hanged from the same tree where Bo’s father was lynched in 1966.”

“Then the body was set on fire.”

“Yep.” Tom pulled into the jail and cut off the ignition. “Listen, Rick, I don’t have much time. I need to go over all this with Bo. Have you talked with Powell yet?”