Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(34)

“It’s not even close,” Tom said. “Billy Neighbors used to say if he saw Trammell coming down the street, he’d change paths so he wouldn’t have to face him. It was a joke—Billy loved Pat—but there was a hint of truth in it. We were all a bit scared of Pat. He was the bell cow of that team.”

“He died before he was thirty, didn’t he?”

Tom felt his throat constrict a little. Even over forty years after his friend’s death, it was still hard to talk about. He nodded. “Only time I ever saw Coach Bryant cry.”

Booker T. shook his head. “The by God 1961 National Champions.” He poured the last remnants of the pitcher into his mug and leaned back in his chair. “Well . . . as much I’m enjoying your stories, Professor, that’s not why you wanted this meeting, is it?” Tom just waited, knowing the question didn’t really need an answer. After Booker T. took another swallow of beer, he placed his elbows on the table and leaned toward him. “The General owns my ass.”

“How so?” Tom asked, his spirits beginning to sink.

“Because I gave Bo the code to that gate.” He shook his head. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done. But how could I have known that Bo . . . ?” He trailed off and drained the rest of his glass. “General Lewis says she’s going to wait until after Bo’s trial to decide whether to charge me with accessory to murder or aiding and abetting a trespass.”

“What have you told her?” Tom asked, dreading the answer.

“Just the God’s honest truth. That Bo asked me for the code to the gate early last week. Said he always pays his respects to his father at the clearing, and what with the big wall that Ms. Maggie had me construct this year, he couldn’t just sneak in like he’d done in the past.” He paused. “I just couldn’t say no. Me and Bo are cousins, but we’re more like brothers. Besides, Mr. Andy knew that Bo visited that clearing from time to time, and he never said nothing.”

“What?” Tom asked. This was interesting.

“Sure enough. I been leasing that land to farm for ten years, and seem like every year on the anniversary of his daddy’s death and sometimes on Christmas or Bo’s momma’s birthday, Bo would end up out there. A few times on those nights I’d come back in the morning and he’d still be there, curled up and sleeping on the banks of the pond. One of those times Mr. Andy was with me.”

“Really?” Tom asked.

Booker T. nodded. “And he didn’t say nothing neither. Just looked at Bo, sighed, and drove away.”

“So I guess it doesn’t surprise you that Bo would want to come to the clearing on the anniversary of his father’s death?” Tom asked.

“Not at all. Like I said, he came every year on the anniversary, and I knew he was coming this year because he asked me for the code.”

“Do you think Andy Walton would have known that?”

Booker T. shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m sure it wouldn’t have surprised him.

“Were you on the farm last Thursday night?” Tom asked.

“No.”

“So you didn’t see anything.”

“No, I did not.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” There was a hint of desperation in Tom’s voice.

“Nothing you want to hear,” Booker T. said, draining the rest of his mug and standing from the table. “Want to know something else that doesn’t surprise me?”

“What?”

Booker T. threw a few dollar bills on the table for a tip. “It doesn’t surprise me a bit that Bo finally snapped and killed Mr. Andy. He’s been thinking about it his whole life. I probably heard him say a hundred times that he was going to kill Andy Walton one day. And with Jazz gone . . .”

Tom’s thoughts leapfrogged a few weeks to trial. Booker T. on the stand and General Lewis finishing her examination with this doozy: “Did the defendant ever tell you that he was going to kill Andy Walton?”

Only about a hundred times.

“Mr. Rowe, what did Bo think about you working for the man that murdered his father?” It was a question that Tom had intended to ask Bo, but he thought he’d try it out on Booker T. When he saw the big man’s reaction, he immediately knew he had made a mistake.

Booker T. stood there, stunned for a second or two, just staring. Then he slowly leaned over the table and brought his face to within an inch of Tom’s. “Now you listen here, Professor. I work for myself. I farm that land the way I want to farm that land. All I do is cut the Waltons a rental check. I don’t work for them at all. I use their ass and their land to make a buck.” He scowled, and Tom thought the temperature in the room had dropped ten degrees in a few seconds. “Bo didn’t have no problem with that at all.” He started to walk away, then stopped. “You tell my cousin that I’m pulling for him but that I’m not gonna lie. I’m not going to go to jail for his ass.”

As Booker T. stormed out of the restaurant, Tom flagged the waitress down for the check. After paying the tab, he was heading for the door when he heard his cell phone chirp. He read the text from Ray Ray, which was short and sweet.

Bad news from the Sundowners. We need to talk. Bo’s office at nine?

Tom replied, Better make it 9:30. I still need to hit Kathy’s. Then he sighed as he walked out into the muggy night.