Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(36)
It was about to get a lot worse.
“Another Natty Light?” Cassie asked the man with the camouflage hat and gray T-shirt.
Bone nodded, watching McMurtrie from the corner of his eye. He could tell the old man was disappointed by whatever Cassie had told him. Bone knew it was risky being out in the open like this, but it was a calculated risk. The police sketch only vaguely resembled his current appearance, and the long hair, cap, and work clothes were almost as perfect a disguise as his Amish getup.
After an hour of “paying rent” at the cabin, Bone had asked Martha to drop him off at an Amish trading post just outside of Lawrenceburg. He had then walked from the trading post to the hotel where his truck was parked and arrived back in Pulaski around 8:00 p.m., just in time to get to Kathy’s a few minutes before McMurtrie.
As Cassie set the beer can in front of him, Bone stole a glance at the old professor, who had now stood up and was digging in his wallet for some cash. He’s leaving, Bone thought, fighting the urge to smile.
As the band in back started its first set with a cover of an old Eddy Raven number—“I Got Mexico”—Bone took a long sip of beer and followed McMurtrie out the door.
This was going to be so much fun.
Out on the sidewalk, McMurtrie was heading back up First Street toward the courthouse.
This should be easy as pie, Bone thought, reaching inside his work pants for the hammer as McMurtrie crossed Jefferson Street. Bone gripped the hammer tightly and held it by the head so that only the handle was visible. Then he reached under his left pant leg, where the revolver was strapped to the back of his calf. He put the gun in his left pocket. Just in case . . .
As McMurtrie passed Reeves Drug Store, Bone noticed that the sidewalk had darkened. All the businesses along this stretch were closed. Perfect, Bone thought, sliding his hand up the hammer to the handle and taking a deep breath. Then he began to count. A thousand one, a thousand two . . .
. . . now.
As he approached the intersection of First Street and Madison, Tom fiddled in his pocket for the keys to the office, dropping them on the sidewalk. He chuckled and bent down to pick them up. When he did, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He whirled around, and the head of the hammer was coming right at him.
His arms instinctively went up to block the blow, but it was too dark and he wasn’t fast enough. He felt a sharp pain on his forehead and then the sensation of falling.
Then everything went black . . .
The job took all of thirty seconds. Bone had parked his truck two blocks west of the square and he walked briskly toward it. A minute later he was leaving Pulaski on Highway 64 toward Lawrenceburg. On the way there he rolled the windows down and let the hot, humid air engulf him. He remembered the feel of his testicles being squeezed a year earlier in Tuscaloosa by Haynes, and though the old man hadn’t been the one who had done it, Bone held him partly responsible. Now we’re close to even, he thought.
But not entirely. Haynes and McMurtrie had cost Bone a lot of money. And his El Camino . . .
Tonight’s job was just the beginning.
It was nice being paid to get revenge, Bone thought, taking out his phone. He dialed the number, and it was answered on the first ring.
“Done,” Bone said.
PART THREE
23
“ALL RISE!” the bailiff bellowed. “The Circuit Court of Giles County, Tennessee is now in session.”
Rick and Ray Ray stood from their chairs at the defense table and watched as General Helen Lewis and Sheriff Ennis Petrie did the same from across the courtroom. Behind them, spectators lined both sides of the galley. The judge had not barred the press from the preliminary hearing, and they had come out in droves. She had, however, barred television and news cameras, though Rick wondered whether she would do that for the trial. Surely, Rick thought. Then he heard Powell’s voice in his mind telling him “Don’t call me Shirley,” the familiar refrain from the movie Airplane! Rick probably would have smiled if he wasn’t about to soil himself. His heart was beating so fast and hard that he could feel it.
“You OK?” Ray Ray asked to his right. Rick thought he smelled the slight undercurrent of whiskey on his local counsel’s breath, disguised by mouthwash and a hefty chunk of aftershave. There had been a basketball coach at Henshaw High that gave off that same smell. It didn’t bring back good memories.
“Yeah,” Rick said, glancing around the packed courthouse.
After several seconds Judge Susan Connelly strode into the courtroom. Her Honor was an attractive, petite woman in her early forties with short brown hair. Ray Ray had told Rick that drawing Connelly as judge was the first break the defense had received in the case, and Rick had no basis to disagree.
“Henry, please have the defendant brought in,” the judge directed once she was seated behind the bench.
The bailiff turned and walked past Rick out the doors to the courtroom. A few moments later two armed police officers escorted Bo to the defense table and unlocked his handcuffs.
“Rick,” Bo said, patting Rick’s shoulder. Then for the first time in the case, Bo came eye to eye with Raymond Pickalew.
“What, no hug?” Ray Ray asked, but Bo just gawked back at him. Then, sweeping his eyes over and around the defense table, Bo realized what was wrong, “Wh-where’s the Professor?” he stammered, his eyes cutting wildly to Rick.