Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(68)

Tom looked across the nearly empty courtroom, allowing his eyes to settle on Mrs. Walton, or “Ms. Maggie” as he’d heard Bo refer to her. She was an attractive, striking woman with her thick white hair and ankle-length black dress, perfectly suited for a woman in mourning. She sat with her shoulders back and held what looked like a Bible in her lap. She is certainly playing the role of the grieving widow, Tom thought, wondering if Ms. Maggie’s manner of dress and Bible toting were her own idea or something encouraged by the General to play to the jury.

Rick had tried on several occasions in the lead-up to trial to meet with Ms. Maggie, but she didn’t return any of his calls. Finally, Dr. George Curtis had left a message that if Rick called his sister again, he was going to notify the police.

Seeming to sense that she was being watched, Ms. Maggie turned her head and looked at him. Caught redhanded, Tom forced a smile, but she didn’t return the gesture. Instead, she turned away from him and seemed to whisper something to herself, which Tom would’ve guessed were words like “Of all the nerve.”

“She’s a cold glass of water, huh?” Bo said, placing his hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“Arctic,” Tom said, smiling at his friend. Bo wore a navy-blue suit, white shirt, and light-blue tie. It was nice to see him in something other than jail clothes. “How you holding up?” Tom asked.

Bo shrugged. “Nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs,” he said. “But I’m glad to be out of that cell.” He paused. “I can’t believe you’re here, Professor. After the beating you took . . .”

“They’d have to kill me to keep me out of this courtroom,” Tom said.

Bo’s eyes started to water and he looked away.

“I know we’ve gone over this, Bo, but Rick is going to do most of the legwork in the trial. Opening statements, the examinations, and closing argument. I’m flying copilot this week. My health—”

“I’m just glad you’re here, Professor,” Bo interrupted. “That’s enough for me.”

“Awful quiet in here,” Rick said, joining them at the defense table. Dressed in a charcoal-gray suit, blue shirt, and red tie, he appeared sleek and ready for battle.

“That’ll change very soon,” Tom said. “Once the jury is in the box, it’s going to be like Bryant-Denny Stadium on a fall Saturday.”

Media coverage of jury selection was prohibited by Tennessee law. “But once the jury is selected,” Judge Connelly had informed them earlier that morning, “I’m going to allow the case to be televised.”

Tom was a little surprised that Helen Lewis hadn’t objected. His research regarding cameras in the courtroom revealed that when jurors realized that the case was being seen all over the world, they were more likely to make sure they were being very cautious. The biggest example of this was probably the O. J. trial, where a jury acquitted Simpson of the murder of his wife. But Tom knew that Helen Lewis loved the fact that this case was going to be national news.

“Where is Ray Ray?” Tom asked, turning around in a circle and seeing no sign of their local counsel. “This is his part, for God’s sake.” The case would begin with jury selection, and the defense team would be leaning heavily on the thoughts and advice of Ray Ray Pickalew. Tom also wanted the jury pool to see Ray Ray sitting at the table with them. Tom and Rick were strangers to the area, but Ray Ray was part of the community.

“I don’t know,” Rick said.

Tom glanced at his watch. 8:52 a.m. Eight minutes till go time. He looked down at his legal pad but didn’t read his notes. His mind was lost in thought. He felt a hand tug on his arm, and he looked up into the eyes of General Helen Lewis.

“Last chance. Life sentence. Eligible for parole after thirty years for good behavior. This will be our last offer.” Helen fired off the plea deal like it was coming out of a machine gun.

Tom leaned over the table and whispered the deal into Bo’s ear. Without hesitation, Bo shook his head, never looking Helen’s way.

“No,” Tom said, turning back to her.

“Suit yourself,” Helen said, but her voice sounded as if she was not displeased in the least that Bo had refused. In fact, Tom thought he heard a giddiness in her tone, which made him cringe. Again, he couldn’t help but think of the O. J. case. Win, lose, or draw, Helen Lewis was going to come out of this trial as one of the most famous lawyers in the country.

“Professor, Bo, look!” Rick whispered loudly, pointing to the entrance to the courtroom. Tom and Bo both turned to see Ray Ray Pickalew standing in the front door. On his right, clutching his arm, was Jasmine Haynes. Behind them was a tall, gangly teenage boy.

“Oh my God,” Bo said under his breath as he blinked his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he looked at Tom, who was nudging him toward the door. “Go,” Tom mouthed, and Bo forced his wobbly legs to move.

The former Jasmine Henderson, whom Bo had called Jazz since the first time they met, had milk chocolate skin, her hair brown and wavy and cut to just below her neck. She wore an elegant navy dress with an orange corsage above the heart. “You’re . . . beautiful,” Bo managed.

Jazz smiled, though her eyes had filled with tears. “You’re gonna win,” she said.

Then, unable to control himself any longer, Bo pulled her to him, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for being here.”