Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(74)

“Great work, Deputy,” Wade said, nodding his head.

“It’s not great unless we find her,” Hank said.

“All right then,” Powell said, slapping his hands together. “You got copies of her photograph for me and Wade?”

Hank nodded and pulled a folder out of the front passenger seat of the squad. “Photographs of Booher and Wheeler. My hunch is that JimBone’s been hiding out here with her.” He paused. “I mean, think about it. What better disguise for Wheeler than to blend in with the Amish? Given how adept he’s been at changing his appearance and that he was seen at Kathy’s Tavern with a beard, I think that’s got to be it.”

They all looked at each other, the intensity palpable. If what Hank said was true, they were very close to finding the most wanted man in three states. “Everybody packing?” Powell asked, slapping the holster on his side. It was unusual for Powell to carry a gun, but this was a bizarre situation. Hank was double holstered, and Wade opened up his jacket to reveal a Glock 41 pistol tucked into his pants.

Powell nodded. “Let’s roll then.”





56


Similar to the preliminary hearing, Helen Lewis began the trial by establishing motive. In order, she called all four eyewitnesses to the confrontation at Kathy’s Tavern—Cassie Dugan, Clete Sartain, Dr. George Curtis, and even Maggie Walton. Mrs. Walton had been particularly effective, Tom thought, describing to the jury her private interaction with Bo after the other three had left the bar. “I was just trying to get him to leave my husband alone,” Maggie said. “But I fear that finding out Andy was dying sent Bo over the edge.” Tom objected to the characterization, and Connelly sustained, but the damage was done.

By day’s end Tom knew that there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in any of the minds of the jurors that Bocephus Haynes had the necessary motive to kill Andy Walton.

“The first day of trial is always bad for the defense,” Tom had whispered to a downtrodden Bo after Judge Connelly had adjourned the jury. “You know that.”

“I know. I just hope to hell it gets better,” Bo said as the sheriff’s deputies led him away.

Me too, Tom thought, closing his eyes and putting his head in his hands. But not tomorrow, he knew. Tomorrow the General would put on the physical evidence—the real strength of her case.

It’s gonna get worse before it gets better, he knew, opening his eyes and packing up his briefcase.





57


By 6:00 p.m. Hank, Wade, and Powell had covered almost every square inch of the Amish settlement in Ethridge. The good news was that numerous people had recognized Martha Booher’s picture, and they were even able to locate her cabin. The bad news was that no one had seen Booher on the settlement in over a week, and a search of her cabin revealed absolutely nothing. It was essentially bare.

Several people remembered that Booher’s nephew, whom they all described as a “large man,” had come to stay with her for a while a few months back, but none had gotten a great look at him. None were able to identify the man as JimBone Wheeler from the photographs.

Their last interview turned out to be the most productive. Booher’s next-door neighbor, Linda Whitaker, said that Martha had been going to Lawrenceburg a lot in the last month. She would take her nephew there in the wagon, and she’d come back without him.

As the sun began to set, they gathered around Hank Springfield’s squad car, each drinking black coffee from a Styrofoam cup. Finally, Powell said what they were all thinking. “We’ve got to cast a net around Lawrenceburg. If JimBone Wheeler is still operating in this area, that’s where he is.”

“Got to be,” Wade agreed.

Nodding along, Hank called the number for the Lawrence County Sheriff’s Office.





58


In Room 107 of the Sleepy Head Inn, JimBone Wheeler took off his Klan garb and sat down on the bed. Martha Booher lay on her side next to him.

“Well . . . ?” she said.

Bone shrugged and took a Busch Light Draft can out of the six-pack that Cappy had bought at a convenience store on the way back. He took a long swig from the can and offered one to Martha, but she refused.

“Going to be hard . . . but not impossible. They came out the doors to the east side today, which I suspect is the side they’ll always come out. They also entered from the east, and Haynes’s office is on the east.” He paused, taking another swig from the can. “There are a lot of factors. I need the crowd to be fairly large around them, but not so big I can’t get close. With Haynes being brought in and out of the courthouse by the deputies . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know. The trial is probably going to last a couple more days, so I’ll have at least four to six more chances.”

“What if you can’t get close enough?”

Bone shook his head and drained the rest of the beer. “I will.”





59


Melvin Ragland had been the Giles County Coroner since 1981. Melvin was a tall, thin man whose typical manner of dress was a pair of khaki pants and a short-sleeve, white button-down with two pens in the pocket. On Wednesday morning Melvin was the first witness called by the prosecution. He had added a blue blazer and red tie to his daily ensemble and took the stand in the calm and easy manner that you would expect from someone who had testified hundreds of times over the past three decades.