Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(76)

Tom thought the idea was both subtle and brilliant. And as his eyes moved across the courtroom to the balcony above, he noticed a number of other people wearing shades of orange, and some of the women, white and black alike, had mimicked Jazz’s corsage. The message was getting across . . .

Tom eventually lowered his eyes to the front row behind the prosecution table, where Maggie Walton again wore the garb of a widow in mourning—black dress, black gloves, and the Holy Bible in her lap. He couldn’t help but be struck by the contrast between the spouses of the victim and the defendant. Maggie, sitting like a statue in her black garments and white hair, and Jazz with the orange flower over her heart, arms locked with her teenage son’s. He tried to imagine what the scene looked like on television, and he figured Jazz and T. J. had to appear more sympathetic than Maggie. It wasn’t much, but given how bad the first two and a half days of trial had gone for the defense, Tom would take points wherever he could get them.



Helen was as good as her word, and Booker T. was in the witness chair less than an hour. First, the General covered Booker T.’s providing Bo Haynes with the code to the gate leading into Walton Farm. “So the defendant would easily have had access to Walton Farm on the night Andy Walton was murdered?”

In a defeated voice, Booker T. had agreed.

Then Helen took Booker T. through his relationship with Bo. That he and Bo were cousins and they had grown up in the same house after Bo’s daddy had died and his mother left town. Helen ended with Booker T. testifying that he had heard Bo say on “numerous occasions” that he would one day kill Andy Walton. He could not remember the last time he’d heard Bo say those words, but it was within the last year. Then, unprompted, Booker T. shrugged and volunteered, “He said that all the time.”

There was a stirring in the gallery, and Tom saw Jazz take hold of T. J.’s hand in the row behind the defense table. Moving his eyes to the other side of the courtroom, Tom noticed that Maggie Walton had crossed her arms and was staring at Bo with smug satisfaction.

“No further questions,” Helen said, knowing that she couldn’t have asked for a better ending to her examination.

At first the flippant manner in which Booker T. had volunteered the statement angered Tom, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Bo gripping his fists underneath the table. Then he saw the opening Booker T.’s demeanor provided. Tom led with it on cross, beginning the first question before he was even out of his chair.

“Mr. Rowe, you never reported Mr. Haynes to the police on any of these occasions when Mr. Haynes said he was going to kill Andy Walton, did you?”

Booker T. shook his head. “No, sir. I didn’t.” His voice was both annoyed and angry.

“Why?”

“Objection, Your Honor.” Helen Lewis was out of her chair, and her own annoyed look made Tom know he had just hit the sweet spot if he could get it in front of the jury. “The reasoning behind why Mr. Rowe didn’t report Mr. Haynes on these prior occasions is completely irrelevant.”

“Overruled,” Judge Connelly said, waving her hand at Helen like she might be a fly. “You opened the door to this, General. I’m going to allow it.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Rowe, do you remember the question?”

“Very well,” he said, his deep voice carrying out over the entire courtroom. Tom imagined that he sounded like a preacher to those watching on television. “I never reported Bo’s statements saying he was going to kill Mr. Walton to the police, because I never thought Bo would do such a thing.”

Having scored the only points he could, the rest of Tom’s examination focused on Bo’s affinity for visiting the clearing where his father was murdered. Just as he had told Tom during their encounter at the Legend’s Steakhouse, Booker T. told the jury that the clearing was “exactly where he would expect Bo to go” on the anniversary of his father’s murder.

Finally, Tom walked over to the evidence table and picked up the twelve-gauge, holding it with his palms out, first for the jury to see and then showing it to Booker T. “Mr. Rowe, do you recognize this gun?” Tom placed his thumb on the initials on the handle.

“Sure do,” Booker T. said, smiling. “That is Bo’s shotgun.”

“And how do you recognize it as Bo’s gun?”

Booker T. pointed at the handle. “It’s got his initials on there. ‘BAH.’” Booker T. paused. “I gave Bo that gun, and I stenciled the initials on there. Gave it to him when he came back here to practice law.”

Keeping his eyes on the jury, Tom asked his next question. “Mr. Rowe, on the occasions where you saw Bo at the clearing on Walton Farm, did you ever know him to bring this shotgun with him?”

Booker T. smiled and looked directly at the jury. “Every single time.”

“And did he ever tell you why he always brought the gun?”

“Didn’t have to. I know why. There’s wild animals on that farm. Bobcats, deer, snakes.”

“Do you carry a gun when you walk the farm during your work?”

Again, Booker T. looked at the jury. “Every single time.”

Tom nodded, watching the jurors. “Thank you, Mr. Rowe. I have no further questions.”





61


The net thrown over Lawrenceburg had turned up nothing. Hank, Wade, and Powell, along with all available deputies in the Lawrence County Sheriff’s Office, had searched every square inch of Lawrence County, and there was no sign of JimBone Wheeler.