Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(81)
“Brother, I think you really need that cup of coffee. We saw Cappy Limbaugh in his car. We saw him drive to that bus and get on it. There was no one else with him.”
“He was wearing a costume the whole time. We never saw his face.”
For a long moment Wade just looked at Powell. Then, sighing, he nodded his head. “True.” He walked to the Charger and reached inside the open window, grabbing the microphone. “Yeah, give me the Lawrenceburg Sheriff’s Office,” he blared.
“Wade,” Powell said, his voice scratchy from lack of sleep, “have them search the car.”
“There’s no probable cause for a search, partner. What crime do we suspect him of?”
“Harboring a fugitive,” Powell scratched back. “Abandoning his car on private property. Anything. Just see if someone can get in that car.”
“What will they be looking for?” Wade asked.
“The trunk,” Powell scratched. “See if there’s anything in the trunk or backseat showing that another person could’ve been in the car. And have someone drive by the Sleepy Head. If Limbaugh is sitting in there right now running the front desk, then someone else drove to that church. Someone else could be out here.” Powell pointed to the Klansmen, most of whom were now gathered on the south side of the square, milling in front of Rost Jewelers and the Sam Davis statue.
“Powell, that’s crazy talk.”
“Just do it, brother,” Powell said, walking over to the wrought-iron bench in front of Reeves and sitting down. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a bad premonition. As a prosecutor and a trial lawyer, you learned to trust your instincts and hunches, and Powell knew something was terribly wrong.
67
As expected, the first witness for the prosecution on Thursday morning was Larry Tucker. After the surveillance video was introduced showing Bo’s Lexus pulling out of the exit at 1:20 a.m., Helen asked Larry where he was on the night of the murder.
“I was at the home of Tammie Gentry, one of the dancers at the club.” Then he added, “I’ve been seeing Tammie for almost a year.”
Short, sweet, and devastating, Tom thought.
At 11:30 a.m., after concluding her case with testimony from a DNA specialist showing that the blood and hair follicles found in the cargo area of Bo’s Lexus matched that of Andy Walton, General Helen Lewis addressed the court. “Your Honor, the state rests.”
68
Judge Connelly recessed for lunch, but Tom didn’t want to leave the courthouse, not when Ray Ray could show up any minute with the most important witness in the case. He sent Rick out for sandwiches and waited at the counsel table. When his knee began to ache so bad he couldn’t stand it any longer, he got up to move around, walking with his cane through the second-floor lobby and finally stopping to look out a window.
The number of Klansmen on the square was enough to take his breath away. He had heard of Klan rallies and gatherings that rivaled this, but he had never seen one. Tom also noticed a few orange ribbons attached to the front doors and windows of some of the businesses. In fact, as he surveyed the square more closely, it appeared that the majority of people who weren’t wearing the white robe and hood of the Klan were dressed in orange. Tom smiled, thinking again of the subtle brilliance of Jazz’s corsage.
“It’s a circus, isn’t it?”
Tom turned toward the harsh voice, and Maggie Walton was standing behind him. As on the three prior days of trial, she wore a conservative black dress, and black gloves covered her hands. Her face carried little makeup, and the lines of age were visible on her forehead. But standing right next to her, Tom had to admit that she had a natural beauty about her.
Without waiting for Tom to answer, Maggie added, “Andy would have hated this.” She crossed her arms and stood next to him. “He spent the last three decades of his life trying to distance himself from the Klan.” She sighed. “And now here they are. Using his murder as a pretext to try and rally support for their cause.”
“It’s pretty sad,” Tom said, not really knowing what to say. “What do you make of the orange ribbons everywhere?”
She scoffed. “Just as ridiculous. Like holding an umbrella up during a hurricane. I wish everybody here would just ignore the Klan. What? Do they think dressing up in orange and supporting a murderer makes the town look any better?” She paused. “Idiots. Just like Bo’s wife with her stupid corsage.”
Tom raised his eyebrows and turned to face her.
“Oh, I’ve noticed that. She must think she is so smart.” Maggie smirked and then let out another sigh. “This whole thing is an outrage and an embarrassment.” Her voice was clipped and hard. “Bo could end this circus if he would just plead guilty.”
“He won’t do that, Mrs. Walton. Bo didn’t kill your husband.”
She scoffed and shook her head. “He’s going to end up getting the gas chamber.”
“Lethal injection,” Tom corrected. “Tennessee uses lethal injection to put prisoners to death.”
“Whatever.”
Tom felt stung by the coldness of her tone. “Aren’t you the least bit concerned that someone else might have done this?” Tom asked.