Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(85)

Now, as she swept her eyes over the packed courtroom until they reached the cameras in back, she couldn’t escape an inevitable feeling of dread. While Ray Ray Pickalew was sworn in as a witness, the thought that Helen had suppressed since last night came over her like an arctic chill.

I might lose this case.



“Would you please state your name for the record?” Rick asked.

There had been no discussion about Ray Ray’s direct examination when Tom, Bo, and Rick returned to the counsel table. Rick had just plunged in.

Tom was having a hard time keeping his emotions in check—he could literally hear the thudding of his own heartbeat—and he was grateful for his partner’s calm. Next to Tom at the defense table, Bo sat in a trancelike state, gazing at Ray Ray as if he were a ghost. Forty-five years he’s waited for this moment, Tom thought.

“Raymond James Pickalew.”

“Mr. Pickalew, were you living in Pulaski, Tennessee in 1966?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause, and Tom could tell that Rick was wondering where to go next. He obviously hadn’t had time to prepare for this examination.

“Mr. Pickalew, are you aware that the testimony you are about to give may implicate you in a crime?”

“Yes, I am,” Ray Ray said.

“Mr. Pickalew . . . were you on Walton Farm in 1966 when Roosevelt Haynes was killed?”

“Objection, Your Honor. Lack of foundation.”

“Sustained,” Connelly said.

Rick shot a glance at Tom, who mouthed the words he’d taught three generations of trial team students: “Calm, slow, Andy.”

Rick nodded. “Mr. Pickalew, did you know Roosevelt Haynes?”

Ray Ray nodded. “Not well, but I knew who he was.”

“Did you know Andy Walton?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know Andy Walton?”

“I first met Andy in 1965. Right after I joined the Tennessee Knights of the Ku Klux Klan.”

“How long were you in the Klan?”

“Just over a year. I quit in August 1966.”

Rick felt his stomach leap. “Why did you quit?” Out of the corner of his eye, Rick saw Helen Lewis begin to stand, but she only made it halfway to her feet before returning to her seat.

Ray Ray turned his eyes directly to the jury. “I quit after me and nine of my Klan brethren hung Roosevelt Haynes from a tree on Walton Farm.”

Rick had thought the courtroom might explode, but it had become dead silent. It was so quiet that Rick could hear the faint hum of the air-conditioning unit kick in from somewhere in the building. He looked to the defense table and watched as his client, Bocephus Aurulius Haynes, slowly rose from his chair, his legs shaking and his arms trembling. Reacting without thinking, Rick walked over to Bo and stood by his side.

“You were there?” Rick asked, returning his attention to the witness stand.

“I was,” Ray Ray said. “And I’ve regretted it every day of my life.”

“Mr. Pickalew, how many men were present when Roosevelt Haynes was killed?”

“Ten.”

Rick sucked in a breath and glanced down at Tom, who nodded. It was time for the big finish.

“Mr. Pickalew, could you tell the jury who those ten men were?”

Ray Ray nodded, but he did not look at the jury. Instead, he kept his eyes focused on Bo, who remained standing. “Andy Walton was the Imperial Wizard of the Tennessee Chapter. He was our leader, and it was he who organized the mob that night.” Ray Ray paused. “Roosevelt’s hands were tied behind his back and he was placed on top of a horse. Dr. George Curtis and Larry Tucker held the horse, while Andy wrapped the noose around Roosevelt’s neck.”

From the jury box Rick heard sniffles. Millie Sanderson was now crying.

“I remember Andy said something right before . . . something about Roosevelt laying hands on Ms. Maggie. Then Roosevelt said something back. Then”—Ray Ray paused and hung his head in shame—“Andy slapped the back end of the horse, and George and Larry let go.”

The courtroom had now become a chorus of dismay. From her perch on the front row of the courtroom behind the defense table, Jasmine Haynes unabashedly cried, holding a handkerchief to dab her eyes. Rick felt dampness on his own cheeks as the gravity of the moment sunk in. Forty-five years . . .

“The other seven were Ferriday Montaigne, Samuel Baeder, Bull Campbell, Alvin Jennings, Rudy Snow, myself and”—Ray Ray paused, gazing with blank eyes at the prosecution table—“Ennis Petrie.”

There was a collective gasp from the gallery, and Rick turned to look at the prosecution table, where Sheriff Ennis Petrie held his head in his hands. Unbelievable, he thought. He turned to Bo, who was likewise gazing at the sheriff in disbelief.

“Your Honor, I have no further que— ”

“Wait.” Ray Ray’s voice shook with emotion as he kept his eyes fixed on Bo. “There’s one more thing I need to say.”

Bo straightened his back and sucked in his chest as if to steel himself to whatever bombshell Ray Ray was about to hurl now.

Rick knew a speech by the witness was improper, and he expected an objection from the prosecution table. But Helen Lewis remained glued to her chair. “OK, Ray Ray, what do you need to say?”