Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(87)

Bo took it and leaned over him, grabbing his shoulder and kissing his check. “Thank you, Professor.”

From behind Bo came Jasmine Haynes, who planted her own kiss on Tom’s forehead. “Thank you, Professor. Thank you so much.”

Then there was Rick, extending his hand. “We did it, Professor,” Rick said.

Coming out of his funk, Tom shook his partner’s hand and motioned both him and Bo to come closer. “We need to talk with Ray Ray,” he said. Then, holding his eyes on Bo’s, “It’s not finished yet.” He paused and exhaled a ragged breath. “Not all of it.”





76


Deputy Hank Springfield led Ray Ray Pickalew down the winding staircase to the lobby floor of the courthouse. Ray Ray’s hands were cuffed behind him. On most days the courtroom was empty at 4:45 p.m. Today it was a madhouse, and both the second floor and lobby floor were humming with reporters, spectators, and friends of either Bo or the Waltons. Most of them had either watched Ray Ray’s confession live or seen it on television. Questions poured in from every direction. “Why did you wait so long to come forward, Mr. Pickalew?” “Did the state offer you a deal for your testimony?” “Are you still in the Ku Klux Klan?”

Ray Ray ignored all the questions, keeping his head down. He hadn’t said a word since Hank had entered Judge Connelly’s clerk’s office to lead him away.

At the foot of the stairs Hank heard a familiar voice yelling behind him.

“Hank, wait!” Bocephus Haynes shuffled down the stairs, with Rick Drake following behind. The reporters and spectators had crowded around them to the point where movement was becoming difficult.

More questions poured in. “Mr. Haynes, is there anything you’d like to say now that the trial is over?” “Mr. Haynes, do you feel vindicated?” “Mr. Haynes, do you believe Mr. Pickalew’s confession to your father’s murder?”

At the mention of Ray Ray’s name, Bo looked past Hank to Ray Ray, whose hands were cuffed behind his back. Bo stepped forward, his gaze burning into Ray Ray, who lowered his eyes to the ground.

“Why’d you do it, Ray Ray?” Bo asked, leaning toward him so that none of the spectators and reporters could hear him. “Why now?”

“Bo, there is a time and place for those questions,” Hank said, beginning to move forward with Ray Ray and motioning for the deputies in front and back to do the same. They walked in what almost looked like a conga line toward the double doors leading out to the west side of the square. “This isn’t it.”

“Wait,” Bo said. “One question, Ray Ray. Right now I have to know.”

The deputy in front pushed the doubled doors open, and sunlight poured through the opening. Bo was momentarily blinded and held his arm up to block the sun. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Bo, let’s go back inside,” Rick said. “We can ask him later. It’s too crazy out there.”

But Bo wasn’t listening. He needed to talk with Ray Ray, and he didn’t want to wait. He had waited forty-five years, and he would not wait any longer.

He continued to follow Hank, Ray Ray, and the other deputies out the doors of the courthouse.



Rick trailed Bo through the doors to the outside, feeling his cell phone rattle in his pocket. He grabbed for it and saw that he had missed eleven text messages. Ten were from Powell. In all the excitement over Ray Ray’s testimony, Rick had turned his phone on silent and forgotten to check it.

As he descended the steps, Rick scrolled through them all. The first one read: Do not exit the courthouse without police protection. Probably nothing, but I think JimBone may be on the square. All of the others were shortened to: Don’t leave the courthouse without calling me first.

Damnit, Rick thought, looking up into the bright light and seeing a wave of white-hooded and white-robed Klansmen lining the west side of the square. “Bo, wait!” Rick yelled, but his voice was drowned out by the questions of the reporters closing in around them. The Klansmen, who were being kept at bay by four or five deputies who had cleared a path from the courthouse steps to Hank’s squad car, had also begun to hurl expletives and chants of “Murderer” when they recognized Bo.

Pressing forward, Rick tried to catch up.

There were still several reporters in front of him when he heard the first gunshot.





77


A courtroom is an eerie place when a trial is over. In a matter of seconds a room that was filled with energy and people, where life and death hung in the balance, becomes as empty as a vacant lot and as silent as a morgue. In some ways it reminded Tom of the feeling of being on a football field after a game. He had always enjoyed walking the field postgame, looking up at the empty stands and remembering places where key plays had been made. There was a sense of satisfaction, especially after a win, to walk the ground that had just been plowed with competition. Though Tom had never served in the military, he figured it was the same way a general felt when he walked an empty battlefield after the fight was over. Sacred ground, Tom thought.

“Professor McMurtrie, OK if I turn off the lights?” The court’s bailiff was standing in the doorway to the judge’s chambers.

Tom blinked and nodded his head. “Sure, that’s fine.”

“How about you, General?”