The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(68)

Last night, she had been awake long enough to realize that they were staying at a Quality Inn in Tuscaloosa. The room was a business suite with a Jacuzzi right in the middle of it. Nice room, Wilma had thought, but then she’d been forced to take another pill, and the haze set back in. Occasionally, she opened her eyes and saw him on top of her, but she couldn’t feel anything. It was as if she were watching a horror movie, and she was the main character.

As they pulled onto the courthouse square, a sense of dread overcame Wilma. This is it. She thought of Rick Drake and that pretty girl he brought with him to the Sands. Of the lady whose family died. Of Dewey. Poor, sweet Dewey. This is all so wrong. She closed her eyes and tried to shake it off. I can’t go back. She took a tube of lipstick out of her purse and applied a fresh batch.

“All right, you know what to do,” JimBone said as he pulled into a parking space a block from the courthouse. “And you know what the consequences are if you don’t.” His look was cold. Businesslike.

“I know.” As if she could forget. Since cutting the deal, JimBone had visited the Sundowners Club once a week to remind Wilma of those consequences, and just two weeks earlier, Jack Willistone himself had made an appearance.

She opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk, clearing her mind of everything but her girls. “Nothing for me. Everything for them,” she whispered to herself as she walked toward the marble stone building with the words “Henshaw County Courthouse” imprinted on the front.





57


Fifteen minutes later, there was still no sign of Wilma, and Rick knew Tyler was near the end.

“Ms Batson, you are the only eyewitness to this accident, correct?” Jameson asked, his voice rising to reach all corners of the courtroom.

Ms Rose shrugged. “Far as I know. Weren’t nobody else at the store.”

“And, based on your statement, the Honda turned in front of the rig, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And the rig was just a hundred yards away when the Honda started turning?”

“Yes.”

Tyler nodded and looked at the jury, as if telling them without words, I told you so. “No further questions.”

Judge Cutler immediately turned to Rick. “Re-direct, Mr Drake?”

“No, your honor,” Rick said, wishing there was something else he could ask Ms Rose, but knowing there wasn’t. He was out of time.

“Very well,” Cutler said, turning to smile at the jury. “Mr Drake, please call your next witness.”

Rick’s stomach tightened into a knot as he thought of any possible way to delay the trial. A bathroom break was as good as he could do. Rising from his chair, he started to ask for one, but, before he could speak, he felt a hard tap on his shoulder. He wheeled around and saw Powell, grinning, his face red as a beet. “She’s here, dude. She’s here.”

“Your honor,” Rick said, turning back to the bench and forcing his voice to be firm. “The plaintiff calls Ms Wilma Newton.”





58


The Judge’s bailiff opened the double doors and ushered Wilma through them. From the back of the courtroom, Wilma could see the Judge. The jury. Rick Drake – looking dashing in a black charcoal suit. And, to her left, sitting at the defendant’s table, Jack Willistone. She walked slowly, trying to be elegant. Nothing for me. Everything for them. Nothing for me. Everything for them. She repeated it over and over in her thoughts as she passed Rick and sat in the witness chair.

“Raise your right hand, please, ma’am,” Judge Cutler said in a booming voice.

Wilma did as she was told.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

Wilma saw the doors open and another man enter the courtroom. Her stomach tightened. The man had sandy blonde hair and a six-foot-four-inch frame, and wore his customary golf shirt and khakis. JimBone Wheeler was in the house.

“I do.”



“Ms Newton, would you please introduce yourself to the jury,” Rick said, walking along the jury railing and looking into a few of the jurors’ eyes before looking back at Wilma. Wilma’s late entrance had given him no time to talk with her or ask her about the affidavit. Can’t worry about that now, Rick thought, trying to stay focused and calm. His heart was beating so fast he could barely keep his voice steady.

“My name is Wilma Newton.”

“Where are you from, Ms Newton?”

“I was born in Boone’s Hill, Tennessee. Moved to Tuscaloosa when I was eighteen years old to be with my husband.”

“Who was your husband, Ms Newton?”

“Dewey.”

“And what was his full name?”

“Harold Newton.”

“The same Harold Newton that was killed in the accident that we’re here about today?”

“Yes, sir.”

She’s doing great, Rick thought, his heart still pounding in his chest. She looks good. Sounds genuine. Let’s ease into it.

“At the time of his death, was Mr Newton employed by Willistone Trucking Company?”

“He was.”

“How long had he been employed by Willistone?”

“Not sure exactly. Seven, eight years.”