The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(86)

Whiskey and rufies apparently don’t mix well, she thought, looking into her swollen eyes and feeling disgusted and ashamed.

She barely recognized herself. Who the hell am I?

She walked out of the bathroom. The bed was unmade, but she could still see the note. It was lying on a pillow like a mint left by housekeeping.



You talk. You die.



Despite how weak she felt, she managed to laugh. Man of few words, that JimBone. Crinkling up the note, she stood and saw her figure in the mirror facing the bed. She felt her lip starting to quiver, and tried to hold it in.

She had been raped. Beaten. Broken.

And bought. She let go and the tears came. It was over.

Finally.





76


“So let me get this straight, Mr Willistone...” Tom began, taking his customary stance at a forty-five-degree angle between the witness stand and jury box. Tyler’s motion for judgment as a matter of law had been denied and Jack Willistone, Tyler’s first witness, had just testified on direct examination that Dewey Newton was supervised appropriately and that Dewey’s driving schedules were within DOT guidelines.

“On September 2, 2009, Willistone Trucking Company knew that Dewey Newton had received two speeding tickets in the past six months while trying to make deliveries on time?”

“Yes,” Jack responded, without hesitation.

“Armed with that knowledge, Willistone Trucking Company put Mr Newton on the road that day.”

“Yes. Two tickets in seven years is an acceptable driving record.” Jack remained calm and matter-of-fact. Tom walked across the courtroom and stood behind Ruth Ann’s chair.

“And, while on the road that day, Dewey Newton had an accident that killed Ruth Ann Wilcox’s entire family?” Tom let his eyes move to the jury then back to Jack.

“Yes, there was an accident. Mr Newton also lost his life.” Jack was appropriately somber. Tom nodded, then walked slowly back to within a few feet of the jury railing. Time to throw the curve.

“It takes about an hour and a half to get from Tuscaloosa to Montgomery on Highway 82, doesn’t it, Mr Willistone?”

Jack wrinkled his brow. “I...”

“You’re familiar with that route, aren’t you?” Tom was taking a chance here, but not a big one. He could prove this fact with another witness. But it would be more effective later if Jack would give it to him.

“Well... yeah,” Jack said, his brow still furled. “That is a standard run for our crew.”

“Takes an hour and a half, doesn’t it?”

Jack shrugged. “’Bout that. Give or take five minutes either way.”

“You couldn’t do it in an hour, could you?” Tom asked.

Jack glared at Tom, the two men locking eyes. For the first time in the examination, Jack Willistone looked put out. I know something you don’t know, Tom tried to say with his eyes.

“Are you asking me if it’s possible?” Jack asked, recovering and forcing himself to chuckle.

“That’s exactly what I’m asking,” Tom said, glancing at the jury. “For example, let’s say a driver decided to go 80 miles an hour the entire way. He could make it then, couldn’t he?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Tom looked at the jury for effect, and he could tell they were all listening. “If Dewey Newton had to make it to Montgomery in one hour from the Ultron plant in Tuscaloosa, he’d have to go over the speed limit of 65 miles per hour, wouldn’t he, Mr Willistone?”

Jack folded his arms across his body. “That’s not what happened here, but, hypothetically, the answer to your question is yes.”

“Dewey was going 80 at the time of the accident, wasn’t he?” Tom pressed.

“According to the officer,” Jack said, nodding.

“According to the sheriff, Mr Willistone. You’re not telling this fine jury in Henshaw County that Sheriff Ballard was wrong in determining Dewey Newton’s speed, are you?”

“No,” Jack said. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“And if the schedule you put a driver on forces him to speed, then you’ve violated DOT regulations, haven’t you?”

“Well... yes, but Dewey’s schedule was fine.”

Tom glared at Jack, pausing for effect. “Yet, on September 2, 2009–” Tom lowered his voice “–at the time of the accident that killed Bob Bradshaw, Jeannie Bradshaw and two year-old Nicole Bradshaw...” Tom’s voice was now just above a whisper, his eyes locked on the jury.

“... Dewey Newton was speeding, correct?”

“Yes.”

Tom kept his eyes on the jury, making eye contact with several of them. “I have no further questions, your honor.”



Jack’s body tingled with adrenaline as he walked back to the defense table. It had been a long time since Jack had faced off against a man who had shown no fear in his presence. This man, this Tom McMurtrie, was different. Jack could see it in the sonofabitch’s flat eyes. He had come after Jack. Challenged him.

Still, what bothered Jack wasn’t his own performance during McMurtrie’s examination, but the questions themselves. The only reason the bastard asks those questions is if he’s got something else. He’s setting us up.