The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(92)

With love,



Carla Yost



Wilma was numb. No. It was all for them. Everything. All of it. For them. Not me. Them. She walked back to her bedroom and saw the blinking light on the answering machine. No.

She pushed it. “You have one saved message,” the monotone message voice said. “Received 10.30pm, Monday.”

“Monday? What was I doing...” Wilma closed her eyes, thinking of all the rufies he had forced her to take. The long blackouts. No.

The message began with static. Then his voice.

“Ah, God, Wilma this is so good. You. You are so good.” It was JimBone. She could hear panting in the background. Then a low moan. She recognized the sounds as her own. But she couldn’t remember.

“My God, woman. Now you better beg for it. Come on now, bitch. Beg.” She could hear a thud, and knew it was the back of his hand hitting her head.

“Fuck me,” her own voice whined from the machine, slurring the words.

“Damn. Damn! Wilma. You are one good whore. Come on now, bitch. You’re being paid top dollar for this dick. Let me see your best. Don’t pass out on me.”

She heard laughing and more panting. Then his voice again.

“Since you won’t remember any of this, sweet Wilma, I’m leaving you a little reminder of the greatest couple of nights of your life. Courtesy of the Bone.”

Click.



She must’ve lay on the bed for two hours without moving. Crumpled up in the fetal position. Slowly whispering, “No. No. No. Nothing for me. Everything for them. Nothing for me. Everything for them.” At some point, she lost control and started sobbing. Crying so hard she thought her heart would stop.

Finally, she got up and walked over to her dresser. She pulled the pistol out of the top drawer and slowly loaded it.

What comes around goes around.

She knew it was true. Your actions eventually catch up to you. She took off all her clothes and turned on the overhead light in the bedroom. Then she looked in the mirror, and pointed the pistol at her head.

You deserve this. You f*cking earned it, you whore.

Then she closed her eyes.

And pulled the trigger.





82


When Rick hung up the phone, his face told the story.

“Still nothing?” Tom asked.

“Nothing,” Rick said, his face ashen and his eyes blood red. “What are we going to do? Without Faith, the plan doesn’t work.”

Tom rubbed his chin and glanced inside the courtroom, seeing the bailiff walking out of Cutler’s chambers. They had run out of time.

“Whether it works or not, we have to follow it,” Tom said, opening the door. “We can’t wait.”

“ALL RISE!”

The courtroom was again filled to capacity. As he walked down the aisle, Tom kept his eyes straight ahead, forcing himself not to look. His stomach was starting to hurt on a regular basis, but he ignored the pain.

As Judge Cutler strode into the courtroom, Tom calmly placed a copy of the bill of lading on Tyler’s table.

“We plan to introduce the original today as part of our rebuttal,” Tom said. “We were given it yesterday afternoon by Dick Morris’ cousin.”

Tyler glanced at the document, but if he was surprised by it, he didn’t show it. Never let them see you sweat, Tom thought, admiring his former friend’s cool.

“It’s too late to be surprising us with documents, Professor,” he said. “You’ll never get it into evidence.”

“Really? Well, I have a lot of surprises in store for you today, Jamo,” Tom said, smiling. “And I’ve got a little bit of experience with evidence.”

Tom turned away, just as the Judge was seating himself behind the bench.

“Mr McMurtrie and Mr Drake,” the Judge said, looking over his bifocals at them. “Are you going to be calling any rebuttal witnesses?”

Tom felt a rush of adrenaline as the Judge met his eye. “Yes, your honor. Yes, we are.”

“Very well, call your next witness.”

Tom looked at the jury, who all appeared alert and ready to go. Then he glanced at Tyler, who was going over the bill of lading with his associate. Time for the next surprise, Jamo, Tom thought, his heartbeat racing. He nodded at Rick for the go-ahead, and his young partner rose to his feet and spoke in a voice that carried to the back of the courtroom.

“Your honor, the plaintiff re-calls Ms Rose Batson.”





83


As Rose Batson walked down the aisle, Jameson Tyler put a sticky note on the bill of lading and handed it to his associate. “As subtle as you can, hand this to Mr Willistone,” Jameson said, trying to keep his voice steady. If they get that document in, the case is over, he thought. Pickup at 9.57 and due in Montgomery by 11.00. If that bill is legit, then Newton had to speed to make it on time. And we lose. We lose big.

Tyler turned to watch Rose Batson take her seat at the witness stand. Why the hell is he calling her again? he wondered, feeling uneasy. This was not how he had envisioned the morning going. He had thought he’d be moving for judgment as a matter of law right now, and getting the negligent training and supervision claim thrown out. Now, it appeared that the Professor and Drake might have found the smoking gun on negligent training and supervision and... Rose Batson is about to testify? Again?