Part 4 (1/2)

”I was also glad to see Jack Willistone put out of business,” Helen continued. ”Jack had been running trucks up and down Highways 64 and 31 for years, collecting speeding tickets that always seemed to mysteriously disappear before we could prosecute them.” She paused, shaking her head in disgust. ”One of Jack's biggest customers was Andy Walton. If you hadn't put Jack in jail where he belongs, I bet his sorry a.s.s would be at Andy's funeral tomorrow.”

For a moment an awkward silence fell over the courtroom. Then the smile faded from Helen's face.

”What can I do for you, Tom?” she asked.

”Helen, we need to obtain some discovery from you,” Tom said. ”What do I-?”

”Hold it,” she interrupted, raising her hand to stop him. ”Tom, are you telling me that you are going to represent Bo in this case?”

Tom nodded, forcing a smile again. ”Yes. What did you think I was doing here?”

Helen didn't smile back. ”I was hoping you were here as a concerned friend and former teacher.” She paused, recrossing her legs. ”Bo is charged with capital murder, Tom. He shot Andy Walton in cold blood, hanged him from a tree on Andy's farm, and then set his body on fire. The evidence is overwhelming.”

”We'd like to see some of this evidence,” Tom said.

Helen peered up at him. ”Tom, you are barking up the wrong tree coming down here out of state, having been out of the courtroom as long as you have. As an old friend, I would strongly encourage you to not get involved. One big trucking verdict in Alabama doesn't mean you're ready for a capital murder trial in Tennessee.”

”We'd like to get some discovery from you,” Tom said, keeping his voice calm despite the surge of anger he felt. He was tiring of Helen's act.

Helen sighed and shook her head. ”There is no discovery in a criminal case in Tennessee before the grand jury issues an indictment and the defendant is arraigned, Tom. You would know this if you tried criminal cases in Tennessee on a regular basis. I really wish you would reconsider what you're doing.” She gazed at him with mock sympathy. ”I would hate for your legacy to be tarnished.”

Tom managed a grin. ”I'm not worried about that, Helen.” He held out his hand, and she stood to shake it. ”My notice of appearance will be filed first thing tomorrow morning.”

Tom started to walk away, and Helen's voice called after him. ”You'll need local counsel, Tom. You can't just waltz down here from Tuscaloosa and enter an appearance in a capital murder case. Since the primary thrust of your practice is in Alabama, you'll need local counsel.”

When he reached the double doors, Tom turned to face her.

”And don't think I'm going to educate you the whole way,” Helen continued. She had sat back down and had begun flipping through her file again. ”That's really not my-”

”Raymond Pickalew will be our local counsel, General,” Tom interrupted, addressing her for the first time by her formal t.i.tle. ”I believe you know Ray Ray.”

Helen looked up from the file, her eyes widening in bewilderment. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn't come.

He had finally rattled her.

”And if you aren't going to be forthcoming with the state's evidence, we'll be requesting an expedited preliminary hearing.”

Tom opened the door.

”The prelim is the defendant's right,” Helen said, her voice as hard as iron as she scowled at Tom from across the courtroom.

”I know it is,” Tom said, smiling at her and closing the door behind him.

10.

The law office of Raymond Pickalew was located on First Street, about a block south of the courthouse square and two doors down from Bo's office. The receptionist, a big-busted redhead named Bonnie who dressed in jeans and a low-cut sweater, said that her boss was working from home today. He lived in a cabin just off the Elk River about twenty minutes south of town. She had no qualms giving Tom the address of the cabin and Ray Ray's cell number but said, ”He's bad about not answering it.”

On the way to the cabin, Tom called Rick and filled him in on the meeting with Helen.

”I need you to research the requirements for change of venue in a capital murder case in the State of Tennessee.” He paused. ”If there's any way possible, we need to get this case out of Pulaski.”

”It's that bad?” Rick said.

”Pulaski is a small town, kid. Everyone here is probably familiar with Bo's backstory, which is entirely consistent with a revenge killing.” He sighed. ”We have to try.”

”What does Bo say?”

”I haven't seen him yet. Still doing the groundwork. Visiting hours at the jail are this afternoon, and I'll discuss venue with him then.”

”Professor, do you think he did-?”

”Doesn't matter what I think right now,” Tom interrupted. ”It's too early to be making snap judgments. The bottom line is that Bocephus Haynes is my friend, and he saved my a.s.s last year when I was feeling sorry for myself on the farm.” Tom paused, feeling heat behind his eyes. ”I owe him.”

”I do too,” Rick said. ”He saved Dawn's life during the trial last year. If he hadn't found her when he did, Willistone's henchman might've . . .” He trailed off, and Tom began to slow down as he saw the sign for the Buford Gardner Bridge. Bonnie had said to take a left on Highway 31 just past the bridge. Tom clicked his blinker, knowing it was time to end the call.

”Listen, Rick, that reminds me. Can you talk to Powell?”

”Of course, but why?” Powell Conrad was an a.s.sistant district attorney in Tuscaloosa County. He was also Rick's best friend.

”Because Andy Walton was thick as thieves with Jack Willistone.”

”Really?” Rick asked, his voice incredulous.

”That's what General Lewis said. Anyway, we need to get an update on Willistone from Powell.” He sighed. ”And we may have to pay the b.a.s.t.a.r.d a visit in prison. We need to know all we can about the victim.”

Silence for several seconds on the other end of the line. Then: ”OK.” The trepidation in Rick's voice was palpable, and Tom felt a little himself. Neither one of them relished the idea of seeing Jack Willistone again.

”One last thing,” Tom said, seeing Ray Ray's cabin up ahead. ”I need you to research the requirements for out-of-state admission to Tennessee in a criminal case and draft the necessary paperwork.”

”We'll need local counsel, right?” Rick asked.

”Right,” Tom said, turning into the gravel drive that led up to the small cabin. ”And I'm about to speak with Ray Ray now.”

”Ray who?”

Tom smiled. ”I'll call you later.”

He found Raymond Pickalew fis.h.i.+ng off his pier. His old friend sat in a lawn chair and wore a navy-blue T-s.h.i.+rt, tattered khaki shorts, and a crimson visor with the letter A stenciled on the front. Even sitting down, his bare feet propped on a cooler, Ray Ray displayed the long, wiry muscles that had made him an excellent wide receiver.

”What do you say, Ray Ray?” Tom said, smiling at his old teammate.

Raymond Pickalew had been called Ray Ray since he was a baby. His father had suffered from a bad stutter, and when he tried to say ”Ray,” it always came out ”Ray Ray.” His mother had wanted him to just go by Ray, but when his two-year-old sister started calling him Ray Ray, she adopted it too, and before long everyone in town did. Ray Ray made all-state at Giles County High in football and went on to play at Alabama, graduating in 1960. Law school followed, and then back to Pulaski, where Ray Ray had been a general pract.i.tioner specializing in divorce since the late '60s.

Ray Ray had a grin that seemed to curl up past his cheekbones, which made him always look like he was up to no good. It was his trademark, and though he hadn't seen Tom in years, he gave it now, standing from his lawn chair. ”Well, s.h.i.+t fire and save the matches. Tommy G.o.dd.a.m.n McMurtrie.” He set his rod and reel down and gave Tom a bear hug, and the strong scent of Miller High Life enveloped Tom's nostrils. ”How in the h.e.l.l are you?”

”Just fine, Ray Ray.”