Part 9 (2/2)
”Just the G.o.d's honest truth. That Bo asked me for the code to the gate early last week. Said he always pays his respects to his father at the clearing, and what with the big wall that Ms. Maggie had me construct this year, he couldn't just sneak in like he'd done in the past.” He paused. ”I just couldn't say no. Me and Bo are cousins, but we're more like brothers. Besides, Mr. Andy knew that Bo visited that clearing from time to time, and he never said nothing.”
”What?” Tom asked. This was interesting.
”Sure enough. I been leasing that land to farm for ten years, and seem like every year on the anniversary of his daddy's death and sometimes on Christmas or Bo's momma's birthday, Bo would end up out there. A few times on those nights I'd come back in the morning and he'd still be there, curled up and sleeping on the banks of the pond. One of those times Mr. Andy was with me.”
”Really?” Tom asked.
Booker T. nodded. ”And he didn't say nothing neither. Just looked at Bo, sighed, and drove away.”
”So I guess it doesn't surprise you that Bo would want to come to the clearing on the anniversary of his father's death?” Tom asked.
”Not at all. Like I said, he came every year on the anniversary, and I knew he was coming this year because he asked me for the code.”
”Do you think Andy Walton would have known that?”
Booker T. shrugged. ”I don't know. But I'm sure it wouldn't have surprised him.
”Were you on the farm last Thursday night?” Tom asked.
”No.”
”So you didn't see anything.”
”No, I did not.”
”Is there anything else you can tell me?” There was a hint of desperation in Tom's voice.
”Nothing you want to hear,” Booker T. said, draining the rest of his mug and standing from the table. ”Want to know something else that doesn't surprise me?”
”What?”
Booker T. threw a few dollar bills on the table for a tip. ”It doesn't surprise me a bit that Bo finally snapped and killed Mr. Andy. He's been thinking about it his whole life. I probably heard him say a hundred times that he was going to kill Andy Walton one day. And with Jazz gone . . .”
Tom's thoughts leapfrogged a few weeks to trial. Booker T. on the stand and General Lewis finis.h.i.+ng her examination with this doozy: ”Did the defendant ever tell you that he was going to kill Andy Walton?”
Only about a hundred times.
”Mr. Rowe, what did Bo think about you working for the man that murdered his father?” It was a question that Tom had intended to ask Bo, but he thought he'd try it out on Booker T. When he saw the big man's reaction, he immediately knew he had made a mistake.
Booker T. stood there, stunned for a second or two, just staring. Then he slowly leaned over the table and brought his face to within an inch of Tom's. ”Now you listen here, Professor. I work for myself. I farm that land the way I want to farm that land. All I do is cut the Waltons a rental check. I don't work for them at all. I use their a.s.s and their land to make a buck.” He scowled, and Tom thought the temperature in the room had dropped ten degrees in a few seconds. ”Bo didn't have no problem with that at all.” He started to walk away, then stopped. ”You tell my cousin that I'm pulling for him but that I'm not gonna lie. I'm not going to go to jail for his a.s.s.”
As Booker T. stormed out of the restaurant, Tom flagged the waitress down for the check. After paying the tab, he was heading for the door when he heard his cell phone chirp. He read the text from Ray Ray, which was short and sweet.
Bad news from the Sundowners. We need to talk. Bo's office at nine?
Tom replied, Better make it 9:30. I still need to hit Kathy's. Then he sighed as he walked out into the muggy night.
22.
Kathy's Tavern was beginning to fill up when Tom walked in the door ten minutes after leaving Legends. As he made his way to the bar, he noticed that most of the patrons were starting to filter to the back room, where a band appeared to be tuning instruments. According to the flyer in the window, the music would start at nine.
Tom took a seat at the bar and ordered a beer, taking in the place. It was 8:45 p.m. He had forty-five minutes to hopefully find and interview Ca.s.sie Dugan before his meeting with Ray Ray.
Kathy's was a block north of the courthouse on First Street. According to Bo, Kathy's had the best cheeseburger in town and usually attracted an up-and-coming country singer or band on the weekend. The layout was basically two areas-a front room with four tall tables to the right and a long bar to the left, and a back room with a stage in front of several tables. As he looked around, Tom was struck by the diversity of the crowd. To his left at the bar were two college boys who had probably both just turned twenty-one. They wore jeans and collar s.h.i.+rts with the s.h.i.+rttail out, and they were splitting a pitcher of beer. Martin Methodist College was just a stone's throw away, and Tom figured these boys were aiming to catch a buzz before the party on campus. To his right was a bearded man who appeared to be middle-aged wearing a gray T-s.h.i.+rt, a dusty camouflage cap, and khaki work pants and boots. He was drinking Natural Light from a can and staring straight ahead, lost in thought or something else. Across at one of the tables was a fiftysomething couple, the man's face covered with a white Kenny Rogersstyle beard and both wearing cowboy hats. Next to them was a much younger couple, probably in their thirties.
As a steel guitar cranked up in the back, the waitress brought Tom his beer. She wore a white Kathy's T-s.h.i.+rt with blue jean cutoffs, an outfit which showed off her large b.r.e.a.s.t.s and long, tan legs, and Tom could almost feel the eyes of the two college boys on her.
Brus.h.i.+ng her brown hair out of her eyes, she smiled. ”Just drinking, or would you like to order some food?”
”Just drinking,” Tom said, returning the smile. As she started to go, Tom held up his hand and leaned across the bar. ”Can I ask you a question?”
She nodded, her eyes curious.
”Do you know Bocephus Haynes?”
The smile disappeared. ”Who wants to know?”
”Tom McMurtrie,” Tom said, extending his hand across the bar. ”I'm Bo's attorney.”
”Ca.s.sie Dugan.” She shook his hand, eyeing him like he might be a dangerous animal. Bingo, Tom thought, cautioning himself to ease into the questioning. Don't scare her off.
”I'm told he was in here last Thursday night. Is that true?” Tom asked.
”He was here a lot of nights,” she said, leaning in close so that only Tom could hear.
”But Thursday?” Tom pressed.
She nodded. ”Look, mister, we're starting to get crowded-”
”Did you wait on him?”
Another nod. ”Bo always sat at the bar when he came in, and that's normally my station.”
The familiar ”Bo” as opposed to ”Mr. Haynes,” Tom thought. Interesting . . .
”Ca.s.sie, do you know Bo pretty well?”
She blinked, hesitating only slightly. ”Just from his time in here. Like I said, he came a lot the last couple of months.”
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