Part 14 (1/2)
”I can't remember.”
Powell glared at Jack. ”Greg, perhaps your client needs a reminder of why we're here.”
”If he doesn't remember, he doesn't remember,” Zorn fired back.
Jack dropped his cigarette in the coffee cup and pulled another Marlboro from the pack that still lay on the table. Zorn lighted it, and Jack blew a smoke cloud in the air. ”Next question,” he said.
”Describe your relations.h.i.+p with JimBone Wheeler.”
”Casual acquaintance.”
”Why was he at the trial in Henshaw last year?”
”I can't remember.”
”Did you ever pay him to do . . . jobs for you?”
”Not that I recall,” Jack said.
Powell crossed his arms and sighed in frustration. ”Sticking to the same old script, huh, Jack? You must really like prison.”
”f.u.c.k you,” Jack said.
”Ditto,” Powell said, starting to stand. ”Come on, Professor. I told you this guy would be no help.”
But Tom didn't move. He was glaring at Jack Willistone, who was giving it right back to him. Finally, Jack laughed. ”McMurtrie, why don't you cut the bulls.h.i.+t and tell me what you want?”
Tom nodded at Powell, who slid several sheets of paper across the table.
”What the h.e.l.l is this?” Jack asked, beginning to leaf through the papers.
”It's a list of visitors to the jail,” Powell said. ”Each sheet has the date, the name of the visitor, and the name of the inmate the visitor has come to see. It also has the check-in time of the visitor and the checkout time. The highlighted names are the people who came to see you.”
”OK . . .” Jack said. ”So what do you want to know?”
”Why did Larry Tucker come to see you on July 20, 2011?” Tom asked. ”It's on the third sheet of paper.”
”Money,” Jack said without turning to the sheet.
”Be more specific,” Tom said, feeling a twinge of excitement. Money was a powerful motive.
”He said the club's income was down almost half from the year before. A lot of the reason why was that my trucks weren't rolling.”
”What do you mean?” Tom asked.
”I mean you boys shut me down last year. We had over a hundred drivers, and on any given week anywhere from twenty-five to fifty of them would be hauling a.s.s down Highway 64 to one of Andy Walton's businesses in Pulaski, Columbia or Lawrenceburg. We wore that stretch of road out, and the Sundowners was a regular stopover. The Tennessean Truck Stop in Cornersville is just thirty minutes away, so the boys could go off duty at the Sundowners, have a few beers, and look at some skin, and be asleep in their berths less than an hour later, ready for the next haul in the morning. Those that got too drunk would just stay parked in the lot until they were sober. Larry didn't mind.” Jack took a quick drag on the cigarette. ”But that all changed last June. When I was arrested, the Feds launched a full-scale investigation of my company, and all operations came to a halt for ninety days.” He shrugged. ”That's a long time, gentlemen. When my drivers stopped getting paid . . .” Jack paused and took a last drag on the cigarette before tapping it out in Zorn's coffee cup. ”I can't blame them for leaving. A man's got to eat.”
”So . . . are you saying that the federal investigation put Willistone Trucking Company out of business?” Powell asked.
”Actually, no. McMurtrie over there is who put me out of business.” He paused, chuckling bitterly. ”We had to bankrupt after that jury in Henshaw came back with its ninety-million-dollar verdict.”
”If it makes you feel any better, all we ended up receiving was the policy limits,” Tom said.
”It doesn't. I'd have rather paid the ninety million and stayed in business. But we were mortgaged to the hilt, and my arrest, followed by the Feds' investigation . . . we just couldn't withstand all of that going on at once.” He took another cigarette out of the pack and placed it in his mouth. ”Sad thing is that my logs were clean as a whistle, and they got nothing from any of the boys. Not one d.a.m.n thing. But for that ridiculous verdict, we'd still be rolling.” Jack squinted at Tom from across the table. ”You shut me down, you son of a b.i.t.c.h. You, showing up at the trial when you did.”
”What did Tucker want?” Tom asked, trying to redirect the conversation back on point.
”A loan,” Jack said. ”Anything I could spare.” Jack leaned toward Zorn, and his attorney lit the new cigarette. ”He also wanted to know why the drivers had stopped coming in. He knew about the verdict and my arrest, but he hadn't heard about the bankruptcy.” Jack puffed on the cigarette. ”So I filled him in on the bad news.”
”And he went away empty-handed?” Tom asked.
”Like everyone coming in here wanting handouts.”
”Why didn't Tucker ask Andy Walton for money?”
”You'd have to ask Larry about that,” Jack said.
”During Tucker's visit, did he mention any other problems he was having?” Tom asked.
”No, just the money.”
”Did JimBone Wheeler's name ever come up?” Powell asked.
Jack shook his head. ”No.”
”Mr. Willistone, I've done the math and it appears that outside of your wife and son, the person who came to see you the most was Andy Walton. Does that sound correct?” Tom asked.
He shrugged. ”I don't know.”
”It looks like he came four times, starting on March 1, 2011. His last visit was August 11, just a week before his murder.”
”If you say so,” Jack said.
”Look at the last page of the stack.”
Jack put the cigarette in the cup and flipped through the doc.u.ments to the last page. He held the sheet out from him and then brought it closer, like someone who needed bifocals might do. Then he smiled.
”Something funny?”
”Just you boys,” Jack said. ”All right, I see it.”
”You see the name Andy Walton and the date August 11, 2011?”
”Yes.”
”Why did he come to see you on August 11?”