Part 28 (1/2)

77.

A courtroom is an eerie place when a trial is over. In a matter of seconds a room that was filled with energy and people, where life and death hung in the balance, becomes as empty as a vacant lot and as silent as a morgue. In some ways it reminded Tom of the feeling of being on a football field after a game. He had always enjoyed walking the field postgame, looking up at the empty stands and remembering places where key plays had been made. There was a sense of satisfaction, especially after a win, to walk the ground that had just been plowed with compet.i.tion. Though Tom had never served in the military, he figured it was the same way a general felt when he walked an empty battlefield after the fight was over. Sacred ground, Tom thought.

”Professor McMurtrie, OK if I turn off the lights?” The court's bailiff was standing in the doorway to the judge's chambers.

Tom blinked and nodded his head. ”Sure, that's fine.”

”How about you, General?”

Startled, Tom looked to the prosecution table, but Helen wasn't there.

”Fine, Jerry. Have a nice night.”

Tom moved his eyes around the courtroom but still didn't see her.

”In the jury,” Helen said, and Tom looked to his right. Focusing his eyes, Tom finally saw his former nemesis. She was sitting in the same chair she'd been in during their first conversation over a month before. She held a white Styrofoam cup in her hand.

Forcing his legs to move, Tom rose from his chair and walked toward her. When he got closer, he saw a pint of Jack Daniel's Black on the floor at Helen's feet and figured it wasn't coffee in the cup.

Helen smacked her lips after taking a sip and smiled at him with tired eyes. ”Can I buy you a drink?”

Tom smiled back. ”Sounds great.”

With some effort Tom walked along the back row and slumped in the chair next to Helen. When he did, she pa.s.sed over the pint of Jack Daniel's.

”Sorry, no more cups.” She shrugged, and Tom twisted off the bottle and took a sip, wrinkling up his face as the hot liquid burned the back of his throat. He gave the bottle to Helen, and she did the same, closing her own eyes as the taste and feel of the sour mash whiskey enveloped her.

'You tried a good case,” Tom said.

Helen laughed bitterly. ”I lost. That's all that matters.”

”We all do,” Tom said. ”Losing is part of it the same as winning.”

”Not for me, Tom. I always win.” She gritted her teeth and took another sip from the bottle. ”Always.”

”There's no way you could've known that Dr. Curtis was going to frame Bo for the crime. If Ray Ray would've come forward sooner, you would've charged Curtis and-”

”I'm not sure Curtis did it,” Helen said.

Tom took the bottle from her and raised his eyebrows. ”How could it not be him?”

”Oh, he's part of it.”

”You're saying he had help,” Tom offered, nodding his head. ”And I would agree with that. At least two people involved . . . maybe three. You thinking Curtis and JimBone Wheeler? Or maybe Curtis, JimBone Wheeler, and Larry Tucker?” Tom paused and took another hit off the bottle. ”That might be the most likely.”

Helen sighed and slumped even farther in her chair. ”Could be, but . . . that's not what I'm thinking.” She took the bottle from him and started to take another sip, but then stopped, shaking her head.

”What then?”

”I'd rather not say, Tom. I'm not really sure of it myself, and it could be nothing. But-”

”Come on, spit it out,” Tom said. ”Now that the charges against Bo have been dropped, I'd like to catch the real killer as much as you would. And I'm sure Bo wants to know who framed him.”

Helen finally lifted the bottle to her lips and took a small sip. Then, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the top back on, she stood from her chair. ”Remember the St. Clair Correctional Facility visitor's log you gave me?”

”Of course,” Tom said, also standing.

”Did you read every word of it?” Helen asked, looking down at him.

Tom creased his eyebrows. ”Yes. What?”

”Come on,” Helen said, waving him toward the prosecution table. ”There's something I want to show you.”

Tom followed her, thinking again how serene it felt to be in the empty courtroom, sharing a drink with his opponent.

They had not quite made it to the table when they heard the gunshots.

78.

Bo caught up to Hank and Ray Ray right before they reached the squad car. The chants coming from the Klansmen on all sides were drowned out by the flashes of photography and the questions from reporters. It was one big hodgepodge of sound, and Bo heard none of it.

”Ray Ray, one question!” Bo screamed, and Hank wheeled on him.

”Bo, so help me G.o.d, I'm going to arrest you again if you don't let me do my job.”

”Why, Ray Ray?” Bo asked, ignoring the deputy and pus.h.i.+ng closer to Ray Ray. ”Why did Andy Walton order the hit on my father? You said he laid hands on Ms. Maggie? How?” Bo hurled the questions at Ray Ray one by one, talking loud and fast.

Ray Ray, who up to that point had kept his eyes fixed on the ground, finally raised them to look at Bo.

”Why?” Bo pressed. ”Why did the Klan kill my father?”

Ray Ray pursed his lips as if to speak, and Bo moved even closer to hear. Then Ray Ray's eyes seemed to flicker and move past Bo. Ray Ray's lips formed the word ”no,” but Bo heard no sound. Bo started to say something but then felt the air go out of his stomach as Ray Ray lowered his shoulder and plowed into him.

Bo lost his footing and began to fall. He could now hear Ray Ray screaming the word ”no” above him.

And before he hit the ground, he heard the deafening sound of gunfire.