The Professor (27 page)

68

“I can’t believe you kept following him,” Tom said, looking across the booth at Bo, who was as pissed as Tom had ever seen him.

“I can’t believe I let him get away,” Bo said, tapping his knuckles on the table in disgust.

They were at the Waffle House on McFarland. Both of them had a cup of coffee in front of them. Rick was out in the Explorer with Dawn, who had just come to a few minutes before, while Powell Conrad paced back and forth across the tile floor, talking furiously into his cell phone.

“I don’t care if they’re off tonight, Sheriff, we need more people searching the banks of the river,” Powell yelled into the phone, causing Tom to chuckle with pride. His former students were showing off tonight.

Tom squinted across the booth at Bo. “So when did you find her?”

“’Bout five minutes before y’all got there. I checked every law office downtown for a white Mustang hatchback and finally saw it just after midnight.” Bo paused, taking a sip of coffee. “You still need the bartender, Burns?”

Tom shook his head. “No, we don’t need Burns to testify anymore, because Wilma Newton admitted to everything he was going to say. Send him home.”

“So the cross went well?” Bo asked, his face breaking into a grin.

Tom shrugged. “It probably could’ve gone better.”

“Aw, don’t play that poor-mouth routine with me, dog. You nailed it, didn’t you?”

“It went pretty good,” Tom said, smiling. “I couldn’t have done it without your help, Bo. The stuff you dug up from the Sundowners Club was golden. I can’t thank you—”

“No need for that now. You coming back is thanks enough for me. Now, when are we going after the school?”

Tom smiled. “First things first, Bo. We got a trial to win.”

“Well, it looks like you’ll have your star witness tomorrow,” Bo said, nodding toward the front door.

Tom turned to see Rick leading Dawn by the arm toward them.

Dawn blinked as her eyes adjusted to the lights. She held tight to Rick but looked at Bo. “Thank you so much, Mr. . . .”

“Haynes,” Bo said. “Bocephus Haynes.”

“Yeah, thanks again, Mr. Haynes,” Rick said, extending his hand, which Bo shook.

“No problem,” Bo said, standing from the booth. “Now I understand that Ms. Murphy here is going to play a major role in a trial that starts in about”—Bo looked at his watch—“seven hours, so I’m going to leave y’all to it. Professor, let me know if you need anything else.” Bo started to walk away, and Tom called after him.

“Bo?”

Bo turned at the door, a tired smile on his face.

“You gonna stick around?”

“I’m always around, dog.”

Bo winked and bowed slightly. Then he turned and walked out the door.

For a moment there was silence as all three of them watched through the glass windows as Bo strode to his car. Even Powell, continuing to blare instructions through his cell phone, stopped pacing and watched Bo walk away.

“Thank God for him,” Rick said, turning to face Tom. “You sure picked the right guy to help.”

Tom just nodded. Any debts that Bocephus Haynes had ever owed him had been paid in full.
And then some.

“Is somebody gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Dawn’s groggy voice startled them, and Tom and Rick both turned to her. Dawn wrinkled her eyebrows, looking back at each of them and then down at the table. Rick’s eyes also went to his coffee cup.

This is awkward
, Tom thought. It was the first time the three of them had ever been together.

“Yes, Ms. Murphy,” Tom finally said. “But first there’s something I need to say.” Tom paused, searching for the right words. “I owe you both an apology. Ms. Murphy, you got caught in the school’s plans to force me out, and they used you as a pawn. Our interactions were entirely innocent, but because of the way things looked, the board was able to spin it into something it wasn’t. I’m sorry for the embarrassment the allegations have caused you. I’m also sorry for instructing you not to tell Rick that I was paying you to be his law clerk. I should’ve known the truth would eventually come out. I was trying to help Ruth Ann and Rick without sticking my own neck out there. For that I’m sorry.” Tom stopped and turned his eyes to Rick. “And Rick, I—”

“Save it,” Rick interrupted, his voice harsh. Tom’s stomach tightened, and for a second he feared that he had made a mistake in rehashing the situation.

“You came back today,” Rick continued. “If you hadn’t walked in the courtroom when you did, the case would have been toast.” Rick paused and looked Tom in the eye. “You put your neck out there today, Professor. Whatever issues there were between us are water under the bridge.” Rick hesitated and then turned his head to look at Dawn, who met his gaze. For a moment neither of them spoke, and Tom could feel the energy of the feelings between them.

“I’m sorry about the things I said,” Rick started. “I—”

“You’re forgiven,” Dawn broke in, “if you forgive me for not telling you about my arrangement with the Professor.”

Rick smiled. “Done.”

Again they just looked at each other, and Tom looked away, wanting to give them their moment.

“But y’all still didn’t answer my question,” Dawn finally said, turning to face Tom. “What is going on? Why did someone try to kill me tonight?”

Before Tom could answer, Powell Conrad plopped down in the booth, slamming his cell phone on the table. “Well, folks, after a whole lot of encouragement, the Sheriff’s Office and the city police department have every available deputy searching the river right now. If the bastard ain’t dead, we’ll get him. And if there’s a link to Willistone, we’ll find it.”

“Nice work, son.” Tom said, hearing the fatigue in his voice.
We have got to get some rest
, he realized.

“Will somebody pleas—” Dawn started, but her exasperated voice was drowned out by Tom.

“Wilma Newton changed her story today,” Tom said, slowly rising from his seat. “We called her to the stand, and she said her husband’s schedules were fine and that he was never forced to speed. She said he never doctored his logs to meet the ten-hour rule.”

“But she told us those things,” Dawn said. “I was there.”

“I know,” Tom said, smiling down at her. “And tomorrow the jury is going to know. You are our first witness in the morning. Look, people, tomorrow is going to be a long day.” Tom slapped his hands together and looked at each of them before zoning in on Rick. “We have to counter Wilma with Dawn, and then we have to be ready for Jameson. You can bet his folks will be singing the same song Wilma did today, except with more force behind it. Plus he’s got an expert and we don’t.” Tom paused. “We’ve got to fix that.”

“How?” Rick asked, also standing.

Tom smiled. “I don’t know . . . but I’ve got an idea. For now, though, we need to get some rest. And given what’s happened already, I think we should stick together. Let’s all go to my house. It’s probably dust, but it’ll do for the night.”

“Good idea,” Powell chimed in. “I could probably arrange for an officer to watch—”

“No,” Rick said, cutting Powell off and turning to Tom. “Whoever the man that tried to kill Dawn is, he probably knows where we all live here. If he survived the fall, then he’ll come back for more. An officer won’t stop him.”

“Well, son, do you have another suggestion?” Tom asked.

Rick nodded. “Yes, sir, I do.”

69

JimBone made the call from a pay phone in Northport at six the next morning. His clothes were still wet, and his testicles were so sore he could barely walk.
Fucking nigger bastard
, he thought, already planning his revenge. He had heard of the great Bocephus Haynes, Pulaski’s only black trial lawyer. And he was certain that Mr. Haynes would hear from him again. But first he had to break the news.

The phone picked up on the first ring.

“Well?” Jack Willistone said, forgoing a greeting. Even at the break of day, Jack sounded alert and irritated.

“No dice, boss. I about had her in the car, but Drake and the old geezer showed up before I could get away with her.”

“Jesus Christ superstar,” Jack muttered. “Did they see you?”

“I . . . I’m not sure. There just wasn’t enough time to set it up,” JimBone said.

Silence filled the line. JimBone knew to keep his mouth shut and not to apologize.

“OK, Bone. Just be at my house next Wednesday.”

JimBone smiled, relieved that payday was still going forward. “Will do, boss.”

Jack Willistone slammed the phone down and began to pace the floor of the kitchen. It wasn’t like JimBone to fail. No one could account for the old SOB’s surprise yesterday; even Jack had been caught off guard by that. But nabbing the girl should have been easy as pie.
Must’ve been out of his control
, Jack thought. Then he shook his head. It didn’t matter. Failure was failure.
Bone will be taking a pay cut. He just doesn’t know it yet.
Jack sighed and gazed through the bay window to McFarland Avenue below, where he could still see the remains of the Ultron plant. He knew there wasn’t anything else he could do.

Buck Bulyard was dead. Dick “Mule” Morris was dead. Willard Carmichael and Wilma Newton were bought and paid for. The Ultron plant and the documents it held were ashes and dust, and Faith Bulyard had been “handled.”
So what if Murphy testifies?
Taking her out was just added insurance. Newton’s testimony is out there, even if it is tainted, and there’s nothing sweet little Dawn Murphy can do to take it away.

Jack smiled and lit a cigar.
Murphy is irrelevant. With what we’ve done, Tyler should be good enough to either win outright or keep the verdict below the policy limits.

Jack blew a smoke cloud in the air and chuckled softly.

Either way I win and the merger goes through . . .

70

As the sun began to rise over the cotton field, Rick walked out onto the porch. Billy Drake leaned against the railing, holding a twelve-gauge shotgun. Three packs of birdshot were lying in a box on the ground beneath him. Behind his father, Rick noticed that a hunting rifle and a .38-caliber pistol were leaning against both rocking chairs.

“Got enough ammunition?” Rick asked, handing Billy a mug of coffee and taking a sip from his own.

“I think we’d manage pretty good. He’d have to bring a pretty big posse to get past this porch.”

Rick nodded and drank some more coffee.

“I’m glad you patched it up with your teacher,” Billy said. “I always liked him. He played for the Man.”

Rick knew that his father had been offered a scholarship to play football for Bear Bryant but had turned it down. Billy Drake hadn’t gone to college. Instead, he’d taken over the family farm at the age of eighteen, when his own father died of a heart attack.

“I like the girl too,” Billy said, chuckling. “And I can damn sure tell that you do.”

Rick turned his eyes from the rising sun and gazed at his father. “Is it that obvious?”

Billy just smiled. Rick smiled back. For several minutes neither of them spoke as the sun made its gradual ascent over land that had been in Rick’s family for almost a century.

“Dad, I don’t know how to thank you,” Rick said, his voice thick with emotion. “I . . . really didn’t know where else to turn.”

“No need for thanks,” Billy said, fixing Rick with eyes that would pierce glass. “You did right coming here, Rick. You’re my son and this is our land.” Billy turned his gaze out over the railing. “God have mercy on the poor son of a bitch who declares war on us.”

71

At 8:55 the next morning, Powell Conrad was waiting in the lobby, pacing the floor and listening on his cell phone as Trish Ball droned on about the investigation of the Black Warrior River.

“They been calling every fifteen minutes like you asked, but there’s nothing so far. Those boys been up all night and are wanting to know if they can quit or if you still want to drag the river.”

Powell sighed.
Bastard probably got away.
Peeking through the small window on one of the double doors, he saw Dawn Murphy sitting at the witness stand and the Professor rising to his feet.

“Just tell them to stop, Trish.”

“OK, what about—?”

“I got to go, Trish. We’re starting back up here.”

He hung up the phone and began to head into the courtroom.

“Hey, boy.”

Powell turned at the sound of the voice. Doolittle Morris glared back at him, wearing navy-blue overalls over a khaki work shirt and chewing on a toothpick.

“You need to tell your secretary that it’s OK to give out your cell phone for emergencies,” Doo said. “You may have just cost me ten dollars’ worth of gas.”

“Doo?” Powell squinted at the man. “What are you doing—?”

“Got something for you,” Doo said, taking a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his overalls. “Went over to Mule’s yesterday to clean his house out. Found this in the boy’s Bible.” Doo unfolded the piece of paper and handed it to Powell. “Mule musta thought it was important else he wouldn’t a put it there.”

Powell glanced down at the page. When he saw the title, the date, and the names, his heart almost stopped. “I’ll be damned.”

“That’s what I said,” Doo chimed in. “Worth the gas, then?”

Powell looked up at him, still not believing what he was holding. “Doo”—Powell turned to look back through the double doors—“this might be worth a whole goddamn gas company.”