The Professor (30 page)

78

“Your Honor, the defense rests,” Tyler said as Eugene Marsh stood from the witness stand and left the courtroom.

Tom was not surprised.
Jamo is keeping it simple
, he thought
. Marsh gives him contrib, and Jack Willistone testified that the schedules were appropriate. Unless we can locate Faith Bulyard, all we’ve got on negligent supervision and training is two speeding tickets.

“Very well,” Judge Cutler said. “Members of the jury, it is almost five o’clock, so we are going to recess for the day. We will start back at nine in the morning.”

Cutler nodded at his bailiff, who escorted the jury out of the courtroom.

As they filed out, Tom wondered where they stood right then.
Are we winning? Losing? Is it a dead heat?
It was impossible to tell from the looks on their faces. They all just looked tired.

When the jury had all exited the courtroom, Judge Cutler lowered his gaze to the counsel tables. “Counsel, please approach.”

Once Jameson, Tom, and Rick were in front of him, Cutler looked over their shoulders to the crowd that remained in the courtroom despite the jury’s adjournment. “Gentlemen, it appears that this case has garnered some public attention. I’ll advise each of you not to discuss the facts of this case with the press until after the trial. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” all three attorneys said at basically the same time.

“Mr. McMurtrie, will the plaintiff be calling any rebuttal witnesses in the morning?”

Tom paused, glancing at Rick. The answer to this question was yes, but he didn’t want to give Tyler any information he didn’t have to.

“We may, Your Honor,” Tom said. “We will be deciding that question tonight.”

Judge Cutler frowned but didn’t say anything. Tom knew that Cutler might press a younger attorney like Rick for a clearer answer, but the judge didn’t seem to know how to handle Tom.
That’s an advantage I hope to exploit tomorrow
,
Tom thought.

“OK, is there anything more to take up tonight?” Cutler asked, yawning into his fist.

“No, Your Honor,” Tyler said.

“No, Your Honor,” Tom repeated.

“All right, then, we’re adjourned till tomorrow at nine.”

Tom quickly made his way through the crowd, shaking hands with the people he knew and telling the reporters that he’d have no comment on anything until after the trial. When he finally made it to his car, he saw a familiar figure leaning against the hood.

“So you decided to take the Cock’s advice,” Judge Hancock said, smiling and extending his hand, which Tom shook.

“Just helping out an old friend and a former student.”

“Right,” the judge said, chuckling. “None of this is for you.”

Tom finally smiled. “Maybe a little.”

Judge Hancock slapped Tom on the back. “Well, I’m glad to see it.” The judge took a couple steps away, then turned back. “And I’m not the only one, buck. You see this?” The judge had been holding a folded newspaper under his left armpit, and he handed it to Tom.

“State Legend ‘The Professor’ Trying Trucking Case in Henshaw County.” Above the title was a photograph of Tom and Coach Bryant that had been taken a couple years before the Man’s death during a reception at the law school to honor Tom’s first national championship.

“Five months after his forced retirement and subsequent disappearance,” the article began, “Professor Thomas Jackson McMurtrie, defensive end on Coach Paul ‘Bear’ Bryant’s 1961 national champions, founder of the trial program at the University of Alabama Law School, coach of three national championship trial teams, and author of
McMurtrie’s Evidence
, has emerged in Henshaw County, trying a trucking case with former student Rick Drake.”

Tom skimmed the rest of the article, which described the nature of the case, Tom’s dramatic appearance Tuesday during the cross-examination of Wilma Newton, and Tom’s strange partnership with Rick Drake, “a student partly responsible for the Professor’s forced retirement.”

Tom raised his eyes from the paper and met the Cock’s eyes.

“This has got some folks pretty stirred up,” the judge said. “You saw the crowd today?”

Tom nodded. “They weren’t all friends.”

“Most were.” Hancock paused and looked down at the ground. “I’ve been a judge in Jefferson County for forty-five years, Tom. I’ve
never
traveled to another county just to watch a trial. Never until today.” He smiled again. “And you know what?”

“What?”

“I’ll be here tomorrow too.”

“Well, I doubt anyone else will,” Tom said.

“You’re wrong, buck. Like I said, what you’re doing here, coming back after all you been through, has got folks stirred up. That article was positive. Reverent even. You’re the Professor, goddamnit, and I think the news and the general public have started to realize it.” The judge walked away but then turned back and squinted into the setting sun. “And so have your friends.” He paused. “You know, sometimes a man can be so consistently good that people take him for granted. I remember another man kinda like that. Coached football and wore a houndstooth hat.” The Cock nodded. “People will come tomorrow, Tom. Rest assured . . .
people will come
.”

“What was that all about?” Rick asked, reaching Tom just as Judge Hancock began walking away. Rick had stayed behind to iron out the jury instructions with Tyler’s associate.

“Just an old friend wishing us luck,” Tom said, trying to refocus, a little overwhelmed by the Cock’s words of support. “You get the jury instructions worked out?”

Jury instructions comprised the law that Judge Cutler would read to the jury after closing arguments, just before the jury was given the case to decide. Alabama had published a pattern set of jury instructions for negligence cases, and Tom had been involved, along with a panel of four other lawyers and judges, in drafting them.

“Yeah, nothing unusual. Just sticking with the patterns. You should recognize them pretty well.” Rick smiled, but he looked exhausted and stressed.

“You OK?” Tom asked.

“We still haven’t found Faith Bulyard. I’ve left her at least a dozen messages on her cell phone.” Rick sighed. “Powell and Dawn spoke with several of her neighbors, and one of them thinks she may have taken her kids on a trip. Wherever she is, she may not have cell phone service. I—”

“If we don’t get the bill of lading in, it’s not the end of the world. It . . .” But Tom stopped. He didn’t want to sugarcoat things. “It would sure help, though. It would make Jack Willistone look like a liar and kill all of his credibility. It would also make Dawn’s version of what Wilma Newton said at the Sands ring true.”

“I know,” Rick said. “I know . . .”

He hung his head, and Tom patted his shoulder.

“Just stay after it. She probably just has the phone turned off or is spending the afternoon at a place where her signal is weak.”

Rick nodded. “I hope that’s it.”

For a moment neither man spoke. They were both dog tired, but there was a lot of work to be done tonight.

“You think tomorrow will be it?” Rick asked.

Tom shrugged. “Hard to say for sure, but probably. If Faith shows up, we’ll be calling two rebuttal witnesses. Then post-trial motions and closings. Still, I think there’s a good chance we’ll finish.”

Rick raised his eyebrows in confusion. “
Two
rebuttal witnesses?”

Tom smiled. “That’s right,” he said. “I made a stop on the way to trial this morning, and we have a little surprise in store for Jameson tomorrow.”

79

An hour after the trial had adjourned, Jack Willistone pulled into the drive-through of a Burger King half a mile from the Ultron plant in Montgomery. After ordering, he paid in cash and came to a stop at the curb by the back exit of the restaurant. He flashed his lights, and five seconds later a man he didn’t recognize opened the front passenger-side door and sat down next to him. Another man opened the back passenger-side door and stuck a small handgun in the stranger’s side. Jack looked in the rearview mirror at the man in the back, and JimBone Wheeler, wearing a crimson Alabama hat over his now-bald head, nodded. Then Jack eased the car out of the parking lot.

“Willard Carmichael, I presume,” Jack said, not looking at the stranger.

“Y-y-yes, sir.”

“Willard, has anyone contacted you about testifying in a trial this week?” Jack asked.

“N-n-no, sir. Like I told him”—Willard cocked his head toward the backseat—“no one’s called me or talked to me since that boy came up a few months ago and asked questions. Your man back there nearly killed me after that, and I haven’t heard nothing from nobody since.”

Jack continued to drive, turning left onto a dark street with several trailers lined up adjacent to each other.

“Why we going down my street?” Willard asked, his voice and legs shaking.

Jack laughed, and Bone joined him. “I’ve seen the pictures of your wife, Willard. What’s her name?”

“Sally,” Bone said.

“That’s right, Sally,” Jack said. “Like the song.” Then he sang the chorus to Eric Clapton’s “Lay Down Sally,” his voice booming in the car.

Bone laughed, raised the gun, and stuck it in the back of Willard’s head.

Jack pulled into a gravel driveway and cut his lights. The beige trailer had a couple of lights on, and a VW bug was parked out front.

“Please, mister, I swear no one’s called me,” Willard said, his teeth chattering.

“Nice trailer,” Jack said. “You think Sally’s in there making dinner for you and Lindsay?”

“Please . . .” Willard repeated.

“Did you keep any documents from the Ultron plant in Northport before it burned to the ground?”

“What?”

Jack slapped Willard with the back of his hand. “I’m
real
busy, Willard. I’m not going to repeat myself all night. Did you keep any documents from the plant?”

“No,” Willard said, rubbing his nose. “I swear to God, no.”

“What about Mule? Did he keep anything?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I—”

“I think I’m gonna take Lindsay,” Jack said, turning to look at Bone. “Haven’t had a virgin since high school. You take Sally, all right?”

“Fine by me,” Bone said. “Want to kill him now or make him watch?”

“Please, I swear I don’t know nothing. You’ll have to ask Mule if he took anything. I—”

“Mule is dead,” Jack said. “Had a tragic car accident.” Jack turned and glared at Willard. “At trial today the lawyer for the family asked some questions that sounded like he knew the time when Dewey picked up the load. Since all the documents are gone and Mule is dead, the only person he could have gotten that information from is you. Now, before I have you strapped to a chair and force you to watch me take your only daughter’s virginity, I want you to tell me how in the hell that lawyer could know anything about the pickup time or delivery time of that load.”

Willard Carmichael began to cry.

“Willard, crying ain’t gon’ stop me from busting Lindsay’s cherry.”

“I’ve told you everything I know,” Willard said, sounding resigned. “I don’t know how anyone could know anything about that load. I didn’t keep no documents, and I haven’t talked to no one.”

Jack made eye contact with Bone, who shrugged.

“Kill me,” Willard said, his voice almost monotone. “Please, shoot me before you go in there. I—”

“I don’t think that’s going to be necessary, Willard. You’ve convinced me. But . . . if I find out you’re lying, I think you know what the consequences will be, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Willard said.

Jack eased the car forward, and Willard let out a relieved sob.

Three minutes later they were back at the Burger King.

Jack parked in the back and looked into the rearview mirror. “Keep him out of sight until I tell you otherwise.”

Bone nodded, and Jack turned to face his terrified passenger. “Willard, our mutual friend in the back is going to be keeping you company until the trial is over. If you do exactly what he says, everything will be fine. If you don’t, then business in the Montgomery County Coroner’s Office is going to be up by three. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Willard whined, his hands shaking as they reached for the door handle. “Can I go now?”

Jack nodded, and Willard climbed out of the car, with Bone close behind. Before the door closed shut, Jack had his cell phone out.

There was just one more thing to take care of.