The Final Reckoning (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers Book 4)

by Robert Bailey

  No news is good news, he thought, wondering if that were true in this instance.

  Not willing to wait for the answer, he fired off texts to Powell, Wade, and Bo, trying to move as little as possible while his thumb tapped in the letters. He knew Rick was in court, so he chose to hold off on checking in with his partner. I’ll call him after the hearing.

  Tom closed his eyes, again imagining JimBone Wheeler sitting across from him at the Riverbend Maximum Security Institution. He immediately opened his lids, but the view was the same.

  Pitch darkness. He once more thought of death. Would the view ever change when he breathed his last? Or would it be like it was in this small room?

  Perpetual darkness, your thoughts tortured by the things you can’t control.

  If so, then perhaps that means I’ve gone to hell, Tom thought to himself, gazing at his phone and willing it to flash a message.

  But it didn’t. All the small screen showed was the time.

  10:25 a.m.

  35

  Alvin Lamont Jennings, who had been called “Alvie” since he was two weeks old, had faithfully attended the Black Warrior Baptist Church in Jasper before his untimely death the previous August. He was the youth director for the church along with being the head basketball coach for Jasper Middle School. To make ends meet, when he wasn’t coaching or teaching, Alvie also worked as a driver for C&G Security, a local outfit owned by a lifelong Walker County resident named Harm Twitty. In the spring of 2012, Twitty assigned Alvie the detail for Marcellus “Bully” Calhoun. A few months later, Alvie saw something he wasn’t supposed to see, eventually paying the ultimate price for his misfortune.

  On the afternoon of August 4, 2012, a week before the official start of school, Alvie had been about to mow his yard. He was having trouble getting his push mower started, and his six-year-old son, LaByron, had come outside to watch, even asking his father if he could have a turn. Alvie had said no but promised the boy that he could mow the backyard once Alvie had gotten it started.

  On his fourth attempt to crank the machine, a bomb rigged to the ignition switch exploded. The blast killed Alvie instantly and spread his remains all over the yard. The boy, who had watched the horror from just a few feet away, had been covered in his father’s blood and brain matter. The resulting blaze caused by the explosion spread to Alvie’s house, and by the time the fire department arrived, the flames had destroyed the garage and kitchen. Though the home was saved and Alvie’s wife, LaShell, and LaByron continued to live there until the end of the year, they eventually moved to Birmingham to be closer to LaShell’s parents. LaShell had also been pregnant at the time of her husband’s death, and the child, another boy, was born that November. She had named him Alvin Lamont Jennings Jr.

  LaShell Jennings and LaByron, now seven, both sat at the counsel table next to Rick. Behind them, in the first row of the gallery, LaShell’s eighty-year-old mother held the baby on her chest, gently stroking his back. A bottle was perched in the boy’s mouth, and the only sound in the courtroom was the soft sucking of the thirteen-month-old’s tongue on the rubber nipple. In the rows behind them were a sea of black and white faces, which included the Reverend Tyson Blackwell, from Black Warrior Baptist, a huge man who had played basketball himself for Walker County High in the early ’90s. The rest of the spectators were a split between the church congregation and students and administrators of Jasper Middle.

  The victim’s popularity and the heinous nature of the crime that took his life were two things that Rick knew he had going for him in this case, and he had decided to pull no punches for the summary judgment hearing. Though he knew Judge Conner would decide the motion on the law, if the decision was as close as Rick thought it would be, he wanted His Honor to see the number of voters he would be disappointing. Circuit court judges were elected, not appointed, in the state of Alabama, and a decision like this could send a ripple of negativity toward Conner throughout the community—the kind of publicity most political candidates, even judges, would like to avoid.

  For the umpteenth time since arriving at the courthouse forty-five minutes earlier, Rick pulled his phone out of his pocket. The device was on silent mode, and Rick quickly entered his security code. No messages. No calls. The time was 10:30 a.m. The hearing was supposed to start at 10:00, but Judge Conner had to take his mother to the hospital for cataract surgery and was running late.

  Rick stifled a sigh and lay the phone on the table so he wouldn’t have to keep reaching into his pocket. He glanced at his client, whose feet had continuously pattered on the floor since she’d sat down. “You OK?”

  LaShell Jennings gave a swift nod but didn’t say anything. She gripped LaByron’s hand tight, and Rick moved his eyes to the young boy. “How about you, big man?”

  LaByron smiled but he also didn’t say anything. According to his mother, he’d barely said a word since the murder and was being seen by a counselor in Birmingham. Rick, whose own father was also murdered, though he mercifully hadn’t had a front-row seat for it, felt a kinship with the kid. He reached across the table and held out his fist, which the boy bumped with his own.

  Rick then gazed across the courtroom to the other counsel table. Since his arrival, Rick hadn’t said a word to the defendant’s attorneys, and they hadn’t so much as acknowledged him. Rick decided he’d try to break the ice and perhaps fish for a little information. “Be right back,” he whispered to LaShell.

  Rick strode across the courtroom toward the defense table. There were three lawyers sitting side by side. Two of them were from the Ashe & Rowe law factory in Birmingham, second in size only to Jones & Butler. Joel Axon, an amiable middle-aged man of average size with salt-and-pepper hair, wore a charcoal suit and burgundy tie. Next to him, in the middle of the group, was Melody Tunnell, an attractive thirtysomething woman wearing a dark-blue suit. Both were gazing at their smartphones and working their thumbs over the devices like there was no tomorrow. They barely took notice of Rick, who was now standing in front of the table. The last of the group, seated at the edge closest to Rick, was a small, bone-thin man with wild white hair on both sides of his head and a bald streak right down the middle. He wore a plaid sports coat with patches on the sleeves, black slacks, and brown loafers that were dusty and scuffed. Unlike his two colleagues, he was not looking at his phone. Instead, he held a copy of the Daily Mountain Eagle in his hands, extending his arms as far out as they could go, presumably to allow him to see the small print better due to farsightedness. Sensing Rick’s presence, he peered around the paper.

  “Drake, I hear you had a nice pop yesterday.”

  “Virgil, how are you?”

  Virgil Leonard Flood set the paper down and stood, squinting at Rick with blue eyes that always seemed to contain a hint of amusement. They shook hands, and Rick was struck as usual by the other man’s papery skin. A little too firm on the grip, and Rick feared he might leave a bruise on the older lawyer.

  “Twenty-two point five million dollars,” Virgil said, licking his lips and cocking his head. “That how much you asked for?”

  “I just asked them to deliver justice,” Rick said, flashing a grin. “Same as I’ll do next week in Florence in this case.”

  Virgil’s head remained cocked. “Florence is a lovely town. Every time I’m there, I like to eat at that Italian joint a few blocks from the courthouse. Ricatoni’s.” He snorted. “It’s too bad that Joel and Melody have done such a fine job on this motion for summary judgment.” He looked behind his shoulder, where his counterparts continued to check their phones. “I would have enjoyed teeing it up next week against you. Been a while since I waited on a verdict.”

  Rick made a show of looking at a watch he wasn’t wearing. “I suspect you’ll be waiting on one this time next week.”

  “Dream on, kid. But I’ll hand it to you. You put on a nice show.” He nodded toward the gallery, which was standing room only in the back. “I’ve never had an audience for a summary judgment hearing, and we both know
you aren’t going to win today with sympathy. Lloyd Conner isn’t my favorite judge over here by a long shot, but he calls balls and strikes based on the law. He won’t let all this clutter, as Coach Saban likes to say, affect his decision.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Rick said.

  Virgil scoffed. “About what?”

  “About Conner following the law.”

  Virgil opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of the door to the judge’s chambers squeaking open and slamming shut stopped him cold. They both turned as Judge Lloyd Conner walked briskly toward the bench. Next to them, Virgil’s two partners set their phones down and scrambled to their feet.

  “Sorry I’m late,” His Honor said, plopping down in his chair and peering over the bench, holding a manila folder open in front of him. Rick felt his stomach tighten as he gazed up at the man who was about to make a decision that would either kill or keep alive the chances for Alvie Jennings’s family to obtain justice.

  The Honorable Lloyd Christian Conner was in his forties, with a head shaved bald to hide what was once a receding hairline. He had grown up in nearby Winston County and played football on scholarship at Samford University, in Birmingham. Conner was a stocky man who looked every bit the offensive guard he had once been. Wearing the black robe of the judiciary, with a white shirt and tie underneath, Conner appeared even more robust than normal. “Case of LaShell Jennings, as personal representative of the Estate of Alvin Jennings, plaintiff, versus Kathryn Calhoun Willistone, personal representative of the Estate of Marcellus Calhoun, and Mahalia Blessica Reyes, defendants.” Conner paused, glancing up at Rick and Virgil, who had both remained in place. “Before we get to the motion, have there been any developments in the attempts to serve Ms. Reyes with process?” Conner focused his gaze on Rick.

  Surprised by the question, Rick cleared his throat and collected his thoughts. “Not exactly, Your Honor. We’ve learned that a death row inmate in Tennessee named James Robert Wheeler escaped custody yesterday, and it is believed that Ms. Reyes, a known colleague of Wheeler’s, may have assisted him.”

  The judge ribbed his chin. “How about that television interview you gave in Tuscaloosa last night? Any response to that yet?” Conner’s voice gave away nothing, but Rick could tell by the hard look in the man’s eyes that he was annoyed Rick had gone to the press.

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Really? I would have thought with your ‘mission in life’ tirade, some noble citizen would have come forward, especially given the reward you promised.”

  Rick felt heat radiate up his legs all the way to his face. Judge Conner was a straight shooter, but he had a sarcastic streak. Rick also knew that judges universally hated it when their cases showed up in the media before a big hearing or trial. Stay cool, Rick thought to himself. When he spoke, his voice was clear, under control. “No such luck, Your Honor.”

  Conner gazed down at his folder. “Alright then, we’re here on Ms. Willistone’s motion for summary judgment, which has been postponed a number of times.” Conner paused, looking first at Rick and then at Virgil. “Is everyone ready?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Virgil said.

  “Yes, sir,” Rick agreed.

  “It’s a Christmas miracle,” Conner said, and the sarcasm in his tone was back and palpable. “Virgil, since this is your motion, I’ll let you begin.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” the older lawyer said, snatching a yellow pad from the counsel table. “I think our motion speaks for itself, Judge. In this case, the plaintiff has sued the estate of Marcellus Calhoun for wrongful death, claiming that Mr. Calhoun hired a contract killer named Mahalia Blessica Reyes to cause the wrongful death of Alvin Jennings and that Ms. Reyes did, in fact, cause the wrongful death of Mr. Jennings. Your Honor, the plaintiff has no direct evidence linking Mr. Calhoun or Ms. Reyes to this murder. If they did, Sheriff Patterson’s office would be all over this case and they would have charged Ms. Reyes with murder. But there have been no criminal charges, Your Honor, and the civil case brought by Mr. Drake is a farce.”

  “What do you make of the evidence that Mr. Drake has recently filed in opposition to your motion, Virgil?” Conner’s voice had a challenge in it that lifted Rick’s spirits.

  “Judge, all they’ve presented is evidence that Ms. Reyes worked for Mr. Calhoun and that Ms. Reyes was seen near Alvin Jennings’s house. Your Honor, that simply isn’t enough to get past a properly supported motion for summary judgment. They have to present substantial evidence showing a question of fact, and the circumstantial facts they’ve presented in the affidavits of Mr. Twitty, Mr. Corlew, and Ms. Purdy are beyond weak.” Virgil hesitated. “This is a travesty, Your Honor, and Mr. Drake knows it. Why else would he have his client and her sons here today as well as half of Walker County? He knows his case is weak and is trying to apply pressure on the court to let this case go to the jury. I have practiced in this county since Lyndon Johnson was president, and I’ve never seen such a spectacle.”

  Judge Conner smiled at Virgil, no doubt having heard the LBJ reference before. Then he turned to Rick. “Response, Mr. Drake?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Rick said, strategically walking back over to his table so that Judge Conner would have to see LaShell Jennings and LaByron sitting behind him. “Your Honor, this is a summary judgment motion. As you know, any questions of fact should be resolved in favor of the nonmoving party, which is Ms. Jennings. We have presented the affidavit of Carmella Purdy, Mr. and Mrs. Jennings’s neighbor, and Ms. Purdy testified that she saw a woman matching the description of Manny Reyes on the street by Mr. Jennings’s house on the day of the explosion. She also testified to seeing the same woman walking down Mr. Jennings’s driveway the week prior. Ms. Purdy identified the woman as Manny Reyes and further testified that, to her knowledge, she had never seen Ms. Reyes before. We’ve also submitted the affidavit of Ronald Corlew, a golfing buddy of Mr. Calhoun’s, who testified that he witnessed Mr. Calhoun have multiple meetings with a woman Corlew identified as Manny Reyes behind the third green at the Jasper Country Club. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, we have offered the affidavit of Harm Twitty, the owner of C&G Security. Harm testified that Alvie Jennings was employed by C&G in the spring and summer of 2012 and drove almost exclusively for Mr. Calhoun. After May 8, 2012, which was the night that Jack Daniel Willistone was murdered in Tuscaloosa along the banks of the Black Warrior River, Mr. Calhoun advised Mr. Twitty to assign him another driver. Not trusting anyone else with the job due to the fact that Mr. Calhoun was C&G’s biggest client, Mr. Twitty himself took over the detail. Mr. Twitty has testified that on at least three occasions in the weeks prior to Alvie Jennings’s death, he drove Mr. Calhoun to the Jasper Farmer’s Market out by the airport, and each time, he witnessed Mr. Calhoun have a lengthy conversation with a woman matching the description of Manny Reyes.” Rick paused and looked out over the courtroom, hearing several amens from the gallery. “Harm Twitty saw Mr. Calhoun give Ms. Reyes a wad of money that would have bought the whole market, much less the pound of tomatoes he’d carried back to the car in a sack.”

  More amens from the gallery, this time louder and with more intensity.

  Judge Conner banged his gavel and stood from the bench. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a court of law, not a church. I’d ask you to remain silent, or I will have my bailiff escort you from the courthouse. Is that clear?”

  No one said a word, but Rick saw several of the people in the audience, including Reverend Blackwell, nod at the judge.

  “Mr. Drake, this is not a closing argument in trial, and the folks out there”—he waved his arms at the gallery—“are not the jury. I’d ask that you make your arguments to me and not the crowd. The decision maker today is me.”

  Rick gazed up at the judge. “Yes, Your Honor. The bottom line, sir, is that we have presented substantial evidence of a factual question on the claim we’ve brought in this case. As you see in the case law we’ve cited in our brief, circumstantial evidence can be co
nsidered just as much as direct evidence. There’s even a jury instruction on circumstantial evidence that the jury in this case would no doubt be given. All of the pieces to this puzzle point toward Manny Reyes, at Bully Calhoun’s direction, wrongfully killing Alvie Jennings.” Rick paused and glanced behind him to LaShell and LaByron Jennings. He walked around the table and stood behind them. “Judge Conner, the other bottom line is that on August 4, 2012, this woman’s husband and this little boy’s father was murdered. Even the high sheriff of Walker County has classified his investigation as a homicide case. Sheriff Patterson and the district attorney apparently don’t feel like prosecuting Ms. Reyes for murder because either they can’t find her or don’t want to—I can’t figure out which. But we have presented substantial questions of fact on our claims for wrongful death in this case.” Rick placed his hands on LaByron’s shoulders. “Respectfully, Your Honor, the decisions of the Alabama Supreme Court mandate that you deny the defendant’s motion and send this case to the jury. The law is clear, and this family deserves it.”

  Judge Conner gazed down at the bench. He had remained standing since his admonition of the gallery. He peered over at Virgil Flood. “You got anything else?”

  “Judge, Mr. Drake puts on a nice show, but he hasn’t met his burden at this stage. We’d ask that our motion be granted and . . . given the short amount of time between now and the trial setting on Monday, we’d further ask for a speedy ruling.”

  Conner turned back to Rick. “Drake, how about you?”

  Rick still stood behind LaByron Jennings. “We’d also request a speedy ruling, Your Honor.”

  Judge Conner rubbed his chin and sat heavily down in his chair. For five seconds, the courtroom was silent again, except for little Alvin Jennings’s sucking sounds as he continued to work on his bottle. Finally, the judge cleared his throat and looked at Virgil. “The defendant’s motion is denied.” He glanced at Rick and then again stood from the bench. “I’ll expect to see the parties and their attorneys on Monday morning at 8:30 at the Lauderdale County Courthouse, in Florence. We’ll cover motions in limine at that time. At 9:00 a.m. sharp, we’ll start jury voir dire.” Conner paused. “Everyone understand?”