“Yes, sir,” Virgil said, and Rick relished the sound of defeat in the old man’s voice. Virgil had been handpicked by the Ashe & Rowe lawyers as Jasper local counsel. He was their ace in the hole. The man who knew the judge and jury like the back of his hand. Now he had lost a motion for summary judgment, and the trial was moving out of his territory. A jury in Walker County might know and perhaps be swayed by the legendary legal career of Virgil Flood, but in the Shoals he’d have no advantage.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Rick said, squeezing LaByron Jennings’s shoulders and hearing a cacophony of sniffles from the gallery.
“Very well,” Conner said, nodding at both men. “I’ll see y’all on Monday.”
36
“Denied,” Sheriff Patterson said from the front seat of the cruiser as he gazed down at his phone. Then, under his breath, he added, “Damnit.”
“Go time, then,” JimBone said, and, at least to the sheriff, the killer sounded giddy.
They were parked in the garage underneath the courthouse. It would take the sheriff all of three minutes to get upstairs. “OK, I’m on my way,” DeWayne said. “Is the Mexican ready?”
“Don’t worry about him. You just make sure that you and your deputy get Drake to walk through the exit in the basement.”
“What are you going to do?” DeWayne asked, grabbing the door handle with a shaky hand.
“I’m going to take a better look,” he said. “You got a car for me if I need it?”
“On Second Avenue. Right behind Pinnacle Bank.”
“Good. Now get on with it, Sheriff. I don’t want Drake to miss the party we have waiting for him.”
DeWayne Patterson sucked in a gulp of oxygen and hopped out of the cruiser. God forgive me, he thought as he ambled toward the elevator that would take him to Lloyd Conner’s courtroom.
37
Rick was engulfed in a flurry of hugs and backslaps. LaShell Jennings cried unabashedly, and Rick had a hard time getting her to release her embrace. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, and Rick could feel her heart pounding over her sobs.
“We haven’t won anything yet, LaShell,” he reminded her.
“But we haven’t lost,” she said. “And now we have a chance. A real chance. Not here in Bully World but in Florence.” She stepped back and gazed at him with tear-streaked eyes. “All I’ve ever wanted was a fair shake for Alvie. We’ve got that now.”
Rick nodded and looked down at LaByron, who was holding out his fist. Rick bumped the young man’s knuckles with his own and then turned to the other counsel table, noticing that Virgil Flood and his two Birmingham cohorts had made a quick getaway. He had hoped to ask Virgil what to order at Ricatoni’s next week. Rick couldn’t help but smile at the thought as his eyes swept over the gallery. He allowed himself a few seconds of satisfaction at having won the hearing.
But the good vibes evaporated when he saw Sheriff DeWayne Patterson enter the courtroom, followed by one of his deputies. Based on the speed with which the lawman was walking, Rick figured he wasn’t coming in to offer his congratulations. Patterson pushed through the crowd of onlookers until he reached Rick.
“Mr. Drake,” the sheriff said, his voice sharp and on edge.
“What is it, Sheriff?”
For a moment, the wiry man just pierced Rick with a look of what appeared to be concern. “There was a shooting in Tuscaloosa. About an hour and a half ago in the neighborhood by Bryant-Denny Stadium.” He paused, and Rick felt his legs growing rubbery. “I don’t have all the particulars yet, but my sources inside the TCSO say that there were two victims. I think you know them.”
No, Rick thought.
“A detective named Wade Richey was shot multiple times. He was pronounced dead on the scene. The other guy was the district attorney. His name escapes me right now. Conrad, I think.”
Rick opened his mouth, but no words came out. He tried again. “Is he dead too?”
“I don’t know,” the sheriff said.
“Is everything OK, Rick?” LaShell Jennings asked, and he felt her strong hand grip his forearm. Rick felt dizzy and tried to keep his composure. Hot tears formed in his eyes, and he brought a hand across his face to wipe them.
“Was it Wheeler?” he asked the lawman, and Sheriff Patterson’s face was blank. “Was it?” Rick pressed, his voice rising.
“I’ve told you all that I know,” the sheriff said. “But because Richey and Conrad were the two men who apprehended Wheeler, he is probably the prime suspect.”
“You figure that out all by yourself, Sheriff?” Rick said, glaring at the man.
Patterson returned the look. “I came here to let you know and to make damn sure that the same thing doesn’t happen to you. You also had a role in putting James Robert Wheeler in prison, and according to the all-points bulletin that came across the wire yesterday, you and Professor Tom McMurtrie could both be potential targets of a vendetta that Mr. Wheeler has against all of you.”
“Not a vendetta,” Rick said, gritting his teeth. “A reckoning. Wheeler promised that he’d come after us, and he’s proving to be a man of his word.”
“Rick?” LaShell Jennings squeezed his arm again, and Rick looked at her.
“It’s OK, LaShell. You remember I told you when I got here about the man who escaped prison yesterday and how Manny Reyes might be helping him?”
She nodded at him, her eyes wide and scared.
“He just killed one of my friends in Tuscaloosa, and . . .” Rick paused, licking his lips and forcing the crack out of his voice. “And may have killed another one. Tuscaloosa is only forty-five minutes from Jasper.”
“You think he could be coming here?” LaShell looked at Rick and then the sheriff.
“We don’t know that yet, Ms. Jennings, but just in case, I’ve arranged for you, your children, and Mr. Drake to be escorted out of the courthouse through the basement,” Patterson said, glancing at the other uniformed officer standing next to him. “Sergeant Morris and I will personally take you down to the basement. Mr. Drake, we’ve spoken with Deputy Wainright of the TCSO.” He hooked a thumb toward the double doors leading out of the courtroom, and Rick remembered that the Tuscaloosa deputy who had escorted him here was waiting outside. “Wainright is going to bring his squad to the basement and pick you and the Jennings family up there. Then he’ll either take you to your vehicles, or he can drive all of you home.” Patterson paused. “Whatever you’re most comfortable with given the circumstances.”
Rick’s entire body tingled with adrenaline as he tried to take it all in. Wade was dead. Powell might be dead. Sheriff Patterson was concerned enough about their safety that he was here in person, promising to make sure they got out safe.
I don’t trust DeWayne Patterson. Rick heard the voice of Rel Jennings in his mind and looked into the lawman’s eyes.
“Are you ready?” the sheriff asked.
Rick nodded.
“Alright then,” Patterson said. “Follow me.”
38
They took an elevator to the basement. Inside the stale-smelling box with Rick rode LaShell Jennings, LaByron Jennings, and LaShell’s mother, Evelyn, whom everyone called “Mimi” and who continued to hold baby Alvin. Standing in front of them was Sheriff Patterson, Sergeant Morris, and Deputy Wainright. If anyone were to start firing when the elevator doors opened, the three officers would block the fire.
So far so good, Rick thought as the doors slid open. Instead of gunfire, the only sound Rick heard when he stepped out onto the basement landing was the whirring of two overhead fans. A long hallway greeted them, at the end of which was a door with an exit sign hanging over the top.
Rick and the Jennings family followed the officers as they strode down the narrow corridor. “The exit opens to a sally port, where delivery trucks make their drop-offs. Deputy Wainright is going to bring his cruiser around to pick you up.” He paused and looked over his shoulder at Rick. “That sound OK?”
Rick forced a nod as he heard th
e words in his mind again. Don’t trust DeWayne Patterson.
“Alright then,” Sheriff Patterson said when they had reached the door. “Wainright, go ahead and get your car.”
“Yes, sir,” the Tuscaloosa deputy said. He opened the door and disappeared through it. The sheriff held it open and peered out into the sally port. When he did, Rick saw through the crack that the area was abandoned. No cars. No other people.
“Shouldn’t you have some more officers down here?”
Patterson glared at him with impatience in his eyes. “More commotion makes it harder to protect you. I know what I’m doing.”
Rick saw the sheriff pull his cell phone out of his pocket and gaze at it. Behind him, through the opening in the door, Rick saw Wainright’s cruiser pull to a stop. The Tuscaloosa deputy hopped out of the vehicle and walked around to the passenger side, opening up both doors. Then he waved with his right hand.
“OK, everyone,” the sheriff said. “Don’t lollygag. I want all of you in the car as fast as you can go. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” LaShell Jennings said.
“Drake?” Patterson glared at Rick.
“You promise this is the safest way?” Rick asked.
“I’m the sheriff of this county,” Patterson said. “I promise.”
Rick thought of Powell Conrad. He needed to get back to Tuscaloosa. It was time to fish or cut bait. “Fine,” he finally said. “Lead the way.”
39
Pasco is ready and waiting, the text on Sheriff Patterson’s new phone had read. It had come from a number he didn’t recognize and from a phone that would be destroyed within the hour, along with the one the sheriff was holding.
God forgive me, the sheriff thought again as he made his promise to Rick Drake.
When the sheriff heard the lawyer utter the words “Lead the way,” he hadn’t hesitated. He swung the door open wide, hoping to pull the Band-Aid off as swiftly as possible and already thinking of the steps he’d take immediately after Drake was murdered. But as he attempted to step through the door, he saw a huge shadow, followed by an even bigger man, blocking his path.
The man had to be at least six feet seven inches tall, and DeWayne didn’t recognize him at first. But a half second later it clicked. “Just what in the hell are you doing here?”
Santonio “Rel” Jennings took a long step forward, forcing the sheriff back into the hallway. Then, as the sound of gunfire crackled behind him, the huge man slammed the door and glared at the sheriff. “Making sure you don’t hurt any more members of my family.”
40
Rel Jennings stood in front of the exit door in the narrow hallway, blocking the passage out with his huge frame. He glanced past the sheriff and Sergeant Morris to Rick. “What did I tell you about this weasel?”
Rick said nothing. He wasn’t sure if he was more shocked by Rel’s appearance or the gunshots he’d just heard from outside the door in the sally port. There had been three quick cracks—pow, pow, pow—and they sounded to Rick like they’d come from a revolver.
“Mr. Jennings, you’re under arrest,” the sheriff said, bringing his hand to his holster.
“I just heard gunshots outside, DeWayne,” Rel said, his voice calm. “Shouldn’t you and your deputy deal with that first?”
DeWayne Patterson glanced at Sergeant Morris, whose eyes had gone wide. For a long second, silence filled the corridor.
“He’s right, Sheriff,” Morris finally said, peering hard at his boss and unholstering his gun before looking at Rel. “Get out of the way, sir.”
“By all means,” Rel said, pivoting his body to the side so that the two lawmen would have room to pass.
Morris moved for the door, but the sheriff didn’t budge, still glaring at Rel.
“Sheriff,” Morris whined, “let’s go.”
“Listen to your deputy,” Rel said.
“I’m going to put you under the jail,” Patterson finally said.
“I’m sure you will,” Rel said. “Now go on.”
Patterson shot a quick glance at Rick. “You’re on your own,” he snapped. Then, without further delay, he removed the pistol from his belt and barreled out of the door with Morris right behind him.
As he took in the bizarre scene, Rick was too shocked to say anything. What the hell is going on? From behind him, he heard baby Alvin crying. He glanced at LaShell, and her lips were trembling in fear, but LaByron didn’t look scared. He had a curious expression on his face. He stepped forward. “Hey, Uncle Rel.”
It was the first three words that Rick had ever heard the boy say.
Rel knelt and grabbed his nephew in a tight hug that LaByron returned.
“Where you been?” LaByron asked.
“I been around,” Rel said, peering at Rick. “We’ve got to go.”
“What about—?”
“No time to explain,” Rel said. “Right now we’ve got to get out of here.”
“How?” Rick asked as they shuffled down the hallway toward the stairs.
“The same way everyone else left,” Rel said. “The front door.”
JimBone Wheeler looked at his phone with only mild surprise. We got a cluster. Drake didn’t go out the basement and the Mexican fired anyway. He didn’t hit anyone, but it’s a mess. Abort.
JimBone shook his head and stuck the phone inside his pocket. He was standing in an alley on Second Avenue a block from Pinnacle Bank and directly in front of the Walker County Courthouse. In his right hand, he was holding a guitar case, but a musical instrument was the last thing a person would find inside. JimBone had already located the unmarked police vehicle that would be his getaway, and contrary to the sheriff’s instructions, he would not be aborting anything today. For that matter, he had already planned for this contingency. If he were being brutally honest, JimBone had almost expected the sheriff to fail.
Sometimes you just have to do things yourself.
41
Once they were up the stairs, the closest exit was the one that opened onto Second Avenue. Rel led the way, with Rick and the Jennings family right behind him. “When we get out of the doors, there should be a car waiting on us. Just get in and don’t ask any questions.”
“Rel—” LaShell was immediately cut off by her former brother-in-law.
“I’ll explain everything when we are in a safe place, OK, LaShell? But we aren’t out of the woods yet.”
She nodded as they approached the double doors and walked past a security guard. When they reached the door, he looked through the glass. “On my signal,” he said, glancing at Rick. “OK, counselor?”
“OK.”
Ten seconds later, Rel spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Now.”
42
When they had passed through the doors and were heading toward the steps, Rick saw a baby-blue minivan that had pulled to the curb waiting for them. He couldn’t quite make out the driver, but he didn’t ask questions. Based on the gunshots he’d heard in the basement, he figured Rel Jennings had already saved their lives once today.
When they were almost to the stairs, Rel stopped abruptly. “He’s on the roof! Get down!” The big man turned, spread his legs, and held out his arms, while Rick ducked down, covering LaShell, LaByron, Mimi, and the baby. A half second passed and then came the rapid patter of a semiautomatic weapon. Rick heard a gasp and a groan from above him, but Rel remained on his feet. Rick looked up and saw the security guard who had been stationed at the metal detector run out of the courthouse with his gun drawn. Several other officers were now behind him, including Sheriff DeWayne Patterson. All had their guns out as the air continued to be peppered with the sound of the assault rifle.
“The roof!” Rick screamed, and he saw the officers who had come out of the courthouse all raise their heads. Two of them returned fire. After a couple more seconds, the fireworks ended and the only noises were the screams of baby Alvin Jennings and the men and women who had been walking down the sidewalk when the shooting began. Rick turned and gazed upward
at Rel.
The tall man’s chest was a bloody mess and both ears were gushing blood. His arms remained stretched straight out from his sides. “Father, God!” he screamed, looking up into the sky. “Why have you forsaken me?” Then he dropped to his knees.
He was now eye to eye with Rick. “Finish it, son.” He fell over on his back, and Rick crawled toward him. Sirens filled the air, and Rick saw an ambulance approaching from Second Avenue. He climbed on top of Rel and shook his arms.
“Rel!” Rick slapped the man’s face, and the former private investigator’s eyes opened.
Santonio “Rel” Jennings blinked and smiled up at Rick. In the seconds before he breathed his last, he managed to repeat his final order.
“Finish it.”
43
JimBone Wheeler put the AK-47 back in the guitar case and quickly descended the fire escape. He threw the case into a dumpster, placed headphones over his ears, and walked briskly down the sidewalk. He was wearing a fleece sweat suit, baseball cap, and sunglasses, and he took out his phone and began to point at the steps of the courthouse, as if he were telling a friend what he’d just seen. Around him, he saw a handful of people running in all directions, their heads on a swivel, clearly wondering where the shooter had gone and fearing they would be the next target.
JimBone began to jog down the sidewalk. When he reached the bank, he hooked around to the back and climbed behind the wheel of a black Tahoe. The keys were already in the ignition. He put the siren on top of the vehicle, flipped it on, and cranked the engine of the SUV. Then he pressed the accelerator down, and the wheels squealed as he pulled away from the parking space.
Five minutes later, he was speeding north on Highway 69 toward Cullman, Alabama. By the time he reached the first turnoff for Smith Lake, he had cut the siren off.
The Final Reckoning (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers Book 4) Page 17
