Regardless, Pastor Leo was indebted to Cappy, a situation that had paid great dividends when Bone said he needed a place to hide his truck. Raising his right hand in salute, Cappy put the Chevy Silverado in gear and pulled out of the driveway.
Behind him Pastor Leo closed the blinds in the picture window.
“What do you make of this?” Wade asked.
They had followed the bus all the way to Pulaski and were now parked in front of Reeves Drug Store on the east side of the square.
Powell grunted and continued to stare out the windshield. Finally, he sighed. “I’m sorry, partner. I guess I’ve led us on a wild-goose chase. I . . .” He stopped, shaking his head. He grabbed the door handle and then took his hand off of it. “I swear, though. Something about all this has my antennas up. It stinks. Why the hell is Cappy Limbaugh marching in this damn parade of clowns?” He surveyed the square, where there were now hundreds of Klansmen marching.
Wade pointed at the door to Reeves. “Come on, partner, let’s grab some more coffee. A shot of caffeine may open our eyes.”
Powell followed Wade out on to the sidewalk and then did a sweep of the entire square with his eyes. “Wade, just for shits and giggles, could you call one of those Lawrenceburg deputies and see if that orange General Lee look-alike is still parked out in front of that church?”
“Sure thing. Whatcha thinking?”
Powell grunted. Then: “I was just thinking that if I wanted to kill someone on this square, I’d be dressed in a white hood and robe. Unless you had a bird’s-eye view, how could you tell who was doing the shooting?”
“Brother, I think you really need that cup of coffee. We saw Cappy Limbaugh in his car. We saw him drive to that bus and get on it. There was no one else with him.”
“He was wearing a costume the whole time. We never saw his face.”
For a long moment Wade just looked at Powell. Then, sighing, he nodded his head. “True.” He walked to the Charger and reached inside the open window, grabbing the microphone. “Yeah, give me the Lawrenceburg Sheriff’s Office,” he blared.
“Wade,” Powell said, his voice scratchy from lack of sleep, “have them search the car.”
“There’s no probable cause for a search, partner. What crime do we suspect him of?”
“Harboring a fugitive,” Powell scratched back. “Abandoning his car on private property. Anything. Just see if someone can get in that car.”
“What will they be looking for?” Wade asked.
“The trunk,” Powell scratched. “See if there’s anything in the trunk or backseat showing that another person could’ve been in the car. And have someone drive by the Sleepy Head. If Limbaugh is sitting in there right now running the front desk, then someone else drove to that church. Someone else could be out here.” Powell pointed to the Klansmen, most of whom were now gathered on the south side of the square, milling in front of Rost Jewelers and the Sam Davis statue.
“Powell, that’s crazy talk.”
“Just do it, brother,” Powell said, walking over to the wrought-iron bench in front of Reeves and sitting down. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a bad premonition. As a prosecutor and a trial lawyer, you learned to trust your instincts and hunches, and Powell knew something was terribly wrong.
67
As expected, the first witness for the prosecution on Thursday morning was Larry Tucker. After the surveillance video was introduced showing Bo’s Lexus pulling out of the exit at 1:20 a.m., Helen asked Larry where he was on the night of the murder.
“I was at the home of Tammie Gentry, one of the dancers at the club.” Then he added, “I’ve been seeing Tammie for almost a year.”
Short, sweet, and devastating, Tom thought.
At 11:30 a.m., after concluding her case with testimony from a DNA specialist showing that the blood and hair follicles found in the cargo area of Bo’s Lexus matched that of Andy Walton, General Helen Lewis addressed the court. “Your Honor, the state rests.”
68
Judge Connelly recessed for lunch, but Tom didn’t want to leave the courthouse, not when Ray Ray could show up any minute with the most important witness in the case. He sent Rick out for sandwiches and waited at the counsel table. When his knee began to ache so bad he couldn’t stand it any longer, he got up to move around, walking with his cane through the second-floor lobby and finally stopping to look out a window.
The number of Klansmen on the square was enough to take his breath away. He had heard of Klan rallies and gatherings that rivaled this, but he had never seen one. Tom also noticed a few orange ribbons attached to the front doors and windows of some of the businesses. In fact, as he surveyed the square more closely, it appeared that the majority of people who weren’t wearing the white robe and hood of the Klan were dressed in orange. Tom smiled, thinking again of the subtle brilliance of Jazz’s corsage.
“It’s a circus, isn’t it?”
Tom turned toward the harsh voice, and Maggie Walton was standing behind him. As on the three prior days of trial, she wore a conservative black dress, and black gloves covered her hands. Her face carried little makeup, and the lines of age were visible on her forehead. But standing right next to her, Tom had to admit that she had a natural beauty about her.
Without waiting for Tom to answer, Maggie added, “Andy would have hated this.” She crossed her arms and stood next to him. “He spent the last three decades of his life trying to distance himself from the Klan.” She sighed. “And now here they are. Using his murder as a pretext to try and rally support for their cause.”
“It’s pretty sad,” Tom said, not really knowing what to say. “What do you make of the orange ribbons everywhere?”
She scoffed. “Just as ridiculous. Like holding an umbrella up during a hurricane. I wish everybody here would just ignore the Klan. What? Do they think dressing up in orange and supporting a murderer makes the town look any better?” She paused. “Idiots. Just like Bo’s wife with her stupid corsage.”
Tom raised his eyebrows and turned to face her.
“Oh, I’ve noticed that. She must think she is so smart.” Maggie smirked and then let out another sigh. “This whole thing is an outrage and an embarrassment.” Her voice was clipped and hard. “Bo could end this circus if he would just plead guilty.”
“He won’t do that, Mrs. Walton. Bo didn’t kill your husband.”
She scoffed and shook her head. “He’s going to end up getting the gas chamber.”
“Lethal injection,” Tom corrected. “Tennessee uses lethal injection to put prisoners to death.”
“Whatever.”
Tom felt stung by the coldness of her tone. “Aren’t you the least bit concerned that someone else might have done this?” Tom asked.
“No, I’m not,” Maggie said, her voice devoid of any doubt. “Bo did this. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“Really?” Tom said. “Were you aware that Andy was going to confess to murdering Roosevelt Haynes?”
Maggie creased her eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Why would Andy confess to something he didn’t do?”
She’s either in total denial or she’s a pretty good actress, Tom thought, deciding to press the issue. “Mrs. Walton, Darla Ford is going to testify that a few nights before his murder, Andy told her that he intended to confess to killing Roosevelt Haynes. Interesting, isn’t it? Seems like a lot of folks would have motive to kill Andy if he was about to confess.” He paused. “Your brother, for instance . . .” He left it hanging out there and started to walk away.
As he entered the courtroom, he saw Maggie Walton’s reflection through the glass in the doors. Her hands remained on her hips and her mouth was open in shock.
Tom hoped he would see the same reaction when Ray Ray’s witness testified that her brother participated in Roosevelt Haynes’s lynching.
69
Darla Ford did not
look like a stripper when she took the stand as the first witness for the defense on Thursday afternoon. On the contrary, in her navy suit and medium-length brown hair, she gave the appearance of an affluent businesswoman. Over the course of an hour, Darla took the jury through a quick summary of her life story. From high school in Pulaski to not having enough money for college, to taking a job first as a waitress and then a dancer at the Sundowners. Rick covered it all. The money she made and saved up as a stripper, her relationship with Andy Walton, and Andy’s bequeathment to her of a hundred thousand dollars upon his death. He ended this line of questioning with Darla’s current quest to be a restaurant entrepreneur in Destin.
While Darla testified, Tom couldn’t help but glance at Maggie Walton, sitting as stoic as ever in the row behind the prosecution table. If Darla’s testimony bothered her, it didn’t show. She held her Bible and stared straight ahead, not even looking at the witness stand. He wondered if Maggie knew about Andy and Darla, and he guessed that she probably did. Tom took Maggie for the kind of woman who would look the other way if her man decided to stray, just as long as he continued to provide her with the kind of life to which she was accustomed.
Through the entire direct examination, Darla came across calm, confident, and likeable. Best of all, Rick thought, she was believable. It was Darla who had called what she did at the Sundowners “stripping,” making no bones about her role. “My job was to take my clothes off for money, and I was very good at it. I had a regular client list of at least fifteen men . . . and two women.”
Rick concluded his direct examination by covering Darla’s interactions with Andy Walton during the last two weeks of his life.
“Ms. Ford, did Andy Walton ever tell you that he killed Roosevelt Haynes?” Rick asked.
“Objection, Your Honor,” Helen said. “Hearsay.”
Connelly moved her eyes to Rick, and he did not hesitate with his response. “Your Honor, a witness’s statements against interest are an exception to hearsay.”
“Overruled,” Connelly said. “The witness may answer the question.”
“Yes,” Darla said, speaking to the jury and not Rick. “He said he was responsible for the killing, and he was worried that the truth wasn’t ever going to come out.”
“Did he tell you why he was worried about that?”
Helen was on her feet. “Again, Your Honor, the question calls for rank hearsay.”
This time Rick responded before Connelly could even call for a response. “Your Honor, this entire line of questioning will ask Ms. Ford to recall statements made by Mr. Walton against his own interest. Also, we are not offering Mr. Walton’s statements for the truth of the matter asserted, but rather for the state of mind of Ms. Ford.”
Connelly pondered for a few seconds and then nodded at Rick. “I’m going to allow it.”
“Ms. Ford?” Rick prompted.
Again, Darla turned her eyes to the jury. “He had pancreatic cancer. It was terminal. He wasn’t sure how long he had left, and he was afraid the truth was going to die with him. He said he wanted to make things right.”
“And did he ever say what he meant by ‘making things right’?”
Darla nodded. “He was going to confess.”
“When did this conversation with Mr. Walton take place?”
“In early August, about two weeks before he died.”
“Ms. Ford, did you tell anyone about Mr. Walton’s intention to confess to the murder of Roosevelt Haynes?”
“Yes,” Darla said.
“Who?” Rick asked.
“My boss,” Darla said, sweeping her eyes over the jury. “Larry Tucker.”
“And when did you tell Mr. Tucker about it?”
“The same night that Mr. Walton told me.”
“Which was two weeks before Andy Walton’s murder?”
Darla nodded. “Correct.”
“Ms. Ford,” Rick began, moving his own eyes over the jury. “Was Larry Tucker in the Ku Klux Klan with Andy Walton?”
“I don’t know,” Darla said.
“No further questions, Your Honor,” Rick said.
Given the circumstances, Rick knew it was the best he could do. He turned to his partner for approval, but the Professor was not looking at Rick. Instead, he was focused on the double doors to the courtroom, which had just opened behind the defense table. Rick followed the Professor’s gaze and felt a wave of relief at what he saw.
Ray Ray Pickalew, sporting a charcoal-gray suit, white shirt, and crimson tie, was standing in the opening.
Helen’s cross-examination focused on the things that Darla Ford did not know. Though she was with Andy Walton an hour before he died, she did not witness his murder. She did not see who killed him. At the time she left the Sundowners that night, Larry Tucker had long since gone for the evening.
The last thing she remembered was Andy Walton walking slowly to his pickup truck in the parking lot of the Sundowners Club.
Darla actually teared up during this part of the questioning, clearly upset at the image of Mr. Walton alone in the moments before he was killed.
When Helen finished, Rick said he had no further questions for Ms. Ford.
As she descended the witness chair, Darla gave Rick a quick wink and walked out of the courtroom.
“The defense may call its next witness.”
Tom turned to Ray Ray. “Is your witness out in the lobby?” he asked, his voice a scratchy whisper. Other than nodding when Tom had asked if the witness was at the courthouse and ready to testify, Ray Ray had yet to utter a word. Of course, there was no way they could really talk during Helen’s cross-examination of Ford.
Ray Ray shook his head. “No, Tommy boy.”
“What?” Tom felt his stomach turn. “You said he was here.”
“Mr. McMurtrie,” Judge Connelly said, her voice rising, the annoyance in it clear, “call your next witness. We have a jury waiting.”
“Ray Ray, go get the witness,” Tom said, grabbing him hard by the shoulder. “Rick just set it up with Ford on the stand. If you have someone that puts Tucker and Curtis at that clearing when Roosevelt Haynes was lynched, we need to call him now.”
“He’s here,” Ray Ray said.
“Then go get him, for God’s sake.” Tom’s voice rose well above a whisper. He was breaking one of his long-standing rules for behavior in a courtroom. He was losing his cool.
“I can’t,” Ray Ray said, standing from the table.
Tom also stood, forgetting the pain in his knee and putting both hands on Ray Ray’s arms, shaking his old friend. Had he lost his mind? “What do you mean you can’t? What are you talking about? Why?”
Connelly banged her gavel on the table. “Mr. McMurtrie, what is going on . . . ?” Connelly said more, but Tom didn’t hear it.
“Because I’m the witness,” Ray Ray said. “Me. Raymond . . . James . . . Pickalew.”
Tom staggered back away from him. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
Connelly banged her gavel again, and then Tom heard his partner speak from just to the side of him.
“Your Honor, the defendant calls Raymond James Pickalew.”
Helen Lewis literally jumped to her feet as she saw Ray Ray swagger toward the witness stand. “Objection, Your Honor. May we approach?”
Her words were barely heard as the courtroom stirred to life.
Connelly banged her gavel and glared at Rick. “I want all counsel in my chambers this instant. You too, Mr. Pickalew.” She turned to the jury. “Members of the jury, we are going to take a fifteen-minute break.”
Connelly strode off the bench toward the door that would take her to her chambers, her black robe flowing behind her.
Tom felt a rough hand on his shoulder and heard a ragged voice. “What’s going on?” Bo asked.
Tom turned to his client, his mind and body still in shock.
“Professor, what’s happening here?” Bo asked again.
“I don’t know,” Tom said, forci
ng his lips to move. Then his feet. “Come on, let’s go.”
“She only said counsel,” Bo said.
“You should be in on this, Bo,” Tom said, having fully gained his composure. “Whatever this is”—he looked to the witness stand, but Ray Ray was gone, having followed Connelly to her chambers—“you need to hear it.”
70
Once they were all in the judge’s chambers, Helen did not waste any time.
“Your Honor, Raymond Pickalew is of record as counsel for Mr. Haynes. A lawyer cannot testify in a case he is trying.”
Tom cleared his throat, shooting a glance at Ray Ray. The Joker grin covered Ray Ray’s broad face.
“All I did was help pick the jury, Your Honor,” Ray Ray said. “I haven’t examined a single witness, and I haven’t even sat at the table for all of it. Me testifying will be no different to that jury than when Ennis testified, and Ennis has sat at the prosecution table the entire case.”
“Your Honor, Mr. Pickalew was not included on the defendant’s witness list. This is an outrage. An ambush.” Helen’s fists were clinched at her sides. “And it should not be allowed. I move for sanctions against Mr. McMurtrie, Mr. Drake, and Mr. Pickalew for this outrage on our court.”
“Your Honor, we had no idea that Mr. Pickalew would be a witness for the defense,” Tom said, thinking as fast as he could as he went through what Ray Ray had indicated “his witness” would say. “Based on what this witness will reveal, it is our position that justice demands that Mr. Pickalew be heard.”
“And just what is this witness going to reveal?” Connelly asked, her voice awash with frustration and annoyance. “Really, Mr. McMurtrie, I agree with the General. I cannot imagine how Mr. Pickalew can testify in this case.”
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