“I’ll lose my job, Bo. We’re supposed to protect our clients, not rat them out. We sign a confidentiality agreement when we hire on.”
“Come on now, Alvie. Your job is coaching middle school basketball. This security thing is just a part-time gig. I bet I’ve offered Rel more money for this information than you’ll make all summer, and I’m sure I can talk him into splitting it with you.”
“I said I can’t,” Alvie said, his voice firm. “Now let go of me.”
Bo released Alvie’s forearm and stepped backward, still eying him. “Why won’t you talk?”
With the door cracked open, Alvie hesitated, his eyes peering down at the hardwood floor. “Because he’ll kill me. Bully will kill me and never think twice.”
27
“Can you believe this mess?” Wade asked as he and Powell gazed through the windshield at the two men approaching one of the only other cars left in the gymnasium parking lot. They had recognized the vehicle, a white Sequoia with a Tennessee license plate, but seeing their old friend amble toward them was still a jolt.
Powell grunted and grabbed the door handle. “Well . . . I guess we should say hello.”
They exited the Charger and leaned against the driver’s side with arms folded. When the two men were within ten feet, Powell stepped toward them. “Bo, how the hell are you?” he asked.
Bo stopped and blinked before his mouth broke into a cautious grin. “Well . . . I’m still above ground.” He paused, moving his eyes from Powell to Wade. “And I owe a lot of that to you two.” He walked toward them and shook hands, and then introduced Rel as an “old Walker County friend.”
Awkward silence engulfed the four men as they faced each other. Finally, Bo cleared his throat and asked, “You boys are a good ways away from Tuscaloosa, aren’t you?”
Wade scoffed. “Last I checked, Pulaski was a hell of a lot farther from Jasper than T-Town. I’d ask what you’re doing here, Bo, but bullshit seems a bit inappropriate given what the three of us have been through together.” He glanced at Rel. “No offense, Mr. Jennings.”
“None taken, Detective,” Rel said. Then he walked around the Charger to Bo’s Sequoia. “I’m goin’ let you boys catch up while I check a few emails.” He held up his phone for show. Bo smiled, knowing that Rel might have walked away but he was close enough to hear everything. His old friend would be listening like a hunting dog.
“Is he in there?” Powell asked. “Alvin Jennings?” Powell and Wade had left the Jasper Country Club and gone straight to the offices of C&G Security. After an hour-long wait, they finally spoke with Harm Twitty, the owner and president of the company. At first, Twitty had refused to give them any information, but after reaching “Mr. Calhoun” on the phone and obtaining approval, he reluctantly told them that they could probably find Alvin Jennings at the Jasper Middle School gymnasium. Now here they were, and Powell was trying hard to hide his irritation. He hadn’t been all that surprised that the Professor had enlisted Bo’s help for this case. But seeing him here in person—Bocephus Haynes, one of the finest trial lawyers in the state of Tennessee and one of the toughest and most intimidating men that Powell had ever been around—and one step in front of them rankled him in an unexpected way.
Bo nodded. “Alvie’s locking up the gym now.”
“You know him?” Powell asked, noting that Bo used the same familiar nickname that Bully Calhoun had.
“He’s Rel’s brother, and me and Rel go way back to when I was playing ball in Tuscaloosa.”
More silence ensued, as none of the men quite knew what to say. Powell spoke up first. “It’s our understanding that Alvin Jennings was Bully Calhoun’s driver when Mr. Calhoun picked Jack Willistone up from the St. Clair Correctional Facility on May 7. Mr. Jennings drove the two of them to Tuscaloosa, where Jack was dropped off at his home, and then he returned Mr. Calhoun to Jasper.”
Bo rubbed his chin. “That’s good to know. You get that from Bully?”
Powell nodded.
“Then why do you want to talk with Alvie?”
“Due diligence.”
“Did Mr. Jennings say any different?” Wade asked.
Bo cut his eyes to the detective. “Alvie wouldn’t say nothing other than agreeing he drove Bully to pick up Jack and take him to Tuscaloosa.”
“Wouldn’t or couldn’t?” Wade asked. “Maybe he doesn’t know anything.”
“He’s scared. He knows something about that trip, but he’s too scared to say.”
Wade and Powell looked at each other, and then Powell noticed a man walking through the exit and locking the door. “Well,” Powell said, “I guess we need to see for ourselves.” He grunted and walked past Bo without looking back.
Wade started to follow but paused when he was shoulder to shoulder with Bo. “It’s good to see you, Bo, though I wish to hell it was under different circumstances.”
Bo remained quiet, knowing there was more the detective wanted to say.
Wade brushed back his hair and tugged on his mustache. Then he looked Bo directly in the eye. “I’ve been a detective for over thirty years, Bo, and I’ve closed over a hundred homicide cases during that time. Let me tell you something that I’ve learned over the years. Most of the time, the simplest and easiest answer is the right one.” He spat on the asphalt. “Conspiracy theories are fun to talk about over a few beers and they make for great movies, but at the end of the day it’s usually the person you find with the gun who did the deed. Lee Harvey Oswald killed Kennedy, and the person who murdered Jack Daniel Willistone is sitting behind bars at the Tuscaloosa County Jail. Wilma Newton is our killer. I wish you would steer Tom clear of this dumpster fire.”
“The simplest and easiest solution? Is that what I hear you saying?”
“That’s it.”
“In the murder of a wealthy individual, isn’t that person’s spouse normally the first place you look?” Bo paused. “Especially when the spouse is the sole beneficiary of a three-million-dollar life insurance policy.”
Though dusk had begun to fall and the parking lot was dimly lit, Bo could still see that the detective’s face had reddened. “Kathryn Willistone was drinking margaritas at Pepito’s when Jack bought the farm. Three witnesses were with her.” Wade paused. “She has an airtight alibi. It’s all in the file I copied for you yesterday.”
“Sounds pretty convenient,” Bo said. “As a seasoned investigator, wouldn’t you expect the daughter of a convicted felon and noted mobster to cover her tracks?”
Wade exhaled a deep breath, clearly trying to hold his temper in check. “Bully Calhoun was screwing the barmaid at the Jasper Country Club at the time of the murder, and said barmaid, Ms. Layla Perkins, corroborates Bully’s story.”
Bo snickered. “Tell me something. When you met with Mr. Bully Calhoun, did he look like someone that would do his own killing?”
“You’re just as crazy as Tom is,” Wade said, starting to walk toward Powell, who had begun to talk with Alvie Jennings by the door to the gymnasium. “Y’all keep chasing your windmills.”
“If Wilma Newton is so guilty and Bully Calhoun is so clean, then why is Alvie Jennings scared to death to tell me what happened on his trip from the prison in Springville to Tuscaloosa?” Bo took a couple steps backward. “And why are you and the district attorney still in Jasper?”
Wade stopped and studied the asphalt. Even from twenty feet away, Bo could hear the detective’s sigh of exasperation. Finally, Wade looked at Bo over his shoulder and spoke through clenched teeth. “Due diligence.”
28
Alvie Jennings arrived home at 8:30 pm. He had stopped and picked up a pizza at Domino’s and bought a six-pack of Yuengling at the convenience store next door. To calm his nerves, he’d drank one of the bottles of beer on the ten-minute trip, and he was well into his second by the time he pulled into the driveway. Alvie cut the ignition but didn’t immediately get out of the car. Despite the air-conditioning being on full blast, he still felt sweat on his bald head.
He wiped at the moisture with the palm of his left hand while taking another sip from the bottle with his right.
Inside his one-story rancher, he could see the flashing lights of the television that he’d mounted in the family room through the crack in the blinds. Smiling, he watched his wife, LaShell, walk into the room and say something to their son, LaByron. The boy was just six years old but could already dribble a basketball between his legs and around his back. Alvie couldn’t see LaByron but could discern the basketball rising up toward the ceiling and falling back toward the floor. Then again. And again. The boy was lying in front of the TV and practicing his form by shooting the ball up toward the ceiling. Just like Alvie and Rel had done as kids.
Alvie drained the rest of the beer and grabbed the pizza and remaining portion of the six-pack from the passenger side of his pickup truck. Then he began to walk toward the garage. The electric door was up, but the overhead light wasn’t on. Alvie thought that was a little odd but figured LaShell had just gotten busy with laundry or something and forgotten. As he neared the threshold, he heard a voice from the shadows.
“Hola.”
Alvie wheeled toward the sound but couldn’t see anything. Then, after blinking several times, he saw the figure leaning against the side of the house. Despite the mugginess in the air, Alvie felt goose bumps break out on both forearms and his neck. The woman had a pistol stuck in the front of her black pants.
“How are you?” Alvie asked. He had met the woman that Bully Calhoun called Manny on several occasions since taking the security job, and he knew enough to be terribly afraid. He glanced behind himself to the refrigerator that he kept in the garage for beer and sodas and the door that led to the house. Other than his older brother, all he cared about in the world was behind that piece of wood.
Be cool, he told himself.
“It is a nice night, no?” Manny asked. Her accent was exotic and seductive, but there was also a hint of menace in its smooth and melodic tone.
Alvie nodded. “A little hot.”
“Your wife is a beautiful woman,” Manny said, looking over Alvie’s shoulder to the door that he had just gazed at himself. “And your son. Your hijo, he is strong to be so young. He gonna be a basketball player like his padre?”
Alvie felt his heart constrict, as if the witch had reached into his chest and was squeezing it. “He’s coming along pretty well if he keeps practicing.”
“And I see that your wife is pregnant.” Manny gave a faint smile. “Perhaps another son. Or . . . maybe a little girl.”
“We don’t know yet,” Alvie said. “Still too early to determine the sex.” Alvie took a cautious step toward the woman. “What can I do for you?”
The smile remained on Manny’s face. “Mr. Calhoun wanted me to find out what you told the prosecutor and the detective. You spoke with them at the gym about thirty minutes ago.”
Alvie felt his heartbeat begin to race, but he forced himself to speak in a steady voice. He would have been more worried if Manny had asked about Rel and Bo.
“They asked a bunch of questions about me driving Bully to Springville to pick up his son-in-law in prison and then driving them to Tuscaloosa.”
“And what did you tell them?” Manny’s tone was seductive and dangerous, and Alvie was reminded of those old Wild Kingdom shows he’d watched as a kid with the women who could charm king cobra snakes.
Alvie licked his lips and carefully chose his words. “I told them that I drove the Crown Victoria, and Bully and Jack rode in the back seat. I didn’t see anything suspicious. I couldn’t hear nothing, and Mr. Calhoun didn’t tell me nothing.” Alvie forced his face to take on a beatific look. “See no evil. Hear no evil.”
Manny’s smile vanished, and she tapped the handle of the pistol stuck in her pants. “You sure that’s all you said?”
“Positive.”
“Muy bien.” Manny took a couple of steps backward, and Alvie wondered where she had come from. He saw no other cars on the street, and there was nothing behind the house except a wooded area that he’d never explored.
“One more thing, señor.”
“What?”
“There were two black men at the gym. I recognized one of them as your brother. You call him Rel, right?”
Alvie’s stomach tightened. “Right.”
“Who was the other man?”
Alvie knew if he lied, Manny or Bully would find out and the repercussions could be disastrous. “That was Bocephus Haynes, an old friend of Rel’s. He’s a lawyer and he’s helping a friend of his defend the woman accused of murdering Bully’s son-in-law.”
“What did he want with you?”
“Same thing that prosecutor and detective wanted.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“Nothing. Same as with the law dogs.”
“See no evil. Hear no evil.”
“That’s right,” Alvie said.
“Make sure you keep it that way,” Manny said. Then she turned and walked toward the woods, her pace neither slow nor hurried. She glided like a water moccasin on the river, her head up, afraid of nothing above or below.
“That was cool,” Alvie whispered to himself. Then he let out a long sigh of relief.
“Alvie, what are you doing?”
His wife’s voice startled him and he nearly dropped the pizza box and what was left of the six-pack. He turned to see LaShell standing in the cracked doorway. “I thought I turned this light on,” she said to herself, and then flipped a switch. Alvie’s eyelids fluttered as he adjusted to the sudden brightness. When he looked at her, his focus immediately went to the bulge in her stomach, which was barely noticeable given the loose nightgown she was wearing.
“You alright, honey? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”
Realizing his mouth was open, Alvie closed it and trudged into the garage. He handed the pizza box to his wife.
“They just selling four-packs at the store now?” she asked, smirking at the carton of Yuengling that Alvie cradled in his other hand.
“Long day.”
“Well come on. LaByron has the game on and has been waiting for you to come home for an hour.”
“Be there in a second.” He put the beer in the fridge and grabbed another bottle. He twisted the top off and gazed back at the wooded area where Manny had disappeared. That was cool, Alvie thought, taking a long swig of beer and wishing for all the world that he had just seen a ghost and not Bully Calhoun’s enforcer.
29
Manny’s real name was Mahalia Blessica Reyes.
When she had first been introduced to Mr. Calhoun seven years earlier, she had given her name, but the old man said it was too big of a handle. He’d looked her up and down and smiled. Then he had said, “Manny will do.”
Manny hailed from Manila, the capital of the Philippines, and one of her heroes was the great boxer Manny Pacquiao. She rather liked the nickname that her employer had bestowed on her.
As she walked through the woods behind Alvie’s house, she knew that her ambush of Jennings had accomplished two objectives. One, she had identified a member of Wilma Newton’s defense team. The name Bocephus Haynes sounded familiar, but Manny couldn’t place why. When she got back to her office, she would get on the internet and learn all about him.
Two, she had scared Alvie Jennings to death. Based on the fear she saw in his eyes, Manny doubted that he would ever talk. The man had too much to lose. He was vulnerable, which made him weak. Manny had learned early on in life that you could never show your enemies what you cared about.
Manny walked two miles through the woods, surrounded by trees and brush on all sides. Eventually, she stepped through a clearing and saw the highway. Carefully, she made her way down a steep embankment and waited. Five minutes later, a brown Chevy Monte Carlo pulled to a stop beside her and she climbed in the back seat. The front seat was occupied by two Mexican brothers who had crossed the border five years ago hidden under the back axle of a dump truck. The d
river, who called himself Pasco, looked at Manny through the rear mirror. “On time?” he asked, his English broken.
“Sí,” Manny said. “Gracias.” Manny’s parents had spoken Chavacano, a Spanish-based Creole language, and, as a child, she had grown up around Filipino and English-speaking people. By the time she reached adulthood, she was fluent in multiple languages and dialects, which was a skill she’d found to be quite valuable in her line of work.
“No hay problema,” Pasco said. In Manny’s profession, it also paid to have a couple of hired hands to help her make clandestine trips on her boss’s behalf. Pasco and his brother Escobar were foremen on two of Bully Calhoun’s Mexican-only construction crews. They lived in a two-bedroom house with at least ten other men and women and worked like dogs from sunup until well past sundown Monday through Saturday. Despite the heavy workload, the brothers enjoyed the extra cash they made doing Manny’s bidding, and Manny knew that neither man would ever talk to the authorities and risk being deported back to Mexico.
Fifteen minutes later, the brothers dropped her off at the Jasper Mall. Manny went inside and ate a sandwich in the food court and then walked through the crowd of shoppers to the parking lot in front of J. C. Penney. Her car, a gray Honda Accord, blended in with the other vehicles like she was just another patron. Manny opened the driver’s-side door and put her pistol in the glove compartment. She pulled out of the lot.
She waited until she was on the highway to make the call. Bully picked up after only one ring. “Talk to me.”
“The message has been delivered,” Manny said.
“And?”
Manny remembered the look of fear in Alvie Jennings’s eyes. “See no evil. Hear no evil.”
PART FOUR
30
The courtroom can be a lonely and scary place. Especially when you are a criminal defense attorney representing a client who appears to be guilty as sin. Even more so if you are handling the case without a partner.
The Last Trial Page 16
