(2014) The Professor Page 23

  “Yes.”

  “And each time he’s paid you.”

  “Yes, of course, he’s a regular.”

  Tom looked at the jury. “And then this same man, this ‘regular’ as you call him, the man sitting behind Jack Willistone in court today, drove you the four and a half hours to court today, correct?”

  Wilma nodded. “Yes.”

  Tom held his eyes on the jury for several seconds. Then he looked at Judge Cutler.

  “No further questions, your honor.”

  Rick watched the whole thing in awe. Wilma had been a trap set by Jack Willistone. But the Professor blocked it. He suspected something, did the investigation and turned it on them. Rick shook his head as the Professor took the seat next to him. But how? How could he do that in three days?

  “Mr Tyler, are you going to have any questions of this witness tomorrow?” Judge Cutler asked.

  Rick glanced across the courtroom, where Tyler was looking out the window. “Mr Tyler!” the Judge bellowed.

  Tyler turned his eyes to the Judge and slowly stood. He looked at Wilma Newton for a second, then shook his head.

  “I have no questions, your honor.”

  “Fair enough. The witness is excused. Members of the jury, it has been a long day, and you’ve been very patient. We will start back up tomorrow morning at 9.”

  Cutler banged his gavel, and the sound of rustling filled the courtroom as people began to head for the doors. Rick turned to the Professor.

  “How did you do that?”

  Tom shrugged. “It was nothing, really. After I processed everything you told me and reviewed the file, it smelled funny to me. I did some investigation.”

  Rick’s eyes widened. “In three days?”

  Tom smiled. “I had a little help.”

  Rick squinted, and started to say something else, but the Professor held his hands up. “I’ll tell you everything, OK? But let’s get moving. Tomorrow is another day. We just bloodied their nose a little bit, but the fight’s not over. Tomorrow the jury’s going to learn what Wilma Newton really told y’all. I set the jury up for it,” Tom said, smiling. “I even showed them a picture.”

  Rick felt his stomach tighten. Dawn. “Professor, I don’t think that’s...”

  “We have no choice, Rick. You heard his honor. He’s not going to let you testify, and we need someone to tell the jury what Wilma Newton really said. Dawn’s our only option.”

  Rick nodded. “Professor, I have no idea where she is. What if we can’t find...”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Tom said, turning from the table. “I have someone working on it, and... we will.”

  61

  Jameson Tyler remained seated at the counsel table. Legs crossed, fist on his chin. Thinking.

  “Mr Tyler, you ready to go?” his associate, Clark McPheeters, asked. McPheeters had packed both their briefcases. “Mr Tyler?”

  “Yeah, Clark. Yeah. Tell you what,” he said, grabbing the keys out of his pocket, “why don’t you go get the car and swing it around. Pick me up out front. I want to talk to Mr Willistone for a second.” McPheeters smiled and took the keys. Probably never driven a Porsche before, Tyler thought, but the usual egotistical pleasure he would have gotten from such a scene was gone. Fuck me, he thought, finally getting up from his seat.

  Seeing Jack Willistone outside the courtroom, Tyler’s adrenaline shot up, and he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the big man by the collar and pushed him into the wall.

  “I didn’t need that today, Jack. We... we did not need that,” Tyler said, seething.

  Jack just smiled. “I don’t want to hurt you, barrister. So I’m going to ask nicely. Take your goddamn hands off me.” Tyler loosened his grip, and Jack pushed him hard, causing him to stumble several steps backwards.

  “What’s your game?” Tyler asked, quickly regaining his balance.

  Jack smiled again. “Winning.”

  Tyler took a few steps closer to Jack, close enough where he could smell tobacco on the big man’s breath and clothes.

  “Mine too,” Tyler said. “Mine too. But not like this.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Wilma Newton. You know damn well what I’m talking about. Bob Hawkins told me to stay away from you and let you handle Ms Newton. But your John Wayne cowboy shit just about fucked us today. Now the jury thinks you might have paid Wilma Newton to testify. We don’t need that kind of help.”

  Jack took a step closer. They were almost nose to nose.

  “All that jury heard was that I paid for a long VIP dance.” Jack laughed. “So I like looking at titties. So what? My company runs trucks through Pulaski, I was in the area, and I wanted to see some skin. Are you telling me you really can’t handle that?

  “What about the driver? The guy who drove Wilma to the courtroom, and who watched the VIP dance with you?”

  “An old friend who lives near Pulaski. He likes titties too. I’m not sure why he drove Wilma to court – I was as surprised as anyone else to see him at court – but I bet it’s got something to do with that diamond-shaped body part underneath her zipper. You ever driven four and a half hours for a piece of snatch, Tyler?” Jack paused, stepping closer. “Yeah, I bet you have. So that’s the deal. That old man didn’t prove nothing today.”

  Tyler stepped away, shaking his head.

  “By the way,” Jack continued. “What happened out there today, Tyler? I thought you were supposed to be the best lawyer in the state. A fucking Jedi. Darth Fucking Vader. What in the fuck happened?” Jack asked, spittle flying as he spoke.

  Tyler said nothing.

  “I tell you what happened,” Jack continued. “That old SOB whupped your ass.” Jack paused and crossed his arms mockingly. “‘I have no questions, your honor,’” he mimicked. “You choked, Tyler. First time this whole case you had to work a little bit, and you choked all over yourself.”

  Tyler had had enough. He walked towards Jack, stopping when he was a foot from him.

  “You may be good at handling things, Jack, but you, not me, fucked up today. I didn’t ask any questions, because I couldn’t fix your fuck-up.” Tyler turned to walk away, but then stopped and looked back. “And I am Darth Vader, you belligerent fuck.”

  As he walked away, Jack spoke once more, determined to get the last word.

  “Then who was that old SOB? Yoda?”

  “Yeah,” Tyler muttered, not turning back. Fucking Yoda.

  62

  JimBone answered the phone on the first ring. It had been thirty minutes since he left the courthouse, and he was anxious as hell. The whole plan had been fucked, and he knew Jack was pissing bullets.

  “Yeah, boss.”

  “Good job, Bone. Come by my house next Wednesday night around 6.30 and I’ll give you the rest of what I owe you.”

  JimBone couldn’t believe his ears. He doesn’t even sound mad. “Uh... OK. Your house 6.30 next Wednesday. Sounds good. What about the bitch?” JimBone asked, winking at Wilma Newton, who sat in the passenger seat of the El Camino.

  “Tell her to rent a car to drive home in, and explain the deal to her. Explain what happens if she ever tells anybody. She doesn’t get the other half of the money for at least a month. We have to wait for things to die down a little.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  “And Bone...” There was a pause on the other end of the line, and JimBone heard the exhalation of what he knew was cigar smoke. “We have to fix some of what the old SOB messed up. Remember the photograph of the girl he showed the jury?”

  JimBone smiled. “I do indeed.”

  Wilma gazed out the window as JimBone completed his phone call with Jack Willistone.

  “Sounds good, boss,” JimBone said. “I’ll handle it.” He hung up the phone and looked at Wilma. “Well, well. Looks like you earned your keep, Smokey the Bear.”

  Wilma didn’t immediately answer, continuing to look out the window. It’s over, she thought. It’s really over. A hu
ndred thousand more dollars. Was it worth it?

  “Hey, bitch.” JimBone said. “I’m talking to you.”

  No. No. Never.

  “Can we go home now? I’d really prefer just going home, but I’m sure what I prefer doesn’t matter,” Wilma said, continuing to stare out the window.

  “No, it doesn’t, Wilma,” JimBone said, laughing. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”

  “So what are we going to do?” she asked.

  “You’re going to rent a car and drive your sweet ass home, but–” he looked at his watch “–since the rental car places in T-town are probably all closed by now, I’m just going to drive you back to the hotel.”

  “What are you going to do?” Wilma asked.

  JimBone reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, and took a long drag. Blowing smoke up into the ceiling of the car, JimBone chuckled.

  “Don’t you worry about that,” he said, reaching into the backseat and retrieving a brown paper bag. “Here, I think you’ll like this,” he said, taking the bottle out of the bag and handing it to her.

  It was a fifth of Gentlemen’s Jack Daniels.

  “That’s a little higher quality than what we normally drink,” JimBone continued. “Go ahead, take a swig. Hell, take several swigs.” He reached across her, opened the dash, and dropped a pill box into her lap. “Just make sure you wash one of these down,” he said, laughing.

  “Not tonight, please,” Wilma felt like crying. “I did what you asked me to do.”

  “Relax, Smokey the Bear. The Bone has work to do tonight. I just don’t want you in the way.” He winked at her and laughed louder. “Now take one of those pills before I force them down your throat.”

  She did as she was told, swallowing the pill and taking several nips from the bottle, concentrating on the feel of the liquid burning as it went down. Then she passed the bottle to JimBone.

  “When am I gonna get my money?” she asked, watching him take a long swig.

  “Owwww! Goddamn, that’s good!” JimBone bellowed. She had never seen him so excited, and it scared her. He gave her the bottle, and tuned the radio to a country station.

  “It’s going to be about a month, but don’t you worry. You’ll get it. That old bastard fucked some things up, but the Bone’s gonna make everything right tonight.” He puffed on his cigarette.

  She took another swig of the whiskey, and started feeling the first inkling of a buzz. God forgive me, she thought, as JimBone turned up the radio. It was George Strait’s “Amarillo By Morning”. One of Dewey’s favorites. Dewey had loved old country.

  She took another sip and the numbness began to really set in, as the whiskey and the rufie began to work it’s magic. What have I done? Her mind tortured her with visions of the people she’d betrayed. She could see Rick Drake’s unbelieving face. You lied to me, you bitch¸ he must’ve been thinking. Sweet Dawn Murphy, whom Wilma had called a liar. Did “making everything right” mean that JimBone was going to hurt her too? Is there no end to my treachery? Ruth Ann Wilcox, the poor woman who had lost her whole family. She had came to Henshaw looking for answers. For justice. And I tried to steal it from her.

  Finally, there was Dewey. The bastards ran him to death, and I helped them cover it up. She took another sip, this time a longer one, and felt JimBone’s hand riding up under her blouse and up her thigh. I am Judas, she thought, spreading her legs to allow better access. Numb all over.

  God forgive me.

  63

  As the sun dipped below the horizon in Faunsdale, Doolittle Morris finally made it to Mule’s bedroom. Slowly but surely, Doo had gone through the whole house, stacking on the porch the furniture that was worth keeping – which consisted of an old grandfather clock and a recliner – and leaving the rest where it lay for whoever bought the house when Doo sold it. Now, all that remained was the bedroom.

  Stumbling through the door, Doo couldn’t help but laugh when he saw the old silver boom box lying on top of the dresser on the far wall. “Goddamn,” Doo said out loud, walking over to the boom box and seeing a cassette tape in the slot. The white cassette had yellowed over time, but Doo could still read the faded letters of the title. John Anderson’s Greatest Hits.

  Doo laughed again, and took a sip of beer. After finishing the pint of Jack Daniels, Doo had fortuitously found a six-pack of High Life in Mule’s fridge, which he had killed half of already. He was drunk and ready to go, but he wasn’t leaving until he finished the job. Only going to do this once, he kept telling himself. One and done.

  Doo pushed the “play” button on the boom box, and waited to see if the damn thing still worked. When the sounds of John Anderson’s “Swingin’” blared through the speakers, Doo let out a rebel yell and began to sing along.

  “There’s a little girl, in our neighborhood. Her name is Charlotte Johnson, and she’s really lookin’ good...”

  The bedroom was basically barren. Other than the dresser, the only things in the room were a bed and a small table next to it.

  “...and this was going on,” Doo continued to sing, as he sat on the bed and opened the first drawer of the bedside table.

  “...her brother was on the sofa, eatin’ chocolate pie. Her momma was in the kitchen, cuttin’ chicken up to fry.” Nothing in the top drawer, so Dewey’s hand dropped to the bottom. “...her daddy was in the backyard rolling up a garden hose. I was on the porch with Charlotte feeling love down to my toes, and we was...” Doo stopped singing when he saw the worn leather Bible in the bottom drawer.

  Doo set his beer on the table, reached into the drawer, pulled out the Bible, and ran his fingers over the leather. Softly, he opened the cover. When he did, several documents and photographs fell out. When he saw the first document, he let out a long sigh of relief. It was the deed to the house.

  “Thank God,” Doo said out loud. He had been worried he was going to have to go down to the courthouse to find the deed. The photographs were baby pictures of Mule’s two girls, taken while they were still in the hospital. Though Mule hadn’t seen them much since his wife ran off, Doo knew that Mule loved his daughters very much. Feeling his eyes beginning to burn again, Doo started to close the Bible, but stopped when he noticed a single piece of white paper jutting out in the middle. Doo put his finger on the paper and opened the Bible to the page where it had been placed. A passage of scripture had been highlighted. Proverbs 5: 22-23. “The evil deeds of a wicked man ensnare him; the cords of his sin hold him fast. He will die for lack of discipline, led astray by his own great folly.”

  Doo shook his head and unfolded the piece of paper.

  “What the hell?” Doo said, not understanding. Blinking his eyes and trying to clear his head of the booze, he reviewed the document again. And then again.

  When he finally got it, he felt the hair on his arms stand up.

  “I... will... be... damned.”

  64

  “She’s not here,” Rick said, continuing to knock on Dawn’s apartment door in vain. Tom could hear the panic in Rick’s voice, and he was beginning to feel it himself. It was getting late, and they had been trying for hours to find Dawn without success. She had yet to answer her cell or home phone, and Rick and Tom had each called at least a dozen times. Now, as a last resort, they had come to her apartment and it also appeared to be a dead end. Peeking through the outside window, Tom saw that no lights were on and neither Tom nor Rick had seen Dawn’s car in the parking lot.

  “I just don’t get it,” Rick said. “Where could she be? She’s not here. She wasn’t at the law school, and she’s not answering her phone. I thought we’d at least find her mom here, but she’s gone too. Everyone’s freakin’ disappeared.” Rick banged his fist against the apartment door. “You said you had someone working on it. Have you heard anything?”

  “Nothing,” Tom said, checking his cell phone for texts. “Look, I don’t get it either, but she has to turn up. I called the registrar of the law school on the way back into t
own, and she checked the records for me. Dawn is enrolled for summer school and went to class yesterday. She’s here... somewhere.”

  Rick nodded and started to say something, but was interrupted by the sound he’d been waiting two hours to hear. His cell phone was ringing. Feeling his heart clench, Rick ripped the phone out of his pocket and pressed the answer button. Please be her.

  “Hello, Dawn?”

  For several seconds, Rick heard nothing on the other end of the line.

  “Who is it?” Tom asked, stepping closer to Rick. Rick shrugged his shoulders.

  “Hello,” Rick repeated. “Who is...”

  “They’re going to kill her.” The voice came out in a strained whisper, and Rick felt goosebumps break out on his arm. “Kill who?” he asked, his voice also a whisper. More silence. “Kill who?” Rick repeated. Who is this? “Kill wh–”

  The line went dead.

  “Who was is it?” Tom asked.

  “I don’t know. A woman, I think. All she said was, ‘They’re going to kill her.’ She obviously knew my cell phone.”

  “They’re going to kill her?” Tom said, rubbing his chin.

  “Yeah.”

  They looked at each other, both getting it at the same time.

  “Oh, Christ,” Rick said, his face going white. “Dawn...”

  65

  Dawn Murphy turned off the computer and gazed at the blank screen. It was almost midnight, but she had finished the brief. Mr Tomkins would be able to review and revise it tomorrow, which had been her goal.

  Sighing, she forced herself off the swivel chair and began turning off the lights in the office. After her debacle with Rick, she had called Daryl Tomkins at Tomkins & Fisher, and he had been thrilled to hire her back. She knew she was lucky to have a job, but she didn’t feel lucky. She felt depressed. Sad. Tired. And most of all, confused.

  She knew this was the week of Ruth Ann’s trial. There hadn’t been any press coverage yet, but she remembered the date. She had wanted to call Rick and wish him luck. In fact, she had picked up the phone several times and started to dial the number, but she just couldn’t go through with it. Not after all the things they had said to each other.