The Professor

by Robert Bailey

  Rick raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Two rebuttal witnesses?”

  Tom smiled. “That’s right,” he said. “I made a stop on the way to trial this morning, and we have a little surprise in store for Jameson tomorrow.”

  79

  An hour after the trial had adjourned, Jack Willistone pulled into the drive-through of a Burger King half a mile from the Ultron plant in Montgomery. After ordering, he paid in cash and came to a stop at the curb by the back exit of the restaurant. He flashed his lights, and five seconds later a man he didn’t recognize opened the front passenger-side door and sat down next to him. Another man opened the back passenger-side door and stuck a small handgun in the stranger’s side. Jack looked in the rearview mirror at the man in the back, and JimBone Wheeler, wearing a crimson Alabama hat over his now-bald head, nodded. Then Jack eased the car out of the parking lot.

  “Willard Carmichael, I presume,” Jack said, not looking at the stranger.

  “Y-y-yes, sir.”

  “Willard, has anyone contacted you about testifying in a trial this week?” Jack asked.

  “N-n-no, sir. Like I told him”—Willard cocked his head toward the backseat—“no one’s called me or talked to me since that boy came up a few months ago and asked questions. Your man back there nearly killed me after that, and I haven’t heard nothing from nobody since.”

  Jack continued to drive, turning left onto a dark street with several trailers lined up adjacent to each other.

  “Why we going down my street?” Willard asked, his voice and legs shaking.

  Jack laughed, and Bone joined him. “I’ve seen the pictures of your wife, Willard. What’s her name?”

  “Sally,” Bone said.

  “That’s right, Sally,” Jack said. “Like the song.” Then he sang the chorus to Eric Clapton’s “Lay Down Sally,” his voice booming in the car.

  Bone laughed, raised the gun, and stuck it in the back of Willard’s head.

  Jack pulled into a gravel driveway and cut his lights. The beige trailer had a couple of lights on, and a VW bug was parked out front.

  “Please, mister, I swear no one’s called me,” Willard said, his teeth chattering.

  “Nice trailer,” Jack said. “You think Sally’s in there making dinner for you and Lindsay?”

  “Please . . .” Willard repeated.

  “Did you keep any documents from the Ultron plant in Northport before it burned to the ground?”

  “What?”

  Jack slapped Willard with the back of his hand. “I’m real busy, Willard. I’m not going to repeat myself all night. Did you keep any documents from the plant?”

  “No,” Willard said, rubbing his nose. “I swear to God, no.”

  “What about Mule? Did he keep anything?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I—”

  “I think I’m gonna take Lindsay,” Jack said, turning to look at Bone. “Haven’t had a virgin since high school. You take Sally, all right?”

  “Fine by me,” Bone said. “Want to kill him now or make him watch?”

  “Please, I swear I don’t know nothing. You’ll have to ask Mule if he took anything. I—”

  “Mule is dead,” Jack said. “Had a tragic car accident.” Jack turned and glared at Willard. “At trial today the lawyer for the family asked some questions that sounded like he knew the time when Dewey picked up the load. Since all the documents are gone and Mule is dead, the only person he could have gotten that information from is you. Now, before I have you strapped to a chair and force you to watch me take your only daughter’s virginity, I want you to tell me how in the hell that lawyer could know anything about the pickup time or delivery time of that load.”

  Willard Carmichael began to cry.

  “Willard, crying ain’t gon’ stop me from busting Lindsay’s cherry.”

  “I’ve told you everything I know,” Willard said, sounding resigned. “I don’t know how anyone could know anything about that load. I didn’t keep no documents, and I haven’t talked to no one.”

  Jack made eye contact with Bone, who shrugged.

  “Kill me,” Willard said, his voice almost monotone. “Please, shoot me before you go in there. I—”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be necessary, Willard. You’ve convinced me. But . . . if I find out you’re lying, I think you know what the consequences will be, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” Willard said.

  Jack eased the car forward, and Willard let out a relieved sob.

  Three minutes later they were back at the Burger King.

  Jack parked in the back and looked into the rearview mirror. “Keep him out of sight until I tell you otherwise.”

  Bone nodded, and Jack turned to face his terrified passenger. “Willard, our mutual friend in the back is going to be keeping you company until the trial is over. If you do exactly what he says, everything will be fine. If you don’t, then business in the Montgomery County Coroner’s Office is going to be up by three. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Willard whined, his hands shaking as they reached for the door handle. “Can I go now?”

  Jack nodded, and Willard climbed out of the car, with Bone close behind. Before the door closed shut, Jack had his cell phone out.

  There was just one more thing to take care of.

  80

  Faith was surprised when she heard her cell phone ringing. When did I turn it back on? she wondered, sitting up from the bed and wiping the sleep from her eyes. She gazed at the bedside table, confused it wasn’t where she had left it.

  “Boys, where’s my—?”

  “Here,” Danny said, bringing it to her. He and Junior were busy playing the in-room Wii, which was one of the amenities this hotel had to offer. “I turned it on to see if it had any games, but they all sucked.”

  Faith’s heart caught in her chest. He’s been in my phone, she thought. Could he have seen the texts from Jack? Suddenly alert, she looked at Danny but saw no signs of agitation or anxiety. All he did was check the games.

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?” he asked as the phone rang for the third time. “You need to check your messages too. You have, like, ten.”

  Faith barely processed Danny’s last comment as she pressed the answer button.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, Faith.” Jack Willistone’s familiar voice chilled Faith’s entire body.

  “What do you want?” Faith asked.

  “I want to confirm that you’re in New York, where you should be. In thirty seconds I’m going to call the hotel where I told you to stay. If you don’t answer, then all the videos of Buck the gay porn star get released.”

  The phone clicked dead in her hand, and Faith shook with anger. Who does he think he is?

  Thirty seconds later the in-room phone began to ring, and Faith picked up. “Satisfied?”

  “Very,” Jack said, chuckling. “Has anyone contacted you regarding the trial in Henshaw County?”

  Something Danny had just said tickled at Faith’s brain, but she couldn’t remember it.

  “No. I haven’t heard anything.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yes. Why? Why the hell are you so worried about me anyway? I told you all I did was stamp documents and store them. I don’t remember anything, and all the documents burned in the fire.”

  “Just covering all my bases, Faith dear. No one has contacted you, correct?”

  Faith heard a loud beeping sound and she looked at the cell phone on her bed. The light had come on, and Faith glanced down at it. The voice message symbol had “10” next to it, and she also had three text messages and twenty missed calls. What the hell?

  “I haven’t spoken to anyone,” Faith said, still gazing at the phone.

  “Good,” Jack said, and Faith heard what sounded like relief in Jack�
��s voice. What’s going on? “If someone does call, you call me immediately, you understand? Your sons’ memory of their father depends on it.”

  “I know what’s at stake.”

  “You better.”

  When the phone clicked dead, Faith grabbed the cell phone and held her finger over the voice mail notice.

  “Mom, we’re hungry,” Junior said. “It’s almost eight o’clock. Can’t we go somewhere?”

  Faith gazed back at the phone. Jack wouldn’t have called if he wasn’t worried, she thought. Ten messages and twenty missed calls. He knows someone is trying to reach me.

  “Come on, Mom, get dressed,” Junior pressed.

  “If you listen to all those messages, we might as well order room service,” Danny said.

  Sighing, Faith turned the phone off and set it back on the dresser. What good would it do to hear them? Whatever it is, she thought, I’m not going to do anything.

  She grabbed a sundress from the closet and walked to the bathroom but stopped at the door to look back at her boys. “Why don’t we go to Little Italy tonight?”

  81

  Wilma got home about 8:00 p.m. All she wanted to do was kiss her girls on the forehead and go to bed, but when she pulled in the driveway she was met by a surprise. Ms. Yost’s car was not there. The house was dark—not a single light was on. What’s going on?

  She parked in the driveway and quickly walked to the front door, fumbling in her purse for the keys. She finally got the door opened and turned the light on. There on the coffee table was a note. She ran to it, a sense of dread coming over her. When she picked it up, she held it for a split second before reading. Please, God. Don’t let anything have happened to my babies. She could see JimBone’s face. Please.

  She began to read.

  Dear Wilma,

  I have tried for some time now to find justification for your actions. But I can no longer stand by and watch you do this to your children. I knew you were a stripper. People talk, you know. I didn’t approve, but I wasn’t going to cast stones. A couple of weeks ago a lady from church said she’d heard you were a prostitute. I didn’t want to believe. Then I heard that message on your answering machine. I left it for you to hear.

  With a heavy heart I have reported you to DHR. Your kids are now in the custody of the county. Jackie doesn’t know. She thinks she’s on a field trip. But Laurie Ann is devastated. I’m sorry, but I had to tell her. I hope that you will change your ways.

  I know it doesn’t seem so, but I’m your friend, Wilma. I’m doing this for your children. I hope that one day you can be with them again.

  With love,

  Carla Yost

  Wilma was numb. No. It was all for them. Everything. All of it. For them. Not me. Them. She walked back to her bedroom and saw the blinking light on the answering machine. No.

  She pushed it. “You have one saved message,” the monotone message voice said. “Received 10:30 p.m. Monday.”

  “Monday? What was I doing . . . ?” Wilma closed her eyes, thinking of all the roofies he had forced her to take. The long blackouts. No.

  The message began with static. Then his voice.

  “Ah, God, Wilma this is so good. You. You are so good.”

  It was JimBone. She could hear panting in the background. Then a low moan. She recognized the sounds as her own. But she couldn’t remember.

  “My God, woman. Now you better beg for it. Come on now, bitch. Beg.”

  She could hear a thud and knew it was the back of his hand hitting her head.

  “Fuck me,” her own voice whined from the machine, slurring the words.

  “Damn. Damn! Wilma. You are one good whore. Come on now, bitch. You’re being paid top dollar for this dick. Let me see your best. Don’t pass out on me.”

  She heard laughing and more panting. Then his voice again.

  “Since you won’t remember any of this, sweet Wilma, I’m leaving you a little reminder of the greatest couple of nights of your life. Courtesy of the Bone.”

  Click.

  She must’ve laid on the bed for two hours without moving. Crumpled up in the fetal position. Slowly whispering, “No. No. No. Nothing for me. Everything for them. Nothing for me. Everything for them.” At some point she lost control and started sobbing. Crying so hard she thought her heart would stop. Finally, she got up and walked over to her dresser. She pulled the pistol out of the top drawer and slowly loaded it.

  What comes around goes around.

  She knew it was true. Your actions eventually catch up to you. She took off all her clothes and turned on the overhead light in the bedroom. Then she looked in the mirror and pointed the pistol at her head.

  You deserve this. You fucking earned it, you whore.

  Then she closed her eyes.

  And pulled the trigger.

  82

  When Rick hung up the phone, his face told the story.

  “Still nothing?” Tom asked.

  “Nothing,” Rick said, his face ashen and his eyes bloodred. “What are we going to do? Without Faith the plan doesn’t work.”

  Tom rubbed his chin and glanced inside the courtroom, seeing the bailiff walking out of Cutler’s chambers. They had run out of time.

  “Whether it works or not, we have to follow it,” Tom said, opening the door. “We can’t wait.”

  “ALL RISE!”

  The courtroom was again filled to capacity. As he walked down the aisle, Tom kept his eyes straight ahead, forcing himself not to look. His stomach was starting to hurt on a regular basis but he ignored the pain.

  As Judge Cutler strode into the courtroom, Tom calmly placed a copy of the bill of lading on Tyler’s table.

  “We plan to introduce the original today as part of our rebuttal,” Tom said. “We were given it yesterday afternoon by Dick Morris’s cousin.”

  Tyler glanced at the document, but if he was surprised by it he didn’t show it. Never let them see you sweat, Tom thought, admiring his former friend’s cool.

  “It’s too late to be surprising us with documents, Professor,” he said. “You’ll never get it into evidence.”

  “Really? Well, I have a lot of surprises in store for you today, Jamo,” Tom said, smiling. “And I’ve got a little bit of experience with evidence.”

  Tom turned away just as the judge was seating himself behind the bench.

  “Mr. McMurtrie and Mr. Drake,” the judge said, looking at them. “Are you going to be calling any rebuttal witnesses?”

  Tom felt a rush of adrenaline as the judge met his eye. “Yes, Your Honor. Yes, we are.”

  “Very well, call your next witness.”

  Tom looked at the jury, who all appeared alert and ready to go. Then he glanced at Tyler, who was going over the bill of lading with his associate. Time for the next surprise, Jamo, Tom thought, his heartbeat racing. He nodded at Rick for the go-ahead, and his young partner rose to his feet and spoke in a voice that carried to the back of the courtroom.

  “Your Honor, the plaintiff recalls Ms. Rose Batson.”

  83

  As Rose Batson walked down the aisle, Jameson Tyler put a sticky note on the bill of lading and handed it to his associate.

  “As subtle as you can, hand this to Mr. Willistone,” Jameson said, trying to keep his voice steady.

  If they get that document in, the case is over, he thought. Pickup at 9:57 and due in Montgomery by 11:00. If that bill is legit, then Newton had to speed to make it on time. And we lose. We lose big.

  Tyler turned to watch Rose Batson take her seat at the witness stand. Why the hell is he calling her again? he wondered, feeling uneasy. This was not how he had envisioned the morning going. He had thought he’d be moving for judgment as a matter of law right now and getting the negligent training and supervision claim thrown out. Now it appeared that the Prof
essor and Drake might have found the smoking gun on negligent training and supervision and . . . Rose Batson is about to testify? Again?

  Tyler smiled at the jury as if he didn’t have a care in the world, but he had begun to sweat underneath his starched dress shirt.

  What in the hell is going on?

  Jack Willistone forced himself not to laugh. “What the fuck is this?” had been scribbled in blue ink on the yellow sticky note, underneath which was the bill of lading for Dewey Newton’s fateful trip. Jack had never actually seen the bill but knew what it was. Yes, it was bad, and under normal circumstances the document would destroy them. But these aren’t normal circumstances, Jack thought. These are the circumstances I have created.

  The bill of lading was stamped and signed, as all bills of lading at the Tuscaloosa Ultron plant were, by its records custodian, Faith Bulyard. Who happens to be in New York City right now and ain’t coming back.

  Jack smiled and scribbled his reply to the sticky note.

  “Piss in the wind.”

  84

  “Ms. Batson, how long have you worked at the filling station at the intersection of Limestone Bottom Road and Highway 82?” Rick asked, gesturing to the jury so that Ms. Rose would direct her answer to them.

  Last night, after disclosing his “stop” at Ms. Rose’s store and his idea to recall her to the stand, the Professor had insisted that Rick conduct the examination. “She’ll be more comfortable with you asking the questions, Rick. She trusts and likes you. We need to work this one as a team. You handle the witness . . . and I’ll take care of Tyler.” Rick wasn’t sure he agreed with the plan, but he was humbled that the Professor believed he was up to the challenge. Just relax, Rick told himself. You can do this.