JimBone shook his head. “I still don’t believe it.”
“What do you not believe, Mr. Wheeler?” Tom asked, venturing in with as much caution as he could muster. “That she was charged . . . or that she did it?”
“Either one,” he said. “I can’t believe either one.”
“Why?” Tom asked, hoping that he could keep him talking.
The smile on JimBone’s face slowly faded and his eyes hardened. “I agreed to this little meeting because I have to admit that I was curious as to why you would come here, McMurtrie. But now that you appear to be on a fishing expedition, I have to ask, What’s in it for me?”
“Nothing,” Helen said, her voice stern and ice cold. “You have been convicted of the murder of Raymond Pickalew and the attempted murder of Bocephus Haynes, as well as numerous other felonies, for which you’ve been sentenced to death. I have no authority to give you any kind of reduced sentence. If you don’t want to participate any longer in this meeting, then let Corporal Stone know, and we’ll be on our way. This meeting was arranged as a favor to Professor McMurtrie, who as you well know had a hand in putting you where you are now.”
JimBone smirked. “Bullshit. That loudmouth prosecutor Conrad is who put me here. He and that crazy detective.”
“They wouldn’t have been in Pulaski that day if it weren’t for Tom.” She paused. “What’s it gonna be, Wheeler?”
“I’m still here. What do you want to know, old man?” He turned his slit-eyed stare to Tom.
“Why can’t you see Wilma Newton as Jack’s killer?”
“Because she’s a doe, old man. I spent a good deal of . . . quality time with Wilma leading up to that trial in Henshaw a couple years ago. I believe you saw me in the courtroom, did you not? You even asked Wilma about the man who drove her to court.”
Tom waited for more.
“Well, the Wilma I knew would never have the sand to take down a man like Jack. She would never risk losing her daughters.”
“What if she had already lost custody of them? What if a crazy psychopath left an answering machine message at her rental home that made her sound like a whore, and that tape got in the wrong hands?”
JimBone cocked his head to the side. “No way.”
Tom ignored him and continued. “What if she was then charged with prostitution and was too scared to defend herself so she pled guilty and spent a year in jail?” Tom paused and watched the killer’s face, which gave away nothing. “Is this new information to you, Mr. Wheeler?”
“Yes, it is. But I have to say I’m enjoying hearing it.”
“After all that, you still don’t see her for the murder?”
JimBone rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “I guess it’s possible, but only if she did it to protect herself or her kids.” His voice left nothing to doubt. Tom creased his eyebrows.
“Why so sure?”
“Because she had her chances. I know she carried a gun in her purse when me and Jack would visit her. If she’d wanted to bad enough and had the sand for it, she could’ve taken her shot then.” He paused. “Believe me, we gave her every reason to want to kill us.”
Tom rubbed his chin. Everything that JimBone Wheeler had said so far matched his own conclusions. It was time to change direction.
“Mr. Wheeler, you worked with Jack Willistone for many years, correct?”
“No comment,” JimBone said. “I’m not going to answer stupid questions.”
“OK then, let me get right to it. When you learned that Jack Willistone had been killed, were there any names that popped into your head as possible suspects?”
JimBone shook his head. “I don’t think that way. My only thought was that I’m sorry I didn’t do it.”
Tom felt goose bumps break out on his arm. “Why is that?”
“Because Jack owed me money. A lot of money. I also think he gave Conrad and that detective information about my whereabouts last year that helped them spoil my party in Pulaski. I was so close to killing your black friend. I guess Pickalew was a nice consolation prize.”
Tom’s hands balled into fists and he felt heat on his face.
“Ray Ray is what you called him, right? Old law school buddy of yours?”
Tom gritted his teeth. “He was also my teammate at Alabama.”
“That’s right. One of Bear Bryant’s boys. Well . . . Roll Tide.” He cackled, and Tom felt Helen’s hand on his wrist, which he now noticed was shaking. “Easy,” she whispered.
“Oh hell,” JimBone continued. “I’m sorry, McMurtrie. I guess I got carried away.”
Tom clasped his hands together to keep them from trembling and drew a short breath. It was hard to shake the image of Raymond “Ray Ray” Pickalew as he’d seen him last. At the Hillside Hospital emergency room, two bullet holes in his gut, eyes with a frozen gaze as a hospital technician pulled the sheet over his head. Tom cleared his throat and glared at JimBone. “If I put a gun to your head and asked you to guess Jack Willistone’s killer, who would you say?”
JimBone leaned back in his chair and gazed up at the ceiling. “Do you know where I was born, McMurtrie?”
Tom squeezed his hands together and glanced down, trying to hold his patience. Keep him talking. “No, I don’t.”
“You ever been to the Sipsey Wilderness?”
Tom felt a flutter in his heart. “Yes. Went camping there with my family one fall. Pretty country.”
JimBone scoffed. “I guess. We never paid much mind to the scenery. I was born in a trailer on the edge of the national forest. My daddy drove a log truck and was gone for months at a time when I was a kid. I had an older sister, and she and my momma would entertain men during the day when daddy was on a haul.” He chuckled bitterly. “Sometimes I’d be in the main room of the single wide watching Scooby-Doo on our black-and-white set and I’d hear momma panting like a dog in the bedroom while some mechanic from Hamilton bent her over the foot of the bed. Marcy would be in her closet of a room doing the same thing. I’d turn the volume up full blast, but I could still hear what was going on.” He smiled. “When they were done for the day, they’d sit out on the wooden deck in back of the trailer and smoke weed or do lines of coke or any other drugs the men left as payment in addition to the paltry cash they made for being whores.” He stopped, still gazing up at the ceiling. “Daddy left on a haul in 1981 for Jackson, Mississippi and never came back. I can’t say I blamed him.”
“Your mother and sister were both killed during a trailer fire in 1992, right, Mr. Wheeler?” Helen asked. Tom figured this was information she’d dug up during her investigation after Wheeler’s arrest.
“Yep. Bodies burned beyond recognition.”
“The Walker County fire chief ruled the blaze arson, but no arrests were ever made.” She stopped. “You know a bit about arson, don’t you, Mr. Wheeler?”
Tom remembered the fire that had engulfed the Ultron Gasoline Plant in Tuscaloosa after the accident in Henshaw. That fire hadn’t been ruled arson, but it had been suspicious.
“I was in the army at that time, General Lewis. Fort Benning.” He spoke with a trace of humor in his voice that left Tom no doubt who had set the fire that killed his mother and sister.
“Where are we going with this, Mr. Wheeler?” Tom asked, trying to get the conversation back on the murder of Jack Willistone.
JimBone lowered his gaze and focused on Tom. “As you might imagine, I didn’t enjoy being home much as a kid. I spent a lot of time roaming the streets of Jasper. Eventually, I got caught stealing a Hershey bar at a grocery store. The store owner was about to call the cops, but a man there stopped him.” JimBone’s eyes flickered at the memory. “This man had salt-and-pepper hair with long Elvis-like sideburns and wore a damn leisure suit. He told the grocery store manager that he’d handle it, and that was that. The manager walked away, but not before I saw the fear in his eyes.” JimBone smiled and squinted at Tom. “Ever hear of a man named Marcellus Calhoun, Professor?”
Tom held JimBone’s
stare, but his heartbeat had sped up. “Goes by Bully, right?” Tom asked. “Bully Calhoun.”
“That’s right. Back in the ’80s Bully still wore wild suits that made him stand out like a sore thumb. I hear he’s a lot more conservative these days.”
“How long did you work for Bully?”
JimBone shrugged. “Pretty much full time from the age of nine up until I graduated high school. Then for a few years after I got out of the army.”
“We found nothing on you after you were discharged,” Helen chimed in.
“Better for business to be invisible.”
“If you worked for Bully for so long, how did you get mixed up with Jack Willistone?” Tom asked.
“Bully owned a lot of businesses that required the use of long-haul trucks. Some of these operations required secrecy. If the price was right, Jack didn’t care about breaking the law. You found that out, didn’t you, old man?”
Tom ignored the question. “How—?
“I’m getting there,” JimBone interrupted. “Patience, old man. After a while, Bully loaned me out to Jack when their joint deals required someone to be silenced. I had learned a lot about silencing folks in the army.”
“Special Forces?” Tom asked.
“Ranger. Anyway, after a while I started being hired by Jack for solo jobs.”
“Did Bully mind?”
JimBone scoffed. “No, I think Bully was relieved to have me on someone else’s payroll. That is until his daughter decided to become the second Mrs. Jack Willistone.”
“I take it Bully wasn’t happy with that development,” Tom said.
“He was pissed,” JimBone said, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “Like every daddy in the world, he’d wanted his little girl to marry a doctor or a lawyer, but lo and behold, little girls always end up marrying their fathers, and Jack and Bully were two sides of the same coin. Bully saw Jack’s courtship of Kat as a betrayal. A crossing of an invisible line in the sand. You asked me who I thought would kill Jack if I had a gun put to my head. Well, that’s easy. Bully has wanted Jack dead from the minute the preacher said, ‘You may kiss the bride.’”
“If that’s true, then why didn’t he kill him a long time ago? Jack married Kathryn Calhoun in 2005. That was seven years ago.”
JimBone shrugged. “Bully has always been cool as a cucumber. Despite how he felt about Jack, he wouldn’t kill his baby girl’s husband unless she wanted him dead. Initially, I think Kat was pretty happy living in the Big House with Jack. Even more so than Bully, Jack was flashy with his money, and Kat didn’t lack for anything. Course that all changed when Jack was arrested after the trial in Henshaw.” JimBone stopped and raised his shackled hands at Tom. “That was you, too, you son of a bitch. Conrad got credit for the arrest, but just like with me, it was you that put him there. Anyway, once Jack was sentenced to prison and went bankrupt, I suspect Kat’s feelings about her husband changed a great deal.” He licked his lips. “I’m sure you’ve checked to see if there was a life insurance policy.”
“I just took the case, so I haven’t verified that yet.”
“Well, mark it down. He had a policy to the tune of several million dollars and, last I heard anything about it, the sole beneficiary was Kathryn Calhoun Willistone.”
“How do you know this?” Tom asked, genuinely impressed.
“It was my business to know. When you work for the people that I work for, knowledge is power.”
Tom shot Helen a glance. The prosecutor raised her eyebrows, her curiosity, like his own, clearly piqued. Tom had known that Bully Calhoun was Jack Willistone’s father-in-law and he had known Bully’s history as a player in the Jasper mob. That was why he’d needled Wade back at the jail. Given Bully’s history, you’d have to give him a look.
But JimBone’s story had struck deeper. “Mr. Wheeler, do you think Bully Calhoun would have the ability to have Jack Willistone murdered and then frame a doe like Wilma Newton?”
JimBone smirked. “Are you kidding? Bully could do that and still bet on the horse race at night.”
The rest of the interview was uneventful as Tom asked several questions about JimBone’s own activities in the past few months since being sentenced to death. He was primarily interested in any visitors who might have said anything about Jack or Wilma. But the line of inquiry went nowhere.
“I’m sure they’ll let you check the visitor’s sheet,” JimBone said. “But I know for a fact that it’s as empty as church on the Sunday after Easter. Ain’t nobody come to see the Bone.”
Tom looked at Helen, who nodded her agreement with JimBone’s summary. Then he gazed across the table at the killer. “Mr. Wheeler, I appreciate your time. The information you’ve provided has been helpful.”
JimBone’s face remained neutral as he looked back at Tom with his copperhead eyes. He said nothing. Tom felt a hand on his arm and saw that Helen had risen to go. He did the same but kept his eyes on JimBone. “Why did you talk with me today, Mr. Wheeler?” Tom asked after a moment. “According to General Lewis, you’ve barely said a word since your arrest at the courthouse square.”
For several seconds, the two men just looked at each other. Tom wondered if JimBone had any rhyme or reason for opening up. “Well, thank you,” Tom said, and followed Helen to the door.
As Corporal Stone began to unlock it, JimBone’s voice caused the hairs on Tom’s neck to stand up. “Come here.”
Tom and Helen looked at each other and then both started to approach the table.
“Just you, McMurtrie,” JimBone said, lowering his sights. “The two bitches can stand by the door.”
Helen shook her head. “Let’s go,” she whispered, but Tom held out his hands and made eye contact with both Helen and the corporal.
“It’s fine,” he whispered. “I want to hear what he has to say.”
Tom took two steps toward the table and returned to his seat, while Helen and Stone waited by the door. “OK,” Tom said.
JimBone leaned forward and rested his chin on his shackled hands. He raised his eyes and spoke in just above a whisper. “Do you know what the word ‘reckoning’ means, McMurtrie?”
Tom felt the goose flesh that had sprung up on his neck spread down his arms. “Revenge,” Tom said. “Another word for revenge.”
“It’s more than that,” JimBone said. “It’s a balancing of the scales. A making of things right. A day . . . of reckoning.”
“So what?” Tom asked, beginning to tire of the games.
“Your day is coming, old man. And if you mess with Bully Calhoun, it may come sooner rather than later. I hope that isn’t the case.”
“Why?”
“Because when I get out of here, I intend to give you your day.” He paused and his voice went so low that Tom strained to hear it. “I’m going to kill you, McMurtrie, and everyone you hold dear. Your son the doctor and his wife. That grandson of yours and his baby sister. Your whole family. I’m also going to kill your partner, Drake, and his family. Your nigger friend Haynes and his wife and kids. Conrad and that crazy detective. I’m going to bring a day of reckoning on you and everyone you hold dear, McMurtrie.”
Tom’s skin had gone cold as visions of this psychopath attacking Jackson and Jenny flooded his brain. He swallowed and when he spoke, he was surprised that the words came out calm and deliberate, reminding Tom of the way he had once advised his son to hold steady before bringing the head of a shovel down on a snake that had gotten in the garage. “Let me remind you that you are on death row, Mr. Wheeler. You’re going to be put to death by lethal injection.” Tom hesitated, before adding, “Your threats mean nothing.”
“Really?” JimBone asked. “How is your partner’s daddy doing?”
Tom leaned forward, sure he had heard him wrong. “What?”
“How is Billy Drake doing these days? I seem to recall hearing something about him having an accident.”
Tom felt light-headed. “How could you—?”
“Who have we spent most of this m
eeting talking about?” JimBone interrupted.
“Bully . . . Calhoun?” Tom asked, his voice distant, his body numb with fear.
JimBone squinted at Tom with eyes that danced with delight. Then he slowly nodded. “After I left Bully’s employ, he eventually found need for a person with . . . similar talents. I knew someone that would fit the bill very nicely.” JimBone patted the desk with his fingertips. “Let’s just say that my replacement was grateful for the job, and over the years we’ve helped each other out from time to time.”
Tom leaned over the desk and forced his voice to be calm. “Are you saying that Bully Calhoun has a hit man that killed Billy Drake as a favor to you?”
JimBone grinned. “You must be hearing things, old man.”
“I hear just fine,” Tom said, his legs wobbly. “Why Rick’s father? Why not me or Bo or even Rick himself?”
“I’m saving the rest of you for me,” JimBone said, his voice just above a whisper. “But while I’m stuck in here, I thought I’d have a little bite. An appetizer before the main course.”
Tom glared down at the psychopath, anger quickly replacing shock. “You’re a crazy son of a bitch. When I do investigate Bully Calhoun, I’m going to tell him that you led me to him. That his old employee, James Robert Wheeler, is who flashed the light on him.” Tom paused. “How’d that be?”
The grin widened on JimBone’s face. “Bully is too smart to ever mess with me. I’m that stray dog you’re not quite sure of. That dog that never barks. That you see sneaking around your back porch at night and in the morning. After a while, your own dog turns up pregnant or dead, depending on whether I want to fuck or kill it, and your garden don’t have any food left. I’m a dog that only bites, Professor. A man like Bully Calhoun knows to leave me well enough alone.”
Tom stood to leave. When he looked at Helen, her eyes were wide with worry, but Corporal Stone’s face was bored. Just another day on death row.
When Tom reached the door, JimBone spoke in a clear, brittle voice from behind him. “Remember what I said, old man. Your day of reckoning is coming.”
The Last Trial (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers Book 3) Page 12