Between Black and White (27 page)

72

Helen Lewis walked back into the courtroom in a daze. What in God’s name was going on? She could feel the case slipping away. In truth, she had felt it slipping since last night. Since the moment she noticed the portion of the St. Clair Correctional Facility visitor’s log she had missed during her first read.

Now, as she swept her eyes over the packed courtroom until they reached the cameras in back, she couldn’t escape an inevitable feeling of dread. While Ray Ray Pickalew was sworn in as a witness, the thought that Helen had suppressed since last night came over her like an arctic chill.

I might lose this case.

“Would you please state your name for the record?” Rick asked.

There had been no discussion about Ray Ray’s direct examination when Tom, Bo, and Rick returned to the counsel table. Rick had just plunged in.

Tom was having a hard time keeping his emotions in check—he could literally hear the thudding of his own heartbeat—and he was grateful for his partner’s calm. Next to Tom at the defense table, Bo sat in a trancelike state, gazing at Ray Ray as if he were a ghost.
Forty-five years he’s waited for this moment,
Tom thought.

“Raymond James Pickalew.”

“Mr. Pickalew, were you living in Pulaski, Tennessee in 1966?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause, and Tom could tell that Rick was wondering where to go next. He obviously hadn’t had time to prepare for this examination.

“Mr. Pickalew, are you aware that the testimony you are about to give may implicate you in a crime?”

“Yes, I am,” Ray Ray said.

“Mr. Pickalew . . . were you on Walton Farm in 1966 when Roosevelt Haynes was killed?”

“Objection, Your Honor. Lack of foundation.”

“Sustained,” Connelly said.

Rick shot a glance at Tom, who mouthed the words he’d taught three generations of trial team students:
“Calm, slow, Andy.”

Rick nodded. “Mr. Pickalew, did you know Roosevelt Haynes?”

Ray Ray nodded. “Not well, but I knew who he was.”

“Did you know Andy Walton?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know Andy Walton?”

“I first met Andy in 1965. Right after I joined the Tennessee Knights of the Ku Klux Klan.”

“How long were you in the Klan?”

“Just over a year. I quit in August 1966.”

Rick felt his stomach leap. “Why did you quit?” Out of the corner of his eye, Rick saw Helen Lewis begin to stand, but she only made it halfway to her feet before returning to her seat.

Ray Ray turned his eyes directly to the jury. “I quit after me and nine of my Klan brethren hung Roosevelt Haynes from a tree on Walton Farm.”

Rick had thought the courtroom might explode, but it had become dead silent. It was so quiet that Rick could hear the faint hum of the air-conditioning unit kick in from somewhere in the building. He looked to the defense table and watched as his client, Bocephus Aurulius Haynes, slowly rose from his chair, his legs shaking and his arms trembling. Reacting without thinking, Rick walked over to Bo and stood by his side.

“You were there?” Rick asked, returning his attention to the witness stand.

“I was,” Ray Ray said. “And I’ve regretted it every day of my life.”

“Mr. Pickalew, how many men were present when Roosevelt Haynes was killed?”

“Ten.”

Rick sucked in a breath and glanced down at Tom, who nodded. It was time for the big finish.

“Mr. Pickalew, could you tell the jury who those ten men were?”

Ray Ray nodded, but he did not look at the jury. Instead, he kept his eyes focused on Bo, who remained standing. “Andy Walton was the Imperial Wizard of the Tennessee Chapter. He was our leader, and it was he who organized the mob that night.” Ray Ray paused. “Roosevelt’s hands were tied behind his back and he was placed on top of a horse. Dr. George Curtis and Larry Tucker held the horse, while Andy wrapped the noose around Roosevelt’s neck.”

From the jury box Rick heard sniffles. Millie Sanderson was now crying.

“I remember Andy said something right before . . . something about Roosevelt laying hands on Ms. Maggie. Then Roosevelt said something back. Then”—Ray Ray paused and hung his head in shame—“Andy slapped the back end of the horse, and George and Larry let go.”

The courtroom had now become a chorus of dismay. From her perch on the front row of the courtroom behind the defense table, Jasmine Haynes unabashedly cried, holding a handkerchief to dab her eyes. Rick felt dampness on his own cheeks as the gravity of the moment sunk in. Forty-five years . . .

“The other seven were Ferriday Montaigne, Samuel Baeder, Bull Campbell, Alvin Jennings, Rudy Snow, myself and”—Ray Ray paused, gazing with blank eyes at the prosecution table—“Ennis Petrie.”

There was a collective gasp from the gallery, and Rick turned to look at the prosecution table, where Sheriff Ennis Petrie held his head in his hands.
Unbelievable,
he thought. He turned to Bo, who was likewise gazing at the sheriff in disbelief.

“Your Honor, I have no further que— ”

“Wait.”
Ray Ray’s voice shook with emotion as he kept his eyes fixed on Bo. “There’s one more thing I need to say.”

Bo straightened his back and sucked in his chest as if to steel himself to whatever bombshell Ray Ray was about to hurl now.

Rick knew a speech by the witness was improper, and he expected an objection from the prosecution table. But Helen Lewis remained glued to her chair. “OK, Ray Ray, what do you need to say?”

“On the night of Andy Walton’s murder, George Curtis asked me to watch Bo’s office. My office is two doors down from Bo’s, so I have an unobstructed view. At just before midnight on August 18, 2011, I saw Bo Haynes park his Lexus on the curb on First Street and stumble into his office.” Ray Ray paused, looking straight at the jury. “Ten minutes later, while Bo Haynes was still inside his office, I saw another man drive off in Bo’s Lexus.”

“Who?” Rick asked.

“Dr. George Curtis,” Ray Ray said.

73

“Cross-examination, General?” Judge Connelly’s voice was somber, as she, like everyone else in the courtroom, was still in shock over Ray Ray Pickalew’s testimony.

“No, Your Honor,” Helen said, managing to sound calm and collected. “If it pleases the court, the prosecution would ask for a short recess.”

Connelly nodded and shot a glance at the witness stand, where Ray Ray Pickalew remained in the chair. “I think that is a good idea, General. I think . . . we could all use a break right now.”

As the jury filed out of the courtroom, five sheriff’s deputies entered and surrounded the prosecution table.

Judge Connelly addressed one of them. “Deputy Springfield, please take Sheriff Petrie and Mr. Pickalew into custody. And I suspect you will want to dispatch a couple officers to pick up Mr. Tucker and Dr. Curtis.”

After two of the deputies led Ennis Petrie out of the courtroom, the deputy strode toward the witness stand. Ray Ray stood and held his hands out as Hank applied the handcuffs.

“Raymond Pickalew,” Hank began, looking over at Bo as he continued to talk, “you are under arrest for the murder of Franklin Roosevelt Haynes. You have the right to remain silent . . .”

74

At 4:30 p.m. Judge Connelly called the courtroom back to order. After the jury was seated in their twelve chairs, she cleared her throat and motioned toward the prosecution table. “General Lewis, you said during the break that you would like to file a motion.”

Helen Lewis rose to her feet and stood like a statue. “Your Honor, based on new evidence that has just surfaced today, the State of Tennessee hereby moves to dismiss all charges against the defendant, Bocephus Aurulius Haynes.”

For a moment a stunned silence enveloped the courtroom. Then several shrieks and one “Hallelujah” came from the gallery. Several members of the print media were already moving toward the double doors. Once they were outside, their laptops and iPads would be out, tweets and blog updates being sent to their hordes of followers. In the front row Maggie Walton sat motionless, gazing into space.

Judge Connelly banged several times on the bench with her gavel. “I’ll have order! Order in the court!” After the courtroom had quieted down, Connelly peered down at Helen and nodded. Then she turned to the defense table. “Will the defendant please rise?”

Tom, Rick, and Bo all stood in unison.

“It is the court’s decision to grant the prosecution’s motion to dismiss. All charges brought by the State of Tennessee against the defendant, Bocephus Aurulius Haynes, are hereby dismissed with prejudice.” Smiling, Judge Connelly looked at Bo. “Mr. Haynes, you are free to go.”

75

Bocephus Haynes closed his eyes and let the tears come. He felt hands on his back and looked up into the smiling face of Rick Drake.

“Congratulations, Bo,” the boy said, his bloodshot eyes rimmed with tears. “We did it!”

Bo picked his young lawyer off his feet and pounded the lawyer’s back until Rick started to cough and both of them began to laugh. “You’re all right, Drake. You’re my believer.”

“Never a doubt,” Rick said, wiping his eyes.

Bo turned, searching for Jazz, but the entire courtroom was drowned out by the sight of Booker T. Rowe picking Bo off the ground and hugging him tight.

“So happy for you, cuz,” Booker T. said.

Then there was Jazz, smiling through her tears and falling into Bo, letting him hug her and kiss her cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Jazz. I’m so damn sorry. For everything.”

“Just shut up and hold me,” Jazz said, and Bo did, holding her tight and then embracing T. J. in a three-way hug.

Finally, Bo pulled back from her, and she said the words that Bo was thinking himself. “Where’s the Professor?”

Bo turned his head 180 degrees, looking for Tom and initially not seeing him. Then, lowering his eyes to the defense table, he saw his friend.

Thomas Jackson McMurtrie sat unmoving in his chair. After Judge Connelly had dismissed the case and told Bo he was free to leave, Tom’s legs had given way, and he had almost fallen down into his seat. Now he watched the scene unfolding in front of him like it was a movie. His eyes were moist with tears, but he made no move to wipe them.

“Professor,” Bo said, standing above him and gently placing his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Are you OK?”

Tom found he didn’t have the words. He gazed up at his friend . . . his best friend . . . but still couldn’t say anything. He moved his mouth but no words came.

“We did it,” Bo said. “You did it. You saved my life.”

Finally, as if he were beginning to come out of a trance, Tom nodded and held his hand out.

Bo took it and leaned over him, grabbing his shoulder and kissing his check. “Thank you, Professor.”

From behind Bo came Jasmine Haynes, who planted her own kiss on Tom’s forehead. “Thank you, Professor. Thank you so much.”

Then there was Rick, extending his hand. “We did it, Professor,” Rick said.

Coming out of his funk, Tom shook his partner’s hand and motioned both him and Bo to come closer. “We need to talk with Ray Ray,” he said. Then, holding his eyes on Bo’s, “It’s not finished yet.” He paused and exhaled a ragged breath. “Not all of it.”

76

Deputy Hank Springfield led Ray Ray Pickalew down the winding staircase to the lobby floor of the courthouse. Ray Ray’s hands were cuffed behind him. On most days the courtroom was empty at 4:45 p.m. Today it was a madhouse, and both the second floor and lobby floor were humming with reporters, spectators, and friends of either Bo or the Waltons. Most of them had either watched Ray Ray’s confession live or seen it on television. Questions poured in from every direction. “Why did you wait so long to come forward, Mr. Pickalew?” “Did the state offer you a deal for your testimony?” “Are you still in the Ku Klux Klan?”

Ray Ray ignored all the questions, keeping his head down. He hadn’t said a word since Hank had entered Judge Connelly’s clerk’s office to lead him away.

At the foot of the stairs Hank heard a familiar voice yelling behind him.

“Hank, wait!” Bocephus Haynes shuffled down the stairs, with Rick Drake following behind. The reporters and spectators had crowded around them to the point where movement was becoming difficult.

More questions poured in. “Mr. Haynes, is there anything you’d like to say now that the trial is over?” “Mr. Haynes, do you feel vindicated?” “Mr. Haynes, do you believe Mr. Pickalew’s confession to your father’s murder?”

At the mention of Ray Ray’s name, Bo looked past Hank to Ray Ray, whose hands were cuffed behind his back. Bo stepped forward, his gaze burning into Ray Ray, who lowered his eyes to the ground.

“Why’d you do it, Ray Ray?” Bo asked, leaning toward him so that none of the spectators and reporters could hear him. “Why now?”

“Bo, there is a time and place for those questions,” Hank said, beginning to move forward with Ray Ray and motioning for the deputies in front and back to do the same. They walked in what almost looked like a conga line toward the double doors leading out to the west side of the square. “This isn’t it.”

“Wait,” Bo said. “One question, Ray Ray. Right now I have to know.”

The deputy in front pushed the doubled doors open, and sunlight poured through the opening. Bo was momentarily blinded and held his arm up to block the sun. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Bo, let’s go back inside,” Rick said. “We can ask him later. It’s too crazy out there.”

But Bo wasn’t listening. He needed to talk with Ray Ray, and he didn’t want to wait. He had waited forty-five years, and he would not wait any longer.

He continued to follow Hank, Ray Ray, and the other deputies out the doors of the courthouse.

Rick trailed Bo through the doors to the outside, feeling his cell phone rattle in his pocket. He grabbed for it and saw that he had missed eleven text messages. Ten were from Powell. In all the excitement over Ray Ray’s testimony, Rick had turned his phone on silent and forgotten to check it.

As he descended the steps, Rick scrolled through them all. The first one read:
Do not exit the courthouse without police protection. Probably nothing, but I think JimBone may be on the square.
All of the others were shortened to:
Don’t leave the courthouse without calling me first.

Damnit
, Rick thought, looking up into the bright light and seeing a wave of white-hooded and white-robed Klansmen lining the west side of the square. “Bo, wait!” Rick yelled, but his voice was drowned out by the questions of the reporters closing in around them. The Klansmen, who were being kept at bay by four or five deputies who had cleared a path from the courthouse steps to Hank’s squad car, had also begun to hurl expletives and chants of “Murderer” when they recognized Bo.

Pressing forward, Rick tried to catch up.

There were still several reporters in front of him when he heard the first gunshot.