The Boys from Biloxi: A Legal Thriller (42 page)

A pathologist testified as to the cause of death, though his testimony wasn’t needed.

An expert from the FBI lab spent half an hour explaining the impact of detonating five pounds of Semtex in a small room the size of an office. It was far more than necessary to kill a man.

After the first three witnesses, Joshua Burch had not asked a single question on cross-examination.

So far the proof had been delivered in straightforward, matter-of-fact testimonies. McClure kept it short and to the point. The photos spoke for themselves.

During the afternoon recess, Agnes and her family returned to the front row. They would never see the horrible photos of Jesse. Keith had seen them months earlier and would be haunted forever.

Drama arrived with the fourth witness, former air force sergeant Eddie Morton. McClure cleared the air immediately and established that Morton had been court-martialed and was serving time in a federal prison. Morton described his side business peddling military explosives to various buyers over a five-year period. He admitted gambling problems and a fondness for hanging around the strip clubs in Biloxi, and about three years earlier had made the acquaintance of one Nevin Noll. On July 6, 1976, he left Keesler
with five pounds of Semtex, drove to a club called Foxy’s on the Strip, had a drink with Noll, and collected $5,000 in cash. The two went outside to the parking lot where Morton opened his trunk and handed Noll a wooden box containing the explosives. In February of 1977, he was contacted again by Noll who wanted more of the explosives.

Morton’s testimony was mesmerizing and the entire courtroom was captivated.

On cross, Joshua Burch made it clear that the witness was a convicted felon, a thief, a traitor, and a disgrace to his uniform and country. He attacked Morton’s credibility and asked him repeatedly if he was promised leniency in return for testifying. Morton steadfastly denied this, but Burch hammered away.

Like all great trial lawyers, Burch maintained his composure and never seemed to lose confidence in his case. But Keith had seen him in action before and knew that some of the cockiness was gone. His client was a dead man and he knew it.

Hugh managed to keep scribbling and never looked up, never acknowledged the presence of anyone else in the courtroom. He never whispered to his lawyers, never reacted to a word from the witness stand. Keith glanced at him occasionally and wondered what the hell he was writing. His mother, Carmen, was not in the courtroom and neither were his siblings. His father was surviving another day in prison, no doubt eager to get the daily newspapers.

Keith and Chuck McClure had strategized for hours about which witnesses to use. One idea was to subpoena some of the other criminals from the Strip and have a field day with them on the witness stand. The goal would be to prove motive. They hated Jesse Rudy and there had been plenty of bad blood. Their greatest idea was to haul in Sheriff Albert “Fats” Bowman and rip him to shreds in front of the jury. In the end, though, they agreed that the facts were squarely in the favor of the prosecution. They had the evidence and the witnesses. No sense in muddying the water. Play it straight, hit hard and fast, and get the conviction.

Wednesday started with a bang when McClure announced the State’s next witness, Mr. Henry Taylor. For the occasion, he had been allowed to shed his orange jailhouse jumpsuit and took the stand in a starched white shirt and pressed khaki pants. McClure had spent two hours with him the night before and their back-and-forth was well rehearsed.

Taylor was eager to cooperate, though he knew that for the rest of his life he would keep one eye on the rearview mirror. To a hushed crowd, he told the story of being contacted by an intermediary in July of 1976 with an inquiry about a “job” in Biloxi. A week later he drove to Jackson, Mississippi, and met with an operative named Nevin Noll. They came to terms and shook hands on the contract killing of Jesse Rudy. For $20,000 cash, Taylor would build a bomb, drive to Biloxi, follow Mr. Rudy until he knew his movements, deliver the bomb to his office, and detonate it at the right time. Noll said he had a source for military explosives and could handle the delivery. On August 17, Taylor arrived in Biloxi, met with Noll again, was briefed by him on the best time to do the job, and took five pounds of Semtex. The following evening, he broke into the courthouse, then into the office of the district attorney, and scoped out the site. On Friday, August 20, at noon, he entered the courthouse dressed as a UPS delivery man carrying packages, went to the office, spoke to Mr. Rudy, and left a package in a chair by his desk. He made a quick getaway but things got complicated when he passed Egan Clement, the assistant DA, returning from lunch. He did not want her to be collateral damage, so he quickly detonated the bomb. The blast was far more than he expected and knocked him down the stairwell, breaking his leg. He managed to get outside in the chaos but couldn’t walk. He passed out and was transported to the hospital in Biloxi where he spent three long days plotting an escape. He eventually returned home and thought he had dodged a disaster.

The witness had the undivided attention of the courtroom, and McClure took his time. He backtracked some of Henry’s movements and fleshed out the story. He asked the judge for permission to have the witness leave the stand and step over to a table in front of the jurors. The jurors and lawyers, and everyone else who could strain enough to see, watched with fascination as Taylor arranged the pieces of a fake bomb. McClure asked questions about each piece. The witness then put the bomb together, slowly, carefully, while explaining the dangers inherent with each move. He set the firing switch and explained what happened when the detonation button was at a distance. He gently placed the fake bomb in a wooden box and pretended to seal it.

Back on the witness stand, Taylor was asked by McClure how many bombs he had detonated. He refused to incriminate himself.

Burch came out swinging and asked Taylor if he was confessing to a capital murder. He bobbed and weaved a bit, said he wasn’t sure about the capital element, but, yes, he had killed Jesse Rudy for money. He admitted taking a plea deal with the State in return for his damning testimony, and Burch hammered away relentlessly. Why else would a man admit to a crime punishable by death if he had not been promised a lighter sentence? The cross-examination was riveting, at times breathtaking.

Burch landed blow after blow, picking at every small discrepancy while embellishing the obvious, and finally left little doubt that Henry Taylor was testifying to avoid severe punishment. After two hours of the barrage, Taylor was near the breaking point and the entire courtroom was exhausted. When he was excused, Judge Roach announced a recess.

The time-out did nothing to lessen the drama, and it only intensified when Nevin Noll took the stand. McClure began slowly with a series of questions that told the narrative of Noll’s long, colorful history in service to the Malco family. He was not quizzed about his other murders. Such testimony would be problematic in
many ways, and McClure did not want to discredit his star witness. There was no doubt, though, that Noll had never avoided violence in his various roles as bouncer, bodyguard, enforcer, bagman, drug-runner, and part-time club manager.

Noll never looked at Hugh, and Hugh never stopped his incessant scribbling.

When his thuggish history was thoroughly confirmed, McClure moved on to the killing of Jesse Rudy. Noll admitted that he and Hugh had discussed eliminating the district attorney as soon as Lance was arrested. Their conversations went on for weeks, then months. When they learned that Jesse Rudy was investigating the contract killing of Dusty Cromwell, they decided it was time to act. They felt as though they had no choice.

“Who made the decision to murder Jesse Rudy?” McClure asked, his question echoing through the hushed courtroom.

Noll took his time and finally replied, “Hugh was the boss. The decision was his, but I agreed with him.”

Given the green light, Noll contacted a couple of his acquaintances in the Dixie Mafia. No one wanted the job, regardless of the money. Killing a public official was too risky. Killing a high-profile DA like Jesse Rudy was suicide. Eventually he got the name of Henry Taylor, a man he had heard of in the underworld. They met and agreed on the contract, $20,000 in cash. Hugh got the explosives from Eddie Morton at Keesler.

Absorbing the matter-of-fact details of the plot to kill his father was difficult for Keith to sit through. Again, he was thankful Chuck McClure was in charge and not him. In the front row, Agnes and her daughters wiped their eyes. Tim could only glare with hatred at Nevin Noll. If he’d had a gun he would have been tempted to charge the witness stand.

When the story was finished, McClure tendered the witness and sat down. The courtroom felt exhausted and Judge Roach recessed for a two-hour lunch.

The afternoon belonged to Joshua Burch. Thirty minutes into a long, brutal cross-examination, he firmly established that Nevin Noll was a career thug who’d never held an honest job and had spent his adult life beating and even killing others in the Biloxi underworld, all in service to the Malco family. Noll never tried to downplay his past. As always, he was cocky, arrogant, even proud of his career and his reputation. Burch eviscerated him and made it plain to all that the man could not be trusted. Burch even waded into the death of Earl Fortier thirteen years earlier in Pascagoula, but Noll stopped the line of questions cold when he said, “Well, Mr. Burch, you were my lawyer back then and you told me to lie to the jury.”

Burch yelled back, “That’s another lie! Why can’t you tell the truth?”

Judge Roach sprang to life and called down both men.

But Burch was undeterred. At full volume he boomed, “How many men have you killed?”

“Only one, and that was in self-defense. You got me off, Mr. Burch. Remember?”

“Yeah, and I regret it,” Burch shot back before considering his words.

“That’s enough!” Judge Roach practically yelled into his mike.

Burch took a deep breath and walked to his table where he consulted with his co-counsel, Vincent Goode. Ever the professional, though, Burch rallied nicely when he calmly walked Noll through a long series of stories about men he’d bullied, beaten, or killed. Hugh remembered them well and had fed the information to Burch. Noll, of course, denied most of the barrage, especially the killings.

How could the jury believe anything he said?

The defense began with a whimper early Thursday morning when Joshua Burch called to the stand one Bobby LaMarque, a career errand boy for the Malco gang. Burch puffed up his résumé by adding such descriptions as “executive vice president,” “manager,” and “supervisor.” The gist of his testimony was that he was extremely close to Hugh Malco and had been on the inside for years, beginning with Lance. He had dealt with Hugh and Nevin Noll on a daily basis and knew as much about the club business as anyone else. He had never heard Hugh or Nevin discuss Jesse Rudy. Period. Nothing good, nothing bad. Nothing. If there had been a plan to eliminate the district attorney, he, LaMarque, would certainly have known about it. He’d watched young Hugh grow up in the business and knew him well. He was a fine young man who worked hard running the legitimate businesses while his father was away. LaMarque had never, in fifteen years, seen a violent streak, unless, of course, when Hugh was boxing.