I hit pause on the video and said, “Oh, Noah, this is Terri Washington. She’s the private investigator I hired for Jackson’s case.”
“Evening, ma’am. I’m sorry; I should’ve got dressed. I heard voices but figured it was Jackson’s mom.”
“Evening,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“For the record,” I told Terri, “Mazie doesn’t hang out here at midnight.”
Noah said, “No, I just meant, who else do you ever see?” He went to the cabinet, steadying himself on the counter, and pulled out a box of cereal.
I could tell Terri was trying hard not to laugh. She looked at me and whispered, “Harsh!”
Noah dumped some cereal in a bowl and said, “What’s that you’re watching?”
I said, “Oh, we went and reenacted something from the night Karl was killed. Just wanted to check what a witness could’ve seen at that time of night.”
He looked—there wasn’t another word for it—scared. “There’s a witness?”
“I’ll know more on Monday,” I said. “At the preliminary hearing I get to cross whoever they put on, so I’ll know a whole lot more about their evidence after that. But yeah, there is.”
In disbelief, he said, “Someone who says he did it?”
“No, as best I know they’ve got nobody saying they saw the actual crime.”
He was looking past me, at the laptop screen. “Somebody saw him on the road there?” he asked.
“I’ll see what exactly the witness says tomorrow.”
He looked at the counter, shaking his head. It hadn’t really hit him before, I guessed, that his friend might not get out of this.
When he’d taken his cereal back to his room, Terri said, “He’s taking it pretty hard, isn’t he.”
I nodded. “All his friends back in Charleston left for college. Now they’re back after freshman year, but he ain’t seen them because he feels like they don’t have much in common anymore. Jackson’s pretty much all he’s got.”
“That’s rough.”
We got back to work. After watching it all, it seemed pretty clear that with so few streetlights and so many trees, there were only two spots on the road where Blount could’ve gotten a good enough look to identify both the crowbar and Jackson. Both of them would’ve required Jackson to look toward the car as it passed, but that seemed like a natural enough thing for a person walking down a road at night to do. Even so, Blount still wouldn’t have seen much unless he was going under twenty-five miles an hour.
Terri said, “I guess you know what to ask Blount on Monday.”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
Her dog, asleep under the table, gave a muffled bark. She reached down to scratch him and said, “I’ll see if I can get Kitty’s cell number for you tomorrow. Meanwhile, it’s past time for me and Buster to get on home. He’s going to wake me up at six for a walk.”
“Oh, man,” I said. “I’m glad my dog’s too old for that.”
“I thought a puppy would make me feel young again,” she said. “Lesson learned.”
I walked them to the door and stood on the porch until they were safely in her Jeep.
15
Sunday, July 28, Morning
In the basement of Victory Baptist Church, I found myself standing in a prayer circle holding hands with true-believing local business leaders. The pancake breakfast had come with a side of ministry. Henry Carrell was opposite me, his eyes closed, listening closely to the preacher’s words. Two men down from him, with his eyes shut tight too, was Pat Ludlow. He ran the local solicitor’s office. As Ruiz’s boss, he had the last word on what crimes to charge Jackson with. I was starting to see the point of getting out in the community.
“Oh Lord,” the preacher said, “we know that we are sinners. We turn from our sins again today.”
“Yes, Jesus,” Henry said.
My spirit did not move. I was distracted by Ludlow’s hair. It had a fluffy, blow-dried look that I associated less with prosecutors than with high-end car salesmen.
“Take control, Lord,” said the preacher. “Take control of the throne of my life. Make me the kind of person you want me to be.”
“Please, Lord!” Henry looked up, his eyes still closed, his face contorted. He looked sincerely in pain. I knew you never could tell what was in a person’s heart, but it still surprised me. He had more money than any man needed, a marriage that by all accounts was solid, and three kids who all seemed to be doing well.
Afterward, as I was walking to my car, I wondered if he’d invited me to Victory Baptist so I’d see him in that state. Was he just showing me he’d gotten right with the Lord? Or trying to tell me something else?
It was a little strange to go from there to a meeting with a strip club waitress. Terri had come through with a cell number for Kitty, who’d agreed to talk to me as long as it happened somewhere else. Not Basking Rock, because Dunk—or anyone else who knew her from the Broke Spoke—might see her. Not where she lived, a few miles down the coast, because that town was even smaller and more gossipy than Basking Rock. We settled on a Starbucks in downtown Charleston. On a summer Sunday, I thought, only tourists would be around.
I got there early so I could find a good corner seat. The place was half-full and loud with chatter, the hiss of milk steamers, and coffee being ground. I spotted Kitty as soon as she walked in: a big-haired brunette, skinny legs, stonewashed jeans.
The first thing she said after hello was, “I want you to know right up-front that I was working at the Broke Spoke the night Karl died. There must’ve been sixty people there, and they got security cameras. So if there’s—I mean, I
