After his dramatic conversion, which was genuine, Wolf felt enormous relief, but he was still plagued by his past. He felt responsible for many horrible crimes which continued to haunt him. Weeks passed and he deteriorated physically. Mentally and emotionally he was not at peace. His preacher stopped by once a day for a devotional and prayer, and several times Wolf felt the spirit move him to confess everything. He could not, however, muster the courage, and the guilt grew heavier.
Two months after his diagnosis, he had lost forty pounds and could not get out of bed. The end was near and he was not ready for it. He called the sheriff and asked him to stop by when the preacher was there. With his wife sitting by his bed, and the sheriff taking notes, and the preacher laying hands on his blanket, Wolf started talking.
That afternoon, the sheriff drove to Jackson and met with the chief of the state police. The following morning, two officers and two technicians arrived at the Wolf home. A camera and a recorder were quickly set up at the foot of his bed.
In a strained, scratchy, and often fading voice, Wolf talked. He gave details of contract killings that stretched back two decades. He named the men who ordered the hits and the fees they paid. He named their go-betweens. He named their victims. The more he talked, the more he nodded off. Heavily sedated and in enormous pain, he drifted in and out and was occasionally confused. Some of the hits he recalled in detail, others had been too long ago.
The sheriff stood at the door, shaking his head in disbelief.
Mrs. Wolf was overwhelmed and could not stay in the room. She served coffee and offered cookies, but no one was hungry.
Bayard Wolf died three days later, at peace with himself. His preacher assured him that God forgives all sins when they are confessed before him. Wolf wasn’t sure God had ever heard such a monumental confession, but he accepted the promises on faith and was smiling when he took his last breath.
He left behind an enormous treasure of facts that would take years to unravel. Nineteen murders in twenty-one years in eight states. Jealous husbands, jealous wives, jealous girlfriends, feuding business partners, siblings at war, scam artists, duped investors, a corrupt politician, even a rogue cop.
And one nightclub owner determined to eliminate the competition.
* * *
According to Wolf, a man named Nevin Noll met him in a bar in Tupelo. Wolf was quite familiar with Biloxi and had even visited the clubs in years past. He had never met Malco, but he had certainly heard of him. Wolf knew that Noll was a longtime gun thug for Malco, though he didn’t ask where the money came from. That question was always off-limits. Noll gave him $20,000 in cash for a hit on Dusty Cromwell, another outlaw with an even shadier past. Wolf assumed there was another turf war underway in Biloxi and Malco was in the middle of it. Such activities were common down there and Wolf knew some of the players.
Wolf kept 10 percent of the cash, his customary fee, and brokered the killing. His favorite hit man was Johnny Clark, a former army sniper who’d been kicked out of the military for atrocities in Vietnam. His nickname, whispered only in certain circles, was “the Rifleman.” Wolf met him in the same bar in Tupelo and handed over the rest of the cash. Two months later, Dusty Cromwell was practically decapitated as he walked along a Biloxi beach with his girlfriend.
Of the other unsolved murders on the Coast, Wolf claimed no knowledge. Some had all the markings of professional hits; others appeared to be the work of local thugs settling scores.
* * *
In May, Jesse Rudy drove to Jackson for a meeting at the headquarters of the state police. He was given the background on Bayard Wolf and shown a video clip of his narrative about the Cromwell murder. It was a stunning turn of events, one that Jesse had in no way contemplated, and it presented an enormous challenge for any prosecution.
First, Wolf, the star witness, was dead. Second, his taped testimony would never be admitted in court. No judge would allow it, regardless of how crucial it was, because the defense did not have the opportunity to cross-examine the witness. Even though Wolf had been sworn to tell the truth, there was no way a jury would ever see or hear him. To admit his testimony would be clear reversible error.