The case of State of Mississippi v. Calvin Ball involved a honky-tonk fistfight that turned into a shooting that left one dead. Jesse had barely squeezed an indictment out of his last grand jury six months earlier. Calvin Ball, the winner of the fight, claimed self-defense. No less than eight patrons were involved at some level, and all were drunk, stoned, or getting that way. It happened just after midnight on a Saturday in rural Stone County. Ball’s lawyer was pushing for a trial because his client wanted to clear his name. Keith finally said what the hell; a win for either side looked doubtful.
The trial lasted for three days in Wiggins and almost turned into another brawl. After eight hours of heated deliberations, the jury split 6–6 and the judge declared a mistrial. Driving back to Biloxi, Keith managed to find little humor in some of the testimony, and in the fact that he had lost his first trial as DA. He remembered that his father had told stories about the honky-tonk. Jesse did not want to put Calvin Ball on trial.
The following week, Keith got his first win in an embezzlement case. The week before Christmas he got convictions for two bikers from California who jumped a gas station attendant in Gulfport and beat him for no reason.
Keith had practically grown up in the courtroom. He was carrying his father’s briefcase to trials when he was a teenager. He knew the rules of evidence long before he started law school. He learned courtroom procedure, etiquette, and tactics from watching a hundred trials. Jesse loved to whisper tips, tricks, and slick maneuvers as if passing along insider information.
A lawyer in a trial facing a jury has a dozen things on his mind. Getting to trial takes meticulous preparation. There was no time to grieve, fret, fear, to feel sorry for oneself. At the age of twenty-eight, Keith was becoming a good trial lawyer, one his father would be proud of.
His first three trials were exhilarating, and they at times diverted his mind from the nightmare.
* * *
Agnes was determined to lift the family’s spirits with a merry holiday season. She decorated the house as never before and planned at least three parties. Beverly, Laura, and Tim were home for Christmas. Keith and Ainsley lived four blocks away. Their kitchen became the gathering place as the family came and went and friends dropped by with cakes, flowers, and gifts. Though there were plenty of tears at night, and Jesse was never far from their thoughts, they went about their celebrations as if nothing was out of the ordinary. They sat together during Midnight Mass and were surrounded by friends when it was over.
A new chapter in their lives began the following day during Christmas lunch when Keith announced that Ainsley was two months pregnant. A new Rudy would enter the picture, and he or she was badly needed.
Agnes had managed to grit her teeth and plow through the season, but when she heard the wonderful news that she would be a grandmother, she finally broke down. The emotion was contagious, and in an instant the entire family was having a good cry. Tears of joy.
Chapter 45
The apartment was in a large, aging complex. Henry Taylor had cleaned there before. Small, inexpensive units, the kind that attracted renters who often fled in the middle of the night, leaving behind nothing that wasn’t nailed down along with plenty of dirt and stains. The guy on the phone said he was moving in and wanted the carpets freshened up. They met at the door at the appointed hour, and the guy handed over $120 in cash for the job. Then he left, said he’d be back later.
Henry was working alone—couldn’t find decent help so soon after the holidays—and was limping, struggling, and already cursing his bum leg though it was only eight in the morning. He was carrying two large jugs of detergent into the apartment when a stranger appeared from nowhere at the door and startled him. Coat, tie, hard frown, the kind of look that often startled Henry because of his violent sideline. If folks only knew how easily Henry got spooked. A seasoned bomb-maker with steady hands and a cool head, he often lost a breath when confronted with exactly the type of man now staring at him from the doorway. Without a smile the man said, “Looking for Henry Taylor.”
Was he a cop? On his trail? Had Henry finally made some unknown mistake along the way and was about to get nailed by forensics?