“I’m talking about the two thousand cash you took for a not-guilty vote. Are you denying it?”
“Hell yeah I’m denying it. You got it wrong, Mr. Rudy. I didn’t take any money.”
“Fine. I’m going to haul you in before the grand jury and ask you all about it. You’ll be sworn to tell the truth. Perjury carries ten years, Joe. Same for tampering. That’s twenty years in Parchman prison, and the judge and I can guarantee that you’ll serve every day of it.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I’m also dangerous. Look, Joe, you’ve committed a serious crime and I know it. How’s your family going to feel when I indict you for jury tampering?”
“I need a lawyer.”
“Go hire one. You have the money. What’s left of it. But you’re leaving a trail, Joe. Last week you bought a new pickup from Shelton Ford, paid five hundred down, financed the rest. That’s pretty careless, Joe.”
“Nothing wrong with buying a truck.”
“You’re right. So I won’t indict you for that. I like the other charges anyway.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do, Joe. I’m using small words here, nothing complicated. I’m going to indict you for tampering, maybe perjury too, and I’ll squeeze like hell until you tell me where the money came from. You’re a small fish in a big pond, Joe, and I want bigger trophies. I want the man with the money.”
“What money?”
“You got thirty days, Joe. If there’s no deal in thirty days, then you’ll hear a knock on the door at three in the morning. They’ll hand you a subpoena. I’ll be waiting in the grand jury room.”
Chapter 29
After the December 1973 term of circuit court was over, Judge Oliphant continued everything on both his dockets to the new year, and left for Florida and a sunny Christmas. The law business slowed considerably around the holidays. Courthouse clerks decorated their offices and handed out baked goods to anyone who stopped by. Secretaries needed more time off to shop. The lawyers knew better than to ask for a hearing; there wasn’t a judge anywhere. So they partied, one office after another, and they invited police officers, rescue personnel, ambulance drivers, even some clients. The parties were often loud and raucous, with no shortage of heavy drinking.
At Rudy & Pettigrew, things were quieter as the firm gathered for a catered meal and the exchanging of gifts. For Jesse and Agnes, it was a proud moment because all four children were already home for the break. Keith had been lawyering for seven months. Beverly was out of college and contemplating the future. Laura would graduate from Southern Miss in the coming spring. Tim, the youngest, was making noise about transferring to a college out west. He was tired of the beach and wanted to see the mountains. His older siblings were cut from the Rudy mold—disciplined, driven, regimented, focused. Tim was a free spirit, a nonconformist, and his parents weren’t sure what to do with him.
Since he’d left home two years earlier, Agnes had assumed a larger role in the firm. She was practically the managing partner, though without the benefit of a law license. She managed the secretaries and part-time help. She watched the files and made sure papers were filed promptly. She handled most of the bookkeeping and monitored the fees and expenses. Occasionally, she stepped in to referee a dispute between the lawyers, but that was rare. She and Jesse insisted on good behavior and respectful relations, and the truth was that the four young lawyers liked one another. There was no jealousy or envy. They were building a firm and working together.
The district attorney’s position was full-time, but some vagueness in the statute allowed a DA to keep his old office as long as he didn’t profit from it. The rule was that the firm could take no criminal clients, not even drunks and shoplifters in city court. Freed from that unprofitable law speciality, the four young lawyers were working the civil side and attracting clients.