Dead to Rights by Jack Patterson (fiction book recommendations .txt) 📕

“That’s how it always works. You have to trust law enforcement and the information they give you. Sometimes we get surprised with sloppy work, but Sheriff Sloan seemed forthright with me about everything. I had no reason to distrust him.”

“What if I told you he hid some evidence, certainly the kind that would raise reasonable doubt?”

“Well, Mr. Murphy, that’s something you can print in your article, but it’s not anything I’m willing to discuss. As any good prosecutor will tell you, conjecture won’t get you a conviction.”

Kelly shifted in her chair and asked, “But you’re no longer a prosecutor, are you?”

Golden shook his head. “I left that gig behind a long time ago.”

“I hear the money is much better,” she said.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Golden said with a soft laugh. “I have far more time to spend sailing, not to mention I can afford a nicer boat.”

“More time at a larger law firm?” Kelly asked.

“I work in tort law, Mrs. Murphy. And while it may be looked down upon by some, everyone needs a lawyer at some point in their lives. I just so happen to enjoy taking on large corporations who are taking advantage of people.”

Cal scribbled down a few more notes.

“So, one of the specific questions I had about the trial centered around a potential witness in Devontae Ray. Does that name ring a bell?”

Golden nodded. “Oh, yes. I remember that name very well.”

“Was there a reason why he never made it to the witness stand?”

“My team debated for several days about calling him to testify but ultimately decided against it. We found out that the defense had a witness who claimed he was smoking weed with Ray that evening before the time of the murder. Ray’s testimony could’ve been held as suspect if the defense’s witness testified.”

“And that was that?” Cal asked.

“Ultimately, I thought we had a strong enough case that we didn’t need to have him testify . . . and I was right.”

“Interesting.”

Golden placed his napkin in his lap as the waiter put salad plates in front of each person at the table.

“How much longer are you going to be in Pickett County?” Golden asked.

“Three or four more days, a week maybe. However long it takes to get my story.”

“Doesn’t seem like there’s much to get. It was an easy open and shut case, which is probably why we got such a quick verdict. And believe you me, if I never have to go back to that godforsaken place again, I’ll be a happy man. A bunch of backwoods rednecks running scared from the Marsh Monster.”

“I find Pickett quite a charming little town,” Kelly said.

“You may not find it that way the longer you stay there,” Golden said. “Just beware down there. You never know who might be watching you.”

CHAPTER 12

DESPITE ARRIVING LATE back in Pickett, Cal didn’t want to waste any time jumping back into his investigation Thursday morning. He and Kelly scarfed down a continental breakfast in the hotel lobby before leaving the Okefenokee Inn just before 9:00 a.m. Cal planned on interviewing Devontae Ray at his place of work, Stumpy’s BBQ.

“Think we should’ve called before heading out so early to Stumpy’s?” Kelly asked.

“If they’re serious about their barbecue, I promise you they’ve been open for a couple of hours now at least.”

Several minutes later, Cal rolled to a stop in Stumpy’s gravel parking lot. Plumes of smoke swirled skyward. The hickory wood chips mixed with seasoning created an intoxicating aroma for Cal. Though he’d eaten just a few minutes before, he felt his stomach rumble.

“I’m hungry all of a sudden,” Cal said as he and Kelly walked toward the entrance.

“You just ate.”

“I know. It’s my barbecue stomach though. It’s craving something.”

Kelly rolled her eyes and sighed. “I think you missed your calling in life, Cal.”

“You do realize my retirement plan consists of us getting an RV, driving across the country, and writing about barbecue.”

“I’ll be taking pictures, I assume.”

“Absolutely. We’ll be a team, an unstoppable one.”

“Yeah, because once you get all that extra weight going from the pounds you’re going to pack on eating barbecue, you’ll just keep rolling forever. Not sure I’m down with this retirement plan of yours.”

“We’ve got time to think of something else . . . that has to do with barbecue, of course,” Cal said, winking at Kelly as he held the door open for her.

“Sorry, folks, but we’re not open for business yet,” bellowed a man from the back.

Cal looked around and didn’t see anyone. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

A short portly man hobbled out from the back. He picked up his cane off the counter and leaned on it. “I said we’re not open yet.”

Cal tried to hide his surprise at the man’s short stature. “We’re not looking for food, not yet anyway,” Cal said. “We were trying to find Devontae Ray. Does he work here?”

The man grunted. “Who’s askin’?”

Cal offered his hand. “Cal Murphy, from The Seattle Times. And this is my wife, Kelly. We’re working on a story about Isaiah Drake and wanted to speak with Devontae, if he’s available.”

“Well, Mr. Murphy, Isaiah Drake isn’t exactly a favorite topic of conversation in Pickett. And if you’ve been here for longer than five minutes, you’ve probably already figured that out.”

“What about the Marsh Monster? You like talking about him?” Cal asked, gesturing toward a large framed photo of a shadowy figure in the Okefenokee.

“We’ll talk about him all day long,” the man said, cracking into a wide grin.

He then offered his hand to Cal.

“Stumpy Jefferson,” the man said. “I’m the owner of this barbecue joint here as well as Devontae Ray’s boss. Sorry for the hard time. I have to keep up appearances.”

“That you’re a battle axe?” Kelly asked.

Stumpy chuckled and pointed at Kelly. “I like you already. I would’ve never bet the first few words out of your mouth would’ve been battle axe.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Cal quipped. “She’s a feisty one.”

Stumpy, who was wearing a