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Burton’s eyes swelled wide in alarm. “Murder? Oh my goodness. What sort of thing might she have witnessed in one of my rentals?”
“I’m afraid we can’t disclose that. Client confidentiality,” said DuBose.
She provided them the phone number and address in New York, and they left.
“What are the chances Evans agrees to come here and testify?” asked Jack.
“Slim and none. But it’s better to know about her than not.”
When they got back to the office, Jack called Craig Baker again. This time he was put through to the attorney.
Jack told him who he was and why he was calling. “So, we need to know what you sent Mrs. Randolph that day and why she needed your services.”
“I can’t possibly tell you any of that.”
The line went dead.
Jack looked over at DuBose, who was seated at the worktable going over some files. “Mr. Baker is not going to be cooperative,” he said.
“Well, that’s why we have the right to subpoena,” said DuBose as she added this to their to-do list. “And we can do the same for Janice Evans. If we can have her testify that Pearl was with her during the time the Randolphs were murdered, I think maybe even a white jury will be inclined to rule in our favor.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Oh, I did a phone interview last night while you were out walking Queenie.”
“An interview? With who?”
“Huntley and Brinkley. They recorded it for their newscast last night.”
“Chet Huntley and David Brinkley! How did that come about?”
“They heard I was here working on this case and wanted to interview me. I spoke to them last year during the Loving matter. And they told me George Wallace has commented on the Randolph case. Saying something like this is the line in the sand that white people cannot allow to be crossed.”
“What’d you tell them about our case?”
Before she could answer, the phone rang.
Jack looked at it. “I wonder if Mr. Baker had a change of heart. I left my number the first time I called his office.”
It was not Baker. Frank Lee sounded frantic.
“Jack, get yourself over to the hospital quick as you can, son.”
“Daddy, what’s wrong? It’s not Momma, is it?”
“It’s Lucy.”
“Lucy!”
“Somebody hurt her, real bad.”
CHAPTER 51
IT’S QUITE SERIOUS,” SAID THE lean, gray-haired doctor. “She has a skull fracture. Hopefully, she’ll pull through, but it will require a complicated, risky surgery. There are no guarantees, I’m afraid.”
Frank, Jack, and DuBose looked through the round window into the room where an unconscious Lucy lay in the hospital bed, her head wound with bandages. Her mother sat stoically beside the bed, holding her only daughter’s hand.
“What the hell happened?” Jack asked his agitated father, who was puffing furiously on a Camel.
