It was Thursday morning. Ray sat inside an attorney/client interview room next to Judge Broadside’s courtroom. Patience had always been an ephemeral idea, which, to Ray, made it a vice and not a virtue. Quick decisions and immediate actions were the stalwarts of his success. Or, so Ray believed.
It was ten minutes before his bond hearing and Morgan Selvidge was nowhere in sight. Ray’s attorney had not called or visited since Ray’s Tuesday afternoon arrest. Equally troubling was his cuffed hands and shackled feet. Apparently, the Deputy who walked him to the courthouse this morning hadn’t communicated with Deputy Jared. Thankfully, only his hands were cuffed in front and the shackles weren’t tight.
The Hearing was at 10:00. Ray countered his sweaty forehead and aching stomach by reflecting on the past forty hours inside Marshall County Jail.
Cell Block D had been worse than expected. Although the food was acceptable, the privacy was not. Unlike what Deputy Jared had promised, the jailer forced Ray to share an eight-foot by ten-foot cell with another inmate. Now, waiting at the courthouse for his defense attorney, Ray acknowledged things could have been worse.
The bad appeared shortly after breakfast yesterday morning. Ray had been told the visitor was his chef and kitchen manager. Neither were true. It was Billy James, Buddy’s brother, sitting opposite the thick plexiglass inside the visitor center. Ray couldn’t recall when he’d been so angry.
Billy demanded money, his share of ‘the job.’ Ray almost hung up the phone and called for the guard. What he learned from staying and listening confirmed the stupidity of what he’d done, the entire endeavor to burn the Hunt House for an estimated quarter million-dollar profit. The irony was that Buddy had disappeared with Ray’s hundred thousand dollars, leaving him zero profit, given the likelihood the insurance company would balk at paying the claim.
Another thing Ray had learned was that Eric Snyder, the man discovered in the ashes, had bragged about making a quick ten thousand dollars. Of course, Buddy had never paid him. This was the money Billy demanded. His twisted thinking convinced himself he deserved a share of Buddy’s windfall despite his lack of participation.
Before Billy left, Ray concocted a plan and promised he’d pay fifty thousand dollars, but it would have to wait until he was released. Billy left with a fist bump toward the plexiglass. Ray reciprocated with two hands for double assurance. Secretly, Ray knew he had no choice but to quiet the James brothers’ unpredictable tongues. They could no longer be trusted to protect him. How he could accomplish this goal was now merely an idea.
An unknown deputy entered the witness room and relayed to Ray that his attorney had called Judge Broadside and announced he was running fifteen minutes behind. After an affirmative head nod, Ray considered firing the uncommitted Morgan Selvidge and asking the Court for a continuance. Unfortunately, that would return him to his jail cell. Ray waited.
Orin Russell had been the good thing about Ray’s two-day stay inside the Marshall County Jail. By luck or the grace of God, Russell had the makings of a trainable and trustworthy replacement for the incompetent and disloyal James’s brothers.
Orin Russell was from Albertville, nineteen years old, and charged with the kidnapping and sexual assault of his stepmother’s 15-year-old daughter. The tall and muscular jail mate reminded Ray of his younger self. Both had been star athletes in high school and had dreamed of going all the way to the pros. Both had a commanding presence and an entitlement attitude. Like Ray, Orin had an insatiable appetite for women and wealth. Yet, he lacked a viable pathway forward, especially when considering his inept and lethargic court-appointed defense attorney. Last night, it had taken little for Ray to convince Orin his ticket to success lay with his sixty-seven-year-old jail mate.
Ray always believed he had the near-supernatural ability to discern real from fake. But he’d always been cautious to double-check and verify. So, Ray anchored his plan for him and Orin in high moral principles and undetectable coded language.
After an hour of Ray sharing a brief biography, his hopes and dreams for Rylan’s, and the name of a criminal defense attorney who’d be in touch, Orin had accepted Ray’s generous job offer. His primary responsibility would be to mirror Ray’s daily activities and learn the intricacies of real estate development. In sum, to perform duties as delegated by his boss. Like Ray, Orin had made good grades in school and learned quickly. He eagerly promised to devote “every waking hour to making Ray happy.” This morning, before the deputy arrived to walk Ray across the street to the courthouse, Orin had jotted down all his new boss’s contact information.
It was 10:20 AM when Morton Selvidge joined Ray inside the interview room. “Before you go ballistic on me, let me share the good news.”
Ray listened. He could always give his lackluster attorney a pink slip after leaving the Marshall County jail.
“The DA’s agreed to my offer.”
“And that is?” Ray would quickly agree to ten million dollars if that’s what it took. It was only money.
“A million-dollar cash bond and an ankle monitor.”
“I’d rather pay more money and keep my freedom.”
“I expected that. DA won’t have it. To her, you’re too much of a flight risk.”
After offering to put up ten million dollars, Ray asked for details concerning the ankle monitor, primarily whether he could leave the Lodge.
“Five-mile diameter. From your home. Otherwise, we’ll have to ask special permission.”
Ray finally agreed and Morton left to tell the DA and Judge.
***
What Ray didn’t know was that his jail mate hadn’t been completely truthful. Although he was Orin Russell, nineteen years old, and a former Albertville High School star athlete, he had already accepted another position working for private investigator Connor Ford. His assignment was to gain information. Ford hired Orin to snitch on Ray Archer.
The idea hadn’t originated with Connor. Last Saturday afternoon, Lee had received an email from Linda Smith, his former English teacher. As promised, she had sent a copy of Kyle’s tenth-grade essay, a complete manuscript. In it, Kyle had learned of Ray’s secret involvement with a girl he referred to as Babe 2. She had been a young and beautiful Albertville High School cheerleader. That was before she disappeared. Kyle had used this to persuade Brute to “do the right thing,” about not only Babe, but Babe 2’s family. To Lee, it strongly suggested Ray had learned Kyle had become a threat to his success, even his freedom. And this was before Lee had conducted any investigation.
Lee’s sources were the archives of the Sand Mountain Reporter and The Advertiser Gleam. Articles dated during the summer and fall of 1969 revealed the girl, a Sharon Teague, had disappeared after being raped and before she had disclosed to her mother the name of her attacker. From these definitive facts and Kyle’s nondescript essay, Lee framed the hypothesis that Ray killed Kyle to prevent the disclosure of his criminal actions.
Lee’s call to Micaden Tanner had triggered a causal reaction. Micaden shared Lee’s hypothesis with Connor Ford, who conferred with his longtime friend Mark Hale. Fortunately, Hale was privy to investigator Avery Proctor and the DA’s recent interest in cold cases. Proctor had revealed the name of Orin Russell, the grandson of Susan Vick, the late Sharon Teague’s sister.
Orin’s recent arrest was a fortunate occurrence, or a gift from the gods. To avoid future evidentiary reasons, the DA’s office had declined involvement. That hadn’t stopped Ford from meeting with Russell and motivating him to seek justice on behalf of his deceased great aunt, especially when the opportunity came with hopes of probation or a much-reduced sentence if convicted.
The Pencil-Driven Life 