Page 63 of Ride the Lightning

“I mean, if it makes you feel better to tell me, then sure,” Jerry quipped.

“My name is Jonah St. John, and I’m with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation,” Jonah said, hoping Jerry didn’t ask to see his badge. “I’m investigating the 1982 murder of Earl Ison. I’m interviewing anyone who might’ve worked with him before his death.”

“Oh,” Jerry said softly. “I’d read about the new information in the paper. It wasn’t that I’ve never thought of Earl, but I at least felt some sense of closure when I thought his killer had confessed and was dead.”

Jonah recognized the emotion washing over the man’s handsome features. It was the same expression he saw when he interviewed Earl’s friends and in Agnes Cahill’s eyes when she spoke about her late husband.

Grief.

Jerry Locke wasn’t just Earl’s former boss. Their bond was much tighter, possibly intimate.

“Can I still come in?”

“Oh, yes. Sure,” Jerry said, gathering himself. “Forgive my rudeness.” He stepped aside and gestured for Jonah to enter the house. “Would you like to sit out back on the patio and talk? It’s my favorite spot.”

“Sounds great.”

The glimpses of the interior Jonah saw were as expensive and impressive as the exterior. When they reached the back patio, Jonah understood why it was Jerry’s favorite part. He’d only met the man two minutes ago, but the comfortable seating area, built-in barbecue, and pool felt more like his style than the fussy furniture he saw during his quick pass through the house.

“Is that one of those brick pizza ovens?” Jonah asked.

“It is,” Jerry said, nodding. “We only moved into this house last month and haven’t tried it out yet.”

“You have a beautiful home.”

“And you’re wondering why a concrete guy like me lives here, right?” Jerry asked.

“Not really.”

“You want to know about Earl,” Jerry said, breaking eye contact and looking out over his back yard. Jonah followed his gaze. Beyond the ornamental fence marking the property perimeter, a golf cart drove along the lushly green course. “It feels like an eternity since I’ve even spoken his name.”

“Did Earl work for you long?” Jonah asked. He wanted to start out with questions he already knew the answers to so he could gauge Jerry’s honesty and willingness to speak openly to him.

Jerry met his gaze once more, and a wry smile spread across his face. He shook his head and said, “Earl was all thumbs and two left feet. He might’ve lasted two weeks.”

Jonah laughed. “That’s what Marla said.”

“I recognize the name. She was Earl’s best friend—the one who encouraged him to start performing.”

“Marla is my neighbor and a dear friend. She’s the reason why we’ve reopened the case,” Jonah explained. “She never believed Bo Cahill killed Earl.”

Jerry ran a hand through his hair. “How could she know that?” he asked.

“Marla has amazing instincts, and she’s better at listening to hers than most people. She was right. There was no possible way Bo Cahill could’ve killed Earl,” Jonah said.

“Did I read that the man was already in jail for killing someone else?” Jerry asked.

“Yes. Bo Cahill was in a county jail awaiting a bail hearing when Earl died.” Jonah explained what had happened to Agnes and the circumstances surrounding Bo’s arrest.

Jerry scrunched up his face. “How was that possible?”

“Which part?” Jonah asked.

Jerry huffed a sigh of frustration. “All of it. The system is broken, and I’ve been too ignorant my whole life to realize it.”

“No one wants to think that innocent people land in prison, especially not on death row. History has taught us otherwise, and I’m afraid some people weren’t paying attention to the lessons.”

“My wife would love that saying. Sheila is a history teacher and retired after forty years with teenagers. Do you mind if I borrow it?” Jerry asked.