“Have you seen him since you worked there?” I ask, afraid I see where this is heading.

“On the street every now and then,” Class says.

“And then at Oldham’s Barbecue some. See, like I say, it turned out he owned it, and my uncle just managed it for him.”

Paul, it appears, has had Class on the payroll for years.

“So how long have you been working one way or another for Paul Taylor?”

“About eight years, I guess,” Class says, using his fingers to count.

It is easy to guess what has happened. While the prosecuting attorney was waiting for the results of the DNA analysis, he just sat back and watched Class. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Oldham was about to retire and Class was going to join the entrepreneurial class, courtesy of Paul.

On the other hand, it is not out of the realm of the possible it was a coincidence. Employers are few and far between in the Delta.

“How much were you making?” I ask.

“More than I was making cutting meat,” Class admits. He sighs, knowing things don’t look good for him.

I ask him directly, “Did Paul Taylor hire you to kill Willie “Naw, sir!” Class says, raising his voice for the first time.

“I swear to God he didn’t. I didn’t murder ole Willie for nobody.”

For some reason I think I believe him. Maybe I just want to do this case. We talk for a while longer and then I get a guard to let him come around to sign my retainer agreement. I don’t make a practice of trying to milk the cow dry in one setting. I will have ample opportunity to find out Doss’s story. I tell him that I will try to have his arraignment set as quickly as possible so we can get a trial date. I explain that since he has no money for a bond, he will have to remain in jail until the trial, which he accepts more stoically than I would.

Paul, he tells me, has already made bond, which is hardly surprising.