Sowega

Part I

December 12, 2000

Blood-coated, the pearl-handled U. S. Army M1911 Colt .45 caliber pistol gyrated out of Bobby Joe Baker’s mouth, slammed into the wall and dropped to the floor by his desk. Bobby Joe’s final act on this earth was the first flawless thing that he, as a lawyer, ever accomplished—his own death.

The manila envelope, with the single written word “manuscript” in black ink, was neatly placed in the center of his desk. It was unsplattered by the spray of blood that Bobby Joe knew would issue forth as the back of his skull exploded from the impact of the full metal jacket slug exiting the back of his head. Even as he pulled the trigger, he was more concerned that his manuscript remain unblemished by his own blood than he was any other aspect of his suicide. He was determined that the manuscript would be his last effort at some type of immortality, which had eluded him throughout his life. Bobby Joe Baker had thoroughly planned for the U. S. Army Colt .45 caliber pistol and the manuscript to be the signature of his auspicious, though unsavory, demise.

Walking to their car from the Springer Opera House, a young couple had, moments before, enjoyed an excellent theatrical performance of St. Elmo. As they arrived at their car in the parking lot next to the opera house and the lawyer’s office, they heard the explosion of the .45 caliber pistol as it fired its metal dart of death into Bobby Joe’s head. After regaining their composure from the violent blast, they debated whether to report the loud noise, and then decided that they would “just in case.” They had a small baby at home and the babysitter was going to be late for her parental curfew if they didn’t return home shortly. The sound had been so thunderous, it didn’t seem possible that it could be something within the din of ordinary late nightlife in downtown Columbus, Georgia. The drive from the parking lot to the Columbus Police Department was one block.

Upon their arrival at the police station, they reported the incident to Lt. Russell Traino, supervisor, Homicide Unit of the Columbus Police Department, who was in the lobby and who had just completed working his shift and was on his way home. After listening to their brief and excited report concerning the “explosion” in the parking lot, he thanked them, assured them they could go home and relieve the babysitter, and told them he would call them later to explain the incident if he found anything.

Lieutenant, as everyone called Lt. Traino, informed the desk sergeant that he was going to walk up to the Springer Opera House parking lot to investigate the report. In his judgment, he did not need backup in this type of citizen report of a possible incident of unknown origins. After a brisk, one-block walk, he arrived and looked across the now empty lot into the windows of the adjoining office building rented by Bobby Joe Baker, one of the truly elderly lawyers in town who was still working. With the aid of his flashlight, he saw a shattered office window and glass lying on the parking surface directly under the window.

He walked to the front of Bobby Joe’s office building and found the front door open. There appeared to be no forced entry. As he pulled his pistol from the holster, he felt a sense of tension in his body. He had an uneasy feeling about what he was going to find inside as he pushed the door fully open and stepped inside with his finger on his pistol trigger.

“Hello, is anyone here?”