Jack Hairston swears he never meant to kill his roommate with a single swing of a sickle.

Jack Hairston swears he never meant to kill his roommate with a single swing of a sickle.

But on the morning that William Justis died, Hairston says, there was no talking sense into the man who called himself Elvis.

Ever since police officers arrived at Elsie McGhee�s North Linden home early on Tuesday to find Justis� body in the blood-spattered basement and Hairston waiting patiently, Hairston has said he acted in self-defense.

Columbus homicide detectives said yesterday that their investigation supports Hairston�s version of what happened. They are not charging him, although they will ask the Franklin County prosecutor�s office to review the case to be sure.

McGhee, 86, said she invited Justis to stay with her at her 1701 Weber Rd. home a few years ago. He had been living with one of her nephews, but when the men were evicted, �Billy didn�t have nowhere to go,� McGhee said.

Justis, 44, moved into her basement, splitting the space with Jack Hairston, another of her nephews. Justis� stay was supposed to be temporary. It didn�t work out that way.

�He became just like one of the family after I couldn�t get rid of him,� she said.

She and Hairston, 53, liked Justis. He called himself Elvis and did impersonations when he drank, but he also had �anger issues,� Hairston said.

�William, he was Billy Badass,� he said. �Elvis was a real live wire. I knew that if we ever got into it, it was going to be serious.�

That time arrived at 1:45 a.m. on Tuesday, when a woman rebuffed Justis� request for another of her beers.

They argued. Hairston intervened. The woman had shared with Justis all night, he pointed out. Justis said he had shared, too.

�We went through that about 10 times,� Hairston said.

Justis became enraged. He collected knives, and he pulled one from his pocket and flicked it open.

�What�s that all about, man?� Hairston said.

Justis went to his room, promising to return. Hairston picked up the sickle he kept by his bed, expecting trouble.

Justis charged Hairston and sprayed him repeatedly in the face with pepper spray. Through burning eyes, Hairston saw Justis motion as if to stab him. Hairston swung the sickle to fend off the attack.

Justis fell to the floor, blood gushing from a wound at the base of his neck.

The commotion drew McGhee downstairs. There was blood everywhere.

�I continued to talk to him until he took his last breath,� she said. �He was our friend, and we considered Billy, Elvis, our family.�

Hairston, 53, said detectives questioned him for 10 hours before letting him go. He has been scrubbing the basement with limited success and said he might seek help from Netcare.

�It�s not nice having to take somebody�s life, and it don�t feel good to be called a killer,� he said. �I never wanted to hurt Elvis.�

Yet McGhee and Hairston are realizing only now how little they knew about him. They knew that he once lived in Philadelphia. He didn�t have a clear source of income but always seemed to have money in his bank account. After his death, they found his old driver�s licenses from New Jersey and Pennsylvania, along with some plasma-donor cards.

Justis never spoke about his family or his life story to either of them. They and others would inquire, they said, but he was never one to share.

tdecker@dispatch.com