P Deutermann - The Cat Dancers

“Is this thing really going to be worth ten million dollars?” he asked.

“More than that, I think, depending on how we come out with the real estate,” the lawyer said. “You weren’t married, so the IRS and the state are going to claw back a pretty big chunk. Still… we’ll see four and half, five mil net, probably, or maybe more, depending on where the market is.”

We, Cam thought. Our money now, is it?

“You thinking of resigning?” the lawyer asked.

Jesus, Cam thought. Everybody’s talking again. He began to feel a little ridiculous, standing in an empty men’s room, talking on a cell phone. But at least it was private. Or was it?

“Well…” he said.

“I would,” the lawyer said. “Let me tell you something, Lieutenant. Lawyers have a grapevine, too, you know? We gossip just as much as cops do.”

No shit, Cam thought. “And?”

“And, well, I’ve heard some rumors that maybe police officers were involved in those executions that showed up on the Internet-that electric chair stuff.”

“You’re a lawyer,” Cam said. “Surely you don’t put much stock in rumors, do you?”

The lawyer laughed. “Of course we do, just not in court. But I have to wonder. Smoke and fire stuff… That chair thing was new and sensational, but there’ve been stories about Sheriff’s Office cops taking care of business before this.”

Cam had heard the stories, but he had always dismissed them as perp chatter: “I’m totally innocent, Your Honor. These cops framed me.” But now he wasn’t so sure.

“And you think that would extend to what happened to Judge Bellamy?” he asked Strong.

“She was not exactly beloved by the law-enforcement community, and I can also include more than a few lawyers in that community.”

“That’s total bullshit,” Cam said reflexively.

“About Bellamy and her hate-hate relationship with law enforcement?”

“No-o, I’ll spot you that one. She didn’t have a lot of respect for cops.” Or for criminal defense lawyers, either, Cam thought. Called them shit-eaters.

“To say the least,” the lawyer said. “We’ve got three partners here in this firm who do criminal defense work. Now, they loved her. We had another lawyer here who went to work in the DA’s office. He did not love her. But that’s not what I was getting at.”

Cam was getting tired of this, especially since what he felt required to say to this guy didn’t exactly square with what he’d been thinking. “Which was?” he asked.

“Don’t get pissed off, Lieutenant-I’m trying to help you. Consider this: If cops are doing this shit, and they had enough hair on their ass to blow up a sitting judge, who’s the next logical target, assuming there is one?”

“I give up,” Cam said.

“That would be you, Lieutenant, wouldn’t it?”

Cam blinked in surprise.

“Because if cops are involved,” the lawyer continued, “they’d have to expect you, of all people, to come after them. They killed someone who was close enough to you to leave you her fortune. That makes it extremely personal.”

“The money didn’t make this personal,” Cam said.

“That’s not what I meant,” the lawyer responded.

“We don’t pursue any personal agendas here in the Sheriff’s Office,” Cam said. “Bobby Lee would have our asses on a pig grill for that. Besides, we’re too busy.”

“C’mon, Lieutenant,” Strong said. “I know you’re required to say that, but we’re both southern boys here. You’ve never seen cops get personal? I find that really hard to believe. My wife mouthed off to a state trooper a year ago, racked up five tickets over the next three months-all from other state troopers. It was like they had a list or something. If there are cops behind those executions, they’d have to be worried about you right now.”

“Unless, of course, I’m part of this hypothetical vigilante outfit,” Cam said, determined to shut this off now.

“Jesus H. Christ, Lieutenant-I don’t even want to hear that.”

“Precisely,” Cam said. “Because it’s all bullshit. This is a rumor started by the feds, because they’re getting nowhere in finding the prime suspect. Look, any cop knows that killing a judge brings a federal posse. Those guys are pretty good when they want to be, so the chances of getting caught are also pretty good. Premeditated murder carries a death sentence in this state. Or, at the very least, life without parole. And jail for a cop? The needle would be preferable. It doesn’t compute. It just doesn’t. They may hate her, but no cop I know would take that chance.”

“Okay, Lieutenant, I hear you. But if I were you, I’d think about a yearlong trip around the world. Hell, take a leave of absence if you don’t want to resign. But get your ass out of town for a while. That’s what I would do, I were you.”

“You’re not me,” Cam said as pleasantly as he could. “But thanks for your concern.”

He snapped the phone closed. Another lieutenant came into the men’s room, nodded to Cam, and mumbled the standard formula about being sorry about Cam’s loss. Cam thanked him and headed for the MCAT office. He asked Sue to get him on Bobby Lee’s calendar. He’d said what he had to say to that lawyer, that the whole story was crap. He had some reservations about that, but he’d keep those to himself right now. And the lawyer had come up with one good idea Cam had not thought of: a leave of absence. There were miles to go before Annie’s estate would be settled, and a whole herd of government leeches who would be trying to latch onto her estate. A leave of absence might cover all his bets.

Sue called and said the sheriff could see him in fifteen minutes.

“We’ve got a prelim report in on the bombing,” the sheriff said grimly as Cam sat down. “BFB.”

“We knew that, I think,” Cam said, remembering the scope of destruction.

“Yes, but it was a bigger bomb than it had to be, which means that the guy planting it didn’t know what he was doing. C-four, apparently, and a relatively old batch, probably stolen from some National Guard armory as long as ten years ago.”

“How do they know it’s that old?”

“They’ve been putting trace materials in modern military explosives for the past ten years, so that the residue can be identified as to source. This bomb didn’t have any. The ATF lab said the guy used five times more C-four than was necessary, which makes him an amateur.”

Or a very angry bomber, Cam thought. “A distinction without a difference to the judge,” he said.

The sheriff nodded his acknowledgment. “You called me,” he said, glancing at his watch.

“I’d like to request a leave of absence,” Cam said.

The sheriff raised his eyebrows. “How long?” he asked.

“A year?”

The Sheriff jotted down a note on his ever-ready pad of legal paper. “If it’s a real leave of absence, as opposed to my sending you off to training or some such, it would have to be without pay,” he said. “Plus, I couldn’t guarantee your slot as head of the MCAT would be waiting for you when you come back.”

Cam nodded. He’d anticipated all that. “I’d stay until you pick a successor in MCAT, of course,” he said. “So I can do a proper turnover.”

“That’s probably not necessary,” the sheriff replied. “You’ve had Kenny Cox on the recommended list for lieutenant for some time now. Isn’t he the logical candidate?”

Cam nodded. Of course he was. And his nemesis was no longer present for duty.

“Let me ask you something, Lieutenant,” the sheriff said. “Are you doing this because of all that money coming your way?”

Cam shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said. “Besides, the lawyer says it’ll take months to settle out. So, no, this isn’t about money.”