Greg Iles - True Evil

"Did you wait in the restaurant?"

"Uh-uh. Spent most of my time in the shower area, by the game room. It didn't take you as long as you said."

Eldon smiled. "Sometimes things just fall right, you know?"

"Like with this one," Judah said, rubbing the capuchin's back.

Eldon laughed, then pulled out to the frontage road. He drove underneath the interstate, then turned left and accelerated up the ramp onto I-55 North. Before long they would reach the Natchez Trace exit. For several miles, the Trace ran along the Ross Barnett Reservoir, where some beautiful homes faced that stretch of the massive lake.

"Look in the backseat," Eldon said. "What do you see?"

Judah heaved his huge frame around far enough to stare into the rear seat of the pickup. Eldon switched on the overhead light.

"Looks like a box of rocks," said Judah.

Eldon belly-laughed for almost a half mile. "That's just what it is, Brother! A box of rocks!"

Judah looked puzzled, but he seemed content to caress the monkey and watch the headlights on the Interstate. By the time they turned onto the Trace, Tarver's face looked carved from stone.

Will Kilmer was sitting in his office when his telephone rang. He'd checked himself out of the hospital and come in early to try to catch up on the cases he'd been ignoring to help Alex, but the heavy backlog and the pain in his wounded back had pushed him to open the bottle of Jack Daniel's he kept in his bottom drawer.

"Argus Operations," he half-groaned, shoving a stack of files to the far corner of his desk.

"It's Danny, Will."

Danny Mills was an ex-cop Kilmer had assigned to watch Andrew Rusk's office today. "What is it, Danny?"

"Rusk hasn't shown up for work. Usually he's in at least a half hour before now."

"Okay. Stay put. I'll holler back at you."

Will hung up and considered the situation. He could send a man out to Madison County, where Rusk lived-or he could drive out there himself. He hated that idea, because commuter traffic was hell this time of the morning, with the new Nissan plant and all. Plus, according to Alex, the FBI was watching Rusk now. Their involvement might be unofficial, but their point man was John Kaiser, an agent whose reputation Will had long known and respected. Alex had given Will a cell number for Kaiser in case of emergency. After another sip of Jack Daniel's, Will lifted his phone and punched in the number.

"Kaiser," answered a strong voice.

"Agent Kaiser, this is Will Kilmer calling. I'm not sure you-"

"I know who you are, Mr. Kilmer. Retired homicide detective, right?"

Will sat a little straighter. "Yes, sir."

"What you got?"

"I've got a man watching Andrew Rusk's office-have had for weeks now. And he tells me Rusk is a half hour late coming in this morning. He's usually regular as clockwork."

"Is that so?"

"Yessir. I don't know what might be happening out at Rusk's house, because I didn't send anybody out there last night. Didn't want to step on your toes."

"Thank you, Mr. Kilmer. I'll find out if anything's up."

"I don't need to do anything?"

"Just call with anything else you think I need to know."

"Will do."

Kilmer hung up. That was the kind of FBI agent he liked: all business, no territorial bullshit about who got credit for what. Will thought about calling Alex, but if she hadn't called him yet, she must have found some way to get to sleep last night. Maybe Chris Shepard had something to do with that. Will hoped so. The girl had been suffering for a long time, and he didn't care how she got relief, so long as she finally did. He dragged the pile of files back and opened the one on top.

John Kaiser climbed into the back of a black Chevy Suburban parked at the edge of Andrew Rusk's property. Five agents were waiting in the Suburban-three men and two women-all handpicked from the Jackson field office.

"We don't have the warrant yet," he said, "so I'm going to go up and knock on the front door. If no one answers, I want you to spread out and check the windows. See if you can find probable cause for us to go in. Understood?"

Everyone nodded.

Kaiser touched the driver's arm. "Nice and easy."

The Suburban rolled smoothly through the trees, circling around to the front of Rusk's ultramodern home. When it stopped, Kaiser got out and walked up onto the porch. He pressed the bell first, then knocked loudly.

No one came to the door.

He rang the bell again, then looked back at the Suburban. Two agents were covering him from open windows.

Another minute passed.

"Okay," he called, already filled with foreboding. "Move out."

All the doors opened simultaneously, and the agents dispersed around the house. Kaiser kept knocking. The longer he did, the worse he felt. He'd walked into many a gruesome crime scene during his service with the ISU, and despite his belief that most mythology about "intuition" was exactly that, he had a feeling that something obscene lay behind this door.

He walked down the porch steps and circled the house. Some agents were getting creative, climbing onto ladders or air conditioners to try to see through the windows. But when the cry came, it came from the far side of the house.

Kaiser started running.

"Around here!" shouted a female agent. "The kitchen!"

"What is it?"

The agent drew back from the window, her face pale. "Looks like a female, facedown on the floor. Car keys in her right hand, and a little blood beneath it. That's the only blood I see."

Kaiser pressed his face to the glass. The scene was exactly as the agent had described it. The woman on the floor wore what appeared to be spandex biking shorts, a tank top, and pink flip-flops.

"Wait five minutes, then call the state police," he said. "And the sheriff's department. I believe we're in the county, not a municipality."

"Yes, sir."

"That sure looks like probable cause to me," Kaiser said.

"She could be in need of emergency care," said a male agent beside him. "I think I may have seen movement."

"Let's don't get carried away. Bring a ram from the truck."

"Yes, sir."

Kaiser watched a burly agent smash the door open, then moved inside with his weapon drawn. Three agents followed and spread out to clear the rooms. Kaiser knelt and checked the fallen woman's carotid pulse.

Dead.

He rose and worked toward the center of the house, all the while wondering what had killed the woman in the kitchen. A sharp cry around a corner ahead of him made him rush forward. He stopped cold.

An unrecognizable man sat strapped into a chair behind a desk, his face horribly swollen and bloody, his skull obviously fractured. A bloody golf club lay on the desk before him. Could that be Andrew Rusk?

"What the fuck happened here?" asked a male agent, pointing at lines of blood drops spattering the ceiling.

"You mean, how the fuck did this happen?" Kaiser corrected him. "Didn't we have agents watching this place all night?"

"Yes, sir. Six. I was here myself."

"You didn't hear anything?"

"No, sir."

"Did you kill him?" Kaiser asked in a deadpan voice.

"No, sir."

Kaiser moved behind the chair, reached into the corpse's back pocket, and slowly worked out his wallet. The driver's license in the wallet identified the bloody mess in the chair as Andrew Rusk.

Damn it, Kaiser thought. This is going to be a nightmare. A clusterfuck of jurisdictions, a turf battle within the Bureau -

He winced at the sound of his cell phone. He expected SAC Tyler, but the LCD window read ALEX MORSE. He started to ignore the call, but then he reminded himself that this was Morse's case. Had been from the start.

"Morning, Alex."

"Hey, John. Will Kilmer told me there might be something wrong out at Rusk's house?"