Greg Iles - Turning Angel

He doesn’t react. He doesn’t even thank me. He seems resigned to whatever fate awaits him.

There’s a soft knock at the door behind me, and then someone pulls it open. Looking back, I see Chief Logan gazing down at me, his dark eyes sober.

”I need to see you a minute, Penn.“

Drew glances up at him. ”Hey, Don.“

Logan doesn’t even look in Drew’s direction. The days of special treatment for the police chief’s doctor are over.

I get up and follow Logan to his office. He sits behind his desk, puts his face in his hands, and rubs his temples with his thumbs.

”What’s happened?“ I ask. ”Have you found Cyrus?“

”No.“ He looks up. ”But somebody did.“

”What do you mean?“

”Cyrus has been hiding in a safe house downtown. North Union Street. Fifty minutes ago, a car pulled up to it, and a guy wearing black from head to toe got out holding two pistols. One was silenced. He shot the two guards on the porch, but nobody heard him. One of those guys is still alive, but they already shipped him to University Hospital in Jackson with a severe head wound. He’s unlikely to make it.“

My stomach has gone hollow. As Chief Logan speaks, I flash back to my years as an assistant district attorney in Houston. This kind of thing happened all the time there. But here, in my hometown? A placid little city that wouldn’t even be called a city anywhere but Mississippi? This kind of crime is as alien as a terrorist attack.

”After the gunman took out Cyrus’s guards,“ Logan goes on, ”he walked calmly through the house, shooting people as he went. Cyrus was in a back bedroom with a girl. With that silencer, I doubt he heard anything but grunts and muffled cries. Maybe a scream. When Cyrus walked out, the shooter nailed him five times with the second pistol. Then the shooter dropped both guns and walked out like he didn’t have a care in the world. He even left the car out front.“

”Was it a Lexus?“

”My first thought,“ says Logan. ”But no, it was a Camry with Adams County plates. It was stolen a few minutes before the crime.“

”This was obviously a professional hit.“

Logan nods. ”Just like Sonny Cross.“

”Anybody say the shooter was Asian?“

”He wore his mask the whole time, and he never said a word.“

”The guy who shot Sonny wasn’t wearing a mask.“

”I know.“ Logan takes a pen from a mug that reads TALLADEGA! and starts tapping it on his desktop. ”The total body count from this little encounter is five wounded and three dead. Probably four by morning.“

I shake my head, not quite able to accept that my strongest alternative suspect in Kate Townsend’s murder is dead. ”Did you learn anything about Kate’s murder from the survivors?“

”My detectives are still over at the hospital questioning them. But so far, all we’ve got is computer matches on the shooter’s handguns.“

”That fast?“

Logan nods, his face unreadable. ”The silenced one was stolen from a residence in Biloxi a few months ago.“

Biloxi…gambling capital of the Gulf Coast. Also the base of the Asian drug gangs. ”Well, that sure tells us something.“

The chief is watching me closely. ”The other handgun was bought and registered right here in Natchez, two years ago.“

A chill of anxiety runs along my skin. ”Who bought it?“

”Drew Elliott. And it’s never been reported lost or stolen.“

I feel as though my body mass has doubled. Breathing is difficult, and the idea of moving seems impossible. ”Drew’s been in jail all night. Right?“

Logan sighs. ”As best I can determine, yes. But I wasn’t here myself. And there’s no closed-circuit camera in his cell.“

Again I remember the escapes I’ve read about in the Examiner. For some reason, inmates at the city jail are allowed to exercise in a fenced area behind the station, and more than a few have disappeared from this flimsy enclosure. ”He couldn’t have gotten out for like forty minutes and then come back, could he?“

”I don’t think so, Penn. But I can’t be certain.“

”Christ, Chief.“

Logan looks up at me, his eyes filled with regret. ”That’s not really my main concern, to be honest. I’m more worried that Drew used his cell phone to hire this done.“

I struggle not to let Logan see how much this possibility worries me. ”Who could Drew call that could have found Cyrus? Both you and Sheriff Byrd have guys working around the clock, and they couldn’t find him. How could Drew?“

”Granted,“ says Logan, but he still looks unconvinced.

”The theory that Drew slipped out and did the shooting himself has the same flaw,“ I point out. ”How would he know where to find Cyrus?“

”You told me Kate Townsend visited Cyrus regularly.“

”But only at Brightside Manor.“

Logan raises his eyebrows. ”Are you sure?“

I’m not sure. ”Don, let’s be realistic. This had to be the Asian crew that popped Sonny Cross.“

”I hope so. Because I gave Drew access to his cell phone when I shouldn’t have. And I sure regret that now.“

”This was some kind of drug hit. It had to be.“

”Like I said, I hope so. But you’ve got one more problem.“

”What?“

”We recovered another pistol at the scene. You’ll be interested in that one, too.“

”Why?“

”It’s a Springfield XD-9. And it’s registered to you.“

It takes all my composure to keep my mouth from falling open. ”I can explain that, Don.“

Logan nods, but he looks far less confident in me than he has for the past couple of days. ”I hope so, Penn. Because this looks bad. Really bad.“

”I lost it the other night, chasing a guy who tried to blackmail Drew. Two guys, actually.“

Logan shakes his head, clearly furious that I’ve been holding back information. ”Why didn’t you report it lost?“

”Because I lost the gun on hunting camp land. Dr. Felder’s camp, right behind St. Stephen’s. I knew if anybody found it, it would be a hunter from that club. I called Dr. Felder the next day and told him to warn his members to be on the lookout for it. I also told Coach Anders at St. Stephen’s to watch for it, just in case I lost it on the field. I searched the field and the track myself but found nothing. One of the blackmailers must have picked it up. That’s the only explanation.“

”Okay. I’ll call Dr. Felder tomorrow and try to verify that.“

Two days ago, Chief Logan wouldn’t have had to make such a call. My word would have been enough. ”I can’t believe this,“ I murmur.

”What?“

”That Cyrus is dead. I needed him alive to save Drew. I needed a confession from that son of a bitch. I mean, DNA might prove that Cyrus had sex with Kate, but it can’t prove he killed her. It can’t even prove he raped her. And now we’ll never know what Cyrus knew about her last hours, if anything. Barring the discovery of an eyewitness who saw Cyrus kill Kate, Drew is going on trial for murder.“

The chief’s gaze is not without sympathy. ”Don’t give up hope yet.“

”Why not? Have you found a witness?“

Logan’s eyes shine with knowledge I can’t read. ”Cyrus was hit five times,“ he says. ”That’s what two witnesses told my detectives. But when my patrolmen responded to the 911 call, they didn’t find his body.“

”What?“

”There was nothing but some blood where the witnesses said he fell.“

I stare at Logan in disbelief. ”Do you think the wits lied to you? I mean…Christ, was Cyrus really shot at all? Could the whole thing have been staged to make us believe he’s dead?“

”This is real life, Penn. Forget that TV shit. The girl Cyrus was in bed with made the 911 call, and she’s not part of his crew. She’s a white girl from Morgantown. On the 911 tape you can hear a black guy screaming at the girl to hang up, then the phone goes dead. I doubt Cyrus’s guys would even have called 911. Anyway, the girl told us Cyrus was wearing a bulletproof vest. His homeys confirmed that he owns one. Kevlar with ceramic inserts.“