Джон Коннолли - The Dirty South

‘We could let Parker go,’ said Knight. ‘It would free up Naylor, at least.’

‘The hell we will. We don’t even know for sure who he is yet, and now we have a dead girl, and a stranger in custody who was asking questions about other dead girls.’

‘If you really think he’s a suspect, I can tell you for nothing that he didn’t kill this one.’

‘How do you figure that?’

‘The body’s dry. It rained last night from midnight until two, which means she was dumped here after the rain stopped, when we had Parker locked up tight.’

‘What about the trees? They could have sheltered her.’

‘Not enough to keep her completely free of rainwater.’

Griffin conceded the point. Oddly, he was relieved to have Parker cleared of suspicion, although he could not have said why.

‘You didn’t find out anything from searching his motel room?’ said Knight.

Griffin reddened. ‘Why would you ask that?’

‘I saw you palm his key.’

‘You ought to be a detective.’

‘I like to think I’m helping to keep you straight. Well?’

‘If I had examined his room – which I’m not admitting I did, because that would be an illegal search – I might have found two guns: an old .38 Special, and a ten milli Smith and Wesson, a weapon that, last time I checked, was in the arsenal of federal agents.’

‘If he was a fed, he’d have told us so. They don’t take well to being locked up. You think he could have stolen those guns?’

‘He was too relaxed for a man hoarding illegal firearms, and he’s in possession of a permit. He also had a file containing graphic photographs, along with autopsy and police reports relating to the murders of women and children, material on Patricia Hartley and Estella Jackson among them.’

‘So if he’s not a criminal …?’

‘I didn’t say he wasn’t, but he might also be more than that.’

‘Police?’

‘Perhaps once. Not now.’

‘So why not just say that? Why let us lock him in a cell?’

‘Because he didn’t seem to care what we did,’ said Griffin. ‘Whatever he was looking for down here, Jackson and Hartley weren’t it. Still, I want to know more about him before we give him back his liberty, not to mention restoring his access to those guns. Now I’m going to talk to Tilon over there, see what he has to say for himself. I want you to wake Billie’ – Wilhelmina Brinton, or just plain Billie to everyone who knew her, took care of secretarial duties for the department – ‘and tell her to get to her desk as soon as she can. I’m good for the extra hours. She can free up Kevin to join us, because we’re going to need extra pairs of hands and eyes.’

Billie Brinton was no pushover, and knew how to handle a weapon, and herself. Griffin wasn’t anticipating any trouble from Parker, but you never knew. He was on his way to speak with Ward when Knight spoke again.

‘This one is going to be different, right?’ said Knight.

But Griffin did not reply.

11

Tilon Ward was in his mid-thirties, but like so many of those born in this impoverished place, he could have added another ten years to his age and no one would have blinked. As far as Griffin could tell, Ward subsisted on one square meal a day, if that, supplemented by coffee, cigarettes, and the occasional Coors Light. If he was involved in the production of methamphetamine, he was smart enough not to use it himself.

‘Tilon.’

‘Evan.’

‘You okay there?’

Ward nodded, but looked as though he wanted to throw up. He’d already done so once, according to Knight, although he’d had the good sense to puke far from the dead girl.

‘Never seen a body before,’ he said, ‘or not one like that.’

‘You want to tell me how you came to find her?’

‘Like I told Kel, I was on my way to check my traps. I smelled something bad, went to investigate, and there she was.’

‘You always go after bad smells? Might have been a dead animal.’

‘I know how dead animals smell. This was different.’

He had a point, Griffin knew. There was something distinctive about the emanations from human mortality.

‘Did you touch anything?’

‘Nothing. I saw her, retraced my steps, and made the call.’

His cell phone stuck out of the side pocket of his jacket. Coverage was scratchy out here, and Ward had been forced to drive a ways back toward town before he picked up a signal.

‘Traps, huh?’

‘That’s right. Coon traps.’

Ward met the chief’s gaze. If Griffin wanted to make an accusation, the look said, he’d better have the evidence to back it up, because Ward wasn’t about to admit to anything unless he had to.

‘How often do you inspect them?’

‘Every couple of days.’

‘You take the same route each time?’

‘Mostly.’

‘When did you last come through?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘Could the girl have been here then?’

Regardless of what Knight had said about the rain and the trees, Griffin wasn’t entirely dismissing the possibility that the girl might have been killed elsewhere a day or two earlier, with the body subsequently being moved.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Why not? From the looks of her, she’s been dead for two days at least.’

‘Because almost as soon as I smelled her, I saw her. I got good eyes. Didn’t have to take more than a couple of steps to make her out.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I’d have noticed if she’d been there yesterday, even without the smell. Like I said, I got good eyes.’

‘Even in the dark?’

‘It’s not dark. It’s just a different light.’

And he was right about that as well. It was all a matter of texture. This was a fairly remote stretch of road, for now, but the girl’s remains hadn’t just been dumped; she’d been laid carefully on the ground, and the branches had probably been put inside her once she was in position. It would be hard to transport a body with two branches wedged inside, and that was before carrying it down a slope and arranging it just so among the trees.

‘Can you think of anyone else who comes this way into the woods?’ said Griffin.

‘I’ve seen people around, but not many.’

That was set to change, though. Almost within sight of where they stood was a fenced off area of land, partially cleared: a Cade property, waiting for construction to commence. Two metal poles had recently been erected beside the gates, and word was that a banner was ready to be hoisted, trumpeting a new start for the county.

‘And there are easier ways into the Ouachita, since—’

Ward bit his tongue. He’d almost made a mistake. The reason most folk chose not to explore certain parts of the woods was because they might stumble across a meth lab or those involved with it. Encountering Tilon Ward was one thing, but dealing with some of his associates was another. All this Griffin surmised from Ward’s hesitation. Ward’s truck contained a big lockbox in its bed, and Griffin wondered what he might find inside if he searched. But to do so he’d need a warrant, and Judge Hawkins would require a semblance of probable cause before signing off on Tilon Ward.

But Griffin wasn’t about to fight that battle now. It was coming down the line, and then he and Ward would have a reckoning, whatever their history, but the pressing issue was dead black girls.

‘And who might those folks be?’ said Griffin.

Ward gave him a few names, but reluctantly. This was a small town, and just as nobody wanted the police knocking on the door asking about murders, so too did no one wish to point a finger at others. It was a surefire way to have one’s tires slashed, or worse. But none of the men identified by Ward struck Griffin as the murderous type, or at least not the kind to kill a young woman. He could see a couple of them falling back on a gun or their fists owing to an inherently hostile disposition and a paucity of patience and common sense, but not engaging in this level of sadism and defilement.