Джон Коннолли - The Dirty South

‘I don’t know. She didn’t tell me his name, and the first I heard about a truck was this morning. But I got the impression, from things she said, that he was older than her, and—’

Colson waited.

‘And could be he was white,’ Crane finished.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Maybe “impression” isn’t what I mean. She told me he was older. The white part I just assumed. It was in the way she was acting, and some of what she said about him and what he liked.’

‘Liked in what sense?’

‘This song came on the radio, and Donna Lee said that she was sick of hearing it, that he played it all the time, but then she caught herself and wouldn’t say anything more.’

‘Do you remember what the song was?’

‘I think it’s called “Night Moves”, but I couldn’t swear to it.’

‘Bob Seger?’

‘Yeah, that sounds right. I’d recognize it if I heard it again. I mean, the song is okay, but, you know …’

‘It’s kind of white.’

For the first time, Vernia Crane managed a smile. It was malformed, and died shortly after birth, but it was something.

‘Yeah, very white.’

‘Did you know Patricia Hartley?’

‘Just as a face around town.’

‘Or Estella Jackson?’

‘No.’

‘Did Donna Lee?’

‘I don’t think so.’

Crane frowned. She stared at Colson, even as Colson realized her error in connecting Patricia Hartley’s death with Donna Lee Kernigan.

Because Crane had heard the rumors about what was done to Patricia Hartley, and now she knew what had befallen her friend.

Vernia Crane fell from the chair to her knees, lay on the floor, and curled herself up into a ball of pain, and all Colson could do was hold her and say, ‘I’m sorry, honey. I’m so, so sorry …’

23

Kel Knight freed Parker from captivity before escorting him back to the Lakeside Inn to shower, shave, and change his clothes. Parker noted that his wallet, phone, and car keys had not been returned to him, and pointed this out to Knight as they drove down moribund streets.

‘Chief Griffin would like to talk to you before you make any decision about leaving Cargill,’ said Knight.

‘That decision has already been made,’ said Parker. ‘Keeping my possessions from me isn’t going to change my mind.’

‘Well, he’d still like to talk with you.’

Parker decided that he didn’t have much choice in the matter, not unless he planned to depart Cargill on foot and without a nickel to his name. Knight turned into the parking lot of the motel and pulled up in front of Parker’s door.

‘You may find,’ said Knight, ‘that your bag has been opened, although its contents remain intact.’

‘That,’ said Parker, ‘was impolite.’

‘We’re hoping you might decide to overlook the discourtesy, just as we’ll elect to ignore the armaments in your room.’

‘They’re licensed firearms.’

‘Maybe you’d like to sit around in a cell some more while we try to confirm that.’

Parker didn’t reply, but got out of the car, entered his room, and closed the door behind him. He got the impression that Knight’s attitude toward him had altered, and not for the better, but he was untroubled by the change. He’d been in Cargill for thirty-six hours, and so far hadn’t met anyone he would be sorry to forget. He noted the busted lock on his case, and opened it to check on the Colt and his document file. Neither was exactly as he had left it, and the contents of the file were additionally disordered. He knelt on the floor and saw that the .38 was still in place, but the pencil mark he had made beside the barrel was now obscured. Even had the Cargill police been subtler, and Knight had not alluded to guns, plural, Parker would have known that his room had been searched.

He showered, put on fresh clothing, and changed his footwear. Knight was still sitting outside in his patrol car. Parker was tempted to make him wait some more, but the more he delayed, the longer he’d be forced to spend in town. With no other option, he headed back out, locking the door behind him.

‘Hardly seemed worth the effort to lock up,’ he said, as he got in the car, ‘but old habits die hard.’

Knight looked at him.

‘Do you have any friends?’ he said.

‘If you’re applying for a vacancy, you’re out of luck.’

‘When I’m that desperate, I’ll shoot myself.’

He reversed out of the parking spot.

‘You won’t have to,’ said Parker. ‘I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding someone to do it for you.’

And they returned to the station house in sour silence.

24

Tucker McKenzie dropped by the Cargill PD to consult with Griffin once the examination of the Kernigan home was complete. He didn’t have a great deal to add to what they already knew, but had pulled a variety of prints, including a number from the bedrooms of both Sallie Kernigan and her daughter. He told Griffin that he was going to return to the site of the body dump, and conduct a further search of the land with assistance from one of his fellow forensic analysts, and a couple of staff out of Little Rock.

‘I have a question for you,’ said Griffin. ‘Do you know a man named Charlie Parker? He’s ex-NYPD.’

‘Charlie Parker,’ said McKenzie, ‘like the jazz musician?’

‘Possibly the same spelling.’

‘No, I can’t say that I do.’

‘We had him in one of our cells last night.’

‘Why?’

‘He displayed an aversion to providing straight answers.’

‘Do I detect an edge there, Evan?’

‘Parker was in possession of Polaroids of Patricia Hartley’s body, pictures with which even I was unfamiliar until last night. I know you sometimes use an instant camera as backup.’

‘I do.’

‘Did you take instant photographs at the Hartley scene?’

‘I did.’

‘If these are the same pictures, did Parker get them from you?’

‘He did not.’

‘Any idea how he might have come by them?’

‘None,’ said McKenzie. ‘Is there an accusation coming?’

‘Not from me, and this conversation is strictly private. I just need to know the truth: Did you circulate those pictures?’

McKenzie saw no reason to obfuscate. He had done nothing wrong.

‘Not widely, but some people up at the state crime laboratory are familiar with their contents. After that, they made their way to the FBI, or so I understand.’

In addition to the field office in Little Rock, the FBI maintained satellite offices, known as resident agencies, in six other locations throughout the state. The El Dorado agency was responsible for Burdon County, but none of its agents had been in touch with Griffin about Hartley’s death. If they had contacted Jurel Cade, the chief deputy had not seen fit to share this information with the Cargill PD.

‘How interested are the feds?’

‘Officially,’ said McKenzie, ‘or unofficially?’

‘The first I can answer for myself. The second is more relevant.’

‘They have no reason to involve themselves, but they’re aware of what’s been happening.’

‘And?’

‘They don’t like it any more than we do, but pressure to look the other way is being applied right across the board, and it’s coming from on high.’

‘How high?’ said Griffin.

‘From Washington. Maybe not from Bubba himself, but close.’

The liberals might have been patting themselves on the back when Clinton ended twelve years of Republican rule, but only the most naïve of souls could have mistaken him and his team for sentimentalists. This was the man who, as governor of Arkansas, had sent Ricky Ray Rector to the death chamber in ’92 just to prove to presidential voters that he was tough on crime, but old Ricky Ray had essentially lobotomized himself during a failed suicide attempt in ’81, leaving him so mentally impaired that he set aside the slice of pecan pie from his last meal so he could eat it after his execution.