Джон Коннолли - The Dirty South

But Cargill was changing. Prosperity was on the way. It had been promised, and the populace had elected to believe that promise. They had invested themselves and their futures in it, and nothing could be allowed to get in its way, not even – or most particularly – dead girls, which was why a lot of folks in Cargill and its environs were angry at Patricia Hartley and Donna Lee Kernigan for getting themselves killed to begin with. Oh, they were also angry at whoever had killed the girls – they weren’t monsters, and only the most ignorant or self-deceiving had chosen to believe the lies about Hartley’s death – but for now the individual responsible for the murders remained anonymous and unseen. It was the evidence of his activities, in the form of bodies, that was potentially damaging to the town, the county, and their own prospects. Any public acknowledgment of murder risked drawing unwanted attention from outside, hence the level of discontent at Hartley’s and Kernigan’s failure to exit this world in a more considerate fashion. (Estella Jackson was a different case, her passing having being consigned to history.) This unhappiness was not expressed openly, or in so many words, but it was present nonetheless, evinced mainly in the form of a quiet callousness, a careful constraining of compassion, and even in the commonly held belief, predominantly among whites, that this could well be the work of a black man, one who had chosen to take his rage out on his own people but, by doing so, was causing collateral harm to all.

But to pretend the killings were not happening meant they might continue, which would make outside interference not only more likely, but inevitable.

It was a quandary, and no mistake.

30

Griffin sat with Charlie Parker at a table in Boyd’s. The bar rarely opened before six, the widow Kirby holding that the class of person that might drink in a bar prior to this hour was not one she wished to have on the premises. She chose to make an exception for the chief and the man with him on the grounds that a) they wanted only coffee; and b) it paid to stay on the right side of the police. If it struck her as curious that Chief Griffin was now engaged in a seemingly civil conversation with someone he had arrested at that very booth the previous night, she elected not to remark on it, understanding without being told that her discretion was to be relied upon in this instance. After all, the only reason the chief might have come knocking on her back door, requesting ingress and hospitality, was because he didn’t wish for this meeting to be noticed or overheard. So Joan Kirby served them coffee, and some fresh brownies to take the bare look from the table, before positioning herself out of sight and earshot, the first step toward forgetting their presence entirely.

‘Here’s what you have to understand,’ said Griffin. ‘This county has been poor for as long as anyone can remember, and it didn’t look as though that situation was likely to change anytime soon. Even when other parts of the state started to do better, Burdon stuck in the dark ages.

‘Then Clinton got into the White House, and suddenly circumstances took on a whole new complexion. He’d made promises to the men and women of this state, and it was expected that they’d be kept. Arkansas was already beginning to see an influx of aerospace and defense contractors, on account of how we’re cheap, low-tax, anti-union, and don’t ask too many awkward questions, but under Clinton that process is accelerating. William Faulkner was right: our economy is no longer agricultural; it’s the federal government. Aerospace and defense represent a fresh start for the state, a better future, and Burdon County has a chance to benefit, because Cargill is on the verge of becoming the new Huntsville, Alabama.’

Huntsville represented the New South in extremis. Back in 1950, it had been a town of 16,000 people, subsisting on cotton revenues. By the mid-1970s, its population had grown to more than 140,000, thanks to the presence of the George C. Marshall Space Flight Center, nineteen command centers including Army Missile Command and the Ballistic Missile Defense Systems Command, and plants operated by IBM, Chrysler, Lockheed, and others.

‘You ever hear of Kovas Industries?’ asked Griffin.

‘No,’ said Parker.

‘Kovas makes missile components and guidance systems, but it’s also investing heavily in high-tech armaments, robotics, pilotless aircraft – the kind of stuff you only see in movies. It’s looking to open a new research and manufacturing facility in the South, beginning with four hundred employees but expanding, over five years, to fifteen hundred. Because the work is so hush-hush, Kovas has very specific requirements: basically, it wants to turn somewhere into a company town. Kovas will invest in housing, schools, new businesses, all with the aim of creating a secure environment not only for itself and its employees, but also for the other companies that will follow, because the new facility is just the first of five that Kovas plans to build, and those plants will need their own support structures. We’re talking tens of millions of dollars, and long-term prosperity for wherever the company elects to settle. The choice has come down to Arkansas or Texas, and Little Rock is pressing Clinton hard to put his finger on the scales and tip the balance in favor of the home team. Right now, Cargill is leading the field as the preferred site for the key build. We’ve had Kovas executives and their security consultants carrying out all kinds of surveys for the past two years, and the word from Little Rock is that they like what they see – not just here, but in the whole county, because we’re prepared to hand it over to them lock, stock, and barrel, just as long as their money is good.’

‘And how do you feel about that?’ said Parker, because Griffin’s tone suggested a certain ambivalence.

‘I may be less enthusiastic than most, although not so much that I’d want to see Texas benefit over us. Still, I have my reservations.’

‘Because you won’t be the law in Cargill any longer,’ said Parker. ‘Kovas will, and your department will exist to serve the company’s interests first, and those of the community second.’

‘It’s been suggested that those interests are one and the same.’

‘But you’re not convinced?’

‘Not completely.’

Parker sipped his coffee. It tasted like coffee in bars everywhere, which meant it wasn’t so good that anyone would want to drink a second cup. He took in Boyd’s shabby décor, and the smell of old grease and spilled beer. It was about what one would expect from the best bar in a town like Cargill. But if Kovas moved in, Boyd’s would have to change, just like the other businesses in town. Money would transform Boyd’s, even to the point of rendering it unrecognizable, because money would transform the entire region.

‘And Jurel Cade?’ said Parker.

‘The Cades are the major landowners and property developers in the county. They stand to benefit more than most if Kovas decides to locate here.’

‘Which is why Jurel Cade buried the investigation into Patricia Hartley’s death.’

‘As chief investigator, Jurel is entitled to make any such calls,’ said Griffin, ‘including whether or not to seek the assistance of the state police. But in this instance, I believe the powers that be in Little Rock would have approved of his decision to leave the state police out of it. Unofficially, Little Rock may even have been involved in making that decision. Nobody up there wants to see the Kovas deal endangered. If that means filing away a black girl’s possible murder as an accidental death, then so be it.’

‘What about Patricia Hartley’s family?’

‘What about them?’