Джон Коннолли - The Dirty South

His mother’s face crumpled, and he took her in his arms.

‘Jesus Lord,’ he said, and then he was crying too, and the sobs shook him so hard that he couldn’t stay on his feet. He sank to his knees, and his mother descended with him.

Because she knew. God, she knew. She had eyes to see and ears to hear.

‘What will I tell them if they come asking questions about her?’ she whispered.

‘Nothing,’ said Tilon. ‘Tell them nothing.’

39

Parker and Griffin were shown into a wood-paneled office that was too dark to be anything but depressing, and smelled like the lobby of an old folks’ home. Four people were waiting for them: one woman and three men. None appeared particularly enthused by their arrival, but Jurel Cade looked more resentful than the rest.

‘What’s he doing here?’ he asked Griffin, pointing the toe of a boot in Parker’s direction.

‘I could ask a similar question about your family,’ Griffin replied. ‘Last time I checked, none of them was an officer of the law.’

‘Just answer the damn question,’ said Cade.

‘He’s assisting us with our investigation. He’s been sworn in as a volunteer member of the Cargill Police Department.’

‘Really?’ said Cade. ‘Because last time I saw him, he was behind bars.’

‘That was a misunderstanding.’

‘Get him the fuck out of here, Griffin. I don’t know—’

‘Wait!’

The voice came from the man seated behind the desk. He was older than the others, and his presence, even seated, was imposing. Only the slightest tremble of his hands gave any obvious indication of infirmity, but Parker guessed he was in his early eighties, and the lineaments of his skull were clear to see beneath his skin, so that he might bear witness to his own impending mortality each time he looked in the mirror, and force all those who met him to do likewise.

This, then, was Pappy Cade.

‘Who are you?’ he said, addressing the question to Parker.

‘My name is Charlie Parker. Chief Griffin asked me to assist with the investigation into the murders of Donna Lee Kernigan and Patricia Hartley, and I agreed.’

‘Patricia Hartley wasn’t—’ Jurel Cade started to interrupt, only to be quieted again by a look from his father.

‘And what brought you down here to begin with?’ said Pappy.

‘I wanted to get closer to nature.’

Pappy’s washed-out blue eyes regarded Parker for a time before his death’s head split, exposing gravestone teeth.

‘Well, ain’t you a character. Is that New York humor?’

‘No, that’s not humor at all.’

Pappy’s eyes flicked to Griffin.

‘What would happen if I were to object to this man’s involvement?’

‘It wouldn’t make much difference,’ said Griffin, ‘beyond disimproving my mood.’

‘I thought you might say that. Jurel?’

‘Chief Griffin is entitled to hire and fire as he sees fit. The county sheriff isn’t obliged to cooperate, though, if he believes the appointment runs contrary to the best interests of law and justice.’

‘Did you just make that up?’ said Parker.

‘Fuck you.’

‘Because it sounded made up.’

‘I said—’

‘Yeah, I heard you.’

Griffin held up a hand. God preserve me , he thought, from young hotheads .

‘I’d be obliged if we could discuss this in a civilized fashion, because I think we all have the best interests of the county – and law and justice – in mind.’

The woman spoke for the first time.

‘I agree,’ she said. ‘We should be more hospitable toward our new guest.’

She appraised Parker openly, stopping just short of checking his dentition. ‘My name is Delphia, by the way, seeing as how we’re to be spending time together. This is my younger brother, Nealus. Jurel, you’ve met. And our father, Delane, although he answers to Pappy.’

Delphia Cade was as lean as her siblings, but her face was fuller, softening the ravenous look that was a family trait, so that being in their company was akin to confronting a pack of wolves. She was undeniably attractive, if only in a way that promised a great deal of trouble in return for only the barest of efforts. Her fingers were unadorned by rings, and she wore a single gold chain around her neck. Her hair was brown, and had been styled to disguise the fact it was thinning. Parker wondered if it might be stress, because as she rose to shake his hand he saw that the skin around her neck and ears was raw and irritated. Her grip was very firm, and she held his hand for slightly longer than was comfortable between strangers, so that he felt she was releasing him almost reluctantly. He resisted the urge to count his fingers when she was done.

Nealus didn’t get up, but waved from his chair. He resembled a softer version of Jurel and Pappy, but was more of a clotheshorse than either. He was dressed in a blue blazer and tan pants combination more suited to an older man, and his shoes were brown slip-ons. He lacked only a monocle and a cocktail glass to complete the picture.

The housekeeper who had shown in Griffin and Parker reappeared with coffee and pastries on a tray, and Nealus roused himself sufficiently, if only at his father’s instigation, to source an extra chair for Parker once it became clear that the latter had no intention of absenting himself from the proceedings. The woman poured the coffee, added milk and sugar as required, then left.

‘I still think he has no cause to be here,’ said Jurel, this time without even indicating that Parker was the subject of his complaint. ‘This is police business – local police business.’

‘If it was just police business,’ said Griffin, ‘we wouldn’t be meeting in your daddy’s study.’

Parker noticed that he didn’t look at Jurel when he spoke. His attention was fixed principally on Pappy, but his eyes did divert briefly toward Delphia. Here, then, was where the true Cade power resided, and none of it was being wielded in defense of Jurel. Griffin had slapped him down, and the others had permitted it to go unremarked.

‘Your objection is noted, Jurel,’ said Pappy, ‘but we’ll be moving along now.’

An additional ‘there’s a good boy’ remained unspoken, but everyone heard it anyway. Jurel bristled, but held his tongue.

‘So,’ said Pappy, ‘Donna Lee Kernigan. I believe that was the young woman’s name.’

‘Correct,’ said Griffin.

‘A terrible thing to have happened.’

‘Again,’ said Griffin.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘A terrible thing to have happened again, given that she now appears to be the second victim of the same killer, possibly even the third if we include Estella Jackson.’

‘There’s no cause to connect Jackson to the other two,’ said Jurel.

‘Are you now accepting that, in the case of Patricia Hartley, the coroner may have erred in his decision to declare her death accidental?’ said Griffin.

‘I’m not disputing the coroner’s decision. I’m just saying.’

‘There are similarities among all three deaths,’ said Griffin.

‘But with years separating them. And the details of Jackson’s murder have been common knowledge for all that time. Half the county knows she died with sticks inside her.’

‘Are you suggesting a copycat?’ said Pappy.

‘I’m not suggesting anything, because I don’t have the evidence for it,’ said Jurel. ‘It’s the chief here who’s jumping to conclusions.’

‘Eddy Rauls failed Estella Jackson,’ Griffin told Jurel, ‘and you and Loyd Holt failed Patricia Hartley. It’s about time someone roused himself to do more than sit by and let this brutality continue.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Pappy, ‘it’s like listening to dogs yap.’ He glanced at Parker. ‘You’re keeping very quiet.’