Джон Коннолли - The Dirty South

Rich didn’t try to deny it, so Parker spoke up.

‘I might have goaded him,’ he said.

‘Now, girls, you’re both pretty,’ said Colson, and Parker instantly felt about sixteen years old, and mildly ashamed of himself. ‘But Rich here ought to know better than to be making a nuisance of himself. You got somewhere else you need to be, Rich? Because if you don’t, maybe you should find a place.’

Rich moved away, his friends trailing in his wake. Colson stayed.

‘Making friends already?’ she said.

‘The welcoming committee needs to work on its presentation.’

‘Tempers may be running high. A killing will do that to people.’

‘I’ll write that down, just in case I forget.’

‘My, you are tetchy. Probably comes from eating the food here.’

‘I was warned against it, but I thought the potatoes might be safe.’

‘That depends on when Denny last changed the oil. I always err on the side of caution.’

Colson took a stool beside Parker and set her beer on the bar. Around them, people returned to their own business, or gave that impression. Someone put money in the jukebox, and Jo Dee Messina earned a royalty.

‘So,’ said Parker, ‘tell me about Rich.’

‘Rich Emory. He isn’t the worst of them, although that’s a low bar to set. Back in the day, his daddy used to run with Buford Pusser down in McNairy County, Tennessee.’ Buford Pusser: scourge of the Dixie Mafia in the late 1960s, which earned him bullet wounds and a dead wife for his troubles. ‘When Buford didn’t get reelected in seventy-two, Rich’s daddy came back up here and signed on as a sheriff’s deputy. Rich did the same for a few years, but it didn’t take. Now he’s the owner of a sawmill.’

‘Is that how he lost his fingertips?’

‘Occupational hazard. He’ll lose the mill, too, if circumstances don’t improve, but he’s banking on the arrival of the cavalry.’

‘Let me guess,’ said Parker. ‘Kovas.’

‘They’ll need lumber for building, and what they don’t use, the contractors putting up new housing and stores will. Somehow, Rich has managed to keep most of his employees on the payroll, even if it’s short time. You’re going to meet a lot like him while you’re asking your questions, those who are doing their best to keep everyone’s head above water, not just their own. You could try not riling them, see how that works out for you.’

‘I’ve found it challenging in the past,’ said Parker.

‘That’s unfortunate.’

She finished her beer and waved the bottle at Rhinehart, who brought another posthaste, and refilled Parker’s soda while he was at it.

‘The soda’s on the house,’ said Rhinehart.

‘What about the beer?’ said Colson.

‘I wouldn’t want to be accused of bribery.’

‘Too damned cheap, you mean.’

Rhinehart shrugged before heading to the other end of the bar to serve one of the men who had arrived with Rich Emory. Colson tapped her bottle against the rim of Parker’s glass.

‘Cheers, for what it’s worth,’ she said, then: ‘You don’t drink?’

Parker took time to compose his reply. ‘I went through a period of excess. It didn’t end well.’

Colson picked at the label on her bottle.

‘Evan told me what happened to your family. I’m sorry. I know you’ve probably heard that a lot, and hearing it again probably doesn’t help much, but I am.’

‘Thank you.’

The last time Parker had kept company with a woman in a bar, it was his wife beside him. It helped that Colson looked nothing like Susan, but Parker still had to fight a lump in his throat. He waited until he had it under control before speaking again.

‘How much of that exchange with Rich Emory did you catch?’ he said.

‘All of it.’

‘I get the feeling he believes a local may be responsible for what’s happening here.’

‘There’s a difference of opinion on the subject,’ said Colson. ‘You have those who say it’s a drifter, the same man that killed Patricia Hartley come back for more – because everyone knew she was probably murdered, but they preferred to live with the lie. This isn’t Hot Springs, or Fayetteville. There’s always been an antipathy toward those without roots in the county, and these killings have tapped into it. Even the prosperity that Kovas may bring has to be balanced in a lot of minds with the changes that will follow. The town will fill up with those who don’t have any ties to the land, disrupting the natural order. Once Kovas arrives, Burdon County will never be the same again.

‘But,’ she concluded, ‘however frightening it may be for them to suppose that a stranger is shedding blood here, it’s harder yet for them to countenance the possibility that it might be one of their own.’

‘And what do you believe?’

‘He’s local,’ Colson said firmly. ‘You saw where Patricia Hartley’s body was found, and I know the chief told you his suspicions about where it might have been put originally. That’s not an easy location to access. You have to know the way to the outcrop. And neither Donna Lee nor Patricia was killed where the remains were discovered, so unless he has a van or an RV, he’s working from a base. Even if he’s using a vehicle, he needs a safe location in which to park it, where he knows he won’t be disturbed. That’s local knowledge right there.’

And then there was the simple fact that he had made Burdon County his hunting ground, not anyplace else. Even if the killer wasn’t native, thought Parker, he had a point of connection with this area.

‘And Estella Jackson?’

‘That was different. She was tortured to death and left in a shed. But it might be best for you to read the report first, and not have me prejudice your thinking.’

Colson abandoned her beer and stood to leave.

‘You staying?’ she said.

‘No, I’m done.’

‘Are you parked in the lot?’

‘I came here on foot.’

‘I’ll give you a ride back to the motel.’

‘I can walk.’

‘I’d feel better if you accepted the escort.’

‘Because Rich Emory might be about to resume the argument?’

‘No, Rich has said his piece now, and he’s not dumb. But there are others who are better at keeping their emotions hidden, and they’ll be watching you as well. Evan says you brought your own guns.’

‘That’s right.’

‘You carrying now?’

Parker moved his shirt to display the butt of the Smith & Wesson.

‘Make it more visible. It’ll act to discourage any foolishness. By this time tomorrow, everyone will know that getting in your face will be like getting in the face of the chief himself – or worse, Kel Knight.’

They made their way to the door. A few people glanced in their direction, Rich Emory and his crew among them. Parker didn’t bother to wave goodbye.

‘I’m not feeling the love from Knight,’ said Parker.

‘He hasn’t warmed to you, I admit. I don’t know why.’

Parker had his own theories. He wondered how much Griffin and Knight had learned about him from their sources in New York. Whatever it amounted to, they’d probably made the decision not to share all of it with Colson and the other officers.

‘It could be a Civil War thing,’ said Parker, ‘and I’m just carrying the can for Northern belligerence.’

‘That must be it,’ said Colson, as they reached her little Camry. ‘Fresh wounds, and all that …’

Denny Rhinehart watched Colson and Parker leave. Only when the door closed behind them did he relax. He went into the little kitchen where Ivy was cleaning up, now that what passed for food service had ended. Ivy Muntz had been working at the Rhine Heart for six years. She was in her early fifties, and a better cook than the venue, and the quality of its ingredients, deserved.