Джон Коннолли - The Dirty South

‘Of a kind.’

‘You sound ambivalent, Reverend.’

‘If white girls were dying – their bodies violated, dumped like trash – we wouldn’t be talking about one detective as progress. This town would be alive with police.’

‘If white girls were dying,’ said Cresil, ‘Kovas would already be breaking ground in Texas, and Christ could come back ten times over before you’d see your new church. You got anything else you want to share with me before I leave?’

‘No.’

‘Well, you think of anything, be sure to let me know. Don’t make me come asking again.’

‘I won’t.’

Cresil stood.

‘Did you know the Kernigan girl?’

‘I knew the family.’

Cresil laughed.

‘Is that all? You may lie to yourself, and your wife, but you can’t lie to me. I know all about your proclivities, Reverend. I wouldn’t be much good at my job if I didn’t. There isn’t a secret worth knowing in this town that I don’t keep close to my chest. I’ve a notion that your past sin might have reared its head again, and you’ve returned to the honey pot. You weren’t fucking the daughter too, were you?’

‘You’re a vile human being,’ said Pettle, the words spilling from his mouth before he could stop them.

Cresil leaned forward, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints of hate.

‘I’ll let that slide,’ said Cresil, ‘on account of how I know you’re in turmoil right now, but only if you make it worth my while. Otherwise, I may be forced to distract you from your emotional suffering.’

And Pettle saw a future beaded with blood.

‘I admit that I may have fallen prey to the Tempter’s devices again,’ he said, ‘but I also know that Donna Lee was seeing someone before she died.’

‘Who?’

‘Tilon Ward.’

‘Now that is interesting,’ said Cresil. ‘Do you think he killed her?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Pettle, then: ‘No.’

‘Which is it?’

‘I never saw that darkness in him, Sallie neither.’

Those dark animal eyes regarded Pettle.

‘You didn’t kill her yourself, did you, Reverend?’

‘No.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. She was a sexy little thing, if that picture in your church is anything to go by. Not to my taste, wary as I am of darker meat, but a damn shame regardless. Any sign yet of the mother?’

Pettle shook his head. He put a hand to his brow and willed this incubus to be excised from the world.

‘If they find her skewered with sticks as well, we’re all done,’ said Cresil. ‘Even Mr Shire won’t be able to hold the deal together in the event of another body. You’d best pray that doesn’t happen, Reverend.’

Cresil patted him on the shoulder as he walked to the door.

‘Meanwhile, I’ll embark on more practical measures.’

54

Parker was woken during the night by the ringing of the telephone in his room. The clock on the nightstand showed 4.05 a.m., but when he picked up the receiver, there was no one on the other end of the line. He got out of bed and carefully checked the parking lot from the window, but all was quiet. He went back to sleep.

Shortly before 8 a.m., he wandered down to the motel office to pick up some bad coffee and an apple. Only Cleon was present, working a double shift. He offered to make a more acceptable brew from his personal supply, but Parker thought the desk clerk’s manner was slightly off. When Cleon returned with the coffee, Parker asked if he’d put a call through to the room at any point during the night.

‘I was the caller,’ said Cleon.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You were shouting in your sleep. I thought about knocking on the door, but I didn’t want to get shot.’

Parker tried the coffee. It was good, helped by being served in a proper ceramic mug.

‘I’m sorry. Did someone complain?’

‘I decided to intervene before that became an issue. I apologize for waking you. I just couldn’t think what else to do.’

‘The apology is mine to make. Did you hear what I was shouting about?’

Cleon didn’t reply.

‘You can tell me,’ said Parker. ‘I think I’d prefer to know.’

Cleon’s awkwardness increased. ‘It wasn’t so much shouting as crying.’

The morning sky was umbrous, and the sunlight had a sickly cast, as though blighted by its passage through the low clouds. Suddenly the coffee didn’t taste as good anymore. Parker felt his face grow warm with embarrassment. He had no memory of any of this. Strange to relate, he believed himself to have slept soundly and dreamlessly the night before.

‘Do you often have nightmares, Mr Parker?’ said Cleon.

‘Only lately. My wife died, and my daughter with her.’

‘I’m sorry. Was it some kind of accident?’

‘No.’

Cleon dropped the subject. Parker saw the man named Leonard Cresil appear in his shirtsleeves and walk to the rental car. Cresil had a tattoo along his right forearm. Even from a distance, Parker could see it was the image of a hanged man, the body held suspended by a noose passed through the hollow sockets of the eyes. Cresil removed a long box from the trunk of the car. Parker recognized it as the kind used to transport a compound bow. Cresil paused as he prepared to close the trunk. He looked around, some primitive sense alerting him to scrutiny, until finally his eyes came to rest on the office, and Parker. Cresil remained very still for the best part of ten seconds, his gaze never shifting from Parker’s face.

‘He was asking about you last night,’ said Cleon.

‘What kind of asking?’

‘He wanted to know how long you’d been in town, and whether you’d received any visitors.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘I told him the truth. Did I do wrong?’

‘No.’

‘What if he continues to ask about you?’

‘Continue telling.’

Cresil looked away at last, closed the trunk, and walked off.

‘He said that if I kept my eyes open, he’d make sure I was taken care of,’ said Cleon. ‘He left ten dollars on the counter, and told me he’d permit me to service him with my mouth before his departure, if I felt so disposed. Why does Mr Shire need to keep the company of a man like that?’

‘No one needs to keep the company of a man like that.’

‘But there he is, by Mr Shire’s side.’

‘Yes, there he is,’ said Parker. ‘What’s your opinion of Mr Shire?’

‘He always insists on the same room, which we keep for his use alone, and brings with him his own toilet seat.’

‘Well, a man like that must be clean, right?’

‘Or prefers to maintain the impression of cleanliness.’

‘Which would be more likely.’

‘Mr Cresil, by contrast, is definitely unclean.’

‘In every way,’ said Parker. ‘But then he and Mr Shire are engaged in a dirty business. They’re buying your county, so at least one of them has to be willing to get dirty too.’

‘If I was doing the selling, they could have the county for whatever small change they found down under the couch cushions.’

‘Then it’s lucky you’re not on the negotiating team.’

‘I can’t even negotiate a proper salary from my own family,’ said Cleon.

They watched Cresil disappear into his room.

‘Is it still bowhunting season down here?’ said Parker.

‘I don’t know. I don’t hunt.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Mr Cresil doesn’t strike me as a man hidebound by regulations.’

He thanked Cleon for the coffee, and asked if it would be okay to return the cup later.

‘Just leave it in your room. Housekeeping will take care of it.’

Parker headed for the door. Griffin had left a message requesting that he attend a meeting at the station house by eight-thirty, and Parker saw no reason to be late on his first morning. He experienced a sense of dissociation from all that was occurring, but also a degree of clarity. This inquiry was not personal to him, and so he could view it with some dispassion. Any anger he was experiencing on behalf of the dead girls was regulated, and could be directed. But he also felt like a man keeping himself afloat halfway between the banks of a river, drawing breath and kicking water while knowing that he must soon recommence swimming or risk drowning.