Джон Коннолли - The Dirty South

‘Any word from Parker?’ he asked her.

‘None.’

‘I spoke with him just before Ivy got here,’ said Knight. ‘He said he was on his way to talk to Reverend Pettle.’

‘I’ll give him a call,’ said Griffin, ‘just in case Billie became distracted before she could get to him.’

McKenzie coughed pointedly. He’d just finished assisting at the scene of a house fire over in Polk County when he got the call from Griffin. It hadn’t taken him long to get to Cargill, and he still had smudges of soot on his face.

‘When you’ve finished tramping all over the scene,’ he said, ‘could you see your way clear to stepping outside so I can get started?’

They did as McKenzie asked. He paused before Griffin.

‘You do know I don’t get paid per body, right?’ said McKenzie.

He looked tired. There was only so much death upon which a man could gaze in any given day.

‘I’m aware of that.’

‘So I don’t need any more of your business. Just saying.’

He proceeded into the office and went to work.

Reverend Nathan Pettle invited Parker to take a seat at the kitchen table. The house was very quiet. Parker couldn’t even hear a clock ticking. There was no hint of disorder, but neither was there any sense of homeliness. It held the ambience of a location in which an occupant had recently died, someone taken before their time: a young person, perhaps, except no mention had been made to Parker of any such bereavement in the Pettle family. A set of double doors, currently open, separated the kitchen from the living room. Parker could see framed photographs on the table beneath the front window, but they were the only indication that living, breathing human beings might actually spend time together within these walls. The contents of the kitchen cabinets were hidden from view, and all of the surfaces were bare.

‘I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t offer you anything to drink,’ said Pettle. ‘As I told you, I’m expecting my wife home any minute. My daughter is staying with friends. She does that sometimes.’

Parker kept his expression neutral. He had no wish to signal any awareness of the oddness of Pettle’s behavior.

‘That’s fine,’ said Parker. ‘I’ve had my fill of coffee for today.’

His eye was drawn to an image of Christ hanging on the wall. It was the only religious signifier that Parker had noticed so far.

‘That was a gift from a friend,’ said Pettle. ‘I didn’t think it was appropriate for our church. Some of the congregants remain doctrinal in their attitude to iconography, so I decided to hang it here instead. I consider it as much a piece of art a religious symbol. Are you Christian?’

‘I was raised Catholic.’

A flicker of disappointment signaled Pettle’s opinion of Parker’s faith, but he quickly rallied.

‘Do you still believe?’ he said.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Because of what happened to your family?’

So Pettle had known about him before he arrived at his door. Parker wasn’t surprised. Like many people around town, the preacher had probably been waiting to put a face to the name.

‘For lots of reasons,’ said Parker.

‘I didn’t mean to pry. Questions of belief come with the territory.’ He joined Parker before the image. ‘What do you see when you look at it?’

‘I see Christ,’ said Parker.

‘And nothing else?’

‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘Most white people, when they visit, feel obliged to point out the color of His skin. They say it’s a black Jesus, and always in the same tone, the one that tells me they wouldn’t have nothing like it on their walls at home. For them, the Savior is always Caucasian.’ He stepped away from Parker and seated himself at the head of the table, the window at his back. ‘Is that what you are, Mr Parker: a white protector, come to save the children of the black man, to restore order where he could not?’

Parker sat at the other end of the table, between Pettle and the door.

‘I’m not sure what you mean, Reverend.’

‘I mean that Evan Griffin is relying on you to solve these crimes, and stop the slaughter of our young women, so money can begin to flow.’

‘I don’t think Chief Griffin sees their color—’ said Parker.

Pettle interrupted him. ‘Don’t be a fool,’ he said.

‘You didn’t let me finish. I was going to say that I don’t think he sees their color before any other aspect. To him, they’re primarily girls who shouldn’t be dead.’

‘And what about you?’

‘I see their color. I’m not blind.’

‘And you believe that it doesn’t make a difference to your attitude?’

‘Do you judge every man by your worst experiences of mankind, Reverend?’

‘You haven’t answered the question.’

‘I didn’t come to this town with the intention of solving its racial or social problems. I came because I was looking for whoever took my wife and child from me. To be honest, Reverend, I don’t care a great deal about any of you, black or white, dead or alive.’

‘That’s very honest, yet here you are. Why is that?’

‘Because I was asked to help.’

For a man who hadn’t been keen on admitting a stranger into his home, Parker thought Nathan Pettle was proving surprisingly amenable to discourse. Now that Parker had crossed the threshold, it was as though Pettle was grateful for the distraction he provided. On the other hand, Parker had been around many disturbed people in his time, and Pettle struck him as laboring under considerable psychological and emotional pressure. It was visible in his eyes and gestures, and his sweat contributed to a malodor that permeated the room.

‘You could have declined,’ said Pettle. ‘Might it be that you care more than you want to admit?’

‘I don’t have to care. In fact, it’s easier if I don’t. I just have to make the killings stop. It’ll satisfy my sense of order. Then I can leave.’

‘And where will you go?’

‘Someplace else. Wherever it may be, it can’t be any worse than here. Tell me about Hollis Ward.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘You were familiar with him.’

‘I was, but we were not close.’

‘You were familiar enough with Ward to join him in Pappy Cade’s home.’

‘You’re well informed. Who told you that? It wasn’t Pappy.’

‘Why wouldn’t Pappy Cade have shared that with me?’

‘What manner of man would admit to keeping company with a corrupter of children?’

‘Is that what Hollis Ward is?’

‘Was. Hollis Ward is dead.’

‘I’ve been hearing that frequently today.’

‘Because it’s true. There may not be a grave that anyone can point to, but Hollis Ward’s soul is gone from this earth.’

‘His soul may be, but the rest of him is still here. He left a fingerprint on Donna Lee Kernigan’s body.’

Pettle’s shock was unfeigned.

‘That’s not possible.’

‘Why?’

‘I told you: he’s dead.’

‘You sound very certain.’

‘Is that an accusation?’

‘Not at all,’ said Parker. ‘The evidence suggests that Hollis Ward is alive. Eddy Rauls, the former chief investigator for this county, suspected him of involvement in the death of Estella Jackson. Now two more young women have died in a similar fashion, and Ward has left his mark on at least one of them. I’m interested in exploring the general reluctance to accept that Hollis Ward might have returned, because you’re not alone in it.’

Pettle checked his watch, then licked a forefinger and used it to wipe a mark from the dial.

‘I wanted him to be gone for good.’

‘Because of the child pornography found in his possession?’