Джон Коннолли - The Dirty South

They left Vinson on the bed, along with the photographs.

So he had something to remember his truck by.

In the comfort of the Cobra, the driver removed his mask and tossed it out the window. He was, as Vinson had surmised, black. His name was Louis.

‘That went well,’ he said.

Beside him, the gunman disposed of his own mask in the same way. He was of indeterminate race, and his name was Angel.

‘You certainly seemed to enjoy destroying his truck,’ said Angel.

‘You know, I kind of did,’ said Louis. ‘I think I might like to do something similar again someday.’

Cleon heard the bell ring above the office door. He’d been sleeping soundly on the couch in the back room, but he sprang up at the sound and went to see who had entered. Standing at the reception desk was a tall, elegantly dressed black man, and a smaller, considerably less elegantly dressed second man who might have been white, Latino, some combination of both, or none of the above.

‘I believe Mr Parker made a reservation for us,’ said the black man. ‘My name is Louis, and this is Angel.’

‘Yes, sirs,’ said Cleon. ‘Mr Louis and Mr Angel. If you’d just like to register …’

He took a registration card from a drawer and placed it on the desk. The black man looked at it, then looked at Cleon.

Cleon put the registration card back in the drawer.

‘One room, is that correct?’ he said.

‘One room.’

And something in the way he said it made Cleon’s gay heart soar. Like most men who are brave, Cleon did not consider himself to be so. There were only two ways to be gay in Cargill, perhaps even in most of the South, except for pockets of tolerance like New Orleans or Miami. The first was to conceal one’s nature and reveal it only in secret, if at all. Burdon County had no shortage of closeted gay men, and Cleon had met his share of them. He’d taken beatings from a few as well, sometimes after moments of intimacy when desire, now exhausted, was replaced by self-disgust.

The other path was the one chosen by Cleon. He would not hide – or if he did, he would hide in plain sight. This course also led to its share of beatings, but the pain of them was easier to bear because it was unaccompanied by shame. Now, as he looked at these two men before him, he wanted to ask how they had come to be as they were, because he perceived in them a strength that he erroneously believed to be lacking in himself.

‘What’s your name?’ said the one named Angel, who had not spoken before now.

‘Cleon. I’m the night manager. The day manager, too, depending on how short-staffed we are.’

‘Are you a native?’

‘Of Cargill? Yes, sir.’

‘You like it?’

‘No, sir, I don’t like it at all.’

‘Then why are you still here?’

Cleon opened his mouth to tell the stranger about his lack of funds, and his distance-learning course in design studies, and how once he had a qualification he’d think about moving, maybe. What emerged, instead, were words he had never previously spoken aloud.

‘I guess because I’m scared. Shitty as this town is, I know how it works. I can navigate it without getting hurt too badly.’

‘Then it’ll destroy you,’ said Angel.

‘I have nowhere else to go.’

‘There’s always somewhere else to go.’

‘Hey, Ann Landers,’ said Louis, ‘leave the man in peace.’

Cleon handed over the key to the motel’s second-best room.

‘Will you be staying longer than one night?’ he asked.

‘We don’t know yet,’ said Louis. ‘Anything to do around here?’

‘Lately,’ said Cleon, ‘people are mostly causing trouble, and killing one another.’

‘Then,’ said Louis, ‘we’ll fit right in.’

V

But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.

Revelation 21:8

90

They began gathering at the Burdon County Sheriff’s Office before there was light in the sky; first the men in uniform, then the rest. These others carried an assortment of weapons: pistols, shotguns, and semiautomatic rifles. Some were dressed in full camouflage clothing, but most wore more casual hunting garb: waterproof trousers and jackets, with old shirts and T-shirts underneath, so they could add or subtract layers as required; and boots that had seen years of wear and would see more still. Two women, both in their forties, and big and hard-faced as the men, were among the group. Conversation was limited, and no one joked. The darkness was like a mesh before their eyes, and settled like soot upon the skin. Coffee was poured from thermos flasks, and someone passed around biscuits that had been baked in preparation the night before.

Then Jurel Cade appeared among them and laid a map on the hood of one of the cruisers. He told them about Hollis Ward and Hollis’s son, Tilon. He talked of dead girls and methamphetamine. He reminded them of what was at stake for the county: a choice between continued poverty and steady decline, of half-lives for them and all who came after; or the prospect of a new start with well-paid jobs, and further employment down the line for their children and grandchildren.

And from the shadows of the sheriff’s office, Leonard Cresil watched over all, the hunting bow in its case by his side.

‘Each of you will be temporarily deputized,’ Cade told the group. ‘If you elect not to participate, we’ll be obliged to make you comfortable in one of our cells until we’re done. We can’t afford to have anyone give this operation away with careless talk.’

But nobody demurred. Cade had made his selection well.

He had his posse.

Parker, never a morning person, woke shortly after 7.30 a.m., and could not return to sleep. He got up to shower, and saw that Cleon had slipped a note under his door, informing him that his guests had arrived safely during the night. He decided to give Angel and Louis a few minutes more to rest and while he showered. As he emerged dripping, he heard his local cell phone ringing. He didn’t recognize the number, but picked up anyway.

‘Is this Mr Parker?’

‘Yes.’

‘My name is Dr Ruth Temple. I work at the state crime lab. You sent us a dead possum.’

‘That’s right.’

‘We don’t usually examine possums.’

‘I was hoping you might make an exception for this one.’

‘Were you and the possum very close?’

Parker decided that he already liked Dr Ruth Temple.

‘We never really got the chance to become intimate. I’m working with the Cargill PD on the Kernigan and Hartley cases.’

‘So I understand.’

‘We’re struggling.’

‘I understand that also.’

‘Therefore the possum is a long shot.’

‘I’m still listening,’ said Temple.

‘Someone took a blade to it. There were bloodstains around the remains when I found them, so I’m guessing it might have been done while the animal was still alive. In my experience, the kind of person who would do that to a possum might also be capable of doing the same to a human being.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘If the blade used on the possum might be similar to the one used on Donna Lee Kernigan or Estella Jackson.’

‘That’s the second time someone from Cargill has mentioned Estella Jackson to me in the past twenty-four hours.’

‘Evan Griffin told me he’d spoken about Jackson to someone at the crime lab,’ said Parker. ‘That was you?’

‘It was.’

‘He also said you were of the opinion that we might be looking at two killers.’

‘That’s not my area of expertise. Chief Griffin and I were merely speculating, and nothing more.’