Джон Коннолли - The Dirty South

‘Jurel Cade led a posse into the Ouachita this morning to take down a meth cookhouse,’ she said. ‘He also hoped to arrest Tilon Ward, possibly Hollis Ward, and anyone else found on the premises. There are at least two dead, and five more injured. Sandi Hardgrave says sheriff’s office personnel aren’t among the fatalities, so far as she can tell, but they are among the casualties. She doesn’t know if they got Tilon Ward or his father. Kevin is on his way out there now. He spotted the ambulances heading west and decided to follow.’

Griffin restrained himself from breaking something, but only just. Jurel Cade had screwed them all over, and perhaps endangered the entire investigation in the process. Duplicity was bred in the Cade bone.

‘Get in touch with Kel.’ Knight was up in Little Rock, waiting for doctors to permit him to speak with Reverend Nathan Pettle, who was recovering from what was likely to be only the first of many surgeries. Pettle wouldn’t be able to say a whole lot, but it would be sufficient for their needs if he could nod and shake his head, or even raise and lower a pinkie to indicate yes or no. ‘Tell him to leave Pettle and get down here. I’m going to send Naylor to you once I get out there.’

‘What about Parker?’

‘What about him?’

‘What should I tell him?’

‘Tell him to stay around here and do whatever he can to help Naylor.’ Griffin grabbed his hat and his weatherproof jacket. ‘And if anyone asks, you know nothing about what’s been happening in the Ouachita. Just refer any inquiries to the sheriff’s office.’

‘Does that include Harmony Ward? Because rumors are going to spread fast.’

Griffin stopped fighting with his jacket long enough to say: ‘Have Parker take Harmony into protective custody. I want her brought here and kept behind bars until you hear from me. If she has a cell phone, relieve her of it. If it rings, note the number.’

‘And if her son is among the dead?’

Tilon, Tilon. Why did it have to be like this?

‘If he is, I’ll inform her. No matter what you hear, you keep it to yourself. From now on, you’re dumb as the dead.’

‘I understand.’

Griffin gave her right arm a squeeze.

‘At least one of us does.’

Tilon Ward was still alive, if only for the present.

He looked back to see the bulky form of Leonard Cresil pursuing him through the trees. Tilon knew Cresil by sight and reputation, although he had been spared any personal dealings with the man. He was aware that Randall Butcher had never trusted Cresil or his boss, but had been forced to work with them if he was to profit from Kovas’s impending arrival. Equally, Cresil and Shire had probably been wary of Butcher, especially if they had knowledge of his involvement in the manufacture and supply of illegal narcotics. But how much had they known, and when had they become aware of it? Was Shire the kind of man who would risk contracts worth tens of millions of dollars by allowing a drug dealer to become a fixed part of the arrangement?

Probably not.

Now Randall Butcher was dead, and Pruitt Dix also, while Leonard Cresil was moving deeper and deeper into the Ouachita, tracking their meth cook. The odds on Tilon’s survival were shortening by the second until Cresil briefly lost sight of his quarry thanks to a stand of hickory. Tilon went to ground, and was now debating the wisdom of remaining where he was, partly concealed by the rotting trunk of a fallen tree, in the hope that Cresil would pass him by, enabling Tilon to retrace his steps for a while before heading southeast. Tilon didn’t have a cell phone, though, which was a problem. While there was no coverage out here in the woods, he might have picked up a bar or two once he got nearer to a road, and made some calls. He had people who would be willing to help him, but as things stood he had no means of contacting them, no car, no weapon, and virtually no hope, not as long as Cresil kept coming.

‘I only want to talk to you, Mr Ward,’ Cresil called, not for the first time. ‘I mean you no harm. I just need some information.’

Yeah , thought Tilon, like how much blood my body contains .

‘I can help you get out of here,’ Cresil continued. ‘You’re a wanted man. The police are convinced you killed those girls.’

This was a new tack from Cresil, but it struck home. Tilon squeezed his eyes shut. So someone had seen him with Donna Lee. Someone knew. What Cresil said next confirmed it.

‘They have a witness who spotted the Kernigan girl getting into your truck,’ said Cresil. ‘You were the last one seen with her, and now the police have drawn a bead on you. They want this over and done with so everyone can get to making good money from Kovas. You think the sheriff’s office went to all this trouble just to take down a meth lab? You think all those guns were sent in here only for Butcher and Dix? It’s you they want, you and your old man.’

His father? What the—

Tilon almost asked the question aloud. His father was dead. Everyone said so.

‘You require the services of a good lawyer, Mr Ward. I’ve heard tell that riding the needle doesn’t hurt, not after the first sting, but I’ve never believed it myself. I’ve been a witness at executions and I’ve looked in men’s eyes as they died. They’ve been filled with agony, and that’s after years of living with the fear of what’s to come while the process of taking a life worked its way through appeal after appeal. I used to be of the opinion that the waiting was worse than the end itself, but that was before I glimpsed the end and learned it wasn’t true. Dying is worse than any waiting, and dying like that, strapped to a gurney while all those folks will you to suffer, and suffer hard, is as bad as dying gets.

‘So you need me, Mr Ward. We can find you a lawyer and a place to rest up while you consider your options. Depending on what you tell us, and the choices you make, we may even be in a position to help you in other ways. I know about you. I know you tried to save Chief Griffin’s wife all those years ago. A man who’d do a good deed like that isn’t the kind to murder young women. The law isn’t always right, and sometimes justice is better served by leaving legality out of matters entirely. Are you listening, Mr Ward? Because right now, I’m your best hope for living to old age.’

Hollis Ward hadn’t raised a fool. Tilon was prepared to accept that the police might have entered the Ouachita to arrest him, because if Cresil knew he’d been seen with Donna Lee then that information had probably come from law enforcement. But Cresil had pushed it too far with all that execution shit and offers of help with a lawyer, even with the suggestion of a possible escape route for Tilon. Some men simply didn’t know when to shut up.

Which was when Leonard Cresil finally stopped talking and began screaming.

Naylor followed the ambulances and cruisers up the dirt road to the Buttrell land, past neat rows of nascent pine and signs advising that this was private property. A bearded asshole in a hunting vest, probably a member of Cade’s ill-fated posse, tried to step in front of him as the farmhouse came in sight to his left, but Naylor kept on rolling, forcing the asshole to dive for the ditch. In his rearview mirror, he saw the asshole raise his rifle as if to fire before some small semblance of rational thought flared briefly in his brain. It was probably the realization that the Negro behind the wheel just might – for better or worse – be an officer of the law, especially given the blinking blue light on his dashboard, in which case shooting at him was likely to have repercussions.

The asshole lowered his weapon, and Naylor made a mental note to have a quiet word with him before the day was done. He turned toward the farmhouse, where he saw two men lying in its vicinity, one on the porch and another in the dirt close by two RVs, both clearly dead. He took in four more men sitting against a fence with their hands cuffed behind their backs, two of them dressed in blue protective overalls, and three others with blood on their clothing who were being watched carefully by sheriff’s deputies and civilians. One of the bloodied men was staring glassy-eyed in Naylor’s direction, his face gray and his jeans soaked red. Naylor was fairly certain this man was going to die. To his right an ambulance crew was already running to take care of the wounded. One of the deputies was on his feet, leaning against a tree with his arm in a makeshift sling, but the second was lying on his side and half his head was raw and bloody.