Джон Коннолли - The Dirty South

‘I think so. Only bad guys died.’

‘Are you including Mr Cresil among their number?’

‘Officially, or unofficially?’

‘I think that answers my question.’

‘Cresil fired the first shot. He killed Butcher.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘As good as. Nobody else has admitted to firing at Butcher, and I don’t doubt they’re all telling the truth. We’ll know for sure once the ballistic examination of the slug is concluded.’

‘And how will you paint these events?’

‘Cresil was part of a group of deputized citizens that came under fire in the course of the operation. Two deputies were injured, one of them seriously. Shots were exchanged. Cresil’s actions may have saved lives.’

‘That was very heroic of him. Call Tammy Barker. She’ll help you with the nuances.’

Barker was one of the partners in the Little Rock PR firm engaged by Kovas Industries to smooth ruffled feathers in Arkansas. Even by the standards of her industry, she was breathtakingly mendacious.

‘And what about Hollis Ward?’ Shire asked.

‘I don’t think he was ever there. His son, maybe, but not Hollis.’

‘Where’s Tilon now?’

‘We’re looking for him.’

‘Do you still consider him your chief suspect?’

‘In the absence of a better one.’

Shire grimaced. Only his best efforts, combined with assurances from Pappy Cade and promises from Little Rock of a further sweetening of the tax arrangements, had kept Kovas from bolting to Texas after the Kernigan killing. Another female corpse would lead to serious financial and reputational damage for all concerned.

‘I told you,’ said Shire. ‘No more dead girls.’

‘We’re working on it.’

Shire heard his flight being called.

‘Work harder,’ he said, and hung up.

Angel and Louis were waiting for Parker as he drove out through the gates of the Cade property. They had offered to accompany him inside, but he didn’t regard himself as being at risk from the dying Pappy, or not physically: the potential taint to his soul from exposure to the old man’s virulence was another issue.

Parker’s phone rang as he pulled up. It was Evan Griffin.

‘Where are you?’

‘I just finished visiting with Pappy Cade. I think he cut a bad deal with Hollis Ward and it’s returned to haunt him and everyone else in this county. I believe Patricia Hartley and Donna Lee Kernigan died because of it, possibly even Estella Jackson too.’

‘Did Pappy sign a statement to that effect?’

‘Yeah, and he also wrote me into his will before I left. He told me I was the son he never had.’

‘He already has two sons.’

‘Like I said.’

Parker heard Griffin mutter something. It sounded like a prayer for patience.

‘I thought you might be interested to hear that Leonard Cresil is dead,’ said Griffin, once he’d sent his message to God.

‘How?’

‘He was part of Jurel Cade’s posse. Seems he fell into a bear trap and bled to death.’

‘Fell, or was pushed?’

‘There was no one around to witness his end, so I guess we’ll never know for sure. But I saw the body: it looks like Cresil took a blow to the head shortly before he died, one that almost knocked his left eye from its socket.’

‘I warned him he’d come to a bad end.’

‘I’m sure that was a solace to him as he walked into God’s light.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Tilon Ward was in the vicinity at some point. He left his wallet in one of the RVs, which means he departed in a hurry, most likely when the shooting started. As for Hollis Ward, he was never there.’

‘Because he’s dead,’ said Parker.

‘He left his mark on Donna Lee’s body.’

‘I think someone did, but not him.’

‘I have to confess that I struggle to follow your line of reasoning. I’m heading back to town, and Kel has returned from Little Rock. If you could see your way clear to joining us at the station, I thought we might have a conference to establish where we’re at. You could take it as an opportunity to clarify your thought processes for us.’

‘Then I’ll probably see you there.’

‘That word “probably” troubles me,’ said Griffin, but the only response he received was dead air, because Parker had already killed the call and was dialing the number for the state crime lab. He got through to the switchboard and asked for Ruth Temple. He was advised to hold the line, and five minutes went by before Temple eventually picked up.

‘We have bodies on the way,’ she said. ‘Human bodies.’

‘I know.’

‘From Burdon County.’

‘I know that, too.’

‘Are you responsible for any of them?’

‘No, but the word is that one of them will have a bear trap attached. Just warning you.’

‘I hope to meet you someday,’ she said.

‘Really?’

‘No. I examined your possum.’

‘And?’

‘I can’t say with certainty that its injuries resulted from the same blade that was used on Donna Lee Kernigan.’

Parker picked up on the inflection in her speech.

‘But?’

‘The dimensions are similar, and so is the depth of the wounds.’

‘So it could be the same blade?’

‘It could be, yes.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She paused. ‘I hope it helps.’

‘It hasn’t hindered,’ said Parker. ‘Right now, I’ll settle for that much.’

He said goodbye and walked to the driver’s side of the Mustang. Louis let the window down.

‘Cresil’s dead.’

‘With Butcher and Dix also dead,’ said Louis, ‘looks like your back is safe.’

‘Do you want to leave?’ said Parker.

‘Do you want us to leave?’

Parker looked north, toward Cargill. Sometimes, he thought, you operated on evidence, and sometimes on instinct. Mostly, it was a combination of both.

‘I may need a lock picked,’ he said.

Beside Louis, Angel visibly brightened. Angel had no great fondness for anywhere farther south of Manhattan than Tottenville. The fact that he was present at all spoke volumes about his loyalty to Parker.

‘More than one?’ he asked hopefully.

‘You never know,’ said Parker, turning toward his car. ‘And if you’re very good, I may even let you steal something.’

95

The rain had cleared, but thin, persistent clouds hung like gauze over the sky, soaking up all the warmth so that only a vestige reached the earth. The sun was a coral orb, bleeding burnt orange and carmine crimson into a lacteal sea. Upright crows stood like thorns upon the topmost branches of the trees, and the air smelled of rot and standing water. Parker felt an ache in his fingers and toes as he drove, and a sense of deep, unanchored regret that caused his throat to seize up and his eyes to sting. He knew now that the dead spoke with one voice, and the final agony was the same for all.

A memory came to him of a walk in Prospect Park with Jennifer, only a month before she died. They had found a small form lying curled upon the grass: a squirrel, puncture marks on its neck.

‘What happened to it?’ said Jennifer.

‘I think a dog might have caught it.’

‘It’s so little.’ Jennifer’s voice was full of pity, wonder, and sadness. Her hand tightened on his. ‘Do we have to leave it out here all alone?’

‘No. We can bury it if you like.’

‘Okay.’

He lifted the animal in his hands. It was still warm. Its head hung loosely over his palms, and his fingers found the break in its neck. Yet what struck him most forcefully was how heavy it was, how dense with mortality. Life had lent it grace, but death had restored its substantiality. Even after they placed the squirrel in the ground and covered it with dirt, he could feel the memory of its mass, the burden of its absence.