Джон Гришэм - Camino Winds

“Why didn’t you think of this sooner?” Bruce asked. “We could’ve checked his computer.”

“We weren’t touching anything,” Nick said. “I got the impression that Butler back there sort of suspects us of something anyway.”

“I’m glad you said that,” Bob replied. “I had the same impression. What will he do when they find our fingerprints?”

“We have solid alibis,” Bruce said.

They inched along in silence, at times approaching ten miles per hour, at times sitting still. Bruce’s phone buzzed and he answered it. He listened, mumbled something about dogs searching, and shook his head in disbelief. He ended the call and said, “You’re not going to believe this. The cops have the road blocked this side of the bridge and they’re searching each car with dogs. Can you please tell me why?”

Bob, the ex-felon, had little use for the police. He shook his head and said, “Because they can.”

Bruce was exasperated. “I mean, these people just had their homes and businesses blown away, so why would they want to sneak explosives onto the island? These cops are out of control.”

Bob said, “For the same reason they send SWAT teams to arrest people for bad checks. Because they can and it’s far more dramatic. These guys think they’re as tough as Navy Seals and they have to prove it. Look at all that military garb they wear. Why does every Podunk police department have a tank these days? Because the Pentagon has too much of the stuff and sells it cheap. Why do they send canine units to sniff around the county fair? Because they have the damned dogs and need to use them. Don’t get me started.”

“I think you’ve already started,” Nick observed from the backseat.

“Why does every fender bender need three cop cars and four fire trucks? Because these guys are bored, sitting around the station, and they get their jollies racing up and down the streets with sirens screaming. Tough boys in action. They like to block traffic in all directions, makes ’em feel powerful. They control the situation. Sniffing dogs. Unbelievable. It’ll be midnight before we get there.”

Bruce paused a few seconds and asked, “Do you feel better now?”

“Not really. I got chewed up by the cops, okay, so I carry a grudge. I’d feel better if this traffic was moving. Whose idea was this road trip after all?”

“Nick’s.”

“Blame me for everything,” Nick said. “I’m just the intern.”

Bruce picked up his phone and said, “Look, I’ve been putting this off, but I need to call Nelson’s father and tell him that his son is not only dead but was probably murdered. You guys want to help?”

“Sorry,” Nick said.

“He named you as his contact,” Bob said. “It’s all yours.”

The Tahoe stopped in a long curve. For miles ahead nothing was moving. Bruce found the number and punched redial.

11.

Mr. Kerr could barely talk and handed the phone to his daughter, Polly. She introduced herself with “I’m Nelson’s sister, his only sibling. Thank you for what you’re doing.”

She sounded calm, in control. Bruce said, “I really haven’t done anything. I’m very sorry for your loss. Nelson was a friend.”

“Where is he now?”

“As far as I know, he’s in the morgue at the state crime lab. We just left there and are trying to get back onto the island. Things are a mess.”

“What happened? What can you tell me?”

Bruce hesitated and did not want to talk about the cause of death. “We met with an investigator for the state police. They have opened a case file and will send a team of technicians to Nelson’s condo tomorrow.”

“For what purpose?”

“To gather evidence to determine if a crime was committed.”

“Was my brother murdered?”

“No one knows the answer to that.”

She paused, and Bruce could almost see her gritting her teeth and trying to maintain composure. He tried to imagine their nightmare, stumbling through the dark two thousand miles away and watching the chaos on television. She said, “Okay. I’m leaving in an hour and I’ll land in Jacksonville at eight in the morning. That’s the plan, though the airline said there could be delays because of everything. I think I have a rental car. Will it be possible for me to get on the island?”

“Probably. The bridge is open and we’re trying to get there now.”

“I assume there are no hotel rooms.”

“Correct. It appears as if most of the hotels are damaged. I have a big house with plenty of room. A couple of friends are staying over and we’re sort of camping out. No electricity now but we might get hooked up tomorrow. We have food and water and we’re getting by. You’re welcome to join us.”

“That’s awfully generous, Mr. Cable.”

“It’s Bruce, and I’m not being generous. It’s called survival.”

“Thank you. This is very hard.” Her voice cracked slightly.

“I cannot imagine. I’m sorry.”

“Is there something we should be doing?”

“Have you talked to a funeral home?”

“No, not yet.”

“Okay, we have. Text me your cell number and I’ll text you the number of a reputable funeral home in Jacksonville. I chatted with the director an hour ago. Once he is hired, they will transfer the body to the funeral home and prepare it for shipment.”

He realized he sounded like they were discussing a FedEx package.

She said, “Thank you. I’ll do that right now. Will you be around in the morning?”

“Oh yes. Waiting for you. We’ll go to Nelson’s condo and have a look.”

CHAPTER FOUR THE EXECUTRIX

1.

After a hearty breakfast of cold chicken, granola bars, and peanut butter on crackers, Nick stuffed his backpack and set off on his bike for the two-mile ride to his grandparents’ home. When he arrived, he called Bruce and reported that their part of the island had electricity. Some of the neighbors had returned, and work groups were getting organized to clean up the debris and tack FEMA tarps across damaged roofs. The busy streets were passable and traffic was moving about, but many of the side streets were still blocked. According to a policeman, the southern half of the island had full power and downtown could expect it later in the day. For the northern half it could be another week.

Bob was antsy and tired of camping out. He wanted to go home, but with no car and no electricity he would be hot and stranded. He hung around and helped Bruce pick up litter in the backyard. They helped a neighbor cut up branches and remove hanging gutters. It was August 10 and a high of ninety-eight was predicted.

At 9:20, Bruce got a text from Polly McCann. She had landed in Jacksonville and was searching for a rental car. “It’ll take hours,” he said to Bob. “Poor girl.”

Bored with hard labor, they headed toward Nelson’s place to see if the state police had arrived. For almost an hour, they drove the island to observe the destruction and the cleanup. They stopped at Mercer’s cottage and walked around it. Bruce shot a video and sent it to her. Amy lived in a high-end gated community a mile inland. The gate was missing and they drove the streets. Fallen trees were everywhere, but Amy’s home had been spared serious damage. He shot another video and sent it to her. The hospital had reopened and its parking lot was full.

Two large vans were parked at Nelson’s, one in the drive and the other in the street. To make sure everyone knew serious matters were at hand, both vans were marked in bold letters: FLORIDA STATE POLICE—CRIME SCENE UNIT. Two unmarked cars were parked in the street. A few neighbors gawked from their porches.

Bruce and Bob stood at the police tape and finally caught a glimpse of Captain Wesley Butler. He walked over with a friendly hello, shook their hands, and lit a cigarette. After a round of meaningless chitchat, Bruce asked, “So how’s it going in there?”