Дэвид Балдаччи - The Guilty

“I heard she was killed by a gunshot wound to the head.”

“That’s right.”

“You find the gun?”

“No, but our folks said it was a forty-caliber fired from a Smith & Wesson. And Clancy had one of those, only he said he lost it when we came to collect it for ballistics.”

“What was the time period between their deaths?”

“Well, Chisum’s was much earlier. Had to be, o’course. Clancy was arrested and went to trial. That don’t happen overnight. I’d say ’bout three months, all told.”

“How long between his acquittal and his murder?”

“Only five days.”

“So it was probably connected.”

“One reason your daddy’s sittin’ in jail for the crime.”

“If Clancy didn’t kill Chisum, who did?”

“We’re followin’ that up, Robie, never you mind ’bout that.”

“What has my father said to the police?”

She sighed and shook her head. “You lose all your manners when you moved from Cantrell?”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying, Sheila. Who’s the prosecutor on the case?”

“I guess there’s no harm in tellin’ you that. Aubrey Davis.”

“Aubrey Davis? The one we went to high school with?”

“The same,” she said resignedly.

“He was the most arrogant son of a bitch around here mainly because his parents had money and his father was a state legislator.”

“I would say he ain’t changed a bit. And he’s got a thin’ for your daddy, let me tell you. Mor’n once he got his nuts handed to him in a courtroom by Judge Robie.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say the good prosecutor ain’t above cuttin’ corners gettin’ a conviction. He’s got ambition, see. He’s a prosecutor now with a run for Congress in his future. All he’s got to do is get the nomination and he’s as good as punched his ticket to Dee-Cee. Takin’ down what some folks see as a judge soft on crime would be a right good sellin’ point for his campaign.”

“And with that sort of personal animus against my father he’s allowed to prosecute him?”

“Hell, there’s only two prosecutors in Cantrell and the other one just had a stroke. Leaves Aubrey.”

“And my father’s lawyer?”

“He don’t have one yet.”

“But you said his arraignment was tomorrow?”

“At ten o’clock.”

“He’s been in custody awhile. Why so long before his arraignment?”

“Well, they had to find another judge to preside over it. And they don’t grow ’em on trees down here. They’re bringin’ in a judge from Biloxi to do it. Her schedule just got freed up.”

“I intend to be there.”

“Along with just about everybody else in Cantrell.”

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“Told you too much already. And you forget the insertin’ part, Will Robie, you’ll find yourself sittin’ in a jail cell like your daddy. You hear me?”

“I hear you,” replied Robie.

Pete Clancy and his buddy had woken up and were gone when Robie returned to Danby’s Tavern.

The girl behind the bar wouldn’t meet his eye when he walked in. The tavern area was pretty full, and all eyes turned to him when he came through the door. Robie was sure that every person in the room knew exactly what had happened here.

He reached his room and unlocked the door, bracing for what he might find. But his room had been untouched. For now. He didn’t intend to give anyone a second shot.

The manager at Danby’s had followed him up the stairs.

“I think you need to leave here. Don’t want no trouble.”

He handed Robie back the cash he had paid for the room.

Robie gave him no argument, because he had already decided to go. He carried his duffel out to the car. He would find another place to stay, preferably outside of town.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and slipped his hand under the dashboard. Using Velcro he had brought with him, he had attached a pair of Glock nine-millimeters there. He patted each weapon to make sure it was secured in place and then set off.

The ride to the Willows took about a half hour as he drove along winding macadam, gravel, and sometimes dirt roads to get there.

He reached the house and turned down the pebbled drive, passing under the mingled canopies of the longleaf pines. The sun was heading down now but its glare was still intense, and the tree canopies provided welcome relief. After his fight with Pete Clancy and his walk through the woods with Taggert, his shirt was sticking to his skin. He felt like he was sitting inside a steam shower.

Good old Mississippi.

The Volvo was parked in front of the house. As Robie pulled to a stop next to it and got out, he could see that a table and chairs had been arranged on the porch. Set on the table was a pitcher full of reddish liquid and some glasses. The overhead fans that were aligned along the wraparound porch were whirling away. When Robie stepped up on the planks he could feel the breeze; it wicked away some of the sweat on his face.

The front door opened before he could knock. He expected to see Priscilla there, but it was Victoria. She was wearing a long, colorful sundress and low-heeled sandals that showed off red toenail polish. A bandana matching her dress was around her head.

“Are you all right?” she asked, looking over his face and body apparently for injuries.

“Who told you about it?”

“Priscilla. Pete Clancy is a bully, just like his father.”

“So you know Sherman Clancy?” he asked.

She didn’t answer right away, but led him over to the table and poured them out two glasses from the pitcher.

“Sangria,” she said. “A wonderful antidote to the heat and humidity. Actually, any alcohol will do.”

He took a sip. It tasted both sweet and salty.

Victoria sat down and so did he. He glanced at the window behind them in time to see Priscilla scurry away, with Tyler in her arms.

“Everybody in Cantrell, maybe on the whole Gulf Coast, knows Sherman Clancy. Knew Sherman Clancy,” she corrected. “He got around, made himself quite ubiquitous.”

Robie had pondered on the way over how to approach this. He decided the direct way was preferable.

“And you apparently enjoyed his company at some point.”

She took another sip of the sangria, set her glass down, and took a few moments to wipe her mouth with a cloth napkin on the table. She leaned back in the white wicker chair and studied him.

“So I see you’ve made the rounds of gossip in Cantrell. Busy day for you.”

“I’ve made some rounds. But that statement didn’t come from gossip. It was from your court testimony. Wasn’t it?”

“I spent one drunken night with Sherman Clancy. And no, we did not sleep together. We just drank together. He fell asleep halfway through. I had to keep waking him up.”

“Why drink with him at all? You apparently don’t think much of him. And while I haven’t known you very long, you don’t strike me as being, well, that sort.”

“If you must know, I had a little problem, and I needed Clancy’s help in order to solve it.”

‘What was that little problem?”

“That is none of your business,” she said sharply.

“Did you testify about it in court?”

“No. That was also none of their business. They just needed to know that I was with Clancy when Janet Chisum was killed. They didn’t need to know why.”

“You took a long time to come forward, I understand?”

“Of course I did. It was eating me up inside. My husband was the judge. I would have to testify that I was with another man that night. A man that Dan didn’t get along with in the first place. And though I know I didn’t sleep with him I was well aware that everyone in Cantrell, and that probably includes my husband, would assume that Sherman Clancy had screwed my brains out.”