Дэвид Балдаччи - The Guilty

“He should have a lawyer,” said Robie. His mind, though, was on the expression in his father’s eyes when he had seen his son. It had not been what Robie had expected.

Indifference.

It was more painful to him than anger would have been. And here he had convinced himself that he didn’t care what his father felt toward him.

Davis said, “I’m not disagreein’ with you. He sure as hell needs a lawyer. Right now he’s got a fool for one, if you believe the old adage. Which I happen to. You got any influence, you should talk him into hirin’ one. Sure as hell got the money for it. Now I’ll be seein’ you. And let’s not forget ’bout that drink sometime, man.”

Davis walked off, leaving Robie alone in the courtroom.

Based on the man’s threatening gesture in the courtroom, Robie had thought that Pete Clancy and a group of his cronies would be waiting for him outside.

He wasn’t.

But someone else was.

Sara Chisum’s father was leaning against the handrail on the courthouse front steps.

He pushed off when Robie appeared at the doorway.

“I’m Lester Chisum,” he said, holding out his hand. The men shook. “I understand that you’re Will Robie, Judge Robie’s son.”

“I am.”

“As a man of God I can’t condone what he did.”

“Allegedly did,” said Robie.

“Allegedly did. But as a father I can’t say I’m unhappy.”

“But it’s clear now that Sherman Clancy didn’t murder your daughter,” countered Robie.

“Is it?”

Robie looked at him curiously. “He has an alibi.”

“And people lie all the time, Mr. Robie. I see it in my work. Humans are frail. They seek the easy way out too often. Lyin’ as opposed to tellin’ the truth. Tellin’ the truth is hard.”

“And why would Victoria lie? It had to have been embarrassing for her. She had every reason not to come forward. She could have just let Clancy be convicted. Telling the truth was hard for her.”

“Unless there was somethin’ compellin’ her to do so. That was stronger than her natural inclination not to come forward, as you say.”

“And what might that be?”

“I have no idea. I’m just pointin’ it out as a possibility.”

“I understand that your daughter knew Clancy.”

“My daughter was a sinner. A slut, if you will. As is her younger sister. That is all clear to me now. I don’t blame them. I blame myself. I have obviously failed them as a father. Sometimes I spend too much time on my congregation. Perhaps I have been too restrictive with them. So while they fell down, I also fell down. I have prayed over it ever since Janet was killed. I prayed over it even harder when certain facts came to light showin’ that my daughter was... complicit in certain things of a depraved nature. If your father or someone else hadn’t killed Clancy, I might have.”

“Don’t let Aubrey Davis hear you say that.”

“I know that it’s unbecomin’ of a man of the cloth to say such things. But I’m only human, too. And losin’ your child goes against nature. Children are supposed to bury their parents, not the other way around.”

Robie’s thoughts turned for a moment to the dead Sasha, whose mother would have had to bury her. “No argument there.”

Chisum looked at him closely. “I suppose you came back because of your father’s situation?”

“Yes.”

“We only came here three years ago. From Mobile, though I was born and raised in Mississippi.”

Robie was about to say that he knew some of this from Sara, but caught himself.

“Mobile is a nice town,” he said.

“Well, it’s certainly bigger than Cantrell. With far more to do. But I was offered my own church here. In Mobile I would have been an associate pastor my whole career.”

“So you made the choice to come here for your career?”

“I did. When I should have been thinkin’ of my family.”

“Life is complicated,” said Robie.

“Life shouldn’t be so complicated if you listen to the Lord.”

“Well, maybe sometimes he wants us to make mistakes so we learn for the future.”

Chisum took a moment to respond to this. “Maybe that’s what he did for me.”

“Will you stay in Cantrell?” asked Robie.

“Highly doubtful. We’ll wait to find out what happened to Janet, of course. After that, I think we’ll move on. To a bigger city. Even if I have to be an associate pastor. I’ve got two daughters left. I do not intend to bury another.”

“Big cities have big temptations,” cautioned Robie.

“And associate pastors have more time to spend with their families.”

He nodded at Robie, turned, and left.

Robie reached the street and saw it.

The prison van was coming around the corner. The sole passenger was Dan Robie.

He was shackled to the last seat. He looked out the window as the van slowed to make the turn.

Father and son were eye to eye, at least physically if not in any other way.

This time Robie looked away while his father still stared at him, his look inscrutable.

Then the van and his father were gone.

Robie stood there on the street gazing at the place where his father’s face had been moments before. A part of him felt he was living someone else’s life. This couldn’t possibly be him back here in Mississippi. He had been gone for twenty-two years. It might seem to some that no family rift could be so bad that the son would have made no contact with the father.

After Robie had arrived on the East Coast, his life had changed drastically. He had hoped to start a new life with Laura Barksdale. That had not happened. He had arrived at his new life alone, and both confused and angry.

His life and future had been saved by a confluence of events that had propelled him into the beginnings of the career he now had. He had thought of his father several times over the years. But his work involved a level of secrecy that had prohibited him from contacting his father or thinking of going back to his old home.

But things had changed. His father’s being charged with murder had been the catalyst for him to deal with a past that he probably should have confronted long ago. And he had been unable to complete his last assignment. His finger couldn’t pull the trigger. And it hadn’t been the face of the little girl that had held him back.

So now, to go forward, it looks like I have to go back.

And so here I am.

I’ve executed many missions over the years. But I always went in with a plan.

Now, I have no idea how the hell I’m going to do this.

Tiara street.

It was full of tiny, ramshackle houses with dirt patches for yards and not a trace of hope in sight.

Robie had always thought the name of the road had to have been somebody’s idea of a very bad joke.

Billy Faulconer’s house was just as small and run-down as all the others. Robie didn’t know what his former teammate had done after high school, but it apparently didn’t pay much money.

And then the cancer hitting him probably meant he could no longer work. He might be drowning in medical debt. It was a sad situation for anyone, but even more so for a man in his early forties.

Robie knocked on the front screen door. There was movement inside, and a black woman appeared in the doorway. She was tall, thin, and worn. Her long hands were veined, her nails short, and her forearms wiry. Her dark, curly hair was rapidly spreading to gray. The lines in her face spoke of a hardscrabble existence on this little patch of Mississippi soil.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, wiping her hands on a not-overly-clean cloth.