Дэвид Балдаччи - The Guilty

Billy shook his head. “I’m a drain on ’em, Will. Soon as I kick off they can get on with their lives.” Before Robie could respond he added, “How’s your daddy doin’?”

“Well since he’s in jail for murder, not too good.”

“You ’member Sherm Clancy?”

“Yeah, when he was a dirt-poor farmer.”

“He got him a good ride, all right.”

“Gas on his property?”

“Oil, gas. Somethin’ like that. But then he really hit it big with the casinos when they come in.”

“How did he get in with people like that?”

Billy shrugged. “Don’t know nothin’ ’bout that. But he done it. Then he was rollin’ in money. Built that house. Bought himself that car. One he died in.”

“With a neck slit maybe by a Ka-Bar blade.”

“Like your daddy had. I ’member seeing it when we was kids.”

“Good memory.”

“But I got me one of them knives, too.”

Robie studied him. “How?”

“My uncle was in the Marines over in Nam. He left it to me when he died.”

Robie nodded. “They find the actual knife that killed Clancy?”

“Not so’s anybody done said. And I been readin’ ’bout it every day. Like I said, all I got to do now.”

“What about Janet Chisum?”

Billy struggled to sit up more. Robie rose and helped him, adjusting the trash bag pillow to support him.

“What ’bout her?”

“If Clancy didn’t kill her, who did?”

“He was screwin’ her. Paid her to do it. What the papers say. That come out at his trial. Disgustin’. He was old enough to be her damn granddaddy.”

“And my stepmother provided the alibi.”

Billy nodded. “And your daddy maybe killed him ’cause of that.”

“You know Victoria?”

“Naw. Seen her around and all. But after you left I never spoke to your daddy no mo’. He just sort of curled up on life, so to speak. Didn’t see nobody. Just worked. He won that big case. Then he come back with Victoria and they bought the Willows. Like to knock everybody in town over with a stick when they done that.”

“And they have a little boy.”

“He ain’t talk none, so’s folks say.”

“I know. He doesn’t.”

“So you talked to your daddy yet?”

“Don’t think he wants to see me.”

“You left a long time ago. You ever talked to him over the years?”

“No.”

Billy fell silent and looked at his old friend. “Hell, Will, my daddy done beat me, too. Lots of daddies do that shit. I swatted Little Bill on the ass couple times is all when he was small. But I never hit him with my fist. Never took a switch or a tree branch to him. Never busted no beer bottle over his head. My daddy did that to me. And mo’. Lot mo’. Told myself I ain’t never doin’ that to my kids.”

“That’s good to hear, Billy. Kids have enough shit to deal with without somebody who is supposed to love them beating the crap out of them.”

“So was there somethin’ else then, Will? What made you leave?”

Robie ran his eye over the oxygen tank.

“Who’s the doctor that diagnosed your cancer?”

“Doc Holloway.”

“Is he an oncologist?”

Billy made a face. “A what?”

“A cancer specialist.”

“Oh, naw, he ain’t that. But he a good doctor. Took care’a all of us over the years. Everythin’ from a broken arm to some of Angie’s female problems. Kind’a jack’a all trades.”

And master of none , thought Robie.

“Do you need anything, Billy? Money?”

Billy waved this off. “I’m good, Will. But thanks.”

Robie rose. “I’ve got to get going. It was good to see you. If you think of anything you might need, will you let me know? I’m staying at the Willows.”

Billy nodded, looking pensive. “Hey, Will, you think maybe you might come back and we have a beer or two, talk some more ’bout the old days?”

“Sounds good, Billy. And I’ll bring the beer.”

It wasn’t hard to spot them. In fact, Robie was sure they had wanted him to see that they were back there. It was three men inside the car. It wasn’t Pete Clancy and his buddies. It looked to be a far more formidable force.

They were all about his age and wearing suits and carrying hardened expressions. And if Robie had to guess, they had guns under their jackets.

Robie kept his speed steady and also kept gazing in the rearview. The road he was on was macadam sprinkled over dirt and wound in and out of tree lines. It was also empty except for the two cars.

The sedan sped up and passed him, then pulled over and slowed to a stop.

Robie could have whipped around it and kept going, but he decided not to. He pulled over, too, right behind the other car.

The three men climbed out of the sedan and walked back to him. One on the driver’s side, the others on the passenger.

Robie rolled down his window when the man on his side reached into his jacket pocket.

Robie said, “Isn’t the FBI field office in Jackson? You guys are a long way from home.”

The man took his hand away from his jacket but Robie climbed out of the car and said, “No, go ahead and show me your credentials. It’ll make me feel better.”

The man did so.

“Special Agent Jon Wurtzburger,” read off Robie.

“How’d you ID us?” asked Wurtzburger while the other two men warily watched Robie.

Robie pointed to the car. “If you really want to go clandestine, take off the government plates.” He next pointed to Wurtzburger’s suit and tie. “Standard Bureau dress down to the tie pin. And if you were bad guys you would have rammed me when you passed. But you get a ding on your car, you have a month’s worth of paperwork to fill out.”

Wurtzburger put his ID pack away. “And how do you know so much about the FBI?”

“I have some buddies in the Bureau back in DC. We go out for beers together, shoot the shit.”

“We ran your background, Mr. Robie. There’s not a lot there.”

“Well, I haven’t done a lot, so I guess that makes sense. What can I do for you?”

“Your father is accused of murdering Sherman Clancy.”

“I know he is.”

“We’re interested in Clancy.”

“Why?”

“He has ties to some casinos.”

“And why is that a problem? Gambling is legal here.”

“You’re an outsider, Mr. Robie. We checked. You haven’t been back here for over two decades. Which is one of the reasons we’re contacting you like this.”

Robie leaned against the fender of his rental and studied them. “And why is that important?”

“Do you believe that your father killed Mr. Clancy?”

“I don’t know. Like you said, I just got here.”

“Well, if he didn’t, there might be another explanation.”

“Clancy’s casino partners, you mean?”

Wurtzburger looked intrigued. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, you brought up the ties to the casinos. And they’ve been described to me as junkyard dogs who may have had a reason to kill him.”

“Who told you that?”

“Can’t remember exactly. But I think pretty much everyone in Cantrell will tell you the same thing if you ask.”

“So local scuttlebutt?”

“Which often turns out to be spot-on.”

Wurtzburger looked at him curiously. “And you’re here because of your father?”

“I am.”

“But you think he could have killed Clancy?”

“I’ve found that given the right circumstances, people are capable of pretty much anything.”

“Based on your experience in a life where, to quote you, you haven’t done a lot?”

“I like to observe people, Agent Wurtzburger. You can learn a lot by keeping your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open.”