Дэвид Балдаччи - The Guilty

“No thanks, Sheriff. We have a car here. We can drive ourselves.”

“I’ll call Doc Holloway,” said Monda. “He’s an early riser. You know where his office is?”

Robie nodded.

He and Reel climbed into their car and drove off.

Reel drove because Robie was having trouble with his arm.

“Bad?” she said.

“Old wound just got worse.”

“That one was my fault. But you should have had it fixed before now.”

“Famous last words.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo.

Reel glanced at it.

“Who is she?”

“Laura Barksdale.”

“Your old flame? Where’d you get it?”

“It was in the glove compartment of the Bentley.”

“What do you think it was doing there?”

“I don’t know. But there has to be a reason it was there.”

“Do you think it’s connected to what’s been going on?” asked Reel.

“Again, I don’t know. But we need to find out.”

“Sherman’s dead.”

“But Pete’s not.”

“And he might have been driving the Range Rover. But you don’t think he killed Sara Chisum?”

“I didn’t. Now I’m not so sure. But I want to ask him about this picture.”

“Did you ever find out what happened to the Barksdales?”

“Just that they apparently left Cantrell without a trace,” replied Robie.

“How does a family leave a small town and no one know?”

“Well, apparently it happened.”

“Your dad should know, shouldn’t he? I mean he was here all that time. And he knew them.”

“He says he doesn’t know what happened to them.”

“And you believe him?” asked Reel.

“Maybe I’m getting cynical in my old age, Jess, but I’m starting not to believe anybody.”

“Good, I haven’t believed anyone in years. Sometimes, not even myself.”

They drove on.

Doc Holloway was waiting for them, dressed in a white shirt, a tie, and a white lab coat.

His nurse was not in attendance.

She didn’t get in until nine, Holloway told them, and it was not yet seven in the morning.

He examined Reel first, cleaning up her gashes, slashes, and cuts from where bits of material blown off by the fired rounds had punctured her skin.

“You hurt anywhere else?” asked Holloway as he finished stitching up a gash on her neck.

“Nothing that won’t keep,” she said.

“How’d you come by all these?” he asked.

“Fast living.”

Robie was up next and the prognosis wasn’t as good.

“You’ve completely torn the scar tissue, which in turn has torn some ligaments and done more internal damage,” said Holloway. “I can patch up the other areas, but that one’s going to require surgery.” He slowly lifted Robie’s arm up and back, and Robie winced with each movement.

“I’m goin’ to put you in a sling for now. You’ll need to keep it as immobile as possible. But you need to have that surgery done, Mr. Robie, or the damage really could be permanent.”

“Understood, Doc. Thanks.”

After Holloway cleaned up his other wounds, he helped Robie put his shirt back on. Then he fixed up the sling for Robie’s damaged arm.

Holloway glanced at him as he put his instruments and equipment away. “You and your friend have certainly been busy in our small town.”

“Wouldn’t be here if we didn’t have to be,” said Robie.

“No, I understand about your father. I hear he’s out of jail.”

“On bail.”

“When will the trial be?”

“Maybe there won’t be a trial.”

“Oh really, why is that?” asked Holloway suspiciously.

“If we find who really killed Sherman Clancy.”

“I understood the evidence was fairly damnin’ to Dan Robie.”

“Evidence is a funny thing. It all depends on perspective.”

“Are you yourself in law enforcement?”

“You could say that.”

“Clancy and the two Chisum girls, three murders in a relatively short period of time. We’re not used to that here.”

“I hope most places wouldn’t be used to that.”

“Do you think it’s one person doin’ all of this?”

“I don’t know,” replied Robie, watching him closely. “What do you think?”

“I’m just a doctor, not a detective.”

“But doctors have to be sort of like a detective. Investigating symptoms and arriving at the truth of a person’s condition.”

“That’s actually a large part of what we do.”

“Speaking of a person’s true condition, have you been by to see Billy lately?”

“Billy Faulconer, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I have, as a matter of fact.”

“And how is he doing?”

“He’s dyin’, Mr. Robie. And there’s nothin’ any of us can do about that.”

“Well, that seems to be the case for a lot of folks in Cantrell,” Robie shot back.

“Okay, you officially look like death warmed over,” said Reel as they walked out of Holloway’s office.

He examined the sutures on her neck, gauze on her face, and bandages on both arms.

“Well, then we make a quite a pair because you look like shit,” Robie retorted.

They drove back to the Willows.

Dan Robie met them on the porch.

“My God,” he said as he saw them fully. “I’ve seen infantry comin’ out of a firefight in Nam look better than you two.”

“It wasn’t too pretty,” conceded Robie.

“Taggert called me,” Dan said. “And filled me in a little.” He looked at his son’s arm in a sling. “Is it bad?”

“I’ll get it fixed up at some point.”

“Some point soon,” added Reel. “Or the damage could be permanent.”

He glanced at her.

“I was standing on the other side of a partially open door when Holloway told you that. I’m just naturally curious.”

Dan led them inside and insisted on making them breakfast.

Priscilla had taken Tyler to get a haircut, he said, and Victoria was still in bed with a migraine.

Eggs, bacon, grits, biscuits, and fresh coffee were served up and they all sat down to eat.

“So tell me what happened,” Dan said.

Robie and Reel took turns filling him in.

Dan shook his head. “So it was Clancy’s Range Rover that was used when Sara Chisum was killed. I thought it must be somethin’ like that when you two ran out of here after I made that comment.”

“It did make me start thinking,” said Robie. “And we nearly got killed in the process. But the bullet hole was there.”

Dan said, “And the Wendells? Who would’ve thought they’d be mixed up with such criminals?”

“Bad stuff happens in all kinds of families,” said Reel.

“I know, but I would have thought that Bobby Wendell would’ve been smarter about it. Hirin’ thugs to make this problem go away? Well, you play with snakes, you’re gonna get bit.”

“And he was officially bitten.” Robie put his cup of coffee down, pulled out the photo of Laura, and slid it across to his father.

Dan took it up and stared at it. “Where’d you get this?”

“In Sherman Clancy’s Bentley.”

“I wonder what it was doing there.”

“I wonder, too.”

The tone of his voice made his father glance up.

He said sternly, “Why don’t you just say what you’re thinkin’, son, instead of beatin’ around the bush like you always do?”

“What happened to the Barksdales?”

“I told you I didn’t know.”

“And not to beat around the bush, I don’t believe you.”

“So you’re sayin’ I’m lyin’?”

“Whatever you want to call it,” said Robie evenly.

Dan rose and said menacingly, “You want to take this outside, boy?”

“I’m not a boy.”