Greg Iles - The Devils Punchbowl

“He said the problem was Soren Jensen and Shad Johnson. I think you’re okay. Apparently the boy hasn’'t been arraigned yet, and your old girlfriend has been raising hell. That'’s good cover, right?”

“Best we’re going to get. Is Libby here now?”

“No. Wasn’t she a lawyer before she ran that bookstore?”

“A corporate lawyer. And she’s not licensed to practice in Mississippi. Look, do you mind waiting in the car?”

Caitlin gives me a disappointed look. “You don'’t trust me?”

“It’s not that. Logan’s not going to speak freely in front of you.”

“Okay.”

“Do you think anybody followed us here?”

“I don'’t think so. But what do I know? I haven'’t been stalked since college.”

“Even so, we can’t use this car anymore. If Sands’s people heard that call, they’ll cruise by just to see what vehicle I'm in.”

“I can get more cars,” Caitlin says. “Get going. You know I hate waiting.”

Chief Logan looks five years older than he did yesterday.

“What’s up, Don?”

“I’'ve got the autopsy report.”

“Looks like you don'’t like what’s in it. How long have you had it?”

“A few hours.”

“What does it say?”

His eyes meet mine. “I have a feeling you already know.”

“I knew last night what it was going to say. Murder. You knew it too.”

“Yeah. I guess I was hoping this really was a drug murder. Or just a straight killing. Over a debt, a woman…something.”

“There’s nothing straight about this, Don. What did Shad say about the autopsy?”

“Our illustrious district attorney claims this

is

a drug murder. Drugs and adultery.”

“So why did they torture him?”

“That'’s easy to explain, if you’re trying.”

“What about Linda Church? Any word on her?”

“Nothing. It’s like she fell off the face of the earth.”

“I think she has. She knew way too much to keep breathing.”

Logan sighs heavily.

“What are you going to do now, Chief?”

“Same thing I always do. Work the case.”

“How?”

“That'’s what I’'ve been down here thinking about. What would you do, if you were in my place?”

“I’d get a warrant for the security tapes on the

Magnolia Queen

for the twelve hours prior to Tim’s death.”

Logan’s mouth falls open. “You’re kidding, right? What would they show?”

“I don'’t know. But the company’s reaction to the search would tell you a lot. What about the SUV Tim jumped out of before he was killed?”

“Three local casinos own similar vehicles. Golden Parachute alone owns eight of them. But I don'’t have a plate, so what can I do?”

“Make them account for every one of them. Look for time sheets. Try to spot the vehicles on surveillance cameras.”

Logan leans back in his chair. “Jessup did something on that boat, didn't he? That'’s why he’s dead.”

“I have no idea, Chief.”

“Sure you don'’t.”

For a moment I consider telling Logan that I know where Tim’s car is, but that’s a risk I'm not prepared to take until I know Carl Sims is alive and well. “I’d also check every business and home on Broadway for security cameras. Maybe somebody has a tape of the minutes before Tim went over the fence and doesn’'t even know it yet.”

“I’'ve checked. No luck. In Natchez, you generally only find cam

eras at gas stations, convenience stores, and banks. Liquor stores, of course.”

“And casinos,” I add.

“I hear you. But what judge is going to give me a search warrant for those tapes?”

“Judge? I thought you had a stack of presigned warrants over here that you just fill out when you need one.”

Logan shakes his head. “Once upon a time, maybe. But those days are gone. I can pick up the phone and get a search warrant for almost anywhere in the city, probable cause or not. But the security tapes of a casino boat? No judge wants to get into a pissing match with those people and their lawyers.”

“An honest judge has nothing to worry about. You’ll get the warrant if you ask for it. Try Eunice Franklin.”

Logan gives me a weary sigh. “I'’ll think about it, okay?”

“Don’t think too long. Tapes can be erased. Actually it’s probably hard drives, not tapes. I’d get on top of this fast.”

“In an ideal world.”

“The world is what we make it,” I say softly.

Logan steeples his fingers and regards me with a cold eye. “You know, when you won for mayor, I was looking for some big changes. And I think you were ready to make them. So why haven'’t things changed much?”

“I take your point. I realize you don'’t have a lot of power, Don. But you do have some. And no one can fault you for working a homicide case hard. Certainly not the average citizen. If you say you need those tapes, I'’ll back you up, and so will the people of the town.”

“The people of the town won'’t be sued for harassment by a battery of attorneys.”

“Who do you think pays if you lose a suit? Ultimately, it’s the town.”

“Okay, okay. But let me turn this around. What are

you

doing about Jessup’s death?”

“Nothing,” I say flatly.

Logan seems surprised, but after a few moments he seems to reconcile himself with the fact that I can’t or won'’t say more. “Penn,

what did Jessup steal? What’s on that USB drive he hid up his ass? If I knew that…”

I turn up my palms and give him a helpless shrug. Unless he’s a very good actor, Don Logan is an honest man. That he’s in the dark about the missing data tells me that. But his power to help me with my problem is limited. “Are your men as ignorant of that as you are?”

His eyes never leave mine. “I wish I knew.”

“Have you been threatened, Don?”

“Not in so many words. But it’s no secret that nobody wants a cash cow to stop making milk.” Logan gets up and gets himself a cup of coffee from a small carafe on a table to his left. “I thought I was being put through the ringer, but you look pretty rough, brother.”

“I feel worse than I look.”

“You’d better get some sleep.”

“I'm about to. Maybe things will be better when I wake up, huh?”

Logan sips his coffee. “I wouldn'’t count on it. If this were a hurricane, I’d say it hadn'’t even made landfall. Yet.”

I get to my feet and walk slowly toward his door. “I hope you’re wrong.”

“Any last advice?” Logan asks.

“Think hard about who you assign to this case.”

“Who would you suggest?”

“Family men with no history of financial problems or substance abuse. And none with expensive habits.”

He studies me in silence for a while. “What if they actually turn up some evidence?”

“I’d keep it to myself until I talked to the mayor.”

Logan clucks his tongue. “What about the district attorney?”

“Obviously the DA has to be informed. At some point.”

“That sounds like a dangerous game.”

“It has been from the start. We just didn't know we were playing it.”

When I step outside, Caitlin actually gets out and opens my door for me. “A new black Cadillac Escalade parked in the lot three minutes after you went inside.”

“Where is it now?”

“The second you appeared in the entryway, it took off, headed downtown.”

“It didn't pick up anybody or drop someone off?”

“No. And it had tinted windows. I couldn'’t see anything.”

Only after I'm in and seated do I notice my open backpack on the floor at my feet. My pistol is lying on the dashboard.

“Good girl.”

“Maybe it was nothing,” she says.

“Don’t think that for a second. You’re in the middle of this now. You’ve been in it ever since you wrote the story on Tim’s death.”

“Should I drive back to the office and get my car?”