A Little Death in Dixie, page 27
Jones strolled in as Hollerith leaned into those last words. The room went quiet. Billy was at the dividing line. Play it smart or stick to what he believed. He thought about Sophia and Mercy. He had only one choice.
“You hear that, Jones?” he said, unable to keep the smart-ass out of his voice. “We could wrap this case tomorrow, but the lieutenant wants to play politics.”
“You’re skating on thin ice,” Hollerith growled.
Jones held up his hands. “How about if we work the van angle, see what turns up?”
“Let me explain how this detective thing works,” Billy said. “You pick your suspect. You turn over every rock until you’re done collecting evidence. Charge the guy if he’s guilty. If he’s not, you move to your next suspect. The next rock I plan to turn over lives in Texas.”
“If you go, you’ll leave me no choice,” Hollerith said.
“Do what you have to do, sir.” Billy headed for the door.
Jones caught up with him striding down the hall. “What in hell were you doing back there?”
“You taking his side?”
“This shit’s too deep to be talking sides. You’ve been selling Dupree hard on circumstance. Take a couple of days. Check out the van angle. Then you can make your Texas run with Hollerith’s backing.”
“Naw.” Billy swatted his hand through the air. “I have to get to Courtney Burdine before Dupree shuts her up or ships her off. It has to be today.” He sat at his desk and went online with Jones standing in front of him. “There’s a cheap, Southwest flight out of Little Rock in three hours. I’ll buy the ticket myself.”
“Listen, man. We’re treading in deep water. It’s one thing to solve a case. It’s another to survive it. If we don’t, we’re going to lose. I’m going to lose.”
He heard the edge in Jones’ voice and looked up. A soured investigation would go against Jones’s record—a risk he hadn’t signed up for.
“Hollerith showed me stats he’d worked up on the case. I saw the change of beneficiaries in Dupree’s insurance in his notes. Did you give him that information?”
“No.”
“Then Hollerith’s been in the file. He’s the leak.”
“Why would he do that?” Jones said.
“Because people will justify any damned thing to get what they want.”
Jones nodded. “Yeah, somebody’s always trying to get ahead. Hollerith, Overton, the mayor, Senator Noel—from the way things have been handled, I’d say every one of them has something on the line. All I know is guys like us . . . best we can do is outlive the politics and move on.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Thursday, 10:17 a.m.
Buck rarely entered the Criminal Justice Center through the main entrance. The lobby crawled with the dregs of Memphis showing up for their day in court. He walked through the center of the atrium, where the skylights made the atmosphere tolerable. This situation wouldn’t exist except for Sophia’s stubbornness. If she’d seen the wisdom of his plan to marry her mother, she’d be alive and none of this . . . this unpleasantness . . . would’ve been necessary.
Nothing between Sophia and him would have changed. He’d even promised never to have sex with her mother. Why would he want to? After his appointment, Sophia could have left Dupree and lived with Gloria and him when they moved to Cincinnati. Gloria would have been thrilled, and the marriage would’ve provided a perfect cover.
Crazy bitch. Sophia had no vision.
She’d thrown jealous tantrums about the marriage for weeks. After every one, he’d taken her wherever she stood, over the backstairs railing, on the kitchen table. He’d forced her, used her until she cried, either from emotional dramatics or physical pain, he didn’t cared which. He knew she liked it.
Actually, he relished her possessiveness. No woman had ever put up that kind of fight for him. One minute she was clingy, the next she turned vicious and threatened to go to the media with nasty details of their affair.
There was the rub. The FBI would conduct a background check. Agents would talk to everyone, down to his boyhood Sunday school teacher. If they found an alcoholic mistress willing to spill the details of his kinky sex life to the press, the appointment would evaporate.
Following a particularly ugly fight, he’d come to the certainty that Sophia would eventually ruin him. Instead of understanding the brilliance of his plan, her threats had forced his hand.
A week after that, Lou had called in the middle of the night, drunk as hell, and said he wanted to propose a money-making proposition similar to the one they’d run with Tutwiler Jackson. When Buck said he wasn’t interested, Lou broke down, babbling about being desperate, and blurted out the reason why. Disgusted, Buck had hung up. But the call reminded him of his past business arrangement with Nevers and Jackson, a weakness FBI agents might ferret out.
In the past Lou had headed up the Memphis P.D. division that raided topless clubs, busting owners for serving minors and for permitting dancers to strip naked and play touchy-feely with the customers. A guilty verdict resulted in a suspended liquor license, which translated into thousands of dollars of lost profits for the club.
Buck’s relationship with Lou had begun when Lou saw an opportunity for them both to benefit. Lou could give owners a heads-up when undercover cops would be trolling their clubs. When a bust went down outside of Lou’s control, Lou wanted to provide insurance against a guilty finding for a stiff price.
Lou had approached his old friend, Tutwiler Jackson, with a plan. Jackson was the General Sessions criminal court bailiff for Buck at the time. Nevers proposed that he’d provide protection for the clubs at his level. If a case got through, Buck would dismiss it at the preliminary hearing. Club owners would pay Lou. Prosecutors, too busy to track a few slime-ball cases, would let them fall through the cracks. The risk of exposure would be nearly nonexistent.
Lou, Tut and the Judge set up shop. After each case, Buck found an envelope stuffed with cash that had been left in a desk drawer by Jackson. The money had allowed Buck to make important social connections that later led to political influence. Benefits kept rolling in until Sam Waters entered the picture, started snooping around and they were forced to shut down. The back-scratching relationship between Buck and Lou had remained, however. After Jackson retired, Buck had called on Lou to handle any sticky situation his friends and croquet buddies got into.
After Lou’s recent drunken plea for help, Buck had realized he needed Lou’s expertise again. And the more he thought about Lou’s situation, the more he knew Lou would do whatever he was told. Lou had a secret. He’d given enough details for Buck to know it was very nasty, and therefore big leverage.
The next day he’d called Lou and said he had a solution to Lou’s financial squeeze. Lou interrupted and confessed he couldn’t remember what he’d said. He’d sounded anxious, his voice thick and uncertain with a hangover.
Buck said he wanted Sophia removed from his life, and he wanted Lou to make it happen. He offered Lou forty thousand dollars the day after Sophia disappeared. Lou said he wasn’t a hit man and to fuck off. That’s when Buck reminded Lou of their conversation and what Lou had said about needing money in connection with The Aviary Condominiums. Buck added that it would be a shame if that situation were exposed.
“Don’t threaten me, Judge,” Lou had said. “I’ll bring down your whole house. I kept notes on those titty club owners and how much they paid you.”
Buck had cleared his throat, trying to regroup. “Really, there’s no need for threats. You handle my problem, and the forty thousand will solve your problem.”
He’d given Lou the Acura’s plate number and told him Sophia was driving that car instead of the Mercedes.
She disappeared the next evening.
But in Buck’s conversation with Lou on Saturday, Lou had denied being involved. He’d blown up. He died that night either by accident or out of guilt. Buck would never know which one for certain.
Every aspect of Buck’s plan had fallen into place until Able found Lou’s pager with Buck’s number on it and the note on his nightstand. Lou had written the Acura’s license number backward, maybe because he was drunk, or out of a quirky habit, but lucky for Buck, Able hadn’t deciphered the number.
Last night Buck had nearly dropped the phone when Able asked if he knew what the note meant.
Why the hell had Lou written “peg out”? Buck didn’t remember saying that. Thank God Lou had poor handwriting so Able couldn’t translate it. The croquet term was a flimsy connection to him, but he still felt he’d dodged a bullet. Able might stumble into reversing the numbers, and that would link Lou with Sophia.
After talking with Able, Buck felt sure the graft payments notes weren’t at Lou’s house. That left only one place they could be. Buck would have to take the risk of going there. Now he had two good reasons to take down the detective.
Yesterday he’d begun the process by calling Paul Anderson to warn that Able’s psychological state could jeopardize the department. He’d followed that up with a late-night call to fluster Hollerith. Finally, the meeting he’d arranged with Mosby this morning should do the job of undermining Able enough to get him off the case.
Buck checked his watch as he crossed the atrium. An elevator door slid open. Lawyers with their clients bustled into the lobby. Detective Able was the last man out.
“Able . . . over here,” he called. He watched the detective’s eyes sweep the lobby. Able hesitated, crossed the atrium and stopped with too much distance between them to shake hands. He looked like hell. The concussion and heavy workload were telling on him. It pleased Buck to see his opponent so compromised.
“Judge,” Able said with a nod.
“Good to see you, son. You’ve been on my mind.”
“I’m late for an appointment, Judge.”
“I followed up on our conversation about the flowers left at Casey’s grave.”
“Yes?”
Buck paused. He made Able wait, right up to the point the detective’s eyes narrowed, then he answered. “Gloria knew nothing about it.”
“How about Dupree?”
“I haven’t seen him to ask.”
Able thought it over, shrugged. “It’s probably not important. A friend might have left the flowers. Could’ve been anyone.”
An obese couple pushed past them, shouting at each other. Buck wanted to escape the chaos of the very public lobby, but keeping tabs on Able’s state of mind was important. He switched his tone to sound more agreeable. “Wish me well. Gloria and I are getting married today.”
“Mercy told me this morning.”
The bitch probably complained about me wanting power of attorney, too. Buck managed a smile. “I’m sure she told you she’s not totally on board. It’s awkward timing for a wedding, but I want Gloria to feel secure in case the worst happens.”
Able’s eyebrows went up. “You mean in case we arrest Dupree?”
“Of course not. I meant if Sophia turns up dead. But Dupree’s arrest would also be horrible for Gloria. He’s been like a son to her.”
Able leaned toward him. “So what do you think, is he guilty?”
Arrogant jerk. Buck let the moment stretch. “Your opinion matters more than mine.”
Able’s jaw flexed. “I’d say your opinion carries a lot of weight. Hollerith jumped down my throat this morning, because you told him I’m biased against Dupree.”
“Have I given you that impression?”
“The other night you said you trusted me to do the right thing. That you’d back me. Hollerith set me straight on that and a few other things.”
Ah. Hollerith had finally nailed Able about the drunk driving stops Able had handled for Sophia. Good. One night when Sophia had been into her second bottle of VeuveClicquot, she’d bragged about her affair with the hot young detective and how he’d protected her from DUIs. She’d made Buck crazy jealous. He’d turned the noxious information to his advantage.
“I also suggested you keep your perspective,” Buck said. “Anderson says you need counseling. I agree.”
“You called Anderson?”
Able had picked up on his slip. “No, I believe Hollerith brought up his name the last time we spoke. A lot of good people in the department are concerned about you.”
“Looks like you’re calling the shots in this case,” Able said, unable to mask his sarcasm.
“This case is personal with me. You understand that.”
“Right. No judge wants an in-law charged with murder.”
He didn’t like Able’s aggressive tone. No matter. The meeting with Mosby would neutralize him soon enough. He stuck out his hand.
“You said you have an appointment, Detective. It’s been a pleasure.”
Able gave him an angular smile. “Give the director my regards when you see him. And Judge, that power of attorney Mercy was concerned about this morning? I told her that her mother can have it revoked at any time.”
The last person Billy had wanted to see when he got off the elevator was Overton. He wanted to tell the judge off, but he’d held his temper. It paid off.
It was clear Overton had a bigger agenda than protecting Dupree; the judge had a personal stake in this case, important enough for him to try to influence members on the force. Try, hell. He’d intruded to the point of obstructing justice. Anderson had fallen into line after one call from Overton, and Hollerith seemed nearly desperate to accommodate him. Billy wondered how Director Mosby would handle the pressure. With the mayor’s possible defeat, even Mosby’s job was on the line. Like Jones said, they all had something at stake.
If he had any sense of self-preservation, he’d listen to Jones and go to Holly Springs. But he was as hardheaded as his Uncle Kane, a man who never learned to back up or back down. Billy was going to Texas even if it meant his job.
He’d booked the flight to Austin with an early morning return. To make it on time, he had to drive home, grab a clean shirt and get across the river by noon.
As he came up the barge’s gangplank he saw Terri stretched out in a chair on the afterdeck, wearing shades, her skirt drawn up to her panty line so she could grab a little sun on her legs. Terri’s body ran a close second on her list of priorities. He knew from experience that her career came first.
He pointed at the paddlewheel docked beside the barge. “Ms. Cozi, you’re driving those guys on the top deck nuts.”
She took off her glasses and waved them at the three young men gawking at her over the rail. “We all deserve a little sunshine in our lives.” She shimmied her skirt down and stood. “I have a ray of sunshine to share with you, too.”
“I’d love to hear about it, but I’m on the run.”
“Hold on, mister. This is for your benefit, not mine. I ran into some juicy gossip about Judge Overton.”
“. . . so after the second time she caught Larry trying on her underwear, Pam dumped him and got a job in Nashville as an assistant in Senator Noel’s in-state office. We’ve kept in touch.” Terri lay draped across his bed, flipping through a magazine while he dug into packing boxes for a clean shirt.
“So much for lost love,” he said. “Now what about Overton?”
“The senator asked Pam to prepare drafts for two different documents. The first is Noel’s recommendation of Judge Walsh for the next seat on the 6th Circuit Court of Appeals in Cincinnati. The second draft recommends Judge Lamar Overton.”
He stopped digging. Overton was campaigning for a seat on a federal appellate bench?
“I’m sure you know the senator heads the Judiciary Committee,” she said. “Either nominee will be a shoo-in, unless something ugly shows up in their pasts.”
“Or their present.”
“Exactly,” she said. “So from that angle, Overton pushing to marry into this Dupree melodrama doesn’t make sense. Is it possible he doesn’t know about the nomination?”
“Oh, he knows. And the marriage is about money, not love. Mercy had him pegged from the start.”
Terri closed the magazine. “That’s a pretty cozy reference to the woman I caught hiding in your kitchen.”
“Who’s cooking in my kitchen isn’t your business anymore.”
“Is that what you call it now . . . cooking?” Terri rolled over onto her stomach and pouted. “I’ve missed you, baby.”
“Really.”
“I have. We were good together.”
“How’s Sam been treating you?”
“Now, don’t be jealous.” She scooted forward to show her cleavage at its best advantage. “Sam and I are buddies.”
Terri fished with delicious bait, but Billy was no longer interested in biting. He had another woman on his mind.
He stopped in the doorway with his bag on his shoulder. “You’re a good friend, Terri.”
“Uh oh, the ‘F’ word.”
“Overton’s been playing me, and he’s got Hollerith on the line too. I’m going to find out why.”
“If it’s juicy, I want an exclusive.” She grinned. “Does this mean all is forgiven?”
Terri was a lot like Sophia—selfish, beautiful and brilliant at getting what she wanted.
“If I have a job when I get back, the story is yours. And yes, we’re all square.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Thursday, Noon
The wedding ceremony took place in Judge Will Heaton’s chambers. Gloria cried the moment she said “I do” and continued crying during the limousine ride to the wedding luncheon. Neither did she stop including Sophia’s name in every other sentence. Mercy felt as if a ghost were floating in and out of the limousine.
Surely, she thought, its bad luck to focus on tragedy the day of your wedding.
Overton had arranged a sumptuous luncheon in the elegance of Powell’s private dining room, handling everything with great style as only a Southern gentleman could. Lavender orchids graced the table along with a hand-scripted menu of Gloria’s favorite dishes.
His attention to detail impressed Mercy, as did the orange-cream wedding cake ordered from Commander’s Palace in New Orleans, except that the gesture was also an affront. Overton hadn’t bothered to consult her about the cake, either assuming her bakery incapable of producing a fine wedding cake or still punishing her for throwing out his pie the night they met. As the photographer snapped pictures of T. Wayne, posing beside the smiling couple, Mercy’s head throbbed with the bizarreness of it all: Sophia is probably dead. T. Wayne may have killed her. Mother doesn’t seem to notice and no one else is saying a word.
