The score even, Sullivan turned to Maggie. “Get Jackson, why don’t you?” His irritation was turning into a full-bore acid stomach. “I’d like to get home.”
He was afraid Maggie read him too well when she turned, a tiny grin tucking in the corners of her full mouth. Her eyes slid to Royal and back to Sullivan, but she didn’t say anything. The quiver of her bottom lip, however, spoke volumes.
“Right. Sullivan’s in a hurry,” she explained to Royal, that smile spreading like cream over coffee. “He’s impatient for his bath.”
Jamming his hands in his back pockets, Sullivan managed not to snarl. “Yeah,” he said, “cleanliness is next to godliness, I hear.” He surveyed Royal’s pristine appearance. “Personally, I’ve always had my doubts.”
Not giving Royal time to retort, Sullivan took Maggie’s elbow and stepped toward Jackson’s office. “Do we need an appointment?” he asked, his question heavy with sarcasm.
“Easy does it, Sullivan,” Maggie said, patting his arm. “I know you don’t like cops, but you don’t have to be so obvious about it. Especially on my turf.”
She’d missed the point of the whole byplay. She’d thought Sullivan was being generally hostile toward cops, Royal responding in kind. The way Royal had staked out his claim to her hand sailed right over her head.
Or maybe she’d liked the way he draped his arm over her, his hand dangling all too close to her breast for Sullivan’s comfort.
Jackson’s secretary rang them through, Sullivan by now in the grip of a raging stomach burn.
“Hey, y’all.” The chief’s smile was friendly. “What can I do you for, Mr. Barnett?”
Sullivan had always hated that stupid line. He leaned against the wall and let Maggie run with the ball. Anyway, he was curious. Be interesting to see how Maggie explained the events of the previous night.
“Chief, we have a problem.”
“That’s what I’m here for, Webster. This guy giving you trouble?” He waved expansively toward Sullivan, winking.
“No. We have a corpse at Seth’s Landing.”
“Hell’s bells.” Jackson’s chair squeaked as he leaned back. “Son of a gun.”
And Sullivan listened in grudging admiration as she detailed the night’s events in clear, concise order, telling what was necessary, omitting extraneous detail. She included Tolly, the dumping, the ensuing pursuit. She explained the delay and made it credible.
She was impressive as hell.
“Shoot, Webster, you know how that riffraff out in the county lives. Y’all were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He shot a shrewd glance at Sullivan. “What makes you think this guy was your contact, anyway?”
Jackson squeaked back and forth in his chair, friendly as a crocodile, his cheeks creased in a sunburned smile, and Sullivan wasn’t about to tell him anything.
When Sullivan didn’t answer, Maggie reviewed the main points, emphasizing that the man would have had no other reason for being in the waste that Seth’s Landing had become.
“I dunno, Webster. Sounds like a back-country drug buy that went sour. The county sheriff’s office has been making a bunch of busts out in that neck of the woods. Y’all broke up a drug buy, that’s what.” He looked sincerely regretful. “‘Course, the department could use a good murder investigation.” With a crafty look at Sullivan, he added, “We been gettin’ such bad press and all, lately.”
Sullivan had to grin. The old fool had a certain charm.
It had kept people electing him until the rules had changed. Now the city council, in its infinite wisdom, was in charge of hiring and firing the chief of police. Jackson’s likability—along with his charm and his willingness to make himself available to cook hush puppies from his sainted mother’s recipe for every fund-raising fish fry in the county—had helped him there, too.
Hard to think bad of a man slapping steaming hot hushpuppies on your plate and heaping piles of coleslaw next to them.
But Sullivan didn’t trust him any farther than he could throw him.
Patiently Maggie explained the sequence that had led them to the man’s body. “Chief, he was right where he was supposed to meet us.”
“No-o-o, Webster. Seams to me you said he was down at the river’s edge, and Mr. Barnett was going to rendezvous with him back in the woods?”
Clever old coot. He hadn’t missed a trick. Rendezvousing in the woods had been the original plan. Sullivan had only thrown that out in a brief aside to Maggie during the long night, but she’d included it in her notes, and Jackson had picked it up without writing one word down.
“Yes. That was the original plan, Chief, but you can’t write off his being at the river as only a coincidence.”
Jackson swung his chair back and forth. “You real serious about this, Webster?”
“I believe it’s all connected to Mr. Barnett’s articles. The bombing. This murder. All of it.”
She hadn’t slipped and referred to him by his first name. The woman was remarkable.
“We’ll have to send the crime-scene boys out no matter if this joker’s some drug scum or Barnett’s source.” Jackson looked thoughtfully at Sullivan. “You the one insisting this guy’s your contact?”
“Seems reasonable,” Sullivan sand, still keeping his own counsel. Jackson was a mixture of country shrewd and city slick, and he could be lethal.
“All right, then.” Jackson’s eyes flicked to the door and back to them. “Have Gaines take the report on this, Webster, and you go home and get some rest.” Swiveling so that his back was to Sullivan, he added, “How you doing, Mags? Is returning too much of a strain? We can arrange more time off, you know.”
“Everything is fine, Chief. I’ll give Royal my report. In the meantime, I’m continuing with my investigation.” The clickety-click of her pen revealed her nervousness.
Sullivan felt pity stirring in him as she waited for the chief’s reply. Cynically, he considered the undertones in Jackson’s affable manner. Seemed as if Jackson had issued a threat in his genial way. Or perhaps it was genuine concern for Maggie, and Sullivan was being too suspicious. Hard to tell with Jackson. He could have a soft spot for her. But he’d made her his protégé, too, just as he had Royal Gaines.
“Sure. You find out who’s sending this fine young man such nasty letters. The federal boys are going to be involved, too, since it’s the mail, but see what you can do.” Jackson beamed. “Be a credit to Palmaflora’s police department if you can find anything out.”
And that was the end of it.
Sullivan knew the clerk’s death would disappear in paperwork. Anger and stomach acid erupted.
As he and Maggie walked outside, he rounded on her. “Jackson’s not going to do diddly about this, you know. And you’re going to hand over your report all neatly typed up to Gaines, who’ll sit on it. That guy out in the wood is dead, and no one’s going to do anything more than make nice-nice.”
White-faced, Maggie stood there, letting his attack roll over her.
“They’re too damned cozy with each other for my comfort, and you seam to be thick as thieves with both of them. You and I are the only ones who knew about the meeting. I don’t see how you could have said anything to either one of them, since you were with me every minute, but I’m asking you right out, Detective, did you tell anybody? Anybody?”
She should be defending herself, telling him he was a jerk for even thinking she had. Her white-faced silence lit the match to his fury.
Gripping her shoulders, he shook her. Her bones were fragile under his hands, reminding him of the feel of her in his arms during the night, and he was consumed with a sense of betrayal and buried rage. “Did you, Maggie—did you somehow tell someone?” He shook her again, her white face haunting him.
*
Chapter 10
« ^ »
Maggie wanted to throw up.
Instead she listened, not believing the torrent of accusations pouring forth from Sullivan.
“Thick as thieves
?” she finally said. “You think Chief Jackson and Royal are involved in some conspiracy?”
“You left out one other person.” Slashing red across his cheekbones, anger left its mark.
“Me.” She nodded. “How could I have forgotten? You’re accusing me of being involved in that clerk’s death, aren’t you?”
“I want to know if you told anyone about the meeting,” he insisted stubbornly. “That’s all.”
“It isn’t all there is to it.” She was shaking inside with a sick fury at her foolishness. “You’re accusing me of being crooked. You’ve implied as much about Chief Jackson before, but you don’t ever give me any proof. And now you accuse Royal, my friend—they’re both my friends!” she cried.
“I think they’re involved in a lot of under-the-table crooked deals going on in this town.” Scowling, he’d folded his arms, an unsubtle message.
“You expect me to believe you? And you don’t offer any proof? How can you? I’ve known them for years. They spent time at my side when I was in the hospital. Royal has taken care of me on the job in ways you’d never understand. He and I are friends, and you’re asking me to doubt him? Who in heaven’s name do you think you are to accuse these people I know better than you do? The next best thing to family I have?”
“Why are you so willing to give them a pass?” he argued.
“Because I know them. I care about them, and so I trust them. Why can’t you trust me?”
He laughed, and it was the bitterest sound she’d ever heard. “Because a man died last night. Because you’re the only one besides me who knew.”
“You keep insisting that no one else could have known. What if the contact did tell someone? What makes you so sure he didn’t?” She could never tell Sullivan now that she’d called Royal and talked with him.
“I don’t know what I think,” he finally said, rubbing his head and lifting the dusty strands of brown into spikes. “I want to trust you.”
Maggie didn’t believe him.
“No. You don’t. You don’t trust me, and no matter what I said, no matter what I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“I might, Maggie. If you told me the truth.”
“You wouldn’t know the truth about me if it slapped you in the face. You made up your mind the first time we met and you’ve had this mental checklist of transgressions. Every time I do something that seems suspicious to you in your seat of judgment—Sullivan Barnett versus the Rest of the Whole Wide World—you mark another tick against me.”
“I don’t sit in judgment.”
“Don’t lie, Sullivan. Face it, you look around you and you see conspiracies, betrayal, evil. I don’t.”
“You’re too trusting. Especially for a cop. Cops and reporters don’t trust people.”
“The difference, though, is that you like not trusting people, Sullivan, don’t kid yourself. You hold your mistrust of people, your cynicism to you like a heating pad. Does it keep you warm at night? All that passionate cynicism? You think everyone is lying to you unless you have proof they’re not.”
“That’s why I’m a damned good reporter. People lie. I show them for what they are. Liars. Thieves.” He paused, looking at her for a long minute, fury in his gaze before he concluded, “Crooks. But I don’t want you to be a crook, Maggie.”
“I think you do.” Wounded, hurting in ways she couldn’t have dreamed, she went for the jugular. “Who did I kiss last night, Sullivan? You? Or a reporter? Tell me, because I’d like to know what kind of fool I almost made of myself.”
His lips thinned and he turned away from her.
“Let me know if you figure it out, will you?” she called after his rigid back.
If she were a weeper, she’d be bawling. Had she and Sullivan been in the same room together? Hadn’t he heard every word she’d said? Her insistence that the matter was important?
She rubbed her nose. Sullivan had said it wouldn’t be making love, and maybe it wouldn’t have been. But she’d come perilously close to surrendering herself body and soul to him during those drawn-out, isolated hours.
He’d held her and protected her.
She’d trusted him.
In his arms she’d felt whole for the first time since the shooting. She’d felt none of the disorienting shifts that frightened her, none of the confusion that kept her doubting her actions and judgments. With Sullivan, her actions had seemed to have the clarity of crystal ringing in her mind, her body, everything meshing in a delirium of joy, pealing like chimes in harmony.
She’d been a fool. Was a fool. And all that wonderful clarity she’d felt last night had shattered like crystal into sharp pieces that were cutting her to ribbons. Judgment? She had none. She would have given herself as completely as she knew how with Sullivan.
But he didn’t trust her.
And she couldn’t trust her judgment, only her instincts at the deepest level of her truest self. There, and only there, did she experience certainty in all the muddle.
With that thought speeding her feet, she did an about-face and stormed back into the station, pushing past Clancy, who was smart enough to let her pass with no comment.
Royal was huddled over Jackson’s desk, the two of them conferring in low voices when she stepped into his office without knocking.
She’d never gone into the chief’s office unannounced.
“Webster?” The chief looked worried. “What’s up?”
“I need to talk with you. With Royal. If you have the time.”
“Sure, have a seat. Gaines, we’ll discuss that other situation after the three of us finish. That okay, Maggie?”
He was speaking to her in a soothing voice that rubbed her the wrong way. She didn’t want to be soothed. She wanted that pinging clarity again, not this muddy, out-of-tune clanging inside her all the time. “Whatever you say, Chief.”
“Spit it out, Mags.” Royal was off to her side. She could see him, but she couldn’t keep both of them in view at the same time. She’d used the same technique herself, but it irked her that they were using it on her.
“Okay. Here it is in a nutshell. Barnett believes that he has proof that several politicians and cops are involved in a conspiracy that covers several areas.”
“What areas?” Jackson walked behind her and shut the door. “Tell me, Maggie. Every word will stay inside this room.”
“He doesn’t know how it all ties together, but this conspiracy involves real-estate holdings, payoffs to politicians for rezoning votes—”
“Most of that has been in his articles, Mags.” Royal’s voice was calm. “What’s the problem?”
“He believes the man killed was a contact who intended to provide him with records documenting the way the conspiracy had manipulated deeds and dummy corporations so that they could buy up land around the county and develop it, making fortunes several times over for everyone involved.”
“Neither of you said anything about these records. You didn’t say he was going to have them with him.”
“It would have been in my written report.”
“Did the man have them with him?” Jackson paced in front of her, his quick glances making her uneasy after Sullivan’s attack.
“No. I didn’t see any papers lying around him. We looked.” She couldn’t recall why she’d omitted the fact about the records. She should have included that information. It was in her notes and she’d skipped past it. Maybe because Sullivan was standing in the corner watching her every move. That, and Jackson himself had made her nervous.
“Why was Barnett so sure the dead man was his contact, Mags? Did Barnett recognize him?” Royal was kneeling in front of her, his incredible smile beguiling her.
Trust.
She had called him and told him where she was heading. She’d explained the purpose of the meeting.
Loyalty.
An essential compact between people.
She’d trusted Royal last night and a man had been killed. She’d trusted her instincts about Sull
ivan and had seen the result in his furious attack on her in the station parking lot.
“Hello, Mags. Come back, babe.” Royal’s green eyes were open, guileless, unlike Sullivan’s hooded blue eyes that judged everything and everyone.
If she were to trust anyone, it would be Royal. She knew him.
And she knew Sullivan, too; had instinctively trusted herself with him in the most elemental way. He hadn’t failed her.
“Sorry, Royal. Tired, I guess. A long night and I’m short on sleep. No, he’d never seen him before.” It was the truth.
“But did he know who the man was? Where he’d gotten the records?” Jackson was still in his soothing mode, and maybe that caused her to lie. Maybe not.
“He had no idea. Or he didn’t tell me if he did.” There. She’d lied to her friends, betrayed their trust. No wonder Sullivan had doubts about her. She had her own wagonload of misgivings at this point.
“Thanks for filling us in, Maggie, but I don’t know how this will help.” Jackson was heading for the door.
“One more item, Chief. Barnett indicated that the records also included proof the illegal dumping was tied in with the financing of the real-estate deals and kickbacks. The same people were involved.” She owed Royal and Jackson that much loyalty.
“Sheesh.” Turning to Royal, Jackson asked, “You heard anything about illegal dumping?”
“Rumors. That’s all. Supposedly some of the paper-and-pulp industries aren’t thrilled about the cost of complying with the EPA regulations. There’s always been a problem with pesticide disposal. Some of the farmers and big agricultural-pesticide companies make noise all the time about the nuisance. The cost of high-temperature incineration.”
Jackson sat on the edge of his desk. “Anybody in particular?”
“None that I know of, anyway. But you know me, Chief, I don’t hang around with the cow crowd.” Royal rose and included them both in the genial warmth of his smile. “Biggest problem I have is keeping my boots clean.”
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