The Dirty South - Charlie Parker Series 18 (2020)

by Connolly, John

  ‘If Cresil and my sister can inveigle Butcher to make a move against you, it’s a win-win situation. If Butcher succeeds, the murder investigation will lose momentum, and Griffin may be more amenable to waiting until after the Kovas paperwork is signed before continuing with his inquiries. If Butcher fails, any blame for the attempt will fall on him, giving the police an excuse to move in and close down his operation. And when they do, it will be my brother at the head of the arresting team.’

  ‘You got all this from one partly overheard conversation? I’m impressed.’

  ‘I didn’t have to hear it all. I know how my sister thinks, and my brother, too. It wasn’t hard to join the dots.’

  ‘I appreciate the warning. Now I have another question for you. What do you know about Hollis Ward?’

  Nealus Cade barely reacted to the name, but it was a reaction nevertheless.

  ‘Why are you asking about him?’

  ‘It was my question. You can have your turn later.’

  ‘He and my father grew up together, and were partners for a while. Hollis helped him with some property and business deals in the county, back when my father was still laying the groundwork for luring companies like Kovas.’

  ‘Your father doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who requires a lot of help making deals, or not from someone like Hollis Ward.’

  ‘Hollis knew who was hurting for money,’ said Nealus. ‘He was aware of who might be vulnerable to blackmail, or simple threats, and whose claims to land might be open to challenge. He was particularly knowledgeable about potential cases of heirs’ property. Do you know what that is, Mr Parker?’

  ‘No, I do not.’

  ‘It’s a form of property ownership based on inheritance, but not backed up by a will, and is common in black communities.’

  Black, Parker noted, not colored. Here was no Ferdy Bowers.

  ‘It dates back to a time,’ said Nealus, ‘when legal advice was not available to black people, and has persisted to the present day because the courts are regarded, not without cause, as being ill-disposed toward the interests of poor minorities. If they don’t have clear title, these people are ineligible for federal loans and disaster relief, and are unable to use their land for collateral with lending institutions. And if they can’t prove ownership, their property can be taken from them and auctioned without their consent. More than a third of the land owned by blacks in the South is heirs’ property, representing a potential windfall for the unscrupulous. My father more than qualified in that regard, and in Hollis Ward he found the perfect agent.

  ‘Through Hollis, my father could exert a great deal of influence without getting his hands too dirty – not that dirty hands ever concerned him greatly, but this was his county, and his people, and he wanted an element of deniability when things got rough or unpleasant. He didn’t want the community turning against him, and Hollis was comfortable with playing the bad guy, because that’s what he was. But then Hollis disappeared, and nobody’s heard from him in years.’

  That, thought Parker, had just changed, but he decided not to mention it to Nealus. The print found on Donna Lee Kernigan’s body would become public knowledge soon enough.

  ‘Do you think Hollis Ward is still alive?’

  ‘He could be. He was a strange man. My father was as close to Hollis as anyone, but I don’t believe he ever really knew him. They didn’t socialize together, or even seem particularly friendly toward each other. My father used Hollis, and Hollis used him.’

  ‘And what did Hollis gain from this arrangement?’

  Nealus Cade took a few seconds to decide on an answer. ‘Power,’ he said, finally, ‘or a semblance of it. Money, too, but mostly power.’

  ‘What kind of power?’

  ‘The power to alter the trajectory of lives, even to ruin them. Sometimes, I think he’d have worked for free for my father, just because his role elevated him and gave him an authority he would otherwise have lacked. Then he and my father fell out. Hollis’s conviction made it inevitable.’

  ‘The child pornography?’

  ‘Yes. My father ended their association. He had no choice.’

  ‘And how did Hollis take that?’

  ‘It probably didn’t come as a huge surprise to him, but he was still angry about it. He came to the house a month or two after he got out of jail. He wanted money from my father. There was a huge argument. Jurel arrived and threatened to put Hollis back behind bars if he ever showed his face on Cade property again. Hollis stopped coming around, and eventually he stopped being seen anywhere.’

  ‘That was convenient for your family, given the knowledge Hollis possessed about your father’s affairs.’

  ‘It certainly was,’ said Nealus. He smirked. ‘My father has that kind of luck.’

  ‘Was Hollis the only person to help your father out in this way?’

  ‘He was the main one. There were others, but not as important, except perhaps for Reverend Pettle.’

  ‘Why Pettle?’

  ‘He has influence with the black community.’

  ‘Did Pettle know Hollis Ward?’ said Parker.

  ‘Of course. I can remember him sitting down with Hollis and my father at the house. Pettle only ever drank soda. My father and Hollis would mock him about it. Of course, Pettle had just a small congregation in those days, but people listened to him and his wife. It’s surprising, really. I could never figure out if Pettle was a weak man pretending to be strong, or a strong one pretending to be weak.’

  Parker picked up his pie. It was time to go.

  ‘I’m curious, Mr Cade,’ he said. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

  That smirk flashed again. ‘Why do you think?’

  ‘Don’t take this personally, but I suspect you suffer from a great deal of resentment.’

  ‘It’s all about power, Mr Parker. I learned that from Hollis Ward. There’s no point in having power, even the little I possess, without using it. My knowledge of my family’s past dealings in the area of heirs’ property has enabled me, belatedly, to put pressure on my father to ensure that there is no repeat of such behavior. Now, in return for one conversation, and the price of a pie and some beverages, I’ve managed to make life difficult for my sister while doing some good along the way – although the attraction was more the former than the latter, if I’m being honest.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Parker, ‘if you are. Goodbye, Mr Cade. Thanksgiving with your family must be a sight to see.’

  ‘Good luck avoiding that beating,’ said Nealus, as he called for the check. ‘And I hope your friend enjoys the pie.’

  IV

  Yonder come little David

  With his rock and sling

  I don’t wanna meet him,

  He’s a dangerous man.

  ‘Sit Down Servant’ (Traditional)

  72

  Franke’s was the oldest restaurant chain in Arkansas, dating back to 1919. The original Franke’s location on West Capitol had closed in 1960, but the other outlets continued to thrive, mainly because the menu hadn’t changed much over the years. As long as it continued to serve meat loaf on Mondays, catfish on Fridays, and some variation on fried chicken virtually every day of the week, with Karo nut pie to finish, Franke’s wouldn’t be hurting for customers anytime soon.

  Kel Knight found Tommy Robinett sitting alone at a table, making serious inroads into an egg custard pie. The two men had met a couple of times in the past. Robinett was a distinctive-looking man, thanks to a scar that ran from his hairline to the base of his right cheek, a relic of a botched surveillance operation on a Little Rock Crips leader named Winston Holmes back in the early part of the decade. By then Holmes was already a millionaire, thanks to his undeniable business acumen when it came to selling narcotics, and wasn’t about to allow the police to prevent him from becoming a multimillionaire. Holmes promised $20,000 to whomever made an example of a narc, and two brothers, the Embrys, took him up on it by targeting Robinett. Had they decided just to shoot h
im, Robinett would almost certainly have ended up dead. Instead, the Embrys elected to use blades, which meant they had to work up close. Robinett killed one of them and wounded the other, but not before acquiring the scar that was now his distinguishing feature.

  ‘I eat only one of these a month,’ he said, as Knight pulled up a chair opposite.

  ‘Did I say anything?’

  ‘You have an accusatory demeanor, but I can never tell if it’s general or specific.’

  ‘I like to think it’s capable of being both, but either will serve.’

  They shook hands.

  ‘How’ve you been, Kel?’

  ‘Good, until someone started killing young women in our county.’

  ‘Rumor is there’s pressure growing to involve the state police,’ said Robinett, ‘some of it coming from the governor himself, but this Kovas deal has to go through first. After the tornadoes, the state needs all the investment it can get. We’re millions of dollars in the hole for the damage.’

  ‘I know that. Doesn’t help us right now.’

  ‘Where does Pruitt Dix fit in?’

  ‘Evan didn’t tell you?’

  ‘He said only that you wanted access to Pruitt. He didn’t say why.’

  That was Evan not wanting to spread the word about Tilon Ward, Knight knew, unless he proved untraceable by more discreet means.

  ‘The last person known to have seen Donna Lee Kernigan alive may currently be keeping company with Dix,’ said Knight. ‘For obvious reasons, we’d like to talk to him.’

  ‘Does this person have a name?’

  ‘All people have a name. That’s why they’re called people.’

  ‘You just be like that, then,’ said Robinett, but he wasn’t holding any grudges, because he offered Knight the last piece of the egg custard pie.

  ‘I will be like that.’ Knight ate the pie with a coffee spoon. It was good: not too sweet, and better than his wife’s version. Even after all these years, she retained a heavy hand with the sugar. ‘Is Dix still running errands for Randall Butcher?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Is the Little Rock PD interested in Butcher?’

  ‘Might be.’

  ‘Any particular branch of the Little Rock PD?’

  ‘Perhaps, and it might not be alone. How about you tell me the name of the man you’re looking for?’

  ‘You know Jurel Cade?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘You like him?’

  ‘Not greatly,’ said Robinett. ‘If that’s what’s worrying you, you’re expending needless energy. Whatever is said here won’t go any further unless it has to.’

  ‘A man named Tilon Ward was with Donna Lee shortly before she died, or so we believe. We think Ward has also been cooking meth in the Ouachita for distribution across the southwest of the state, and maybe even farther afield.’

  ‘Tilon Ward, who is an associate of Pruitt Dix.’

  ‘Who works for Randall Butcher.’

  ‘Who may be a person of interest to the Little Rock Narcotics Unit – among other parties, in answer to your earlier question.’

  ‘Is he under active investigation?’ said Knight.

  ‘Very active. Old Randall is slippery, though, and has friends in the legislature. One thing about Randall: his checks always clear.’

  Robinett wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  ‘Time to go,’ he said. ‘By the way, if you do lay hands on Tilon Ward, we’d appreciate a call, and the chance to talk with him.’

  ‘I’m sure that won’t be a problem.’

  They walked to the exit and into the parking lot.

  ‘You know,’ said Robinett, ‘Pruitt Dix is kind of an asshole.’

  ‘I won’t contest it. I’ve met him once or twice, and it’s a wonder the air doesn’t emerge black from being inside him.’

  ‘What about Tilon Ward?’ said Robinett. ‘Is he an asshole too?’

  ‘He’s a suspected criminal.’

  ‘That apart.’

  ‘That apart,’ said Knight, reluctantly, ‘he’s sort of an okay guy.’

  ‘Do you think he might have killed the Kernigan girl?’

  ‘No,’ said Knight, and it gave him some small pleasure to see Robinett’s mouth gape as he added, ‘we think Hollis Ward did.’

  Parker sat in his car and watched Nealus Cade drive away. He had encountered some poisonous clans in his time, but the Cades must have had Eden’s own serpent somewhere in their lineage. He took in the parking lot and the diner. He observed the customers entering and leaving, and tried to find some bond with them, but failed. He was not of this place, but perhaps he was no longer of any place, because his absence of feeling for these people extended to most of humanity.

  He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and thought about his next step. He could go to Evan Griffin and tell him about the supposed threat, but he didn’t think there was much Griffin could do short of giving him an escort, or wrapping him in cotton wool and hiding him in a closet. Griffin could always have tried warning off Leonard Cresil, or even Delphia Cade, but they’d have looked at him as though he were speaking in tongues.

  Parker took out his New York cell phone, but for various reasons, including the cost, put it away again before he pressed a button. Instead he went back into the diner, asked them to make change, and used their pay phone to call New York.

  ‘Hello?’ said the voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘It’s Parker.’

  A brief silence, followed by: ‘It’s been a while. How are you doing?’

  ‘I’m in southern Arkansas.’

  ‘Not so good, then.’

  ‘I may have a problem.’

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘Some people have it in mind to hurt me, or worse. When it comes, I won’t know the faces.’

  ‘Last time we met, you wanted to die.’

  ‘Maybe I still do, but not here, and not yet.’

  ‘So you’d like us to watch your back?’

  ‘I can cover your expenses, but it may be a while. I’m still waiting for the insurance money to come through.’

  ‘We’re not taking your money. Tell us where you are.’

  Parker felt his eyes grow hot. This voice. These men. Such memories. He gave the name of the Lakeside Inn, and said he’d book a room for them.

  ‘We’ll check flights. With luck, we’ll be there late tonight.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Sure. Be seeing you.’

  Parker hung up the phone. He walked back to his car, got in, and closed the door. He recalled the cemetery, and the uniforms. He recalled two groups of mourners, and words exchanged with the parents of his dead wife that could never be taken back. He recalled falling rain, and handshakes – endless handshakes – and a numbness behind which lurked all his pain.

  And he recalled, beneath a tree, the forms of two men watching the interment from afar, and he felt their grief for his loss. Although they would not, could not, stand alongside police and federal agents, marshals and prosecutors, still they wanted him to know that they were with him, and of him, and would be there for him later and always, just as they were there for him now.

  ‘When it comes time, you only have to ask. You call our names, you hear? You call our names.’

  Parker put his head in his hands and wept.

  Pruitt Dix’s apartment building wasn’t anything to write home about, not unless the folks at home were really interested in poor workmanship and social decline. It stood at a nexus of fortified grocery and liquor stores; of restaurants selling food that managed to be both cheap and overpriced; of dwellings that seemed destined to remain forever for sale until they fell into decay; and of patches of wasteground that were awaiting development in the same way the dead await the promise of resurrection. A handful of older teenagers regarded Knight and Robinett curiously as they pulled up to the curb, before raising a chorus of warning that brought men and women to windows and front steps.

  Robinett rang th
e bell to Dix’s apartment, but got no reply. He tried all the other bells until a man in a blue short-sleeved shirt opened the door to see what the commotion was about. He took in Knight’s uniform and Robinett’s shield, and his shoulders sagged.

  ‘We’re looking for Pruitt Dix,’ said Robinett.

  ‘Top floor,’ said the man, ‘but I don’t think he’s home.’

  He stepped back to let them in, and they took the stairs to the fourth floor. Of the apartments on that level, only the door to Dix’s was made of reinforced steel. They tried knocking, but received no answer.

  ‘Better call the super,’ said Robinett.

  The man who had admitted them turned out to be the super. His name was Madrigal, and if he wasn’t familiar with Pruitt Dix’s reputation, he gave a good impression of someone who was. His features twitched with apprehension, and his mouth was a woebegone slash of regret at ever having allowed the two men into the building, or even having left the safety of his apartment to answer the bell. A couple of residents drifted into the hallway to take in the show.

  ‘I don’t believe Mr Dix would like us to be trespassing on his property,’ said Madrigal.

  ‘We’re not trespassing,’ said Robinett. He removed an official document from his pocket and handed it to Madrigal.

  ‘You know what this is?’

  Madrigal read the document.

  ‘It’s a search warrant.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So open the door.’

  Madrigal opened the door. Inside, the apartment was tidy and unadorned with personal effects, apart from a couple of shelves of books, CDs, cassettes, and vinyl, a high-end stereo system, and a good TV. The only incongruous item was a small bar fridge against the living room wall. As far as Robinett knew, Pruitt Dix wasn’t a drinker.