The Dirty South - Charlie Parker Series 18 (2020)

by Connolly, John

  ‘You got a screwdriver?’ said Robinett.

  ‘On my knife,’ said Knight.

  He handed it to Robinett, who used it to unscrew the back panel of the bar fridge, revealing the bags of crystal meth concealed inside.

  ‘Well, now,’ said Robinett. He didn’t touch the drugs, but instead began to scribble down a name and number from a sticker affixed to the back of the fridge, left there by an appliance repair service. Knight guessed what he was doing. If the service turned out also to have worked on jobs for Randall Butcher, investigators might be able to establish a link between Dix and Butcher: one more small detail that could be added to building the case. He and Knight continued their search, but came up with nothing else.

  ‘I’m going to call a patrol car,’ said Robinett, ‘and get them to keep an eye on this place. We’ll also log that meth as evidence. If Dix comes back in the interim, they’ll hold him so you can ask about Tilon Ward, but my feeling is that he won’t be returning anytime soon.’

  ‘Because by now he already knows we’re here.’

  ‘That’s right. He probably got a call as soon as we started knocking on his door.’

  ‘Is this the time to ask how you came by that warrant?’ said Knight.

  ‘Therein,’ said Robinett, ‘hangs a tale …’

  The call had come through to Pruitt Dix’s cell phone as he entered Little Rock.

  ‘Pruitt, man, they in your place.’

  Dix parked two blocks away from his apartment, the hood raised on his jacket, and walked to a corner from which he could watch the police emerging from his building. He recognized both men and found them equally troubling, if for different reasons. Robinett had always maintained a hard-on for Randall Butcher, and could only be hoping to get to Butcher through Dix. Knight’s presence, meanwhile, meant that Burdon County law enforcement was also interested in Dix. He wondered if Tilon Ward’s mother had failed to keep her mouth shut about his recent visit.

  Dix could have called a lawyer. He didn’t know if the cops had a warrant. If they didn’t, it was an illegal search, but he had dealt with Robinett in the past and was under no illusions about the detective’s intelligence. If paperwork were required to nail someone, it would be found, even after the fact.

  Dix left the keys to his car at his local convenience store, and told the owner that someone would drop by to pick them up within the hour. His Chevelle was too damn conspicuous, and Robinett and Knight could soon have every prowl car in the state looking out for it. He caught a cab to a bar in Boyle Park and called Randall Butcher along the way. It might, he thought, be a good idea if Butcher made himself hard to find for a few days. Butcher, when he came on the line and learned of the situation, agreed.

  At the bar, Dix ordered a soda, and waited for one of Butcher’s people to arrive with another vehicle. Whoever was killing those girls in Burdon County was causing a profusion of vexation for everyone, and the sooner he was stopped, the better. If Dix found him before the cops did, he’d save the state the cost of a trial.

  The soda was flat and the ice tasted gritty. Dix told the bartender to turn down the music because it was hurting his ears. The bartender didn’t argue. He didn’t know Dix personally, but he’d crossed paths with enough men like him to listen when they spoke, and do whatever it was they asked of him, legality and common sense permitting. He returned to reading his paper and wondered at the life choices that had brought him to this pass.

  73

  Griffin parked in front of the Rhine Heart. He tried the main door, found it closed, and went to the back entrance. This, too, was locked, although Denny Rhinehart’s Jeep Comanche was parked in its usual spot, and someone had left a delivery of hot dog rolls on the step. Griffin knocked, but no one answered. He gave it a few minutes, just in case Rhinehart was in the can, and knocked again, before giving up. Rhinehart could have gone on an errand, in which case Griffin would take a drive around town in the hope of spotting him. Rhinehart would return soon enough to welcome his paying customers. Griffin would speak with him then.

  Parker dropped the peach pie off with Billie Brinton before calling Colson and arranging to meet her at a gas station near South Spring Road, which was the nearest landmark she could offer to the home of the former Burdon County chief deputy Eddy Rauls. The gas station was long boarded up, its pumps rusted and locked. At some point in the past it had accommodated an ice cream parlor or soda shop, because Parker could see faded illustrations of sundaes and shakes on the side wall. Behind the gas station stood the screen of an old drive-in movie theater, grass growing through the gaps in the pavement, and pools of standing water waiting for the arrival of insects to give them life. As if Parker wasn’t feeling depressed enough, a dead possum lay on the patch of grass by the entrance to the disused theater.

  He decided to wait for Colson in the car.

  His phone rang while he was still trying to forget the possum. It was Evan Griffin calling to ask if Nealus Cade had come up with anything useful.

  ‘He told me that his sister wants me hurt, but not killed,’ said Parker.

  ‘That’s charitable of her. Did he give any reason why?’

  Parker decided to leave out the part about turning down Delphia Cade’s advances, professional or otherwise.

  ‘She hopes it might temporarily derail the investigation.’

  ‘Did she cook this up herself? It’s crude.’

  ‘Leonard Cresil may have guided her on the specifics, even if Nealus is convinced that the derailment was her idea.’

  Griffin absorbed this information.

  ‘Will Nealus swear to it?’

  ‘Nope, and to be honest, I’m not sure how far I’d trust anything that boy said. If you approach Cresil or Delphia about it, they’ll obviously deny it, and try to find another way to cause us difficulties.’

  ‘Leaves you hanging, though, doesn’t it?’

  ‘That depends. I have some friends who might be willing to watch my back.’

  ‘Friends from here?’

  ‘Friends from elsewhere.’

  ‘How friendly are they?’

  ‘Not very friendly at all.’

  ‘I’d feel better if you had one of my people with you.’

  ‘They’re stretched as things stand. Also, your people have their own lives when they’re off the clock.’

  ‘And your friends don’t?’

  ‘They take a more holistic view of existence.’

  ‘I don’t even know what that means.’

  ‘It means they live to cause trouble.’

  ‘Well,’ said Griffin, ‘they’re coming to the right place.’

  The conversation ended, but Parker could still see the possum in his rearview mirror.

  Colson pulled up moments later. She had spent part of the morning at the county courthouse, testifying in a number of minor cases and acting as the department’s representative at various arraignments and sentencing hearings, before continuing with the canvass of those who might have known Donna Lee and her mother. Later, back at the station, she’d assisted Billie Brinton in coming up with a list of persons who might have known all three of the dead girls. The only solid link shared by Estella Jackson, Patricia Hartley, and Donna Lee Kernigan was that they had all attended the same school, which was Hindman, for the duration of their studies. Then Evan Griffin had shared the news of the discovery of Hollis Ward’s fingerprint on Donna Lee’s body, which seemed to render futile any further efforts to look for a culprit at the school.

  Colson joined Parker, who was squatting close to the patch of grass, poking at the dead possum with a gloved hand. The possum looked as though some other animal had gnawed on it and its body was pitted with wounds. Parker asked if Colson wanted to take a closer look at the possum, and wasn’t surprised when she declined.

  ‘Why would I want to look at a dead possum, anyway?’ she asked.

  ‘You picked the venue,’ said Parker.

  ‘Because it was a landmark you could easily find, not bec
ause of a possum. Oh, and because it used to be owned by Hollis Ward. He closed it after his conviction on the child pornography charges, since no one would buy it from him as a going concern. I think Pappy Cade might have taken the land off his hands out of sympathy, but never did anything with it. Kovas might change that.’

  ‘What about the movie theater?’

  ‘That went out of business before the gas station, but it was another Ward family enterprise.’

  ‘Hollis Ward doesn’t seem to have enjoyed a surfeit of good fortune.’

  ‘The child porn didn’t help, but it’s also what comes of getting into bed with the Cades. They use people, then throw away the husks.’

  There was no mistaking Colson’s bitterness.

  ‘You make it sound personal,’ said Parker.

  ‘The Cades cheated my uncle out of most of his land. They offered him a line of credit through their tame bank, and waited until he was overextended before calling in the debt. It was legal, but it wasn’t moral. If you want to know how the Cades operate, that about sums it up. A lot of people around here have similar stories, and not all of them are prepared to forgive or forget.’

  Parker looked back at the gas station. Its doors and windows had been covered up with steel plates, either bolted to the walls or secured with heavy-duty locks.

  ‘Do you have any airtight containers in your car?’ he asked.

  ‘I have some evidence bags, and a cooler box,’ said Colson. ‘I also have a feeling I’m going to regret admitting that to you.’

  The replacement vehicle, a Toyota 4Runner with tinted windows, arrived as Pruitt Dix was finishing up in the men’s room. He left a couple of bucks on the bar to cover the lousy soda and stepped outside. The driver’s side window rolled down, revealing Randall Butcher seated behind the wheel.

  ‘Get in,’ he said.

  Dix took the passenger seat. Butcher pulled away from the bar and headed for the interstate.

  ‘How much trouble are we in?’ he asked Dix.

  ‘Depends what they found at my place, but I could be in a lot. As for you, I can’t say for sure.’

  ‘What were you holding?’

  ‘About a key and a half, and I had a buyer lined up.’

  Dix didn’t usually get involved directly in sales and distribution, but these were desperate times. Dix had taken Butcher’s last two keys the previous night, and had already offloaded a quarter of the meth before dawn.

  Butcher’s cell phone rang. He picked up and kept driving, listening closely all the time, and saying little in response. At the conclusion of the call, he said only ‘I understand,’ and killed the connection. Dix waited.

  ‘There’s a sealed grand jury indictment in my name,’ said Butcher. ‘Conspiracy, bribery, and five counts of wire fraud.’

  ‘A federal indictment?’

  Butcher nodded. That explained why they’d heard nothing about it until now. If it had been purely a state matter, the drums would have been pounding long ago. Also, if a grand jury had been convened, it meant federal prosecutors had confidence in their case. Whatever problems Dix might have, Butcher had bigger ones. Depending on the legality of the search, Dix could be looking at felony possession, which carried a sentence of six years or less. Butcher, on the other hand, could be facing a sentence of twenty years on the wire fraud alone – and that was per count. It made the issue of the meth cook even more urgent, because Butcher now needed funds for a better lawyer than he already had.

  ‘I’ll supervise the damn cook myself,’ said Butcher. ‘In the meantime, start making calls. Tell the buyers I want their money lined up and ready to be counted.’

  ‘And Tilon Ward?’

  ‘Tilon stays aboveground. He cooks, we move him, he cooks again.’

  Dix was sorry to hear this. Tilon Ward had always bugged him.

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  Butcher patted him on the arm.

  ‘We’ll work him to the bone, then you can get rid of him. But,’ he added, ‘if you see the police coming, you shoot Tilon in the head. We don’t need him talking on top of all this other shit.’

  Which cheered Dix up some.

  74

  Eddy Rauls lived in a neat house in a neat yard surrounded by trees that were also neat, as woodland went. Parker pulled up behind Colson and took in the view. Two vehicles sat in the yard: a Ford truck that bore mud splatter from the recent rains but was otherwise in good condition, given that it was at least a decade old, and beside it an Acura Integra bearing a disability sticker.

  A small brown mongrel dog appeared from the house, leaped the three steps to the yard in a single bound, and nuzzled up to Colson as soon as she emerged from her car. A big man holding a cup of coffee followed the dog outside, although he stopped short of also jumping into the yard and nuzzling Colson. His shoulders and chest were massive, and tapered to a waist that wasn’t much wider than Parker’s. He wore loose-fitting cargo pants and a baggy bowling shirt over a white T. His silver hair was cut in a flattop, while matching curly strands peeked out curiously over the neck of his undershirt. As Colson walked over to meet him, he put the coffee cup down on the rail of his porch and enveloped her in a hug.

  ‘It’s been too long, girl,’ he said.

  ‘It’s been two weeks, Uncle Ed,’ Colson replied.

  ‘Still too long.’

  He released her and shook hands with Parker. His palm had a sandpaper grip.

  ‘Mr Parker,’ he said. ‘You’re quite the talk around town.’

  ‘Should I be pleased?’

  ‘Well, someone once dumped the carcass of a cat over by the Dunk-N-Go, and there was a week’s worth of conversation in that, so it’s a pretty a low bar. How are you finding our little county?’

  ‘Vexing.’

  ‘Hard to contest. Come inside. I just made a fresh pot.’

  The dog, Milo, skipped at their heels and tried to bite the ends of Parker’s trousers. Parker didn’t mind. He liked dogs. Susan had been allergic, but Jennifer had really wanted a dog, and they’d been asking around for advice about breeds that didn’t shed.

  He pushed aside the memory.

  The interior of Eddy Rauls’s home was as tidy as the exterior. Even the newspaper was aligned perfectly with the edges of the kitchen table, and the jars and cans in the cabinets were stacked with the labels facing out. The floor was clear of obstacles, and every surface shone.

  Rauls noticed Parker taking it all in.

  ‘My wife is going blind,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘I was always an orderly person. I learned it in the army. Now it serves a practical purpose. Helen needs to know where things are, particularly when I’m not around. She’s sleeping right now.’

  The kitchen table already had cups and spoons laid out, along with milk and sugar. Rauls poured the coffee and offered them vanilla pound cake that he’d baked himself. The coffee was a lot better than the cup Parker had taken with Nealus Cade, and the cake was light. Eddy Rauls was a man of contradictions. Parker wondered if he still had the blackjack and ball-peen hammer used to maintain order back in the day. He was obviously keeping in shape, and only the color of his hair gave away his years. His face remained relatively unlined, and his eyes were clear. Parker wouldn’t have crossed him for all the tea in China.

  ‘How far have you got on the killings?’ Rauls asked, once they were all settled.

  Parker let Colson answer.

  ‘We pulled a print from Donna Lee Kernigan’s body,’ she said.

  ‘You get a hit?’

  ‘Hollis Ward.’

  Rauls shook his head. ‘Hollis Ward is dead.’

  ‘Officially, Hollis is missing,’ said Colson.

  ‘That doesn’t matter a damn. He’s dead, and we all know it.’

  ‘How do you know?’ said Parker.

  ‘Hollis wasn’t the kind to pack his bags and run, didn’t matter how much people might have taken against him. It wasn’t as though he was pa
rticularly sociable to begin with, and he could handle himself.’

  ‘If he’s dead,’ said Parker, ‘how did he die?’

  ‘I’d say someone killed him. Hollis wouldn’t have taken his own life, if only out of spite. It’s possible he might have met with some kind of accident out in the woods, I suppose, but my guess is he was murdered and his body dumped somewhere it wouldn’t be found.’

  ‘Any thoughts on who might have done it?’

  Rauls looked at Colson.

  ‘It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,’ she said.

  ‘I think his son did it,’ said Rauls.

  ‘Tilon?’

  ‘Unless he has another.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of what Hollis did to him.’

  ‘You think Hollis abused Tilon?’

  ‘I have no proof, but I wouldn’t have put it past him. Hollis Ward was a debased son of a bitch.’

  ‘I read your case files on Estella Jackson,’ said Parker. ‘I could tell you liked her father for the killing, but he had an alibi.’

  ‘Yeah, I liked Aaron Jackson for it at first. Subsequently, I had a change of heart.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I began wondering about Hollis. That’s also in my notes.’

  ‘Not any longer. They’re gone.’

  Rauls reacted as though a flame had been poked in his face.

  ‘They cleaned the records,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Cades.’

  ‘Why?’ said Parker.

  ‘Because they’re rewriting their history in preparation for a glorious new chapter.’

  ‘Sure. Hollis had an alibi for the night Estella Jackson disappeared – from Pappy Cade, who said Ward was down in Laredo on Cade business – and another from both Pappy and Hollis’s wife, Harmony, covering the likely hours during which she died. The Cade alibis were never officially recorded.’

  ‘Do you remember what was in the Ward material?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Pappy didn’t want his name associated with Hollis any more than it already had been, not after the child porn business, but he owed Hollis, and said he wasn’t about to stand by and see him railroaded for a crime he didn’t commit. Pappy advised that he was prepared to give a sworn statement, if it came down to it, but it never did.’