The Dirty South - Charlie Parker Series 18 (2020)

by Connolly, John

  By the time Knight returned to the Rhine Heart, Leon Hornbeck had left the vicinity in an effort to slake his unquenchable thirst elsewhere, and had presumably taken any other prospective customers with him. As Knight waited for Muntz to arrive, he saw Parker’s rental pass, the man himself behind the wheel. Parker noticed the prowl car, spotted Knight, made a U-turn to pull into the lot.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Parker asked.

  Knight bristled. He couldn’t help it. Here was this interloper, this suspected killer, acting as though he owned the damn town. The visceral nature of his own animosity struck Knight with such force that he tasted copper in his mouth.

  Yet even as he stood before Parker, Knight was nagged by an ambivalence that might not have been unfamiliar to Leonard Cresil, albeit one with markedly different origins. Knight thought he might have some inkling of how Parker’s fellow officers felt about him up in New York City, and how one who should have been part of a brotherhood in blue – Knight still didn’t hold with female cops, Colson excepted, and then only because he knew her people – could have found himself so isolated. Yet Parker hadn’t come to Cargill in order to interfere with the workings of the community or personally offend the morals and sensibilities of Kel Knight, but because something in the staging of one killing, and the unofficial details of another, had reminded him, however mistakenly, of what had been inflicted on those he loved. Knight had to remind himself that Parker was doing them a favor by remaining in town. He had set his own inconvenience against the needs of others, and the scales had tipped in favor of the latter, but that didn’t mean Knight had to be ecstatic about it.

  ‘The place is still locked up, and Rhinehart’s usually pouring drinks by now,’ he said.

  ‘Do you have a reason to be worried?’ said Parker.

  ‘This is a town of routines. Any break in them is odd.’ Knight relented somewhat. ‘Did the chief tell you about Rhinehart and Donna Lee?’

  ‘Only that she was seen looking distressed, and Rhinehart might have been responsible.’

  ‘That’s still all we have, but it would be good to hear his side of the story. His cook is coming over with a set of keys so I can take a look around.’

  ‘If you need company—’

  ‘No, I can manage. What about you?’

  ‘I thought I might have a talk with Nathan Pettle.’

  ‘Why Pettle?’

  ‘He knew Hollis Ward, and is – or was – on good terms with Pappy Cade.’

  ‘Did Eddy Rauls tell you that?’

  ‘No, Nealus Cade.’

  ‘That family is a nest of vipers.’

  ‘You may be doing a disservice to vipers.’

  Knight was about to smile, but caught himself just in time.

  ‘I hear Delphia Cade wants you off the case,’ he said.

  ‘Or off the face of the earth. I believe she’d settle for the first, but prefer the second.’ Parker glanced back toward the motel, which was visible from where they were standing. ‘I just had a conversation with Leonard Cresil.’

  ‘Sometimes things learn to walk that should only have crawled,’ said Knight. ‘Cresil was a dirty cop, and he’s even dirtier now. You ought to keep away from him.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s my decision to make. According to Nealus Cade, his sister may have left it to Cresil to deal with me.’

  Kel Knight thought that life seemed intent on testing him. Just as he was starting to get a handle on how he felt about Parker, a further embroilment was added to the mix.

  ‘The chief won’t stand for it,’ Knight said. ‘Neither will I. It’s no secret I have reservations about your involvement in our affairs, but that doesn’t mean Cresil and the Cades get to ride roughshod over the law.’

  ‘No reflection on the law in this county,’ said Parker, ‘but I think that’s exactly what Cresil and the Cades get to do. And if anything did happen to me, you’d have a better chance of connecting it to Mother Teresa than to them.’

  ‘I don’t want to see you end up in the hospital,’ said Knight. ‘We’d have to cover your expenses.’

  ‘And come visit,’ said Parker. ‘With grapes.’

  Knight’s expression suggested that, in the event of such a mishap, Parker would be waiting a long time for the pleasure of his company.

  ‘You’d better head out to Pettle’s place before it gets too dark,’ Knight said. ‘Given recent events, people will start to become jumpy once night falls.’

  ‘On my way,’ said Parker.

  He left the lot just as Ivy Muntz pulled in. Perhaps, Knight considered, Parker wasn’t the worst guy to have around while all this was going on, not with men like Leonard Cresil circling.

  Then he recalled the scars on Parker’s hand, and his heart hardened once more.

  80

  Billie Brinton rarely heard Evan Griffin raise his voice. He wasn’t disposed to shouting. In fact, the softer he spoke, the more reason the object of his attention might have to feel concerned, and therefore take heed. But the chief’s voice was certainly raised right now, and Jurel Cade was hollering right back at him. Mostly they were shouting at each other about Hollis and Tilon Ward. The detail about Donna Lee Kernigan getting into a red truck that might have been Tilon’s had finally been shared with Cade, causing him near enough to explode with outrage at its being kept from him for so long. But it also sounded as though Chief Griffin had endured his fill of Cade’s obstructionism, and wasn’t going to stand for it any longer. Eventually Cade stormed out of the chief’s office, and as he departed he used a word to describe Griffin that Billie could later only bring herself to refer to as ‘C U Next Thursday.’

  Griffin himself arrived at Billie’s desk a few moments later. His face was red.

  ‘Where’s Kel?’ said Griffin.

  ‘I assume he’s still down at the Rhine Heart.’

  ‘And Parker?’

  ‘I don’t know. He hasn’t been in touch.’

  ‘Colson? Naylor?’

  ‘I can find out.’

  ‘Am I running this goddamned department alone?’

  Billie peered at him over the top of her spectacles.

  ‘You got me,’ she said.

  For a moment she thought the top of Evan Griffin’s head might be about to pop off, until some of the tension and anger seemed to drain from him as though a valve had been turned at the base of his skull.

  ‘That’s something at least,’ he said. ‘Please find out where they are, and ask them to come back here as soon as possible.’

  ‘Can I tell them why?’

  ‘Inform them that Jurel Cade just declared war.’

  ‘On us?’

  ‘On everyone.’

  Ivy Muntz unlocked the rear door of the Rhine Heart, and Kel Knight called out Denny’s name. He received no reply, but could hear the radio playing from somewhere in back.

  ‘Should I come with you?’ said Muntz.

  ‘No, you stay here. Anyone else arrives, you make sure they remain outside.’

  The hairs on Knight’s neck were standing on end, and he had a cramp in his stomach. A man just grew to know when something wasn’t right. He unclipped his holster, but didn’t draw his weapon. He entered the private precincts of the Rhine Heart, containing the storage areas, the kitchen, and Denny Rhinehart’s small, windowless office. That was where he found Rhinehart lying on his back with a new hole in his face, another in his belly, and the room stinking of blood and death. Knight checked for a pulse, but only so he could later attest that he’d done everything right. Rhinehart’s skin was cold and rigor mortis had already set in.

  Knight had never liked Denny Rhinehart because he’d never trusted him, and Knight could never like someone who couldn’t be trusted. But now, looking down on Rhinehart’s remains, he lowered his head briefly to pray for the man’s soul before stepping outside to call Evan Griffin.

  Reverend Nathan Pettle lived in a two-story dwelling painted yellow and green, with a small Stars and Stripes fluttering from a f
lagpole above the front door. A white Country Squire station wagon bearing the ichthys symbol alongside a Clinton/Gore bumper sticker was parked in the drive.

  Parker pulled up alongside the station wagon, stepped into the yard, and rang the doorbell. After a short wait, the door was opened by a tall, gray-haired man wearing a clean but untucked white shirt and a pair of bargain-store jeans. His face bore the dazed look of someone who had just been woken from sleep, and his feet were bare.

  ‘Reverend Pettle?’ said Parker.

  ‘Yes, can I help you?’

  Parker identified himself and displayed him the temporary ID issued by the Cargill PD. Pettle took it in his hand and examined it closely, squinting.

  ‘I don’t have my glasses,’ he said.

  ‘They’re hanging from your shirt.’

  Pettle dabbed at his chest, found the glasses, and put them on.

  ‘You’re the policeman from New York.’

  ‘Ex,’ said Parker, ‘although I suppose that piece of paper makes me current again.’

  Pettle handed it back to him.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’d like to talk to you about the Cade family, and Hollis Ward.’

  Parker saw Pettle’s face relax slightly, almost in relief, before it settled into a confused scowl.

  ‘Why Hollis Ward?’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps we could discuss it inside.’

  ‘This really isn’t a good time.’

  ‘Reverend, I know you helped identify Donna Lee Kernigan’s body. You saw what was done to her. We’re trying to stop that from happening to any other young women.’

  Pettle looked at his watch.

  ‘I’m expecting my wife home shortly.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘We’re obligated to have an important family discussion.’

  ‘I’m sure you can delay it.’

  Parker’s tone brooked no further argument, so Pettle conceded defeat.

  ‘I guess you’d better come in, then,’ he said.

  He stepped aside to admit Parker.

  ‘After you,’ said Parker, and waited for Pettle to lead the way.

  Because Kel Knight wasn’t the only one who could sense when something was wrong.

  Evan Griffin was staring at the body of Denny Rhinehart. Griffin had no personal experience of investigating professional hits, but this didn’t strike him as a murder of that stripe. From the mess on the carpet, and the blood on the papers, he got the impression that Rhinehart might have rolled around some as he died, which meant he’d probably also been making a degree of noise, because Griffin didn’t believe that men wounded in the belly elected to suffer quietly. For that reason, no professional would opt to kill a man by shooting him in the stomach, which meant that a second shot had been required to finish Rhinehart off. There weren’t many good ways to die, but this wasn’t one of them. Griffin also spotted what looked like a bullet hole in the carpet close to Rhinehart’s body. He deduced that the killer had fired at least one other shot, which missed its target, before the fatal bullet struck Rhinehart, lending further support to Griffin’s theory that this was the work of an amateur.

  Like Knight, Griffin never had much regard for Rhinehart, but he hadn’t deserved such an end. No one could merit that kind of violence, not even the man currently responsible for the deaths of two – or possibly three – young women in the county. Griffin wanted that individual tried in a court of law, judged by a jury of his peers and, if found guilty, given the needle. Should Bill Tindle truly have witnessed the aftermath of some altercation between Rhinehart and Donna Lee Kernigan, one that subsequently led to Donna Lee’s death at Rhinehart’s hand, then the latter’s murder had deprived the state of its right to justice. Griffin wasn’t jumping to any conclusions, but Cargill was a small town. Despite recent evidence to the contrary, homicide was an aberration here, and Denny Rhinehart, as Sallie Kernigan’s former employer, had enjoyed a relationship with the Kernigan family.

  ‘Does he have a safe?’ he asked Knight.

  ‘Nope. According to Ivy, Rhinehart kept a cash box in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. He didn’t like holding large sums on the premises, but it wasn’t as though the bar was doing so well that this was often an issue, so he’d sometimes let a couple of days go by before he made a run to the bank. The cash box is still in the cabinet and it hasn’t been touched. The cabinet was unlocked and, from what I can tell, the place hasn’t been tossed.’

  Papers covered the floor, but the majority were stained with the emissions of Rhinehart’s dying, which most likely meant that he’d knocked the documents from the desk as he fell. His chair was still upright, but was pushed back against the wall. The drawers in the desk were all closed. Griffin opened them with a gloved hand, revealing only assorted items of stationery, a couple of bags of candy, and a selection of pornographic magazines. He flicked through the titles, noting that they catered exclusively to the barely legal market: the models were probably all over eighteen, but had been chosen because they looked much younger. Many were black. He put the magazines back where he’d found them.

  ‘It’s time to hand this whole mess over to the state police,’ he told Knight. ‘This is getting out of hand.’

  ‘Won’t make Jurel Cade like us any more than he already does.’ Knight had been about to call in the discovery of Rhinehart’s body when Billie came on the radio to tell him that Griffin wanted to see him, because Jurel Cade was on the warpath.

  ‘Can’t increase his dislike for us either,’ said Griffin. ‘Besides, he has his own agenda. He now knows about Hollis Ward’s fingerprint on the body, and that Tilon Ward was seen with Donna Lee shortly before she died. He tried to tear me a new one for letting Tilon – and I quote – “slip through our fingers.” He said he’d find Tilon and the old man himself.’

  ‘Does he believe they’re in it together?’

  ‘It’s never plain what Jurel believes about any given situation,’ said Griffin. ‘If he has resolute principles, I’ve yet to determine what they might be.’

  He heard footsteps approaching from the bar. Seconds later, Tucker McKenzie, the forensic analyst, appeared at the door, already suited and booted, with Colson beside him. It was the first time Colson had seen the body. She winced, but didn’t otherwise react. Griffin didn’t feel he had a lot about which to congratulate himself, especially lately, but hiring Colson had been one of his better decisions.

  ‘Any word from Parker?’ he asked her.

  ‘None.’

  ‘I spoke with him just before Ivy got here,’ said Knight. ‘He said he was on his way to talk to Reverend Pettle.’

  ‘I’ll give him a call,’ said Griffin, ‘just in case Billie became distracted before she could get to him.’

  McKenzie coughed pointedly. He’d just finished assisting at the scene of a house fire over in Polk County when he got the call from Griffin. It hadn’t taken him long to get to Cargill, and he still had smudges of soot on his face.

  ‘When you’ve finished tramping all over the scene,’ he said, ‘could you see your way clear to stepping outside so I can get started?’

  They did as McKenzie asked. He paused before Griffin.

  ‘You do know I don’t get paid per body, right?’ said McKenzie.

  He looked tired. There was only so much death upon which a man could gaze in any given day.

  ‘I’m aware of that.’

  ‘So I don’t need any more of your business. Just saying.’

  He proceeded into the office and went to work.

  Reverend Nathan Pettle invited Parker to take a seat at the kitchen table. The house was very quiet. Parker couldn’t even hear a clock ticking. There was no hint of disorder, but neither was there any sense of homeliness. It held the ambience of a location in which an occupant had recently died, someone taken before their time: a young person, perhaps, except no mention had been made to Parker of any such bereavement in the Pettle family. A set of double doors, currently
open, separated the kitchen from the living room. Parker could see framed photographs on the table beneath the front window, but they were the only indication that living, breathing human beings might actually spend time together within these walls. The contents of the kitchen cabinets were hidden from view, and all of the surfaces were bare.

  ‘I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t offer you anything to drink,’ said Pettle. ‘As I told you, I’m expecting my wife home any minute. My daughter is staying with friends. She does that sometimes.’

  Parker kept his expression neutral. He had no wish to signal any awareness of the oddness of Pettle’s behavior.

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Parker. ‘I’ve had my fill of coffee for today.’

  His eye was drawn to an image of Christ hanging on the wall. It was the only religious signifier that Parker had noticed so far.

  ‘That was a gift from a friend,’ said Pettle. ‘I didn’t think it was appropriate for our church. Some of the congregants remain doctrinal in their attitude to iconography, so I decided to hang it here instead. I consider it as much a piece of art a religious symbol. Are you Christian?’

  ‘I was raised Catholic.’

  A flicker of disappointment signaled Pettle’s opinion of Parker’s faith, but he quickly rallied.

  ‘Do you still believe?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Because of what happened to your family?’

  So Pettle had known about him before he arrived at his door. Parker wasn’t surprised. Like many people around town, the preacher had probably been waiting to put a face to the name.

  ‘For lots of reasons,’ said Parker.

  ‘I didn’t mean to pry. Questions of belief come with the territory.’ He joined Parker before the image. ‘What do you see when you look at it?’

  ‘I see Christ,’ said Parker.

  ‘And nothing else?’

  ‘Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘Most white people, when they visit, feel obliged to point out the color of His skin. They say it’s a black Jesus, and always in the same tone, the one that tells me they wouldn’t have nothing like it on their walls at home. For them, the Savior is always Caucasian.’ He stepped away from Parker and seated himself at the head of the table, the window at his back. ‘Is that what you are, Mr Parker: a white protector, come to save the children of the black man, to restore order where he could not?’