‘And did you find the Wards?’
‘No sign. If they were here, they’re gone now, but nobody is talking without a lawyer, so we can’t say for sure.’
Zachry rubbed the butt of his service weapon with the palm of his right hand, as though his skin was itching.
‘I didn’t even fire a shot,’ he said. ‘I was scared shitless.’
Naylor took in the injured, the dying, and the dead.
‘Then maybe they’ll let you keep your job after the investigation,’ he said.
Zachry followed his gaze. When he’d signed up to be a sheriff’s deputy, it wasn’t for this.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘I hope they don’t.’
About eighteen months previously, the now-deceased Randall Butcher had been taking an evening stroll through the environs of the Buttrell property when he’d stumbled across a black bear and her five-month-old cub. Black bears are typically solitary animals, and prefer to avoid contact with humans, but sometimes a bear’s preference didn’t enter into it: the black bear population of the state had risen from about fifty in the 1930s to thousands in the present day, and in places like the Ouachita they occasionally bumped up against man. Black bears weren’t large by the standards of other American ursids, but a male could still weigh five hundred pounds, and even a three-hundred-pound female was enough to put the fear of God into a man if he wasn’t anticipating her company.
And if he came between her and her cub – well, that was pretty much a guarantee of pain.
Randall Butcher had backed away, but he could see Momma Bear was contemplating teaching him a lesson, and he didn’t begin to feel safe again until he was back in the farmhouse with the door locked behind him, surrounded by a couple of guns and about $100,000 worth of methamphetamine. Subsequently, Butcher invested in bear traps for the property, although in truth he’d been thinking for a while about adding them as a security precaution against snoopers. He acquired a range of devices, including some old Victor, Triumph, and Newhouse wolf and bear traps that dated from less enlightened times, when the main purpose of said instruments was to inflict maximum pain and damage on prey. The traps were in poor condition, and rusted as all hell, but some TLC and lubricant restored them to reasonable working order. Butcher made sure his people knew where they were located, but as far as anyone else was concerned, he figured they could just take their chances.
It had been Leonard Cresil’s misfortune to lose his footing close to one of those locations, and therefore land with his right knee on the plate of a vintage Kodiak bear trap designed to disable animals up to ten feet tall and weighing as much as 1,500 pounds. The toothed jaws instantly crushed Cresil’s right femur, along with the tibia and fibula in his lower leg. They also tore apart his femoral artery, so that by the time Tilon Ward found him the ground was already soaked with blood and Cresil was dying. Cresil was in so much agony that he probably didn’t realize the imminence of his own demise, which might have explained his next words.
‘Help me,’ he said.
Tilon was carrying a thick length of branch that he’d picked up along the way, just in case Cresil, for all his hollering, proved to be less incapacitated than he sounded. Cresil stretched out his left hand, and Tilon instinctively moved to take it, which was when Cresil brought up his right, a gun still gripped firmly in its fingers. But his movements were sluggish, giving Tilon plenty of time to lash out with the branch, catching Cresil hard on the head and causing his body to twist. There was a final spurt of red from the ruined artery, and Cresil gave a whine of pain, which was the last noise he would ever make. Tilon stood over him, watching him bleed out, and was surprised at how little he felt. When Cresil was dead, Tilon searched his pockets and relieved him of his cell phone, his billfold, and his gun before continuing on his way. He walked for about ten minutes until he came to a pool of standing water, in which he disposed of the branch. After another ten minutes, a signal bar appeared on the phone.
Tilon called his cousin Ernest and asked him to come find him.
Parker had a cuffed and unhappy Harmony Ward in the back of his car when he pulled into the parking lot of the Cargill PD. She hadn’t been working at the Dunk-N-Go that morning, so he’d been forced to confront her at home. She’d been more sad than angry, and hadn’t kicked up too much of a fuss. She was worried about her son, but Parker couldn’t tell her much other than that Chief Griffin was on his way to the scene, and as soon as they heard anything, they’d let her know.
Parker led her to a cell and handed her phone over to Billie Brinton. By then Naylor had returned and informed them that there was no sign of either Hollis or Tilon Ward at the Buttrell place. While none of the men arrested at the scene would either confirm or deny if Tilon had been present, they all claimed never to have seen his father.
‘I’m heading out,’ Parker told Billie when Naylor was done.
‘May I ask where to?’ She heard the aggrieved tone in her own voice, and regulated it for the follow-up. ‘Just in case the chief wants to know.’
‘I’m going to visit Pappy Cade.’
‘Uh-huh? We got a blender in the kitchenette, should you prefer to stick your face in that instead.’
‘It’s tempting,’ said Parker, ‘but I’ll continue with Plan A.’
93
The same dour woman who had haunted the spaces of the Cade residence when Parker last visited now answered the door to him again. He was shown into the same office, where Pappy Cade was once again seated behind the same desk, wearing the same cardigan and what might have been the same shirt and pants. The same clock ticked and the same sad sour smell of bitter old age filled the air. Nothing, it seemed, changed at the Cade house, or nothing of consequence.
‘Take a seat, Mr Parker,’ said Pappy. ‘Your company is most welcome.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because you represent novelty, which means that you’ll suffice as a distraction until you tire of these regions and move on. May I offer you coffee, or hot tea?’
‘No, thank you. I hope my visit will be brief.’
‘I’m surprised to see you here at all, given the morning’s events. A lot of action out in the Ouachita, or so I’m led to believe.’
‘Two dead, and more injured, including a number of sheriff’s deputies. I don’t think the execution of the raid will reflect well on your son.’
Pappy Cade’s shoulders jerked in an approximation of contained mirth.
‘Then you don’t know this county,’ he said. ‘From what I hear, none of those deputies is in any danger of expiring soon, while Jurel and his people, aided by concerned citizens, just took down a meth operation that was contributing to the debilitation of our populace and might have caused Kovas to reconsider its intentions. I don’t see any problems at all with that story. Men have successfully run for office on less.’
Perhaps he was right, Parker thought. Jurel Cade might yet emerge smelling of roses.
‘They found no sign of Hollis Ward out there,’ said Parker.
‘Didn’t they?’ Pappy’s voice gave nothing away. It was studiedly neutral.
‘Most of those with whom I’ve spoken think he’s dead,’ said Parker. ‘I’m curious to hear your opinion.’
‘I’d prefer to see a body before I make pronouncements like that, but if you pressed me, I’d lean toward considering him deceased.’
‘Why did Hollis Ward hate your family so much?’
‘I don’t know that he did.’
‘You dispensed with his services after he was convicted for possession of child pornography.’
‘That’s true, but I’m not convinced Hollis took it too personally. He knew the lay of the land, and he’d profited from his dealings with us.’
‘Just as you had from his efforts on your behalf.’
‘True.’
‘So despite what some might think, your view is that Ward – if he’s alive – would have no particular reason to derail the Kovas deal?’
‘No, I suppo
se he would not. May I ask where you’re going with this, Mr Parker?’
Parker stared the old man in the face.
‘I reckon you know who’s been killing those young women,’ he said. ‘Perhaps not for sure, but you have your suspicions.’
Pappy Cade stared back.
‘That’s a hell of an accusation to make,’ he said, but there was no real indignation to the response, and the expression on his face remained largely unaltered. It displayed only a slight frown, as of one regarding a fly that refuses to cease buzzing after a hand has crushed it.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Parker.
‘Do you have any evidence to support your theory?’
‘Nothing substantial, or not yet, but I will. I believe Hollis Ward is involved, but not in the way everyone seems to fear. There appears to be a lot of hatred in your family for a man who was willing to strong-arm the poor and vulnerable into property arrangements that benefited the Cades. What agreement did you reach with Hollis Ward, Mr Cade? What did you give him to cause such resentment among your own blood?’
Pappy Cade’s expression changed, and for a moment Parker glimpsed the poisonous fury that dwelt inside the old man, a rage that would evanesce only with his last breath.
‘You don’t know anything about this land,’ Pappy said at last, ‘and you know nothing about those who live on it.’
‘People don’t differ so much from one another,’ said Parker. ‘They love, they lust, they hate. They get angry, they get frightened. They live, they die. The rest is just details.’
‘Then you haven’t seen enough of life.’
‘Oh, I’ve seen enough.’
Pappy was overcome by a fit of coughing. Parker poured a glass of water from a jug and passed it to him, but Pappy’s hands were shaking so badly that Parker had to assist him in raising the glass to his lips. Whatever was ailing him, Parker thought, it was not Parkinson’s alone. Pappy turned his head away when he had drunk enough, and Parker saw red worms of blood uncoil in the water before fading away. Pappy did not say thank you. Instead, his face flushed briefly with embarrassment.
‘Whatever passed between Hollis Ward and this family is long done with,’ said Pappy, as Parker resumed his seat. ‘Any lingering resentments that my offspring may feel toward me for slights and hurts inflicted over the years will fall away once their security, and the security of their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, has been guaranteed by the wealth and influence that Kovas will bring. The rest, as you say, is just details.’
‘If you really believe that,’ said Parker, ‘then your children are destined to disappoint you.’
Through the window behind Pappy, Parker watched a car pull up before the house. From it emerged Delphia Cade, as though summoned by Parker to provide proof of his thesis.
‘It’s a shame,’ said Pappy.
‘What is?’
‘That your own child didn’t survive long enough to disappoint you. You, unfortunately, lived long enough to disappoint her.’
But his words had no power to wound Parker, or none beyond the superficial. Pappy Cade was a hateful man, and death would soon take care of him. Parker heard a key turning in the lock of the front door, followed by the sound of Delphia Cade’s heels tapping across the hardwood floor of the hall, and the creak of the office door opening behind him.
‘Mr Parker,’ said Delphia, as she drifted into sight. ‘Have you changed your mind about my offer?’
Pappy raised an inquisitorial eyebrow.
‘I asked Mr Parker to consider working for us,’ she explained. ‘Or rather, for me. I felt I might have need of a factotum, among other services.’
‘Whatever you needed, Ms Cade, I couldn’t provide,’ said Parker.
‘Then why are you here?’
‘Your father and I were exchanging views on family.’
‘I didn’t think you had a family,’ said Delphia, ‘not anymore.’
Parker couldn’t help but smile. It was the only response to such genetic incorrigibility.
‘It seems that your father’s blood runs in your veins,’ he said. ‘That’s unfortunate.’ He returned his attention to Pappy. ‘If it’s any consolation to you as your health deteriorates, I don’t imagine your children will permit you to suffer long. One of them will put you out of your misery before the pain becomes too great.’
‘It’s beyond time for you to leave here,’ said Pappy. ‘If I were you, I’d fill your tank in town and keep driving until the gas runs out.’
‘I’ll be doing that shortly,’ said Parker. ‘But no more young women are going to be butchered. That’s coming to an end.’
‘You think I wanted those girls to die?’ said Pappy.
‘No,’ said Parker. ‘I’m just not convinced that you, or anyone under your sway, cared enough to stop it from happening.’
Parker watched a shadow cross Delphia Cade’s face, and the shards of silver in her eyes flashed brightly for an instant. But she was looking only at Pappy, and her hatred for him was manifest. As Parker moved toward the door, Pappy’s voice followed him.
‘Whatever you do, it won’t bring your child back,’ he shouted, ‘or your wife neither! Dying will be a mercy for you. Dying—’
But the rest was lost in another fit of coughing, which continued as Parker walked out the front door. He glanced back to see the patriarch hunched over his desk, racked with pain, thick gobbets of blood spattering the leather inlay and the papers spread upon it; and Delphia contemplating her father’s suffering, the jug held in her right hand as she poured its contents onto the floor.
And through the trees, over water and sky, the dead moved in unison.
94
Charles Shire took the call from an unfamiliar number as he waited by the gate at Adams Field for his flight to Atlanta. He had been expecting to hear from Cresil, but the voice on the other end of the phone belonged to Jurel Cade.
‘Cresil is dead,’ said Cade, without preamble.
‘How?’
‘He landed in a bear trap.’
‘Is that a literal description of his fate?’
‘Very much. He probably bled to death within minutes.’
Shire felt no particular regret, beyond that which a man might feel at the loss of a useful tool from his kit. In some ways, Cresil’s death might even be for the best, because their shared secrets had died with him.
‘And the rest?’
‘Randall Butcher was shot and killed at the scene, along with Pruitt Dix. They were the only other fatalities. We’re dealing with a lot of media. We got the TV, the newspapers …’
‘Is the situation under control?’
‘I think so. Only bad guys died.’
‘Are you including Mr Cresil among their number?’
‘Officially, or unofficially?’
‘I think that answers my question.’
‘Cresil fired the first shot. He killed Butcher.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘As good as. Nobody else has admitted to firing at Butcher, and I don’t doubt they’re all telling the truth. We’ll know for sure once the ballistic examination of the slug is concluded.’
‘And how will you paint these events?’
‘Cresil was part of a group of deputized citizens that came under fire in the course of the operation. Two deputies were injured, one of them seriously. Shots were exchanged. Cresil’s actions may have saved lives.’
‘That was very heroic of him. Call Tammy Barker. She’ll help you with the nuances.’
Barker was one of the partners in the Little Rock PR firm engaged by Kovas Industries to smooth ruffled feathers in Arkansas. Even by the standards of her industry, she was breathtakingly mendacious.
‘And what about Hollis Ward?’ Shire asked.
‘I don’t think he was ever there. His son, maybe, but not Hollis.’
‘Where’s Tilon now?’
‘We’re looking for him.’
‘Do you still consider him your chief
suspect?’
‘In the absence of a better one.’
Shire grimaced. Only his best efforts, combined with assurances from Pappy Cade and promises from Little Rock of a further sweetening of the tax arrangements, had kept Kovas from bolting to Texas after the Kernigan killing. Another female corpse would lead to serious financial and reputational damage for all concerned.
‘I told you,’ said Shire. ‘No more dead girls.’
‘We’re working on it.’
Shire heard his flight being called.
‘Work harder,’ he said, and hung up.
Angel and Louis were waiting for Parker as he drove out through the gates of the Cade property. They had offered to accompany him inside, but he didn’t regard himself as being at risk from the dying Pappy, or not physically: the potential taint to his soul from exposure to the old man’s virulence was another issue.
Parker’s phone rang as he pulled up. It was Evan Griffin.
‘Where are you?’
‘I just finished visiting with Pappy Cade. I think he cut a bad deal with Hollis Ward and it’s returned to haunt him and everyone else in this county. I believe Patricia Hartley and Donna Lee Kernigan died because of it, possibly even Estella Jackson too.’
‘Did Pappy sign a statement to that effect?’
‘Yeah, and he also wrote me into his will before I left. He told me I was the son he never had.’
‘He already has two sons.’
‘Like I said.’
Parker heard Griffin mutter something. It sounded like a prayer for patience.
‘I thought you might be interested to hear that Leonard Cresil is dead,’ said Griffin, once he’d sent his message to God.
‘How?’
‘He was part of Jurel Cade’s posse. Seems he fell into a bear trap and bled to death.’
‘Fell, or was pushed?’
‘There was no one around to witness his end, so I guess we’ll never know for sure. But I saw the body: it looks like Cresil took a blow to the head shortly before he died, one that almost knocked his left eye from its socket.’
The Dirty South - Charlie Parker Series 18 (2020) Page 42