“And there’s no doubt that it’s the crossbow used to kill Vuong?”
“Not in my mind. How many industrial-strength crossbows do you think there are around here? That’s a pretty rarefied piece of equipment. Big mother, too. I’d find it difficult to believe anyone had one in these parts, if we hadn’t had professional killers move into the neighborhood.”
Ben decided to let that pass. “What’s the forensic evidence that links Vick to the crossbow?”
“The hairs. Two hairs, to be specific, caught in the firing mechanism of the crossbow.”
“Surely that’s not enough to bring charges on.”
“The state labs say it is. They’ve run tests and compared the hairs to exemplars taken from your client. They say they’re his. I don’t know all the scientific lingo, but they say their conclusion is one hundred percent certain.”
Sounded like a DNA matchup, Ben mused. Not at all good news. “And I expect you asked Mr. Payne’s permission before you took the exemplar from Vick?”
“Of course. He had no objection. He’s been very cooperative.”
I’ll bet. That’s probably why he was chosen. “What else have you got?”
Swain hedged. “Well, our investigation is still ongoing. …”
“What about fingerprints?”
“We didn’t find any on the crossbow.”
“That in itself must be unusual.”
Swain shrugged. “If the killer watches TV, he would know to wipe his prints off the crossbow. But he might not notice a stray hair.”
“Have you checked out Vick’s alibi?”
“You call that an alibi? He says he was walking out near the lake when the sheriff found him about an hour after the murder. No one was with him. He had both the time and the opportunity to kill Vuong.
“Frankly,” Swain continued, “I was expecting to have to bust an alibi when I heard about the arrest. Regardless of what really happened, I figured Vick would get a bunch of his ASP buddies to leap to his defense and claim they were with him at the time of the murder. But that didn’t happen. I get the impression Vick wasn’t all that popular, even with his own people.”
Now that was interesting. “I’ve heard Vick had some visitors the week before the murder. Any idea who they were?”
“Why don’t you just ask your client?”
Ben shrugged awkwardly. “I—uh—just wanted to see what you already know. So I don’t waste time with unimportant witnesses.”
“Well, I don’t have any idea who visited Vick. It’s not something anyone in this town is likely to admit voluntarily. And the ASP people won’t talk to me at all. I was planning to go out to that ASP camp with some subpoena, but given this forensic evidence, I don’t see the point. We’ve got your man dead to rights. And if I don’t have to go there again, I won’t.”
“Then you’ve visited the ASP encampment?”
“ ’Fraid so. I’ve been out a few times on some disorderly-conduct reports—and I didn’t enjoy it. That place gives me the creeps. It’s like, one minute you’re in an Ouachita paradise, and the next minute you’re in hell.”
“Can you tell me how to get there?”
“Better yet, I’ll draw you a map.” Swain ripped off a sheet of legal paper and sketched a map of the roads between Silver Springs and the ASP camp.
“Don’t they have any lodgings out there? On campus, so to speak.”
“Oh, yeah. Couple of barracks. Why?”
“It just seems odd. If Vick could’ve stayed there, why did he have a place in town?”
“It wasn’t just him. Several of them did. At least, until the killing. Now no one will take them in. But before this happened, the town was a bit more tolerant. Some of the ASP men slept at the camp, but others, the more social ones, I guess, kept a place in town.”
It chilled Ben to think of Donald Vick as one of the more social ones. “Does Vick have any friends? Family?”
“One assumes even white supremists have mothers. But if Vick has family or friends, none of them have come forward. I doubt if he has any around here.”
Ben nodded. He would ask Jones to check that out later. “I’m sure you realize I’m going to file a motion in limine to exclude evidence of Vick’s alleged threat made at the Bluebell Bar.”
Swain grinned. “Well, Mr. Kincaid, you feel free to file whatever you like, for all the good it will do you. We’re not as fond of those motions as you city boys are.”
“The law is the law,” Ben replied. “Wherever you are.”
“Well …” Swain chuckled amiably. “We’ll just see.”
Ben couldn’t think of any more intelligent questions. He couldn’t fault Swain in terms of fair play; as far as he could tell, Swain had told him all he knew. Unfortunately it hadn’t helped a bit. “If you discover any exculpatory evidence, I’ll expect to be informed.”
“Of course. Where can I contact you?”
“I—I’ll just drop by periodically.”
“Suit yourself.”
Ben walked toward the playpen. “That’ll give me a chance to visit Amber.” He crouched down and waved at her. “Bye-bye, Amber.”
Amber removed the bottle from her mouth, then burped very loudly.
“Oh, sweetie,” Swain said, covering his face. “How unladylike.”
18.
LOVING STEPPED THROUGH THE front door of the Bluebell Bar. He knew everyone in the joint was giving him the once-over, so he figured he might as well hold still and let them get it over with. Come to think of it, he could use the time to give them the once-over, too.
It was still early evening, but a crowd had already formed. Judging by the prefixes on the license plates outside, folks came from miles around to wet their whistles at the Bluebell. And judging by the accents he heard from the boys gathered around the pool table, some of them had come a lot farther than the neighboring counties. Those were the ones he wanted to chat with.
Loving grinned. He might not have a couple of college degrees like the Skipper, but he sure as hell knew his way around a bar.
He strolled casually to the pool table and laid a quarter on the bank just above the coin slot. “Mind if I play?”
The man holding the cue stick barely looked up. “Suit yourself.” He was broad-shouldered with blond curly hair—exactly as Ben had described Sonny Banner.
“You Banner?” Loving barked, just at the instant Banner decided to shoot. The tip of the cue shot up into the air; the cue ball rolled just enough to cost him his turn.
“Goddamn you!” Banner threw his cue down on the table. “Don’t you know better than to talk when a man is taking his shot?”
“Sorry, pal. You were going to scratch, anyway.” Loving cut him off before he exploded. “Does this mean you’re Banner?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Name’s Loving. I’d like to join ASP.”
Banner placed his hands on his hips. “You think we’d take some asswipe who can’t keep his goddamn mouth shut when a man is takin’ his turn?”
Loving slapped him on the shoulder. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll buy the next round. What’re you drinking?”
Banner softened a bit. “Coors, of course. So are my buddies.”
“Right.” Loving motioned to the bartender. “Get me three Coors and a Michelob Light.”
“Michelob Light?” Banner guffawed. “Wassa matter, pretty boy? You on a diet?”
Loving took four bottles of beer and a bottle opener from the bartender. “Well, I could stand to lose a pound or two.”
“You know what I think?” Banner was right in Loving’s face. His breath indicated this was not his first beer of the evening. “I think you must be a sissy boy.”
Banner’s friends whooped and hollered. “Sissy boy,” they chanted with amusement. “Mama’s little sweetheart.”
“Do tell.” Loving nodded calmly. “You gonna open your beer with the bottle opener or your teeth?”
Banner’s eyebrows moved closer together
. “Are you crazy? You can’t open a beer bottle with your teeth. You’ll kill yourself.”
With a patently bored expression, Loving placed the top of the bottle in his mouth. He clamped his teeth down on the cap, made a great show of grunting and groaning, then jerked his head back. The bottle cap popped off.
Loving held the cap between his teeth, then poked it out with his tongue. “Piece of cake.”
Banner’s face was transfixed with admiration. “Wuh—what’d ya want to talk to us about?”
“Let’s just say I’m an upstandin’ citizen who doesn’t always like what he sees happenin’ in this country, and I’d like to talk to you boys about joining ASP. Even if some of the members do appear to be sissies.”
Banner glanced at his two friends. “Takes a month to get in. We have to quiz you first. Make sure you’re not some Viet-cong sympathizer tryin’ to infiltrate us.”
“Can you quiz me while we shoot pool?”
Banner shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
“Good. Rack ’em up.”
Loving suppressed a grin as he watched Banner round up the balls. They wouldn’t tell him anything at first, natch. It would take a while. But he was definitely off to a good start.
It was amazing what you could accomplish with a good barroom stunt. Since these boys made it clear they never drank Michelob Light, they didn’t realize it came in a bottle with a twist-off cap. And they didn’t see him untwist the cap most of the way off before he put it in his mouth.
19.
NHUNG VU CREPT THROUGH the pitch-black night behind Pham and the other four men, careful to make no noise, no sound whatsoever. He knew some of them were watching him, hoping he would do something wrong. He had to make sure that didn’t happen. He had to make sure he didn’t let Pham down.
Many of Pham’s men had thought it foolhardy to include Nhung in their group. He’s only fifteen, they had insisted. He’s only a boy. But Pham had waved their concerns away. This is a battle of the young, Pham said. The elders will not help us. There is no guarantee the job will be completed soon. The young are our future.
And so Nhung had been permitted to join them, to attend their meetings, to share in their plans. And most importantly he had been allowed to be part of the select group making this midnight raid—their first organized act of resistance against ASP.
It was a momentous occasion, made all the more special by the fact that Pham had permitted—in fact, practically invited—him to come. Dan Pham was Nhung’s hero. He was the only man with the courage to speak out against the elders, to force them to take action against these killers. Whatever Pham wanted Nhung to do, he would do.
Crouching close to the ground, they crept over the crest of the last hill and saw the ASP camp in the valley below. A barbed-wire fence surrounded the encampment. Nhung had expected it to be patrolled, but there was no sign of a guard. It would seem ASP wasn’t expecting any trouble.
Their mistake.
Pham’s group crept down the hill toward the camp. Nhung watched Pham remove the components of the firebomb from his backpack and carefully assemble them. Pham had learned that one of the barracks in the camp was the armory, the place where weapons were kept. And explosives. That would be their target. No one knew how Pham came by this knowledge. He seemed to have an undisclosed source of inside information about ASP. His secrecy had created some dissension in the ranks. But when all was said and done, Pham’s information was usually correct.
Pham stuffed an oily rag down the delivery case. He was preparing to light the fuse when Nhung felt a strong arm wrap around his throat.
“Pha—” He tried to warn someone, but a hand clamped over his mouth.
Pham heard the noise. He whirled around, then froze.
Nhung saw the barrel of an automatic weapon protrude over his shoulder.
“You gook boys are coming with me,” the voice behind Nhung said. “We’re going to have a little talk with the Grand Dragon. And if you don’t cooperate, I’ll kill you like the stupid ape-bastards you are.”
“Then you’ll hang for our murders,” Pham said.
“Shit.” The man holding Nhung laughed. “We’ll kill you, skin you, then bury you on the premises. No one will ever know a damn thing about it.”
“We have committed no crime against you,” Pham said.
“No, not yet,” the guard hissed. “But only because you’re dumb fuck Vietcong niggers who let yourself get caught.”
Pham’s face burned with rage. “Your raiders shot my grandmother!”
“Now ain’t that too fuckin’ bad.” He shoved Nhung toward the compound. “That’ll be a picnic compared to what we’re gonna do to you.”
Nhung could see the worry in Pham’s eyes. It was Pham’s first strike, the assault the Colonel and so many others had urged him not to make. And it was turning into a disaster. The resistance was being squelched before it had even begun.
He had to do something.
Nhung rammed his elbow back into the guard’s gut, then thrust the gun barrel upward. The gun fired into the air, splitting the silence of the night. Pham and two others rushed forward, fists clenched. Seconds later the guard tumbled to the ground, unconscious.
Lights came on in the compound, followed by shouts and movement.
“Come on!” Nhung said.
“Not yet.” Pham lit the rag, reared back his arm, and tossed the firebomb into the camp. It soared through the air like a glowing orange meteor, then struck the side of one of the barracks. A second later the north wall of the building burst into flame.
Nhung followed the rest of Pham’s men back over the hill. It was a long run to the place where they had left the car, but they would make it. Since the ASP men were awake and alerted, they would probably be able to put out the fire before it consumed the camp. But that would keep ASP from following them. They would be able to get away. They would escape the wrath of ASP.
At least for the moment.
20.
THE NEXT DAY WAS heaven-sent—not a cloud over the hilltops—so Ben and Belinda decided to walk to Mary Sue’s boardinghouse. As they strolled down Maple together, Ben took the opportunity to learn what he could about his newfound companion.
“So tell me about yourself. What was it like growing up in—what was it, Montgomery?”
“Right. Well, the poor country on the outskirts of Montgomery, actually. Both my parents were killed in a car wreck when I was eight. My sister and I were shipped off to live with my aunt, my mother’s sister. Her husband had a small piece of land he sharecropped. They had four kids already and barely enough to go around. They didn’t need two more.”
“But they took you in?”
“Didn’t have too much choice, really. I got my first job when I was ten, sweeping out stores after hours. I spent most of my time trying to help make ends meet. And trying to keep my younger sister out of trouble.”
“How much younger?”
“We’re four years apart. Cindy Jo was a handful. Was—still is. Any kind of trouble you can think of, she’s probably been in it. And I was always the one who had to come in and try to make it better. Nothing against my aunt, but I took care of Cindy Jo.”
“And now you take care of everyone,” Ben commented.
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. Not that that makes me anything special. Jones told me you’ve been known to do some legal do-gooding yourself.”
“I went to law school because I wanted to be in a position to help other people. In between keeping my head above water and trying to ward off starvation, I try to remember that.”
Belinda beamed. “I went into law for exactly the same reasons. I think many people do. But most of them won’t admit it.” She jostled his shoulder affectionately. “Maybe you’re not such a bad sort after all, Kincaid.”
Ben led Belinda to Mary Sue’s front door. The sign on the porch still indicated that she had vacancies, although Ben doubted she would be any more willing to extend one to him than
she had been the day before.
They slipped into the foyer together. Mary Sue was not at the Dutch door, although a clattering in the kitchen suggested she was home.
“I’d better handle this one,” Belinda said. She directed Ben to stand against the wall in the hallway. “You just stay out of sight.”
“All right.” Ben glanced up the staircase. Christina was nowhere in sight. He pressed against the wall so he could see Belinda and hear what was said without being seen by Mary Sue. “But watch out for her shotgun. She’s not quite the Donna Reed clone she appears to be.”
“Point taken.” Belinda rang the bell on the table.
A few moments later Mary Sue emerged from the kitchen. She was wearing a blue dress this morning, but she still had the apron tied around her waist. Her movements were slow and halting; her eyes seemed unfocused. She paused in the middle of the living room, as if momentarily unsure how to find her way to the Dutch door.
“May I help you?”
“Yes. I’d like to take a room, if that’s possible.”
“Of course.” Mary Sue brought out her guest book and opened it to the proper page. “How long will you be staying?”
“I’m not sure. At least a week.”
“That’ll do fine. We’ll just take it one week at a time.” Mary Sue offered Belinda the feather pen, then brought it back suddenly. “You’re not”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“a lawyer, are you?” She pronounced the word as if it were a synonym for child molester.
“Why, yes,” Belinda said. “Why do you ask?”
“Are you associated with Donald Vick?”
“In a sense.”
Mary Sue withdrew the pen and closed the book.
“I’m with an organization called Hatewatch,” Belinda explained. “We investigate hate crimes and file lawsuits to make groups like ASP financially responsible for their actions.”
“Oh!” A relieved expression washed over Mary Sue’s face. “Then you’re not with that other gentleman.”
“Other gentleman?”
“Well, I use the term lightly. The Tulsa lawyer. He came here, you know.”
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