Joe Dillard - 02 - In Good Faith (30 page)

“That doesn’t do me much good,” I said. “I have to convince a judge that my witness is reliable.”

“Perhaps your judge will have an open mind about it,” she said. “It really isn’t that hard to accept. Thoughts are a type of electromagnetic energy, although we don’t yet understand precisely how the energy originates or is dispersed. Is the idea that a person can generate a wave of energy that can be received and interpreted by another person so ludicrous? Especially in the case of identical twins? You might want to gather some of the research that the British have done on identical twins and mental telepathy and present it to the court. I’m sure you’d find it fascinating.”

“What about telekinesis?” I said. “My witness says her twin sister doesn’t have the same telepathic connection, but she can interfere with electricity. Have you seen evidence of that?”

“I’ve seen things far beyond the ability to manipulate electrical fields. The human mind is a powerful, powerful tool when one knows how to use it.”

“What are the chances that you could catch a plane here tomorrow and testify for me on Monday morning?” I said. “The state of Tennessee will take care of all the expenses, and I’ll make the travel arrangements myself.”

There was a long silence.

“Oh, my,” she said. “Could you excuse me for a moment?” She sounded like something had upset her; then I heard the phone drop to the floor. I waited for at least three minutes, the line dead silent. Finally, she came back on.

“I apologize; I’ve just had a bit of a fright,” she said. “I’m trembling all over.”

“Is everything all right?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said, “and I’m afraid I’ll have to turn down your offer to testify on Monday.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “Can I ask you why?”

“I can’t tell you precisely, but I sense that something very evil is going on around you. There won’t be a hearing on Monday.”

Sunday, November 9

The house where Lee Mooney and his wife lived was tucked into a small grove of white oak trees just off the thirteenth hole at a country club halfway between Boone’s Creek and Jonesborough. As Leon Bates pulled his car into the driveway, he marveled at the sheer size of the place. The house was three stories, finished with brick and stone, and looked to be at least five thousand square feet. How could one man, one woman, and one child possibly use all of that space?

It had been a warm day, a welcome break from the unseasonably cold weather of the past couple of weeks. The sun was shining brightly, and Bates felt its warmth on his face as he walked towards the front door and rang the bell. He was greeted by a pink-faced Lee Mooney, fresh from the links, still wearing his blue sweater vest and his matching blue pants. Bates had called Mooney early in the morning to tell him he had something of grave importance he needed to talk about, but Mooney had put him off until after his Sunday golf game.

Mooney led Bates through an opulent foyer dominated by a crystal chandelier, across marble tile and cherry floors into a beautifully furnished study that looked out over the golf course.

“Drink?” Mooney said as Bates sat down in a plush, high-backed leather chair.

“No, thanks.”

“Don’t mind if I have one, do you?”

“Knock yourself out. It’s probably a good idea.”

“I see you wear your uniform even on Sunday,” Mooney said.

“I wear it when I’m working.”

“So you’re working today?”

“Sure am. That’s why I’m here.”

Bates watched as Mooney finished fixing a vodka martini. He dropped three olives from a jar into his glass and carried the glass to his desk. Rather than sit down in the seat next to Bates, Mooney slid in behind his desk.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Mooney said.

Bates leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and watched Mooney carefully.

“Ain’t no point in beating around the bush, Lee. I arrested Alexander Dunn this morning.”

Mooney’s complexion immediately changed from pink to purple, and his mouth tightened. He began to slowly spin the martini glass with his right hand.

“I assume that was a joke,” Mooney said.

“Afraid not. I arrested him for extortion and soliciting a bribe, for now. I’m going to have Dillard look at the case and see what else he can come up with.”

Mooney took a long drink from the martini and set it gently back down on the desk. Bates had to give him credit: Besides the change in color, Mooney had exhibited barely any reaction to the news. He shook his head.

“Extortion? Alexander? I don’t believe it.”

“Maybe you’ll believe it when you see the video, but for now, I’ll just play the audio.”

Bates reached into his back pocket and produced a small CD player that contained a recording of the night Alexander had collected two thousand dollars from Bates’s informant. He pushed the button and allowed the recording to play from start to finish. When it ended, Bates picked the recorder up and put it back in his pocket. Mooney drained the rest of the martini and began to finger his handlebar mustache.

“Alexander’s been begging me to make a deal,” Bates said. “He says it was all your idea. He wants to give you up. He’s even willing to wear a wire on you.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Mooney said calmly.

“Any truth to it?”

“What do you think?”

Bates leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head, savoring the moment. Bates was a sheriff, and a damned good one, but he was first and foremost a politician. Opportunities like this were rare, and Bates planned to make the most of it.

“I think it’s time for you and me to make a deal,” Bates said. “The way I see it is this little situation could go real bad for you unless I was to see my way clear to put a certain spin on it. The way I see it is I can either tell folks around here that I suspect the district attorney has been involved in illegal activity but I can’t prove it, or, later on down the road if the word leaks out, I can tell them that we investigated Alexander’s accusations thoroughly and there is absolutely no evidence that the district attorney was involved in any way. I can tell them that Alexander is desperate and is trying to save his own ass by smearing his boss. And coming from me, people will believe it.”

“What about your recording? It mentions me.” Bates noticed that beads of sweat were forming at Mooney’s temples.

“Digital recordings can be altered pretty easily,” Bates said. “Computers are fine tools.”

Mooney rose from the chair and walked back over to the bar. Bates watched Mooney’s hands closely as he poured another drink. They weren’t even trembling.

“You said something about a deal,” Mooney said. “What is it you want?”

“Not much. You’ve got ambitions; I’ve got ambitions. Me? I think I’d make a fine state senator when my term as sheriff is up. But in order for me to be a senator, I’m gonna need a lot of political and financial support. I believe you could help me with both of those things. But in the meantime, I want you to stay out of Dillard’s way and let him make sure Alexander gets what he deserves. I also want your word that you’ll support me in everything I do from this day forward. If I bust a gambler, I want him prosecuted. Same with drug dealers, pimps, prostitutes, whatever. You make me look good, and I’ll make sure you don’t go to jail.”

“Sheriff, take a look around you,” Mooney said as he walked back towards the desk. “Expensive furniture, expensive antiques, expensive art, cherry molding, imported tile, vodka that costs a hundred dollars a bottle. I have plenty of money. What makes you think that I would ever get involved in something like this, despite what my nephew claims?”

“Your wife went to see a divorce lawyer when she caught you sleeping with Rita Jones last year,” Bates said. “Can’t say as I blame you. Rita’s a looker. But stuff like that gets around pretty quick in a small place like this. The way I figure it is that you thought you might be out on your ear, and since you’d gotten used to living like this here, well, I reckon you just needed another source of income, and those gamblers were easy pickins. But it appears as though your wife has forgiven you. Either that or it’d cost her too damned much money to divorce you. Am I right?”

A smile crossed Mooney’s face as he stood over Bates, drink in hand.

“You know a lot, don’t you, Sheriff?”

“It pays to know a lot.”

Bates rose and stuck out his hand. “So, do we have a deal? In exchange for me keeping this ugly matter under my cowboy hat, you support me a hundred and ten percent from now on. And when the time comes for me to move on up in the world of politics, you’ll make a substantial campaign contribution, publicly endorse me, and get your friends to do the same. Plus you stop shaking down the gamblers, give Alexander’s case to Dillard, and stay out of his way.”

Mooney took Bates’s hand and squeezed.

“Have you spoken to Dillard about this?” Mooney said.

“I talked to him, but I didn’t say nary a word about you.”

“Anyone else know about it?”

“The jailers know Alexander’s in jail. My informant heard what Alexander had to say, but I took care of him. That’s it.”

“Good. Then I guess we have a deal.”

Mooney set his drink down on the desk and led Bates back through the house to the front door. As Bates stepped back out into the sunshine, he heard Mooney clear his throat behind him.

“Sheriff, do you mind telling me how you caught Alexander?”

Bates turned and grinned. “It was good old-fashioned police work is all.”

“Hmm, good for you. Bad break for me, huh?”

“Brother, let me tell you what my granddaddy used to say when I told him I thought I’d caught a bad break. ‘Leon,’ he’d say, ‘the sun don’t shine up the same dog’s ass every day. If it did, it’d warp his ribs.’ ”

Bates tipped his hat to the district attorney, got in his car, and drove away.

Monday, November 10

I took the money to Jim Beaumont Saturday morning after I talked to Martha King, and then spent the rest of the weekend trying to distract myself. I ran six miles both Saturday and Sunday, cleaned out the garage, fixed a leak in an upstairs faucet, mopped all the floors in the house, did a couple of loads of laundry, anything to keep busy. I slept fitfully Sunday night. Images of Natasha kept haunting my dreams. At four fifteen on Monday morning, I had a vision of Natasha standing over me while I slept, ice pick in her hand, and I bolted upright. Sweat was pouring out of me, so I went into the bathroom and took a shower. I didn’t even bother trying to go back to sleep.

Caroline’s mother walked through the door at seven, right on time. Her name is Melinda, a tall and elegant woman, sixty-eight years old. She’d agreed to stay with Caroline during the day until the worst of the sickness passed.

“Why is there a sheriff’s car out there?” Melinda said as I gathered my things.

“We had a little problem with someone. Nothing to worry about.”

She looked at me suspiciously. “It doesn’t have anything to do with the girl who went after you in the courtroom, does it?”

“It might, but I think we’ve got it under control. If everything goes well today, she’ll be in jail by Wednesday.”

“For what?”

“For committing crimes against the peace and dignity of the great state of Tennessee.”

“How’s Caroline?” Melinda said.

“She still has a slight fever, and I don’t think she slept very well. I’m worried about her.”

“Well, her mother will take good care of her. You can run along and save the world.”

The truth was that I didn’t care much for Melinda, although I refrained from saying anything to Caroline. She was a cold and manipulative woman who reminded me very much of my own mother. But I was relieved to have her around. I knew I could count on her to look after my wife.

I was glad to see Alisha standing at the corner of the convenience store when I pulled in. She was wearing the same dark coat and tan cap she’d been wearing Friday. She got into the truck and smiled, but she had very little to say on the way to the courthouse. We arrived a little before eight, and I escorted her up the steps to my office. The hearing was scheduled to start at nine. I hadn’t heard anyone say anything about it being postponed or canceled, so I made some coffee and brought a cup to Alisha.

Fraley walked in just a couple of minutes later in his usual jovial mood. He was wearing a brown jacket that had a small tear in the right shoulder seam, and I noticed a stain on his white shirt.

“Well, if it isn’t the phantom,” Fraley said when he saw Alisha.

“Alisha Davis, meet Hank Fraley,” I said.

She smiled and nodded at Fraley. “We met at the park, but we haven’t been properly introduced.”

“Speaking of the park, where did you disappear to?” Fraley said. “I talked to Dillard for a couple of minutes, and when I started back down to talk to you, you were gone.”

“When you live with someone like Natasha, you learn to disappear,” she said. “As soon as Mr. Dillard turned his back I started walking down the hill towards the river. Then I walked along the bank. There wasn’t anything magical about it.”

“I talked to a woman on Saturday who explained some things about telepathy to me,” I said to Alisha while Fraley poured himself a cup of coffee. “I tried to get her to come and testify, but she said there wasn’t going to be a hearing.”

“No hearing?” Fraley said. “Why not?”

“She didn’t say. She just said she sensed something about evil being around me.”

“I know how she feels,” Alisha said. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Don’t worry; you’ll do fine. Just answer the questions the best you can.”

“That’s not what I mean. I just have this nagging feeling that something very bad is happening.”

“Happening? You mean now?”

“Yes. Something isn’t right.”

Lester McKamey sat on the cold concrete bench and sulked. The guards had rousted him early and taken him to a holding cell near the sally port. They’d refused to bring him any breakfast, telling him food wasn’t allowed in the holding cell. He’d been there for two hours, and his stomach was churning and growling. To make things worse, if they didn’t hold his hearing in the morning, he’d be stuck at the courthouse and would miss lunch, too.
Fucking assholes.
Being locked up was bad enough. Did they have to starve him to boot?