Reckoning and Ruin (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-three

I spent the next hour knee-deep in seaweed and little girls. Captain Lou's cast net tours were strictly catch-touch-release, but I pitied the poor creatures, dragged up from the depths and subjected to poking and prodding and squealing before being unceremoniously dumped back into the drink. Eventually, we settled the girls on the dolphin-watching part of the trip, and I joined Captain Lou on the flybridge. Trey remained in the cockpit with the first mate, mesmerized by the sonar and GPS system.

Lou chugged down half her water, wiped her forehead with the bottle. “Guess you're wanting the story, huh?”

I leaned on the railing. “I think I've earned it.”

“Not much to tell. I was bringing the morning group out, headed for the Intercoastal. I'd just passed the turning basin when I saw a bunch of seagulls all out on the sandbar.”

Seagulls. Buzzards of the ocean.

“So I swung it closer. I was expecting the usual, somebody dumped fish guts or something. But right away, I knew this wasn't that simple.”

“How?”

“Because I saw shoes. I grabbed the binocs, got a good unhappy eyeful. Then I set anchor and called the Coast Guard.”

“Male or female?”

“Couldn't tell. Didn't try. I'd seen enough to know it wasn't a rescue I was calling in, and then I backed off and waited for the patrol to get there.” She readjusted her sunglasses, eyes always on the horizon. “I'll tell you one thing, though—whoever done it wasn't a professional. Maybe at killing, but not at disposal.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because they wrapped the body in a tarp, duct taped it, then tied it to a dumbbell.”

I wasn't sure I'd heard her correctly. “You mean like you lift weights with?”

“Right. I saw everything bunched up there on the sandbar. Whoever did this didn't come prepared, had to rummage around in their garage for supplies. They probably saw somebody do something like that on TV, but they didn't realize about these tides.”

The Lowcountry tide, one of the most powerful on the Eastern Seaboard. People who didn't know the rivers didn't know how they switched up their game every six hours, rising and dropping as much as nine feet.

Lou shook her head. “If they'd known what they were doing, they'd have dumped the body in the water a hair past high tide, let it wash out where the fish could get ahold of it. Bodies gonna bloat, you know. Ain't no twenty-pound weight gonna hold that down forever, especially not one of them vinyl-coated things.” She scoffed. “And the tarp may have kept their trunk clean, but it preserved the evidence. Professional woulda put in some cinder blocks, wrapped the whole kit and caboodle in chicken wire, then chucked it in the deep end. Gone baby gone.”

We passed the other neck of the river. In the distance I could see the curve of Boone's land, the dock jutting out into the wave-dappled water. The peninsula looked peaceful in the noonday sun, green and welcoming, with no night and shadows.

“Where do you think the body got dumped?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. You know how the tides work. It could have come anywhere from Wassaw to Thunderbolt.”

We rounded the bend, and I saw the curve of the boat ramp, the smaller public one just past the bridge. It had an official name, but everybody on the islands called it the turning basin. It was busier than usual for a Wednesday morning. But then I saw the flicker of blue lights, and I saw that the people milling about were wearing the dark blue serge of Savannah Metro. Two officers had the entire shore cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape.

“I think the police have an idea where it came from,” I said.

Lou nodded. “They got other ideas too.”

“What do you mean?”

She handed me the binoculars and pointed toward Boone's property. I aimed them toward the dock and saw Jefferson standing at the edge, two officers standing with him. They had their feet splayed in the official stance of cops on official business. And I knew that if they'd gotten that far onto the property, it was because they'd had a warrant.

I handed the binoculars back to her. “Shit done hit the fan, Captain.”

***

Once we rounded the bend, I went looking for Trey. I found him standing where I'd left him, in the exact middle of the boat, surrounded by the crackle of the radio and the LCD glow of Lou's fresh-from-the-factory side-scan sonar. Equipment calmed him the way that an old-fashioned alarm clock calmed a newly weaned puppy. Luckily, it was a calm day too, so he wasn't green around the gills.

I propped myself next to him. “How are you doing?”

“As well as can be expected.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist. After a second, his muscles relaxed, but he was only giving an inch. And we had a mile to go.

I tipped my head back so that I could look him right in the eye. “Are you really gonna make me have lunch with Gabriella?”

“You promised you would.”

“I'd have promised anything to get you out here.”

“I know.”

“But why does it have to be that?”

Trey didn't drop his eyes. “I called her Sunday night, when you said you saw her in the parking lot. I asked her why she hadn't come up. She told me the two of you had had…she described it as a difference of opinion.”

“That's one way to put it.”

“And so I want you two to talk. I know you talk to Garrity, when you have questions about me. And you talk to your brother. But Gabriella knows things too. She can explain.”

“I want you to explain.”

“I can't. It's too…something. And there are parts I don't remember. But she does. She was there.”

“So were you.”

He shook his head. “No. I wasn't.”

He looked earnest and broken, maybe afraid. Or it could have been queasiness from the waves or a headache from the sun or discombobulation from the squealing and incessant girl chatter. Captain Lou's voice broke through on the loudspeaker with final instructions. We were nearing home, and I was needed to help corral the troops.

“I'll talk with her because I said I would. But you have to figure out how to tell your story yourself. All of it.”

“I don't have the words.”

“Then think of another way.”

“But—”

“No buts. You can do this. I have faith in you.”

He considered, then nodded. I relaxed a little and moved closer, hip to hip.

“But speaking of difficult things…”

He tensed. “Yes?”

“Once we get back on land, we need to go to Boone's place. I saw the cops out there as we passed.”

“We don't want to disturb an official inquiry.”

“I know. That's why I figured we'd park in East Pines and wait for the cops to leave. I already talked to Jefferson once, and while I suspected he wasn't telling me the whole truth, you can actually verify that. Plus you're immune to the kind of redneck crap he throws my way.”

He cocked his head. “True. There are other challenges to dealing with Jefferson, but not that one.”

“So you're up for it?”

“I am. Are you?”

“I am.”

Behind him, the sonar blipped, and a shadow as enormous and sleek as a submarine glided under our boat. I felt my guts go liquid. It was the biggest shadow I'd ever seen, and I knew it for what it was.

What
she
was.

Trey heard the ping and turned his face to look, but I grabbed his chin and pulled him in for a kiss. He complied, and the shadow continued its deep cold journey up the coast.

Chapter Thirty-four

The patrol car came down the road thirty minutes after we parked, moving slowly. I waited until it was on Highway 80 before pulling out of the cul-de-sac and onto Boone's road. I snuck a glance in Trey's direction. He'd already rechecked his seatbelt twice and had a weather eye on the foliage, as if he expected a jaguar to leap on top of the hood.

“We're almost there,” I said.

“I know.”

“Just hang on.”

“I'm not…” He frowned. “Tai? Is that the engine?”

“Is what the engine?”

“That burning smell.”

I inhaled deeply and caught the scent. Not strong, but rancid and oily nonetheless. Definitely heavy with gasoline. I checked the dashboard. None of the bad lights were on, and all of the good ones were.

“It's not the car,” I said, flipping the air vents closed. “Whatever it is, it's—”

“There,” Trey said, pointing toward the gate.

The giant wooden cross was still smoking even though the flames had been extinguished. It lay toppled on its side, charred and peeling, puddles of filthy water all around. Somebody had spray-painted TRAITOR on the wall in dripping slick letters, and the air reeked with chemical fumes.

I drove forward cautiously and parked inside the gate, still open from the cops' departure. Jefferson's truck was parked next to the front door, as was a minivan with its rear door up. I saw suitcases and sleeping bags inside, a red picnic cooler.

Trey faced front again. “Was that what it looked like?”

“It was. The Klan's ultimate calling card.” I parked next to the van. “I'm betting this isn't their first warning, though. Last time I was here, Cheyanne mentioned trouble from a source that wasn't the law.”

“And you think this is what she was referring to?”

“I do. And it's all the more reason we need to talk to them.”

I got out and headed for the front door. Trey didn't look thrilled about this, but he followed me. I rang the bell and soon heard footsteps.

Jefferson answered. He looked from me to Trey and then back to me. “Now's a bad time, Tee.”

“So I gather. But seeing as they just this morning hauled a body from the river—”

“I know.”

“Then you know we need to talk.”

To my astonishment, he stepped back so that we could come in. The house was in that quiet state of purposeful bustle that accompanies bad news. Cheyanne and the girls stood at the kitchen counter, making sandwiches and wrapping them in wax paper. When one of the girls saw me, she smiled and waved, but her sister elbowed her and shook her head.

Jefferson called to them. “Chey, you wanna give us a minute?”

Without a word, she put her hands on the girls' shoulders and steered them down the hallway toward the bedrooms. She glared hot hate at me as I passed, as if whatever had gone down was my fault. I heard a door slam.

Trey stood in the middle of the room, hands open and ready, feet in neutral position. It was the first time he'd seen the inside of the house, and I knew he was analyzing it for escape routes, cover, checking out the placement of concealed cameras. He duly noted the plethora of weapons within Jefferson's reach, including the double-barreled shotgun on the coffee table, broken open for cleaning.

“Chey ain't happy about this,” Jefferson said. “She blames you.”

“For what?”

“For asking too many questions. Putting us in the crosshairs.” He sat on the sofa and went back to cleaning the shotgun. “Daddy called. He said you were in high dudgeon about John, who was still missing, and Hope, who was still missing, and that you lit out when you saw the news about the corpse they dragged outta the river, so apparently you and the cops both think I'm stupid enough to dump a body at the end of my own goddamned dock.” He was furious, his cheeks red with indignation. “That why you're here? 'Cause you think I've lost my mind?”

I kept my voice even. “I know that desperate people take desperate measures.”

“I ain't that desperate.” He dipped the end of a cloth in gun oil, daubed it against the action. “Was it John?”

“I don't know.”

“You gotta admit, when there's a missing person and a found body, more often than not, they match up.”

The thought gave me a queasy sensation. “You think that's the case?”

“I think I don't care. It don't affect me and mine. Which is exactly what I told those lawmen.”

I slid a look Trey's way, raised an eyebrow at him.
Well?
He nodded. Jefferson was being on the up and up.

“Did you show them the security video of John leaving?”

Jefferson's voice was cool. “What security video?”

I shook my head. I should have known he'd destroy it. “What about that other business out front? Your associates come calling?”

Jefferson ran the cleaning cloth over the barrel. “The Brotherhood doesn't want me to testify against Jasper. This was their way of reminding me.”

“Why now? You've been cooperating for five months.”

“I don't know which muckety-muck got it in his head that now was the time to remind me who I really serve. Don't really matter. My family matters, and so that's what I'm gonna worry about. And that means getting them out of here while the getting's good.”

Trey cocked his head. Oh boy, there was that look. He'd pegged something, not a lie, just an…evasion.

“So that's why they burned a cross in the yard of a Selectmen Council member, in broad daylight? Because you're continuing to keep yourself out of jail?”

“It's
lighting
a cross, not burning.” Jefferson readjusted his hat. “And yes, as far as I know, it's a misunderstanding, one I aim to clear up as soon as I get my family seen about.”

In the back, I heard the scuffle of feet, a plaintive whine from one of the girls and their mother's harsh scolding.

Trey spoke up. “I don't understand why they wouldn't want you to testify. If they've truly cut their allegiance with Jasper, wouldn't they want him to pay for his crimes?”

“They want him free so that they can deal with this their way. Which ain't about him serving time, you know what I mean?”

Trey's eyes narrowed. “No, I don't. Because that's not entirely the truth.”

Jefferson cut his eyes at Trey, snapped the gun closed. Trey cut his eyes right back, took one innocent-looking step backward. Lord, if those two started at it, we'd have a ten-by-ten Armageddon.

I stepped between them. “Stop it, both of you. There's something bigger at stake.”

After a moment, Trey folded his arms. Jefferson hesitated, then pulled out a wad of tobacco and stuffed it in his cheek.

“I'm getting tired of this,” he said. “This is twice now you've come up in my house, accusing me of—”

“The Klan doesn't drop ‘reminders' like this lightly. So you need to tell me what's really going on.”

“Why? So you can tell the cops?”

“I can't take shit to the cops unless I have it gold-plated. The prosecutor has made that abundantly clear.”

He glared at Trey. “He's a cop.”

“No, he's not. But he did catch you in a lie. So you have two choices—explain what's really going on, or explain to the cops when they come back again. Because they will be. Because I am certain I'm next on their interview list. And when they ask me what I know about you, and I say, well, he was lying about this, that and the other thing…”

Jefferson muttered a curse and shoved his hat back on his head. No matter which way he turned, there was an obstacle or a trap, an accuser or an adversary. No clear path out of this trouble, and more trouble on his doorstep. Literally. The kind of trouble that burned. I almost felt sorry for him.

He spat into his bottle. “When Jasper formed his little boys' club, he took some stuff from the Brotherhood.”

“Stuff like money?”

“Exactly like.”

“How much?”

“Rough estimate? Two hundred and fifty thousand or so. And they want it back.”

I sat down hard. “Jesus. So that's what that cross is about. They think you have it.”

“It has been suggested that I need to cough up those missing funds. But I don't have them, and I don't know where they are. If I had that much money, don't you think I'd be spending it instead of chasing gators and selling family heirlooms?” He skewered Trey with a glare, spat in the bottle again, pointedly. “How'd that read, copper man?”

Trey blinked complacently. “As the truth.”

“Good. Then read this. I don't know what Jasper did with the money he took. I do know that the man I used to call my brother is a liar and a violator, an oath-breaker and a thief. I don't care whether he does time or gets strung up from a tall tree, because he will reap his true justice at the hand of the Almighty. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.”

He put the gun back in its case. Trey relaxed a hair, though he remained on a light trigger.

“Who else knows about that money?” I said.

He shrugged. “Beats me. That piece of work he's hooked up with maybe? What's her name?”

“You mean Ivy?”

“Yeah. She came out here once, said she wanted to introduce herself, but she was sniffing around for something else, that was for sure. Cheyanne showed her the way out right quick.”

“Have you heard from her since? Or anyone else connected to Jasper?”

“That new lawyer he's got called once. And we got a letter from some private investigator. But I can't imagine Jasper told them about the money. That'd be stupid. And he's a lot of things, but stupid ain't one.”

I heard noises from the bedrooms, little girl whining and then Cheyanne's sharp rebuke. I sympathized with them. Inside the house was close and dark—outside the sunshine melted all over the place, and the waterside beckoned.

Jefferson shoved himself up. “Until this blows over, I don't want Chey and the girls here. I'm taking them all to her parents' place up in Kentucky, and then I'm coming back quick as I can. This land is all we got left, and I gotta look after it. And somebody needs to see to Daddy too.” He exhaled, pulled off his hat and held it in front of him. “What I'm saying is, Daddy was fine this morning. But if something happens before then, if he needs somebody…”

He didn't finish the sentence. I made myself look at him. His values were not mine. He wanted to see an America that looked like him, thought like him, fought like him, believed like him, a world where everybody was the same color and worshiped the same god and hated the same enemies. Could I stand with him on this single patch of weedy common ground, our love for one complicated old man?

“When will you be back?” I said.

“Tomorrow night.”

“All right. If you need me, call me. I'll still be in town.”

Relief flickered in his eyes before he covered it. He nodded tersely, shot one final look Trey's way.

“Y'all can let yourselves out,” he said.