The Bone Tree (43 page)

And Tom would have to do the same.

THE EMOTIONAL TRANSITIONS
I’ve made today have left me shaky and hypersensitive to almost all stimuli, but the past few minutes have gone a long way toward healing that. Annie and I are eating sandwiches and watching TV in the bedroom she commandeered in our makeshift safe house, the Abramses’ old place on Duncan Avenue. My mother made the sandwiches: tuna fish with apple slices, like those she used to make for my friends and me when we were kids. Since Annie was unable to find an episode of
Grey’s Anatomy
or
House, M.D.,
she settled on
Logan’s Run,
the sci-fi movie starring Michael York and a boyhood crush of mine, Jenny Agutter.

“How come they chose thirty to be the oldest you could get?” Annie asks, munching on a triangular half of her sandwich. “I mean, you turn thirty, and then you walk into this thing where they kill you?”

“The people in the bubble city don’t know they’re going to die. They think they’re going to be recycled, sort of.”

“But the people who run don’t believe that.”

“Right. The writer probably chose thirty because at that age you still feel pretty much like you did as a teenager. Also, there used to be a saying: ‘Never trust anyone over thirty.’”

Annie knits her brows. “Huh. Weird.”

Despite all I’ve been through today, I can’t help but laugh.

While a young Farrah Fawcett welcomes Michael York to a plastic surgeon’s office, Annie says, “This no-school deal is pretty sweet.”

“Don’t get too used to it.”

“I know. But I miss talking to my friends. Are you sure I can’t call anybody? Just for a couple of minutes?”

“I’m sorry, babe. You can’t risk it.”

She stares at me for several seconds without speaking, then turns her attention back to the movie. Soon she’s lost in the drama of
Sandmen chasing Runners, and my mind wanders back to the brief conversation I had with my mother when I arrived.

Despite the drama of the confrontation at Edelweiss, what dominated my mind after reaching the safety of this house was my memory of the Ford Fairlane my parents owned when I was a toddler. The more I thought about that gleaming car, the more I realized how incongruous it was, given my mother’s tales of penny-pinching frugality and part-time jobs during the early years of their relationship. While Annie went upstairs to find us something to watch, I sat Mom down in the banquette in the corner of the Abramses’ kitchen and asked where she and Dad had got “the old Ford that’s in all the family pictures.”

“The Fairlane?” she asked.

“The car with the tail fins.”

“Oh, Lord. We got that when we were in New Orleans.”

A wave of heat flashed across my neck and shoulders. “Really? I thought you only got it after you got back from Germany.”

“Oh, no. We needed a car long before that. And back then the army would carry your car over on a ship. I’m so glad we had it overseas. I’d have never made it to the hospital to have you without that car.”

“So where did you buy it? That was a pretty flashy car for that time. You didn’t get it new, did you?”

Mom’s eyes widened. “
New
? Lord, no. But it was only a year or two old, and in really good shape. I think it was a 1957. Maybe a ’58. That’s one of the few great deals Tom ever made. He actually saved his money without telling me, and then one day he brought it home as a present. It was our anniversary, I’m sure of it. 1959.”

“The anniversary you told me about last night? When you guys went to that Italian restaurant?”

“Yes!” A smile of authentic pleasure revealed her still-white teeth. “Oh, that was such a grand time. You don’t know what something like a car really means until you’ve been poor and had to walk everywhere, rain or shine.”

I could scarcely keep my mind on what she was saying. All I could see was squat, saturnine Carlos Marcello with his arms wrapped around them both at Mosca’s, asking how they liked the spaghetti with clam sauce.

“You know what I remember most?” she asked, her voice laced with
nostalgia. “In Germany they told us never to let our gas tank get below half full, in case the balloon went up and the Russians invaded.”

“Wow,” I said dully. “That must have been scary.”

“Oh, your father wasn’t scared. He said his army unit had nuclear artillery shells, and they could stop the Russians. But I didn’t believe that. Neither did the Germans. If you even said the word ‘Russian,’ those women would shiver.”

“So you don’t know where Dad got the car?”

“I guess I don’t.” Her smile faded into concern, then worry. “Why are you so concerned with that car?”

“I don’t know.”

Mom watched me in silence for a few seconds. “Is it something to do with Carlos Marcello?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“Because you were asking about him last night. But he didn’t have anything to do with that car. Tom saved up and bought it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re right. Forget about it.”

But I knew she wouldn’t. No more than I would.

Before I went upstairs—while Annie helped Mom make the tuna fish—I walked into the backyard and made two phone calls on my burn phone. The first was to Dr. Homer Dawes, a Natchez dentist who’d been in dental school in New Orleans while my father attended med school. They became good friends, and later, by chance, ended up settling in the same town. After Dr. Dawes’s wife brought him to the phone, I told him I was working on a novel and needed to know what Dad’s salary might have been for working in the Orleans Parish Prison in 1959. Dr. Dawes laughed and said he knew exactly how much that job paid, because he’d been the dental extern for the prison in 1958. “Most of our compensation was room and board,” he said. “Beyond that, they gave us a stipend of fifty dollars a month.”

Fifty dollars a month. A
month
.

I thanked Dawes and got off as quickly as I could, assuring him that Dad was doing fine and his “trouble” would soon be straightened out. Then I called Rose, my secretary, and asked her to find out how much a 1957 or ’58 Ford Fairlane would have cost in the year it was made.

“
Daaad,
” Annie almost whines. “You’re not paying attention, are you?”

She’s right, but a quick scan of the TV screen and my memory tells me where we are in the movie. “The central computer just changed Logan Five’s life clock to flashing red early. Now he has no choice but to become a Runner himself.”

“You’re right. But doesn’t he kind of like that Jessica Six girl enough to run anyway?”

“I think he probably does, yeah.”

Annie’s eyes settle on me. “Are you sure I can’t call my friends?”

“Sorry, babe. It’s only for a few days, hopefully. Is there somebody you really miss talking to?”

“All my friends, really. But something happened just before you pulled me out of school, and I want to know what the teachers did about it.”

“What happened?”

“Somebody stole Jody Campbell’s cell phone. I think it was Haley Winters, the meanest girl in my class. But when the teachers finally went through the lockers, they found it in Maria’s locker.”

“Maria Estrada?”

Annie nods. “She’s the only Mexican girl in our whole school. I think Haley put it in her locker to get Maria in trouble. I think that’s the whole reason she took the phone.”

“Do you have any proof?”

Annie frowns and sighs angrily. “No.”

“Did somebody tell you Haley did it? Or did she brag about doing it?”

“No. I just know Maria wouldn’t have done that. She doesn’t have a cell phone, but she’s not stupid. She’d know she couldn’t use it without getting caught, even if she would steal it—which she wouldn’t.”

“Does Haley Winters have a cell phone?”

“
Please.
She’s got every gadget a kid can have. She’s spoiled rotten. That’s just it. She knew nobody would suspect her because of that. See?”

“Oh, I see.”

“I just hope Maria’s not in trouble.”

“Tomorrow I’ll call somebody on the school board and check on it.”

Annie smiles. “Good. Thanks.”

Having rid herself of this psychological irritant, Annie returns her attention to the movie. I try to do the same, but I cannot. Something about her story has disturbed me, like a fish displacing sediment at the bottom of a pond. While Michael York leads Jenny Agutter down a long
tubular corridor that reminds me of a gerbil cage, a blast of pure instinct hits me.

“Will you excuse me for a couple of minutes, Boo? I need to make a phone call.”

“Noooo. You’ll miss the movie. There’s no
PAUSE
button on this old TV.”

“I’ve seen this one enough times to know what happens.”

Annie folds her arms and pouts. “Well, how come you get to make calls if I don’t?”

For this question I have no answer she will accept. “I know it’s not fair, but it has to be this way for now. I’ll be as quick as I can, I promise.”

Out on the landing of the staircase, I speed-dial Walker Dennis, and he answers on the second ring.

“Make it fast,” he says. “I’m busy as hell, still out at Frogmore. Looks like it was precursor chemicals that blew. Definitely arson, though.”

“Nobody hurt this time?”

“Thank God.”

“Who owns that warehouse?”

“A front corporation, but Leo Spivey had a part interest.”

“Can you connect it to the other Eagles at all? The Knoxes maybe?”

“Tough to do with the courthouse closed. Why’d you call, Penn?”

“To save your ass, maybe.”

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking about the Eagles agreeing to come in for questioning tomorrow. Kaiser’s right. It makes no sense that they’d do that. Not while they’re safe in Texas. They know you lost two deputies today and you’ll be loaded for bear.”

“I don’t have time to second-guess those assholes.”

“You’d better make time, buddy. The Knoxes know I spent time with Brody Royal last night. And they know from Caitlin’s articles that Royal confessed some things before he died. They also know Caitlin and I spoke to Henry before he died, and Henry spoke to Morehouse before they killed him. Plus they’re scared of what Dad might know, because he was treating Viola at the end, and I could be in contact with him. Finally, they know I’m working with you. Bottom line, there’s no
way
they’re walking into your office tomorrow like steers to the slaughter.”

Walker barks an order to someone, then returns to our call. “I figure they’ll be lawyered up and ready to post bond on any charges I might make. They gotta be thinking I’ll be forced to show ’em my hand, maybe jump the gun on charges, like Kaiser’s worried about.”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

“Well, shit. What do you think?”

“I think they’re buying time while they hunt Dad down and push Mackiever out of his job. And I think Forrest has figured a way to take you out of the equation. If he can do that, the state police can take over the investigation. And Forrest might well be running the state police by tomorrow.”

“Take me out how? You mean kill me?”

“They could, but I’d bet it’s more subtle than that. Forrest may have some way of making you look incompetent, or even guilty of a crime. If he could do that, maybe someone in your department that’s loyal to him could be appointed in your place.”

“Yeah. I didn’t like the way Ozan was talking last night.”

“Exactly. I think they’re planning to sandbag you, buddy.”

“But how?”

“Well . . . I was watching a movie with my daughter, and she told me a story about something that happened at school. One girl framed another, purely out of meanness. If I were Forrest Knox, and I wanted you out of the way, that’s what I’d do.”

“Spill it, man.”

“Have you got a K-9 unit?”

“Sure, yeah. My cousin’s old dog.”

“Okay. If I were you, I’d get that dog and run him through my house, my yard, and any other property I owned, like a storage room or fish camp.”

The silence that follows this is absolute. “You think they’re gonna try to plant something on me?”

“They’re in the meth business, bud. And it sure would be an easy sell, wouldn’t it? A parish known to have meth problems turns out to have a sheriff that’s neck deep in the trade? Especially with the recent history in your department.” I pitch my voice like that of one of the old bench-sitters at the farming co-op. “‘
Well, I reckon old Walker was always as dirty as the rest of ’em. It just took longer to smoke him out
.’”

I can almost see Dennis snap to attention in the flame-streaked darkness over Frogmore. “Christ, Penn, I’m twenty miles from home, with nobody there but my wife and boy!”

“Take it easy, man. Just send a deputy you trust to watch your house, then head this way and pick up that drug dog.”

“I will,” he says, his voice tremulous. “Goddamn, this is a hell of a note.”

“You’re going to be okay, Walker. We’ve been a step behind these guys up till now, but maybe this time we’re one step ahead.”

“Are you home or what?”

“No comment. I’ve got my burn phone with me. Call if you find anything.”

“Count on it. Hey, should I take a deputy with me on the search? As a witness or something?”

“No.” My answer came out of instinct, not legal analysis.

“Well . . . you’re the lawyer. I’ll call you back.”

“I hope I’m wrong, Walker.”

“If you’re not, I’m going to break some heads tomorrow.”

“Just keep cool, man. This is a chess game now, not a street fight.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

Dennis hangs up.

I start to walk back into Annie’s bedroom, but as I slip my burn phone back into my pocket, it bumps my BlackBerry, and I decide to check my e-mail. There’s some risk in doing it, but I want to know if Rose has answered my query about the Fairlane.

As soon as I open my inbox, I find her reply.

In 1957, Ford made several models of Fairlane, and the price would depend on various options. But if the car wasn’t a convertible, figure $2,000 being the minimum price. If it was a ’58, up to $2,500 is possible for a nonconvertible sedan. Hope that helps. If you give me more specific details, I can get closer to the actual price.

Two thousand dollars,
I think, switching off my BlackBerry.
On a salary of fifteen dollars per week?
My mother was teaching then, but by her own admission she knew nothing about the car, so she wasn’t helping save for it. Some very quick math tells me that, even allowing for some
depreciation, it would be like buying a forty-thousand-dollar car on a salary of a thousand dollars per month. That’s a serious stretch, especially given the proposition that Dad somehow saved up that money without Mom feeling the pinch and realizing he was up to something. And I know from my father’s stories that none of my grandparents ever helped them buy a car or home.