The Last Clinic (12 page)

She sat down, “I don’t have a lot of time today.”

Two minutes later, he looked up.

“Already?” she asked.

“I’ve developed a rather elegant program.”

Darla moved around behind Uther’s desk for a look at the screen. A rectangular box covered what appeared to be a list of emails. The message inside the box read
ITEMS FOUND: 0
.

“Are you trying to tell me there were no emails between Reverend Aldridge and Bobby Goodhew?”

“None within the last year.”

“Could he have deleted them?”

“Quite impossible. The program reconstructs all the data that went through the account. I would have uncovered and recreated any deletions in a standard email account. I have coined the term
undeletion
to describe the process.”

“Two hundred and fifty four calls. Zero emails.”

“Rather extraordinary I thought. What do you make of this, Detective?”

“Do you know anything about lobbyists, Uther?”

“It’s my understanding they are paid quite handsomely to influence legislation, yet most legislators claim they aren’t influenced by lobbyists.”

“Lobbyists are like the mob. The really important deals are never written down.”            

She tapped the key in her side pocket, the key to box ten twenty-six.

“See if there is an account on the computer for RJA Enterprises or anything referencing RJA Enterprises—any emails to or from anything using those initials as part of a domain name. Use your Undeleter, or whatever you call it, then take a look at which sites Reverend Aldridge frequented. I’d like to know where he spent his private time.”

Uther who had just put his glasses back on peered over the top. “You’re looking for something salacious?”

“To tell you the truth, Uther Pendragon Johnson, I don’t know what I’m looking for. But salacious, yeah, that might be helpful.”

12

You Never Write.

Everybody knew if you wanted to find Bobby Goodhew you didn’t go to his office—not when the legislature was in session. You went to the Capitol, 2
^nd
Floor, Room 210, which was the room where the lobbyists hung out when the lobbyists like Bobby weren’t roaming the halls, sitting in on committee meetings, locked up behind a closed door in a legislator’s office, up in the galleries watching the show, or out at a red meat and brown liquid emporium picking up the lunch or dinner tab for a committee chairman and his latest squeeze.

Bull Dog Bobby they called him. There were, at present, a hundred and twenty-one registered lobbyists in the State of Mississippi. It was said that one hundred and twenty of them wanted to be Bobby Goodhew. Mississippi law required lobbyists to report the fees they made each year from lobbying at the Capitol. Year in and year out The Magnolia Group, composed of Bobby and a couple of his water-carrying flunkies, led the pack, reporting over two million dollars annually. Then there were Bobby’s other deals. He had fees for his business development, and fees for non-legislative consulting, a fancy word for unofficial influence pedaling. This money he didn’t have to disclose to anybody but the IRS. Kendall told Darla that the year before her divorce their joint tax return showed income of close to 3 million. Bobby earned his money through pressure politics, roughhouse play, and plain old-fashioned dirty dealing. “Bobby divides people into three categories,” Kendall said. “Number one, his clients. Number two, people who are willing to help his clients. Number three, everybody else. These people are on his shit list.”

Hugh had the same take on Bobby. “When I was in high school,” he said, “Bobby was the bag man for a couple of alumni. Bobby used to show up after every game and shake hands with all the top players, palm each player a wadded up hundred-dollar bill and tell them how much the university he was representing wanted them. That was just about every game. The man with the golden handshake, players used to call him.”        

Bobby was off in the far corner of the room when she entered, with an elbow grip on the speaker, his mouth to the speaker’s ear. He let go when he saw her. The speaker used this as an excuse to leave the room.

Bobby turned to Darla, his arms extended, as though he wanted to give her a Christmas hug. She stopped before she got within his reach.

“Detective Darla Cavannah, what’s a nice woman like you doing down here in the sausage factory?”

He offered her his hand, but without the hundred-dollar bill.

She held out her hand, but with the recorder in it.

“It’s on. Just so you know.”

He eyed it for a second, more curious than surprised.

“Ah, the marvels of modern-day law enforcement. Now, let me see if I can guess. You’ve come to ask me if I know somebody that might have wanted to cause Reverend Jimmy harm? I think you already know the answer to that question. If I’m not wrong, you can find him doing the devil’s dirty work over at the Jackson Women’s Health Clinic.”

“Actually, I’m here to talk about your favorite subject.”

“My creator? Or my children?”

“Money, Bobby. I’m here to ask you about money.”

“Well now, that would be number three.”

He smiled at his own joke. This was Bobby. Hale and blustery, with forced joviality, but always letting you know he was a step ahead of you.

“You seem to know a lot about everything that goes on in this state. I guess you heard we found three thousand dollars in Reverend Aldridge’s SUV?”

“That would be the money Ole Tommy found?” The phrase “Ole Tommy” was meant to
make it clear that the two were long time friends, “bubbas”
in the local vernacular.

“Actually it was one of the patrolmen, if we’re getting technical about it.”

“So you think if the three thousand dollars was mine I wouldn’t be putting in a chit for it? Hasn’t Kendall told you all about my money-grubbing ways?”

“What I thought was, since Reverend Aldridge spent more time on the phone with you than anyone else, the subject of the three thousand dollars might have come up. Did it?”

The question caught Bobby off-guard. He looked past Darla, scanned the room, and caught sight of a fellow lobbyist on his way out of the room.

“Charlie, need to see you about a pressing matter. Buy you lunch?”

Darla looked back over her shoulder.

Charlie, whoever he was, pointed at Bobby and nodded to confirm the luncheon offer. No surprise. People didn’t usually turn Bobby down for lunch.

The distraction seemed to help Bobby get his bearings. He turned his attention back to Darla, standing a little taller, looking more self-assured.

“Pardon me there, Detective. That was the governor’s son-in-law. Needed to transact a little business. Where were we?”

“We were discussing the fact that you and Reverend Aldridge spent a lot of time on the phone together.”

“And you know this because? You couldn’t have been taping our calls. That would be illegal and against your liberal principles. And I know you are a woman of principles.”

“We checked Reverend Aldridge’s cell phone records. That’s not against my principles.”

“Didn’t know you could do something like that.”

“In a homicide investigation we can.”

“Is that right?”

It was a Southern expression, “Is that right?”
Darla knew the meaning. Bobby was telling her she’d crossed a line, was out of bounds, and he was pissed. He’d extract payback somewhere down the line. Shelby would get a call from a higher up, a complaint against her. She’d be called in for a lecture over a bullshit matter. Three or four of those on her record in a year, and she could forget her pay grade increase, even if Shelby rubber-stamped it.

Screw the little intimidator
, she thought.

“Our records indicate the two of you had over six thousand minutes of conversation in the last year.”

“Count all them minutes up yourself, did you?”

“I was wondering what kinds of things you were talking about? House Bill 674, maybe? That’s a lot of chitchat over one bill.”

“Well now, I’m not all business, contrary to the general perception. You know how it is. Couple of good ole boys get to jabbering. SEC football. Rebs versus Dogs (Meaning Ole Miss versus Mississippi State). We were both Rebs. Best places to go fishing. Redneck stuff. You were married to a Southerner. You know the talk.”

“Really? Six thousand minutes of bubba chat?”

He blinked three or four times.

“I don’t disclose private conversations, unless I’m before a grand jury. And this isn’t exactly a grand jury.”

Ask him
, she told herself.
Poke him with it. See if he reacts
.

“I was just wondering, did the subject of RJA Enterprises ever come up in any of your conversations?”

His Adam’s apple moved. An involuntary swallow, just one.

“You know, standing here thinking on this matter, I’m not so sure I need to answer any of your questions.”

 “Only if you want to look like you’re co-operating with the investigation.”

He looked at her like she’d just played the wrong card in a game of gin rummy, and she was going to be left holding a handful of picture cards.

“Glad you brought that up, about me co-operating. I was fixing to call Sheriff Mitchell and give him the good news. But being as how you’re here in the flesh, I’ll let you be the first to know.”

He paused, as though he was waiting for her to take the bait, but she just stared at him.

“The National Rights of the Unborn, our client? Well, I’ve persuaded them, along with a little help from the current occupant of the governor’s mansion, to put up a twenty-five thousand dollar reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Reverend Jimmy’s murderer. They’re going to announce it on the five o’clock news today, live from the steps of the Capitol. The committee asked your colleague, Detective Reylander, would he like to make the announcement.

“You mean ‘Ole Tommy.’”

“Something you might want to attend.”

“Tommy is a solo act. I think he’ll do just fine without me.”

 “I’m surprised you’re not more appreciative, Detective. Twenty-five thousand dollars is a lot of money to folks in these parts. It’ll flush out an eyewitness or two. You wait and see.”

It might
, thought Darla,
but there’ll also be enough false leads to tie up the investigation for a month just running them all down
.

“I’d like to return to RJA Enterprises.”

“Never heard of them.” He snapped the answer at her.

“Six thousand minutes of phone conversation and that name never came up?”

He glanced around the room again, looking for his next conversation.

 “Is there anything else you need from me, Detective? Something I can do for you personally? If you like, I can see about getting your name entered into the legislative records?”

This was Bobby’s idea of a joke. For a fee, Bobby could get a senator or representative to enter a resolution into the legislative record recognizing the individual achievements of just about anyone. Kendall called these his “Whereas and Therefore clients.” The resolutions always began with “Whereas so-and-so has done thus and such, for x number of years” and ended with “therefore, we the members of The Mississippi Senate do hereby recognize and commend so-and-so on blah, blah, blah accomplishments.”

Bobby’s fee could be quite handsome for providing this service, depending on the how desperate an individual was to be recognized and how undeserving.

“Thanks just the same. I think I have a high enough profile the way it is.”

“Well then, anything else I can help you with? Anything at all?” He rocked back on his heels, enjoying the exchange.

 “You could tell me how come the two of you never wrote?”

He looked at her blank-faced.

 “You and Reverend Aldridge. You talked hours on the phone, but you never used email. I was wondering why?”

Bobby took a few seconds, trying to decide if he wanted to answer the question.

“Detective, you impress me as the kind of police officer who usually knows the answer to a question before she asks it. Am I right?”

“The same as someone in your profession.”

“So why do you ask?”

“I’m interested in how people react more so than what they actually say.”

“That’s what I figured. Listen here, I got to be going, Detective. I got a lunch meeting out in Ridgeland. I don’t want to keep Charlie waiting.”

“What would the governor think?”

 “My best to the ex. Tell her to let me know if there’s anything I can do for her, anything at all.”

He made a point of shaking her hand before he left. He put his left hand on top, the way politicians do. Darla shut off the recorder and walked back to her car. Bobby knew about RJA Enterprises. He was all over it. She was sure, not that she was going to be able to get it out of him.

13

 Just another Night in the Hood.

The initial phase of his plan had gone as anticipated. He’d arrived in Saint Louis on Tuesday evening and found a Hampton Inn with a vacancy sign in the nearby suburb of Clayton.

Wednesday morning he was up early and drove around the city, in particular the north side of the city, where he would be doing his work. He located the facility, which was in the middle of the block in a rundown black neighborhood. He noted that two buildings on the block were abandoned and had been sprayed over and over with tags from rival gangs.
Excellent
, he thought. This would reinforce the scenario he hoped the police would construct.

He had experience in similar urban missions and remembered that commercial buildings situated in the middle of the block often had parking slots in the rear of the building. This was not indicated in his schematic but, to be 100 percent certain, he drove around back and down the alley. The alley was narrow. There were no cars parked in the back of the buildings and no signs indicating parking spaces. The report was accurate. In all likelihood, the person he was looking for would be on foot, walking back and forth from her home to work, entering and exiting through the front of the building. She lived a mere three blocks away.