He heard someone coming, dropped the manifest on top of one of the boxes and hurried back to the front of the large desk in the middle of the room. A moment later Shirley Coombs walked through an interior door, her gaze on a mess of papers in her hand. She looked up and gave a little cry when she saw Stone standing there.
"You work here?" he said.
She nodded, one hand on her chest. "You startled me."
Stone glanced around the space. "Are you the court secretary?"
"The court clerk. Have been for years. Why? Don't I look like a court clerk?" she said icily. "Or do I just look like a secretary?"
"I went to see Willie. He's doing okay."
Shirley busied herself with some papers on her desk. "I'm going over to see him soon."
Sure you are. "There's a Caddy parked out front with a vanity plate."
"HCDJ?"
"Yep."
"That's Judge Mosley's car."
"What does HCDJ stand for?"
"Here comes da judge." She said this as though Stone were an idiot for not having figured it out on his own.
"By the way, did you get everything you needed at Willie's trailer?"
"Excuse me?"
Stone said, "I think you left a bottle of Tylenol at Willie's trailer. I had it with me, but then I lost it." He stared at her pointedly and then rubbed the back of his head. Why be subtle at this point?
Shirley looked like Stone was pointing a gun at her. "I didn't leave anything behind."
"You sure?"
"Sure I'm sure. And I use Advil. Have ever since they had that pill scare with Tylenol."
"Willie thought there were pills left in the bottle, but when I found it, it was empty. And now it's gone. Maybe someone wanted it."
"Wanted an empty bottle? What for?"
"Well, there might have been some residue in there."
"Residue of what?"
Stone could tell she was lying. It was in every twitch of her face and shake of her voice. It had been her. She'd tried to kill her own son.
Now, who threw me into the snake pit, because it wasn't Miss Court Clerk with her stilettos and Pall Malls.
"You can't believe anything Willie says. Boy's always high."
"He was high on a stimulant, not a depressant. But the hospital said he had oxycodone in his system. That's a depressant."
"Willie doesn't know half the crap he's on. Probably forgot he took it."
"Or somebody wanted it to look that way."
She looked at him sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that somebody might have wanted to make it look like he'd OD'd accidentally."
She scoffed, "Why would anybody waste time trying to kill Willie? I mean, what'd be the point. It's not like he's got any money."
"That's not the only reason to kill somebody."
"What then?" She said this almost fearfully.
"Willie told me he'd asked Debby Randolph to marry him. Did you know about that?"
Shirley flushed at this information. She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. "No, I guess Willie didn't see fit to tell me that, his own mother."
"I take it you knew Debby?"
"Everybody in Divine knows everybody else," she said resignedly as she lit up.
"Would anybody in town have a problem with that happening?"
She blew smoke out and stared up at him. "What the hell does it matter to you? You're not from here. You don't know us. And just because you helped Willie doesn't mean I have to answer your damn questions."
"I thought you might want to help me, in case someone is trying to kill your son."
"Mister, no one is trying to kill Willie."
"But seeing as how he almost died and he says the drug that almost did him in he didn't take. Well, it does make you wonder."
She glanced at the wall of large boxes stacked a half dozen high and ten across. "I got a lot of work to do."
"Right. You want some help? I hire out cheap."
"I think you need to leave. Right now."
Stone turned and walked out.
As soon as he'd left another door opened and Judge Dwight Mosley walked slowly into the room. His tie was undone and his shirtsleeves were rolled up.
"Shirley, was someone here? I thought I heard you talking."
"Just to myself, Judge. Just to myself. You know how I get sometimes."
"Yes, I know." He smiled and went back through the door.
Shirley puffed on her cigarette, staring thoughtfully at the wall.
CHAPTER 46
JOE KNOX LAY in his underwear on a thin piece of puffed-up nylon masquerading as a mattress while he tried to connect the dots. Carr had killed a deuce, a mighty prominent deuce, and hit the road after slipping past the feds disguised as a bushy-bearded, gimp-legged village idiot. He'd gotten sidetracked on the train and ended up in this cluster of shacks. Where he was now, Knox had no clue. By asking around he'd discovered that the bus had headed out the very night the man had gotten to town, lucky, lucky him. By now, he could be pretty damn far away.
He sat up, jerked on his pants, socks and his Timberlands. He washed his face, finger-brushed his teeth and smoothed down his hair with the palm of his hand. If he was going to be on the chase much longer, he'd grab some clothes and toiletries other than the small travel bag he always carried with him. He slipped on his shirt and checked his cell. No messages, though the bars were looking a little jumpy at this altitude in the middle of nowhere.
Hayes was the show-runner on this dramatic piece; Knox his faithful attack dog. Well, the "faithful" part was in serious doubt right now. Knox chewed some gum and stared out the window of Skip's Motel. Checking in last night he'd actually run into said Skip, an ancient man who said little, but his hand had shot out for the cash that was required to stay here with the jab speed of a welterweight in his prime. Old Skip apparently did not believe in the merits of consumer plastic.
Hayes had a hard-on for Carr for reasons he had not bothered to share with Knox, but which were growing a little clearer each time Knox thought about the possibilities. If Hayes had his way when Knox caught up to Carr, the man would not be read his rights, have his call to a lawyer or his day in court. But why kill the Medal of Honor man? It would have been a feather in the cap of then Major Macklin Hayes' career to have had such a soldier in his ranks. Carr had certainly pissed off his leader somehow. The paper trail had demonstrated that the lower chain of command had had no issue with Carr getting the mother of all American medals pinned to his chest. It had stopped at Hayes. What had Carr done to merit that sort of stonewall; a grudge that had apparently lasted over thirty years?
Now Knox's dilemma was obvious. If he did his job successfully and found Carr, he would, in essence, be delivering him to his executioner. A part of Knox said that was neither his business nor his battle to fight. Turn him over, be done with it and start collecting your pension. Rome in summer, his kids, sailing in the Med, the wine, the food. His kids.
If only that damn aneurysm in Patty's head hadn't popped-
The other part of Knox fell down on this theory like a four- hundred-pound WWE monster coming off a wrestling-ring rope. If Carr had killed the men, he would have to be proven guilty of those charges and then punishment could be meted out. Once you let way too smug and smart men like Hayes call those kinds of shots, play God for all seasons and all reasons, it was over. You might as well pull the democratic tent poles and phone in for Joe Stalin to make a comeback. The old US of A was finished. And Knox would not be a party to that. Twenty years ago the answer might have been different. But not today, not now. It was funny and a little ass-backwards, but he believed in the principles that made America what it was more strongly now than when he'd first started out in this line of work. Back then he was a raw, snot-nosed kid fresh from the military grunt side itching to carve out a credible rep as an intelligence op. He did anything and all to accomplish that goal, many things just over the line and a few that obliterated it. Looking back, he was not particularly proud of those moments, but he also took some solace in the fact that his work had saved lives and also that he'd eventually come around to the good side again. He knew many others who had never accomplished that last step. Hayes was clearly one of them.