Everyone, Reed and Bales and Jen Jessup, looked at Mac like he’d lost his mind.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Reed asked.
‘Respect,’ Mac said, seeing leaves placed to cover a murdered girl’s head, and slacks folded neatly on her body. And now, a dress placed carefully inside the vault.
‘Some odd, fast, last gesture of respect,’ he said again.
He wondered if that proved Betty Jo Dean’s killer had been at Wiley’s just before she’d been sent off to Maryton for the first time.
FIFTY-THREE
Mac couldn’t push it from his mind. Under the guise of searching for a bullet, they’d cut off her head and replaced it with another.
None of it could make sense.
Working in his office, calculating bills he couldn’t afford to pay, or struggling to think of anything that would prove he’d spent most nights in Linder County, suddenly seemed easier than wondering about the skull.
Rogenet called as he was approaching the Bird’s Nest. ‘I heard the autopsy just ended.’
‘You’ve got good ears.’
‘No; I called Powell’s office. His secretary said he was on his way back from the autopsy. How did it go?’
‘Powell let me in.’ He told Rogenet about the skull.
‘Based on only a brief glance, you announced it wasn’t hers?’
‘I like to think I lost my head, too,’ he said, offering a joke.
Rogenet wheezed into the phone, not laughing. The man was still sick.
‘You’ve got to put that out of your mind for now,’ the lawyer said. ‘Wainwright finally called. He wants to meet me the day after tomorrow, at two in the afternoon. That’s because, the day after that, he and I are up before the judge for a status hearing, and Wainwright wants to pretend he’s tried diligently to get this pled out. I want you in the hall outside his office, dressed nice, clutching a thick sheaf of papers that prove you spent almost every night sleeping in Linder County.’
‘I’m not taking a plea.’
‘Work with me, damn it. We have to show the court we want this resolved without a trial, too.’
‘No plea, but I’ll be there.’
‘You’ve got another problem. Remember I said I called Powell’s office?’
‘What now?’
‘There’s a rumor he’s looking to indict you in Peering County.’
Mac cut the truck’s engine and closed his eyes. ‘What for?’
‘Theft of honest services.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A vague, some say unconstitutional, law that prohibits public officials from providing less than full, honest service to their constituents. Its constitutionality is under challenge, but for now it’s being used as a catch-all for prosecutors fishing to indict.’
He opened his eyes and looked at the back of the Bird’s Nest. The roof was sagging more than before, the windows were losing paint. And now, there was that rectangle charred onto the siding, warning Mac to back away from Betty Jo Dean – warning diners, too, to stay away from a restaurant likely to go up in flames.
‘How can Powell use theft of honest services against me?’ he asked.
‘I’m guessing he’ll allege inappropriate use of your mayoral power in the Betty Jo Dean case.’
‘That’s crap.’
‘It’s push-back by those who run Grand Point. Powell’s one of them.’
‘And Wainwright’s helping him. It was him I saw, in that red Cadillac speeding out of Grand Point.’
‘Concentrate on proving you spent most of your nights in Linder County. See you Wednesday afternoon.’
‘Ruminating?’ Maggie Day stood in the doorway to his office. He hadn’t heard her come up the stairs. It was closing time.
‘Jim Rogenet is going to meet with Wainwright Wednesday afternoon. I’m supposed to bring proof positive I spent most of my nights in Linder County.’
She glanced down at the dozen sheets of tablet paper he’d filled up. ‘That’s encouraging,’ she said.
‘I don’t have receipts. All I can do is summarize my case.’ He told her that Roy Powell was readying an indictment against him.
‘Pushback for Betty Jo Dean, or for defeating Pete Moore for mayor?’
‘Either, or both.’
‘You’re sure you have no receipts or charge card statements from Linder County?’
‘I made a point of buying here in Grand Point, to get to know the local merchants.’
She brightened with a thought. ‘Gasoline receipts?’
‘I always pay cash. And I filled up here.’
‘I need to think on that,’ she said, pursing her lips. ‘April told me the autopsy didn’t go well.’
‘She was in bad shape, Maggie.’
‘Is she happy?’
He would have laughed at that if that question had been asked by anyone other than Maggie Day. He knew she was dead serious.
‘Maybe she’s the only one who’s pleased. Her story is finally getting out.’
She sat down in the chair across from his desk. ‘Abigail called me earlier today. She said something about Betty Jo’s face, but nothing about her whole head being removed.’
‘Abigail was at the cemetery first thing this morning, kneeling at the grave. She’s strange, Maggie.’
‘But she’s not stupid. And in spite of what others say, she doesn’t seek publicity.’
‘Your Miss Beech was all over this case back in 1982.’
‘Trying to help the family.’
‘Or trying to get publicity.’
‘Didn’t that reporter, Jonah Ridl, tell you Betty Jo couldn’t have been lying dead off Devil’s Backbone Road from the get-go, because he himself searched that field and she wasn’t there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Plus you yourself saw no decomposition in that one photo?’
‘Yes, again.’
‘See? Abigail was right, back then, about Betty Jo not being killed at the same time as Pribilski, just like she was right this morning about something being wrong with her face. She’s theatrical, and she puts on a good show. That doesn’t mean she’s a fake or a hustler. She believes.’
‘Abigail could have heard about Betty Jo’s decapitation, back in the day.’
‘Speaking of hearing things, that state’s attorney, Roy Powell, your baddest new enemy?’
‘Yeah?’
‘He used to sleep with your newest reporter friend, Jen Jessup.’
‘Shit.’
‘Be careful what you tell her.’ She got up. ‘Stay out of prison, Mac. Betty Jo needs you around.’
FIFTY-FOUR
The state’s report on Betty Jo Dean’s death came fast, like something nasty hurriedly scraped off a shoe. It was emailed mid-Wednesday morning, simultaneously, to State’s Attorney Powell and Sheriff Jimmy Bales.
Bales called Reed Dean. Reed called Mac.
‘The report’s in,’ Reed said. ‘Sheriff wants me to come at one o’clock, so he can put it to bed.’
‘Those were his words: “put it to bed?”’
‘Sounds like whitewash,’ Reed said. ‘I need you to come along.’
‘I’ve got a meeting in Linder County at two.’
‘It shouldn’t take but five or ten minutes. Still, I’ll call Bales and tell him we’ll be there at twelve-thirty.’
When Mac came out of his house he saw a thick white business envelope under his windshield wiper. His name was written on a lavender sticky note attached to it. He recognized Maggie’s handwriting.
He peeked inside and laughed at the childlike, naive cunning she sometimes threw at the world. She’d been caring, concerned and preposterous. He jammed the envelope into his suit jacket.
Jimmy Bales was out to lunch at twelve-thirty. Reed told the duty officer they were there to pick up a report. The duty officer told them to wait.
‘I talked to him personally, Mac,’ Reed Dean said as they took chairs. ‘I told him you had a meeting in Linder County at two, and that we’d be here at twelve-thirty.’