“Daddy, gep me op!” Olivia said, reaching out her hands. Sean handed her to Winter and, taking her, he kissed his daughter on her cheek.
“I’ll check into a motel in Tunica and call you. Go turn in the RV and take the first flight back home tomorrow. Will you do that so I won’t have to worry?”
“I guess falling in love with a man who attracts violence is the downside of our otherwise perfect relationship,” she said, hugging him and her daughter. “Good thing the upside makes it all worthwhile.”
“I’m sorry, Sean,” Winter said. “You don’t know how sorry I am.”
Sean smiled. “Massey, it isn’t like I didn’t know what you were when I met you. You’ll do what you want to do.”
Thirty minutes later Winter put the venison tenderloins and the quarters of deer meat into the camp’s cooler, figuring he’d return in a day or two and take it to the processor in Batesville, or let Billy Lyons give it to somebody who would make use of it. Winter threw his duffel into the rear of the rented Jeep, turned the RV around, and Sean followed the RV ten miles to Interstate 55, where they switched vehicles. Sean and Winter honked enthusiastic see-you-soons for the half mile before they arrived at the turnoff to Tunica. Faith Ann and Rush waved and made comical faces from the RV’s rear window until it pulled away. And as Sean drove the motor home north toward Memphis, she carried the majority of Winter’s heart with her.
11
The Tunica County sheriff’s office was located within the jail facility, a building with all the architectural charm of a shoebox, just down the road from a decrepit cotton gin. Winter parked in the lot across from a pole flying the Mississippi State and United States flags, locked the rented Jeep wagon, and strode up the wide concrete walkway to the front doors, opening them for an elderly woman and a small boy wearing a hooded jacket and threadbare shoes. In the reception area, a line of chairs faced a reception nook where two clerks stood behind bulletproof glass. On the far wall was a row of framed black and white portraits of past sheriffs of Tunica County. Several of the early sheriffs looked like hard-faced lawmen from the Old West, with sweeping handlebar mustaches, strong jaws, and serious eyes sheltered by bushy brows. In the more recent photos, they looked less like gunslingers and more like businessmen who had taken the job for a change in routine. Winter wondered if the last photo was of the sheriff who had been arrested by the Feds for corruption.
Speaking through a slot in the window, Winter asked the clerk to let the sheriff know he was there.
After a couple of minutes, an attractive black woman dressed in a gray business suit came out into the reception area smiling at Winter.
“Mr. Massey,” she said, holding out her hand, which he shook. “I’m Bettye Barry, the sheriff’s assistant.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Sheriff Barnett is expecting you. I’ll take you back.”
Winter crossed through the metal-detector gate and set off the alarm, which the receptionist ignored. They went down a short hall and took a right at the first intersection, pausing at a steel door with a built-in glass panel. Bettye used her card to open the lock and showed him through, then opened the door to the sheriff’s office spaces. The reception area was small, but the sheriff’s office wasn’t.
Inside, Winter spotted Brad Barnett at his desk talking on the phone. As Winter entered, Brad hung up.
“That was the MBI,” Brad said.
“They coming in?” Winter asked.
“They aren’t overly enthusiastic about it. Said it looked like a county matter-a hunting accident I could solve. They’re going to review the evidence at the state lab, the crime-scene pictures, and the autopsy report when it comes back from the ME’s office in Jackson. They don’t see a likelihood of solving this if it isn’t an accident, a jilted boyfriend, or nobody confesses or strikes again. If this is a hate crime they’ll get involved, but it’s obvious they don’t want to jump in on a dead-ender. I think it’s more about a dead black girl from a poor family. They assume all county sheriffs here are crooked based on our department’s recent history. This guy you think committed the murder, who’s he on the run from? The FBI?”
“He’s not officially wanted by anyone in this country. If you’ll get the toothpick ready to ship, I can check it against a sample of his DNA I have.”
“That takes months.”
“Get it packed for shipping. I have a friend in the FBI who told me about a technique for getting DNA run in a matter of hours. I’ll call her.”
“I have someone checking the crime database to see if any toothpicks have shown up in any other killings anywhere. What else can you tell me?”
“We’ll see if I need to tell you more. Right now I can’t.”
“Why not? Is it a government secret?”
“Brad, you don’t want to know. If I think you should, I’ll tell you.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word on it. For the time being, anyway. But I don’t like it.”
Winter shrugged. “I sent my family home.”
“So, you’ll help me solve this case?”
Winter nodded. “I’ll do everything I can.”
“You’ll need temporary official standing. Just so happens I have an opening that needs filling in my homicide department.”
“You have a homicide department?”
“Of course I do. You think this is some hick sheriff’s department?”
Brad reached into his desk, took out a used badge case, and tossed it across the desk to Winter.
“That was Deputy Bratton’s. He went to Gulfport after Katrina to help his family and hasn’t said if he’ll return. Just to cover this legally, we’ll get your picture taken in a minute. You’ll work directly with me, and you can give orders to anybody in my department as you need to. The Sherry Adams case is your only official responsibility. If that suits you, we can figure out compensation.”
“Put me down as an employee, and pay me a buck.”
“At least let me cover your expenses.”
“Can you recommend a motel?”
“I rattle around in a big old house with four bedrooms. There’s just me and my dog, Ruger.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience anybody.”
“You kidding? Guest room is private, has cable TV, clean linens, and a bathroom with big bars of soap.”
“That’ll do,” Winter said.
“What size uniform do you wear?”
Winter’s shocked reaction brought laughter from the sheriff. “Just messing with you, Massey. Raise your right hand.”
Winter smiled. He had the feeling that the sheriff was like an iceberg-what was below the surface was far more substantial than what wasn’t.
12
While Brad went to get the toothpick ready for shipping, Winter picked up the office phone and dialed a cell number in Washington, D.C. He smiled when a familiar voice answered, “Alexa Keen.”
“Alexa, it’s Winter.”
“Winter. Have you gotten yourself arrested?” she asked.
“What makes you ask that? Oh, the caller ID.”
“Tunica County Sheriff’s Office.”
“Not yet,” he said.
“Sean told me you were doing your deer hunt in Como.” She laughed. “So how’s that family-bonding-over-blood thing going for you?”
“Faith Ann killed her first deer. A major buck too.”
“I still think that’s a shame, Massey,” Alexa said. “Teaching that child to murder poor defenseless animals.”
“She’d beg to differ, and obviously you’ve never been assaulted by a deer. Their little hooves are like razors. Anyway, it’s all in the name of game management and a well-rounded education, which was her argument to get me to let her go hunting.”
“Cheaper than a shopping trip to Europe, I suppose. She is an extraordinary young lady,” Alexa said. “Must be hard on you, being so obviously average and surrounded by extraordinary people. So what are you doing in Tunica? Not gambling, I hope. It’s a superhighway to ruin, you know.”