“Let me ask you something, Barrett,” Arlen said after nearly an hour had passed. “You didn’t so much as blink when Rebecca told you that she had Walt Sorenson’s hands in a cigar box.”
“Didn’t surprise me at all. Wade’s men have done worse than that.”
“Surely they have. But it doesn’t seem like you believed Sorenson died in that Auburn of his.”
Barrett didn’t answer.
“There was a body inside that car,” Arlen said. “Whose was it?”
Barrett studied him for a long moment, then said, “George McGrath. Tate’s oldest son.”
Arlen looked at Rebecca and saw dim recognition on her face.
“You knew him?” he said to her.
“I’ve seen him. He used to come around with Tate. Most of the time, in fact. Lately, it was just Tate. Except for the night…”
“When he brought the whole family,” Arlen said, thinking of the girl from Cassadaga who’d waited in Tolliver’s car with handcuffs around her wrists. “That’s why they all came, even the young ones. It was a family matter.”
He turned to Barrett. “Who killed George McGrath? Sorenson or David Franklin?”
“I couldn’t say, Wagner.”
“Bullshit.”
Barrett sighed. “Look, I don’t know. George McGrath was, like his daddy, muscle for Solomon Wade. A thug, a killer. When someone steals from Wade, the McGraths make them accountable. Walt Sorenson had been stealing from Wade. Skimming. We know that. The rest… we’re fairly certain of the rest.”
“Wade sent the McGrath boy,” Arlen said, “and Sorenson got the best of him. That’s how you see it.”
“That’s how I’m guessing it, yes. George McGrath disappeared a full day ahead of Sorenson. A body burned in Sorenson’s car, but it wasn’t Sorenson’s.”
“So Franklin hauled the body down there,” Arlen said. “And Rebecca, Paul, and I were all supposed to tell them it was Sorenson inside. That was his escape plan. Make them think he was dead, and make them uncertain of what had happened to the McGrath boy.”
“That’s how we figure it, yes. Problem was, they knew who they’d sent George to kill. That kept them from believing it was Sorenson inside the car. And Sorenson…” Barrett’s face went grim. “He needed them to believe that was him inside the car.”
Arlen sat in silence for a minute, trying to piece it together.
“He was out driving the countryside after he’d killed the boy?” he said. “Why in the hell would he have done that? Why’d he keep making his rounds?”
“Cash,” Barrett said simply. “When they went for him, he knew he’d have to run mighty far. He needed the money to do it. That last round of collections was to go right into his pockets. His, and Franklin’s.”
“You know all of this,” Arlen said, “and yet nobody’s been arrested. Nobody’s been-”
“There’s a powerful difference between what we know happened and what we can prove happened!” Barrett snapped. “Corridor County’s full of whispers and bare of witnesses.”
“That’s what you’re supposed to fix,” Rebecca said. “Isn’t it? They need a local man’s help.”
Barrett nodded. “They came to me almost a year ago. I was more than happy to help. Somebody round here has to.”
“Many people would,” Rebecca said, “if they weren’t so scared of the results. And I don’t know if they picked the right man for the job-you told them I was working with Wade, doing it happily. Some judge of character.”
“I didn’t know much about you,” he said evenly, “but I knew plenty about your daddy, Rebecca, and every bone in that man’s body ran crooked.”
She stared at him in furious silence. Arlen watched her eyes and thought, He’s right, and she knows it. It was her old man got them into this, and he did it with a grin on his face until he saw his son arrested. By then it was too late.
“It is not,” she said, “an inherent family trait.”
“I hope you’re right,” Barrett said.
The phone rang then, and a moment later Barrett’s wife called for him. He rose and went inside to take the call. He wasn’t gone long.
“That was Tampa,” he said. “It’s been decided that you’re to go back.”
“Go back?” Rebecca echoed. “I thought they wanted to see us.”
“That’s what they said. But the man in charge is down in Miami, a fella named Cooper, and he says it’s not worth the risk of having strangers up here until the show starts. He figures the longer you’re gone from your place, the more likely Wade gets edgy and calls it off. He doesn’t want it called off.”
It made a bit of sense, but it also left the group at the Cypress House operating on the promise of immunity granted by a shopkeep turned undercover agent. Barrett seemed to be a good man and a sharp operator, but his clout with the agency that had brought him in was minimal at best. Arlen said, “What about the papers, Barrett? The immunity?”
“You’ll have to take my word.”
Arlen shook his head. “I’d like some writing with that. No offense.”
Barrett said, “Ain’t going to be any writing, Wagner. So you’ll have to make a decision. Take my word, or don’t.”
Arlen looked at Rebecca, who gave him a nod, deferring to him. He didn’t like the situation, but he also didn’t know what else he could say.
“It better be worth something,” he said. “Your word.”
“It always has been, and always will be.”
Arlen nodded and got to his feet, and Rebecca followed. They stepped outside the store and into a thick breeze fragrant with the smell of coming rain.
“Just see that it goes off as planned,” Barrett said. “All you got to do is see that…”
His voice trailed off, and when Arlen looked up, he saw that Barrett was staring up the road. Tolliver’s sheriff’s car was approaching from the north. It went by slow, and Barrett lifted a hand, gave a friendly wave that wasn’t returned. The car carried on down the road and then turned left. Away from the jail. Toward Solomon Wade’s house.
“Just see that it goes off as planned,” Barrett said again, but his voice was softer now. “And watch your asses, hear?”
He went back inside without waiting for a response.
47
I DON’T LIKE IT,” Rebecca said as soon as they were in the truck again. “I don’t feel good about this, Arlen. Owen and Paul out on that boat… what if there’s trouble? What if people start shooting?”
“The way it was told, they’re going to wait until the orange crates have been unloaded before they move,” he said. “Owen and Paul should be back inside the inn by then, and we’ll all stick together and out of the way until whatever trouble there is dies down.”
She shook her head, unconvinced. The bagful of money was on the seat between them. Five thousand damn dollars, just sitting there. Arlen wondered how much it really meant to those nameless, faceless men in New Orleans who ran this whole show. He knew how much it would mean to most people in the world, but men like those? He really couldn’t figure.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t like it either. But what else can we do?”
She was quiet for a mile or two, then said, “He was right, you know.”
“Barrett? About what?”
“My father,” she said. “I don’t blame Barrett for looking at Owen and me the way he does. My father would have done anything for the right amount of money. He would have done just about anything.”
“Well, you’ve kept your brother from being the same,” Arlen said. “You see that, don’t you? You’ve shown him the truth, and he’s changed.”
“I hope so,” she said.
They drove west under a strange sky, dark clouds massed to the south and then split on an almost perfectly even line with clearer skies showing to the north. It was the way fronts often developed here, blowing in fast and shifting in ways that were tough for a native of the mountains like Arlen to follow. A few stray raindrops speckled the windshield, but the wind was puffing in unenthusiastic gusts, the storm front sliding away to the south this time, leaving them clear.