The Devils Punchbowl

When Linda limped down off the levee, she hadn'’t known what Pastor Simpson’s argument with the Oneness people was, nor had she cared. All she knew was that for years Simpson had been a good pastor and tried to help people, especially the poor. There’d been some talk about him and a couple of the young girls in the congregation, but she’d never had any trouble with him.

He’d recognized Linda almost immediately, and he’d taken her into the church and washed her wounds with water from the sink in the one bathroom they had. She hadn'’t told him the truth of course—not because she didn't trust him, but because she was afraid she might bring terrible harm down onto him or his followers. He’d sat there for half an hour with his silver hair and red skin and sympathetic eyes while she told him a lie about getting involved with a man she’d met on the gambling boat, a man who’d been in prison, who had almost killed her with a beating, and who would kill her if he found her. No, she couldn'’t go to the police, she said, because the man had friends in the police, on both sides of the river. Pastor Simpson had shaken his head and promised to do all he could to help, including getting her out of town. And he’d stood by his word, so far. When she’d written out the long note for Mayor Cage, Simpson had called one of the girls in his church to come out from town and pick it up, a girl named Darla, and Darla had promised to deliver it, and to make sure the mayor had no idea where any of them were, or even who she was.

Linda wished time would speed up. She’s going to have to move soon because there’s an evening service coming, and the pastor told her to be hiding in the shed well before the first car pulled up. She dreads that fifty-foot walk like nothing in a long time, but she’ll do it somehow. Because after the service, the pastor’s nephew is going to drive her to Shreveport, to stay with another group of Wholeness worshippers. There she will be safe from the “convict” who is hunting her. Linda lifts her shirt and wipes the sweat from her

brow, which is burning like the skin around her torn leg. She needs a doctor, but she can hold out another few hours. They might even have a doctor in the church in Shreveport, she thinks. No matter how bad things look, God has taken her into his blessed hands. To know that’s true, all Linda has to do is think about Ben Li.

CHAPTER

30

“You can talk in here,” Kelly says, gunning the 4Runner and heading out of the parking lot. “No bugs, guaranteed.”

“We’re going to the cemetery.”

“Okay. Why?”

“The disc is there. Not only that—Linda Church is alive.”

Kelly looks at me. “How do you know that?”

I quickly relate what happened at the Ramada and describe the contents of the tape and the note. Caitlin supplements my account from the backseat.

“Wait a minute,” says Kelly, turning onto Homochitto Street. “Two different people approached you at this one event?”

“Yeah, I figured you saw them.”

“I saw a girl watching you early on, but I was looking for males. I'm thinking of the coincidence.”

“I know, but remember what you asked me early this morning? Everyone in town knew I would be at that event. It was published in the newspaper. Both Jewel and that girl knew they could talk to me without seeming to try to. It could look accidental. But what about you? You said we have a problem.”

“One thing at a time. Do you know where Linda is?”

“No, but she’s safely hidden, and her note says she’s leaving town.”

“You didn't recognize the girl who gave you the note?”

“You said she looked familiar,” Caitlin reminds me.

“I could say that about almost everyone in this town. Do you know how many people I’'ve spoken to since becoming mayor? And during the campaign? I think the part of my brain that connects names and faces has been short-circuited.”

“I wouldn'’t mind having Linda Church in our back pocket,” Kelly says. “I think you’re going to need her as a witness before this mess is through.”

“What the hell’s going on? What’s the problem you talked about?”

“Blackhawk got a bounceback on Jonathan Sands.”

“A bounceback?”

“A return query. Rebound request. Someone in Washington wants to know who’s asking about Sands.”

Caitlin’s eyes meet mine. “Washington?” she says. “

Who

in Washington?”

“They wouldn'’t tell me, and that’s not a good sign. The company says they'’re covering for me, but I’'ve got to be straight with you. Seventy-five percent of Blackhawk’s revenues come from the Defense Department, and that number goes up every month. If Washington demands something, sooner or later the company’s going to cave. They value my services, but in the end I'm just a grunt.”

A wave of fear rolls through me. “Are you saying Blackhawk might give up Annie’s location if the government pushed hard enough?”

“No, no. But they might give up my name, and maybe yours. Sands could find out I'm involved and figure you’re trying to bust him, not help him.”

“I see.”

Kelly gives me a sidelong glance. “What

are

you going to do with that disc, if you find it?”

The truth is, I'm not sure, but I keep that to myself. “I hope you’re about to find out.”

“So how did you figure out the clues?” Kelly asks.

“He hasn’'t even told me that,” Caitlin says with pique.

“When I searched the cemetery yesterday, I searched the graves of everyone Tim and I both knew. Classmates we’ve lost, people from

St. Stephen’s who died young. I even searched all the famous graves I knew. But I left out one grave. It never even

occurred

to me that Tim would use it.”

“Whose was it?”

“A high school senior who was killed by a drunk driver in 1979.”

Caitlin leans up between the seats. “Why didn't you think of him the other day?”

“Because Tim Jessup was the driver who killed him.”

“My God. But how did the clue make you think of him?”

“The boy’s name was Patrick McQueen.”

Kelly smiles after a moment, but Caitlin shrugs. Sometimes a ten-year age gap causes issues.

“The Great Escape?”

I prompt. “Steve McQueen…? He ran from the Nazis on a motorcycle? Crashed into barbed wire at the end?”

“Oh…okay, I get it.”

“I never considered Patrick’s grave because I couldn'’t imagine Tim thinking about him in a desperate moment like that. Tim spent a year in jail because of that accident, and it ruined most of his life. I figured he’d done everything he could to get Patrick out of his mind. But I should have known better. He’s probably thought about Patrick every day of his life since that night. Especially lately. I think he’d been trying to make up for what he did by living a good life.”

Caitlin shakes her head sadly.

“But what does ‘dog pack’ mean?” Kelly asks. “What’s that part of it?’

“Tim and I used to ride our bikes in the cemetery when we were kids. Once a pack of wild dogs chased us there. I'm not positive about the connection, but I think I know. We’ll be sure in two minutes. When you get up to the flat part of this road, you’ll see the river on your left. Turn at the main gate.”

As Kelly does so, Caitlin touches my shoulder. “Are you sure you can’t remember anything else about the girl who gave you the note? Something must have triggered that feeling of familiarity. What was it?”