He hated the thought of having to deal with Dillard through discovery and through a trial. But when Landers heard Dillard’s sister had been arrested, it cheered him up. He immediately called the jail and found out she hadn’t made bond. Then he called the jail administrator and asked her to move Dillard’s sister into the same cell block as Angel Christian. The administrator said it would be no problem, so Landers waited a couple of days and then went down to pay Miss Dillard a little visit.
He had the guards bring her to an interrogation room. Her shoulders were rounded and slumped and her eyes were blank. Still, she was definitely good-looking enough to fuck. And wouldn’t that have been sweet, laying the wood to Dillard’s sister?
She sat there like a stone, not looking at Landers.
He thought he’d wait her out and let her talk first, but after a few minutes it was obvious she wasn’t going to say a word.
”You’re Joe Dillard’s sister,” Landers finally said.
”What about it?” she said without looking up.
”I hear he had you locked up.”
She didn’t respond. Landers watched her closely, trying to see whether she was silently agreeing with him.
”You haven’t asked who I am, Miss Dillard.”
”I don’t care who you are.”
”You should. I’m the man who could get you out of here.”
She looked up for the first time. ”And why would you do that?”
”I need some help. You need some help. You help me, I’ll help you. Simple as that. I can offer you two things: a ticket out of jail and a chance to get back at your brother. Should I keep talking?”
Her eyes narrowed. ”I don’t trust lawyers.”
”I’m not a lawyer. I’m an agent with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.”
”I trust cops even less than I trust lawyers.”
”Suit yourself. I’m sure I can find somebody else up there in the cell block who wants to get out of here. I just thought you might like a shot at your brother.” Landers got up from the chair, walked to the door, and acted like he was about to push the button to call the guard.
”Wait,” she said. ”What do you want from me?”
”Like I said, I need a little help.”
”What kind of help?”
Landers sat back down at the table. ”Information.
I need information. Your brother is defending a murderer named Angel Christian. She’s in your cell block. Have you met her?”
”I keep to myself.”
”Here’s my problem. I don’t know anything about her. I need to be able to check her out, you know what I mean? For starters, Angel Christian isn’t her real name. I need to know what her name is. I need to know where she’s from. I need to know where she went to school, whether she’s ever had a driver’s license in another name, whether she’s ever been in trouble before, who her parents are, that kind of thing, and if she happens to bring up the murder, I wouldn’t mind hearing about it. Do you think you might be willing to help me out with that?”
It was as though the Christian girl didn’t exist. The only person who knew anything about her was Julie Hayes, and all Hayes knew was that she’d picked her up at the Greyhound bus terminal in Dallas back in February. Hayes said the girl wouldn’t tell her what her name was, so Hayes gave her the name Angel Christian on the bus. She thought it was funny. Landers desperately needed to come up with something. Hell, for all he knew, Angel might be a serial killer. But she wouldn’t talk to him, the Barlowe woman wouldn’t talk to him, and the people they’d interviewed at the strip club hadn’t helped at all.
”So you want me to snitch for you?” Dillard’s sister said.
”You can call it whatever you want. What I call it is providing substantial assistance to a law enforcement officer in a murder investigation.”
”And what do I get in return?”
”People who provide substantial assistance in murder investigations often receive substantial reductions in their sentences. Like time served.”
”What’s your name?” she said. Landers didn’t like the tone or the look on her face.
”My name is Landers. Special Agent Phillip Landers.”
She started laughing.
”What’s so goddamned funny?” Landers said.
”I heard my brother talking to his wife about you after he got hired on his big murder case. He said you’re the biggest liar on the planet. He said you’ll lie on the witness stand, plant evidence, frame people, and God knows what else. He said you’re one of those cops who’ll do anything to win a case.”
”Your brother’s a fucking asshole.”
”My brother may be an asshole, but he’s an honest asshole,” she said. ”I don’t think I care to get involved with someone like you. Besides, I’m not a snitch.”
Stupid little bitch. Landers was offering her a way out, and she had to go all sanctimonious. He wanted to ask her if being a drug-addicted, thieving little whore was better than being a snitch, but he didn’t want to kill the possibility that she might be willing to help him later. He swallowed his pride and smiled.
”Fine,” he said. ”It was nice to meet you. If you change your mind, just give me a call.”
Landers handed her a card and walked out the door. He’d wait and come back in a few weeks, maybe a month. If he was lucky she’d be sentenced by then, looking at a trip to the women’s penitentiary in Nashville. Landers had been down there a couple of times. It was a miserable fucking place. Maybe when the prospect of going to the penitentiary turned into a reality, Dillard’s sister would change her mind.
June 13
1:00 p.m.
Erlene Barlowe hated to do it to Virgil; he was such a sweetie. But Erlene had made an uncharacteristic mistake the night the preacher was killed-she’d let her emotions overcome her good sense and she’d put her beloved Angel in an impossible position. Erlene’s mistake had ultimately resulted in Angel’s arrest, and now she was determined to do something that might begin to set things right.
Erlene had called Virgil and asked him to come out and meet her at the club at one o’clock in the afternoon. She could tell by his voice that he was a little apprehensive, but she assured him she just needed a teeny little favor.
He showed up right on time. Virgil Watterson was a homely sort of man, kind of short, and the hair in his gray wig stuck up in different directions. Erlene had never asked him why, but he always wore a bow tie and suspenders when he came to the club, at least until one of the girls took them off. Erlene had a collection of the bow ties Virgil had left behind.
Virgil was real well off-Gus told Erlene that Virgil owned six McDonald’s restaurants and a whole bunch of real estate. He’d been coming to the club for years, but since he was married and a deacon in his church and a high-class businessman and all, Erlene and Gus had always made the VIP room available for him and let him come and go through the back door. Sometimes he brought a friend or business associate with him, but usually he just came by himself. He always wanted at least two girls to keep him company and he always paid in cash. He was a good customer and a sweet little old man. Wouldn’t hurt a flea, though he did have some sexual tendencies that ran a little to the strange side.
The VIP lounge was a fairly large room with its own bar and dance floor. Off to one side were three small rooms Erlene called bull pens. If a gentleman wanted even more privacy, he was welcome to take a lady, or two or three, off into one of the bull pens and conduct whatever business he needed to conduct.
Gus always called the video recording system he installed in the VIP bull pens his little insurance policy. He didn’t tape everything that went on in there, but he taped enough to be able to do a little trading if the need ever arose. He had tapes of judges and lawyers and doctors and police chiefs and preachers and businessmen and politicians. All the tapes were arranged in alphabetical order and kept in a fireproof safe in a mini-warehouse on the outskirts of the city.