"No," Pemberton said. "This won't take long."
Pemberton walked across the street to the café. He'd thought McDowell might go quietly, in part because the day he'd been forced to resign McDowell simply left his keys and badge and state-issue pistol on the office desk, his uniform hung neatly on the coat rack. There'd been no curses or threats, no calls to a congressman or senator. The man had simply walked out, leaving the door wide open.
Coldfield and McDowell were in the back booth, green coffee cups in front of them. Pemberton pulled a chair from the closest table and sat down. He turned to the man sitting opposite McDowell.
"Detective Coldfield, my name is Pemberton."
Pemberton held out his hand, and the detective looked at it as if he'd been offered a piece of rancid meat.
"I talked to Lieutenant Jacoby half an hour ago," Pemberton said, lowering his hand. "He and I have some mutual friends."
A waitress approached with her pencil and pad but Pemberton waved her away.
"Lieutenant Jacoby said you should call him immediately. Do you need me to write down his telephone number for you?"
"I know his number," Coldfield said tersely.
"There's a telephone in the sheriff's office across the street, detective," Pemberton said. "Just tell Sheriff Bowden you have my permission to make the call."
Coldfield got up without comment. Pemberton watched through the window as the detective walked across the street and into the sheriff's office. Pemberton pulled his chair back a few inches and studied McDowell, who stared where Coldfield had sat. McDowell seemed to be studying a small tear in the booth's padding. Pemberton placed his hands on the table and clasped them, spoke quietly.
"You know where that Harmon girl and the child are, don't you?"
McDowell turned and stared at Pemberton. The ex-lawman's amber eyes registered incredulity.
"Do you think I'd tell you if I did?"
Pemberton took the envelope from his back pocket and laid it on the table.
"That's three hundred dollars. It's for her and the child."
McDowell stared at the envelope but didn't pick it up.
"I don't want to know where they are," Pemberton said, sliding the envelope toward McDowell as he might a playing card. "Take it. You know they'll need it."
"Why should I believe this isn't a trick to find out where they are?" McDowell asked.
"You know I had nothing to do with what happened on Colt Ridge," Pemberton said.
McDowell hesitated a few moments longer, then took the envelope and placed it in his pocket.
"This doesn't change anything between us."
"No, nothing changes between you and me," Pemberton said, looking toward the entrance. "You'll soon enough see the truth of that."
The bell on the café door rang and Coldfield walked toward them, but the detective didn't sit down or look at either man.
"Lieutenant Jacoby's decided I should let Sheriff Bowden take care of the investigation on this end."
Coldfield raised his eyes, met Pemberton's gaze.
"I will tell you one thing, Mr. Pemberton. Campbell's brother has been at the station every day since his brother got killed, which is why I'm here in the first place. He won't give up."
"I'll keep that in mind," Pemberton said.
The detective tossed a quarter beside his coffee cup. The silver rang hollowly against the formica surface.
"I'll be on my way now," Coldfield said.
Pemberton nodded, and stood up to leave as well.
"YOU'D a thought at least the women and children was safe," Henryson said on Sunday afternoon as Snipes' crews sat on the commissary steps.
"It ain't enough that they killed an old woman," Snipes said. "Now they're after that girl and her child."
Henryson nodded.
"The wonder of it is they don't kill us, just for practice."
"They's content to let the saws and axes and falling limbs kill us off," Ross said. "Frees up Galloway to do his traveling."
The men sat in silence a few moments, listening to a guitar strum the last notes of "Barbara Allen." The song's plaintive refrain put the men in a pensive mood.
"Campbell's brother is in town," Ross said. "I seen him my ownself the other day."
"The one Campbell was staying with in Nashville?" Henryson asked.
"That one, the guitar picker. He was out on the courthouse steps telling how he come home from his show and found Campbell laying in bed with a hatchet back of his head. To hear tell how deep that blade was in him, you'd think Campbell's head was no more than a pumpkin."
"That's a terrible way to die," Henryson said.
"Better than what Doctor Cheney got," Snipes said.
"Campbell at least got the record for getting farthest before Galloway caught up with him," Ross said. "Hell, Campbell even made it out of the state. I reckon that's a sort of victory."
"For sure," Henryson said. "Harris didn't even make it out of his house."
"Proves one thing, though," Ross said. "One day's head start ain't enough."
"No, it ain't," Henryson agreed. "I'd say you'd likely need at least a week to even get betting odds."
"The Harmon girl and her young one likely won't get that," Ross said. "Vaughn might though. Even Galloway can't be in two places at once."
"That boy always had a good head on his shoulders," Snipes said. "He figured the right time to take off."
"Just like quail," Ross said. "They figure if they all flush in different directions there's a chance one of them will make it."
"Has Galloway started after anybody yet?" Stewart asked.
"No, but he's liable to any time now," Snipes said. "He was at the commissary last night, trying to get fellers to help figure out what town his mama was visioning. Said he'd pay a dollar to the one named it."
"What sort of visioning did that old witch have?" Henryson asked.
"Claimed the Harmon girl and her young one was in Tennessee, a town where there was a train track. Which don't tell you much of nothing, of course, but she also told Galloway the place was a crown set amongst the mountains."
"A crown?" Ross asked, reentering the conversation.
"Yes, a crown. A crown set amongst the mountains. Them's the exact words."
"It might could be the top of a mountain," Henryson said. "I've heard peaks called crowns before."