“You had no right to tell her anything.”
“I had every right! You were my son. Even if you had run off. And you didn’t take her with you, so I figured you just…just didn’t want her. So I told her that flat-out.”
“And what did she do?”
“She ran off cryin’.” Dan lowered his head, his angry expression gone. But Robie felt it all building inside of him. For one split second he imagined himself pulling his gun…
“You didn’t need her,” continued Dan.
“Stop talking, Dad,” Robie said, his voice barely a whisper.
“She just would’a weighed you down. You wanted out of Cantrell? Well, you needed to make a clean break of it. And that father of hers—”
Robie stood. “Shut up, Dad.”
Dan looked up at him, anger flashing across his features, until he saw the look on his son’s face. And, perhaps for the first time in his life at least since Vietnam, Dan Robie seemed afraid for his life.
Before he did something he might regret, Robie turned and walked out.
Chapter
64
“How’d it go?” asked Reel.
She and Robie were out on the rear porch of the Willows.
“I’m not talking about it,” snapped Robie. His heart was racing, his blood pressure had spiked, and he thought he might be sick to his stomach. He was the exact opposite of cold zero, a physiological level he might never experience again.
Robie slowly pulled out the photo of Laura Barksdale.
“So, was he able to enlighten you on that?” asked Reel.
Robie nodded. “In a way I never imagined.”
“What does that mean?”
But Robie shook his head. “Not now, Jess.”
Reel took the photo and studied it. “She was very beautiful.”
“Yeah, she was.”
“I could see how a young man would fall head over heels for her.”
“Yeah,” said Robie as he took the photo back.
“So you must have come to this house a lot back then?”
“Not that often, actually.”
“Why?”
“Her parents wouldn’t have approved.”
“What, you weren’t blue blood enough?”
“They loved it that I was the starting quarterback on the state championship team. But other than that, no, I wasn’t blue blood enough.”
“When we were talking to Pete you mentioned she had a brother?”
“Yeah, he was a couple years older. Emmitt Barksdale.”
Reel looked around the property. “So a prominent family just disappears and no one in Cantrell knows anything about it?”
Robie said, “Apparently.”
“Well, they sold the house, right?”
“Right. But not to my father. There was apparently an owner in between.”
“Then why not ask the Realtor who did the deal? Or check the real estate records. You sell a property, there has to be a record of it, right?”
Robie looked at her. “That’s right.”
“And while you’re doing that, I have something to take care of.”
“What’s that?”
“Talking to our buddy Pete Clancy, and asking him about a certain bullet hole in his Range Rover.”
They drove off in separate cars.
In the window overlooking the front of the house stood Victoria, watching them leave.
Dan Robie came up behind her and wrapped his arms around his wife as they watched both cars disappear under the canopy of longleaf pines.
Pete Clancy sat at the table clenching and unclenching his hands as Taggert and Reel sat across from him.
They were in the visitor’s room at the jail. Pete was dressed in his own clothes, since he was not technically under arrest.
Taggert had reminded him that this status could change.
“Let’s go through it one more time,” said Reel patiently. “Where were you on the night Sara Chisum was killed?”
“And I told you, I don’t remember. Probably drunk somewhere. I was on the run. Scared shitless.”
“So you’re scared shitless and you get drunk and aren’t able to defend yourself or think straight because…?” countered Reel.
“Because I’m stupid, I guess,” said Pete. He tacked on to this statement what he doubtless thought was an ingratiating smile that had probably worked with most women he’d encountered, the majority of whom were probably drunk.
Yet it fell like a punctured balloon when confronted by the stern faces of these two.
“Not good enough, Pete,” said Taggert. “Your vehicle has a bullet hole in it.”
“That’s not my vehicle, okay? It was my daddy’s. I never even drove the damn thing. I have my Porsche.”
“Where were the keys kept?”
“I don’t know. In the house somewhere, I guess. Anybody could’a taken ’em. I never locked the damn doors.”
“So you’ve got no alibi for the time Sara was murdered?” said Taggert matter-of-factly.
“If I did I would’a told you, but I don’t. Can I go back to my cell now? I got some sleep to catch up on. And, hey, can I get a beer in here? And maybe some barbeque?”
He started to get up, but Reel reached across and pushed him back down.
“You can’t leave yet because we’re not done.”
“I want a lawyer.”
“You’re not entitled to one,” replied Taggert.
Pete pointed a finger at her. “You can’t screw with me. I watch TV. When you say you want a lawyer you guys have to back the hell off and can’t ask me no more damn questions.”
“You’re not entitled to one,” said Reel, “because you’re not under arrest.”
Taggert nodded. “That’s exactly right.”
“What kind’a shit is this?” bellowed Pete. “Then I want the hell outta here.”
Reel said, “Fine. The guys who almost killed you I’m sure are still out there watching this place. Tell them I said hello.”
“This is fuckin’ unbelievable,” yelled Pete.
“Well, the world’s not perfect, is it,” said Reel calmly. “So why don’t you take a deep breath, compose yourself, think back, and tell us where you were on the night Sara was killed.”
“I already told you—”
Reel reached over and gripped his wrist. “Take a deep breath, compose yourself, and try to remember, then you can go back to your cell. That’s the carrot, Pete, so go get the carrot. Or else you are the prime suspect for Sara’s murder.”
She removed her hand and Pete slumped back, rubbing a hand through his unkempt hair. He drew a long breath and his features calmed. “Okay, when was she killed again?”
Reel told him.
“Right.” Pete bent over, his brows nearly touching as he concentrated. Then he smiled. “Hell, I know. I was in New Orleans. At the OK Corral Bar on Bourbon Street. Got my ass thrown off the mechanical bull like five times.”
“When did you get there and when did you leave?” asked Taggert.
“Got there around eleven that night. And left around four in the morning.”
“Anybody verify that?”
“My buddy is one of the bartenders there. And there was a girl I met there. She left with me.” He smiled. “If you know what I mean.”
“Names and numbers, please,” said Taggert.
“My buddy’s name is Kyle. You call the bar they’ll find him. He served me my last drink so’s I remember.”
“And the girl?”
Pete fished around in his pockets until he found a square patch of what looked to be foil. He slid it across the table. In black Magic Marker was a phone number and a name: LuAnne.
Both women looked at the square without touching it.
“That’s a condom wrapper,” said Taggert with disgust.