Louis heard Mobley’s name and looked over Susan’s head toward the front door. Mobley had come in and was chatting with some of his deputies at the bar.
Susan was still talking. “. . and Bernhardt and the wife are certainly more believable as suspects-”
“Excuse me,” Louis said.
Susan spotted Mobley and grabbed Louis’s arm. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t tell Mobley anything, please. You could take both of us down.”
He pulled away from her and walked to the bar, edging up to Mobley.
“We need to talk, Sheriff.”
“Well, it’s the Lone Ranger,” Mobley said. “Where’s Tonto?” He saw Susan approaching and raised a hand. “How,” he said solemnly.
She didn’t even look at either of them as she swept by.
“That woman could use a charm course,” Mobley said.
Louis saw Susan pause at the door and look back at him before she left. Louis looked back at Mobley.
Damn it. She was right. What was the point? The Haitian wasn’t going to get any deader. But Mobley could make life miserable for Susan, and Cade’s case could end up in the toilet. Okay, it could wait for now. God help them, though, if Cade got a burr up his ass because someone else pissed him off.
“What do you want, Kincaid?” Mobley asked.
“Never mind.”
“Good. It’s assholes and elbows at work and I don’t need any shit from you.”
Louis motioned to the bartender to bring both Mobley and himself a beer. When it arrived, Mobley looked at him.
“If that’s a bribe, I don’t come that cheap.”
“Not a bribe. Just incentive.”
“For what?”
Louis leaned on the bar, moving closer to Mobley. “I saw Bob Ahnert today.”
“I heard.”
“He indicated he wasn’t allowed to ask all the questions he needed to ask in the Kitty Jagger case. Said Dinkle stopped him.”
“Look, Kincaid, Howard Dinkle is like God in this town. And as much as I hate hearing about the golden days of Dinkle, I’m not going to let you pin a misconduct medal on a fellow cop, even though I hear you’re pretty good at that kind of thing.”
Louis let the comment pass. “Ahnert also said there is something in the file that can get those questions answered.”
Mobley shook his head. “Let me tell you something about Robert Ahnert. I pulled his jacket after he called me about you. Ahnert was a lot like you, always digging too deep and too long. He caught the Jagger case because our other detective was on leave of absence. He was reprimanded during that case for inappropriate behavior, so it’s no wonder he blames Dinkle for not being able to do his job.”
“What was the inappropriate behavior?”
Mobley eyed him. “That’s confidential.”
“I’m getting to hate that word.”
Mobley snickered. “All right, I’ll tell you, just so you know how little stock to put on his investigation. He stole an item that belonged to the victim.”
Louis looked over. “What was it?”
“A gold necklace. Some kind of heart-shaped locket. Guess Ahnert needed the money.”
“Why? Did he pawn it?”
Mobley shook his head. “Someone else found it in his cruiser before he could pawn it. But if he wasn’t going to pawn it or sell it, why the fuck would he take it?”
Louis resisted the urge to touch his own back pocket. He knew the picture he had taken from Kitty’s bedroom was still there.
“I’ve got to go,” Louis said suddenly. “Thanks, Sheriff.”
“You owe me again, Kincaid,” Mobley said. “And like I said, I don’t come cheap.”
Chapter Seventeen
Louis sat in the Mustang a long time, Monday’s newspaper folded on his lap. He had not wanted to come out here to J.C. Landscaping again. The place had a sadness about it that drained him. But the questions couldn’t wait.
He wanted to know about why Cade had asked about Bob Ahnert. He wanted to know more about Kitty and what Cade told Spencer Duvall during the trial. And he wanted to know about the Haitian man.
He got out of the car. It was almost December, but the temperature was still in the mid-eighties, the air sticky and thick. He looked at the lopsided trailer, sitting in the brush, baking under the mid-day sun.
As he started to the door, Ronnie came around the back of the trailer, carrying a small tree, its roots wrapped in burlap. It looked dead.
Ronnie stopped and put the tree down. He ran his forearm across his forehead and smiled nervously.
“Hey, Mr. Kincaid.”
Louis took off his sunglasses. “Is your father here, Ronnie?”
“Yeah, inside.” Ronnie nodded to the trailer but made no move toward it. Louis suspected he was embarrassed to have him inside.
Finally, Ronnie wiped his hands on his jeans and led Louis to the trailer. The door stuck and Ronnie had to jerk on it to get it open.
“Come on in,” Ronnie said.
The trailer was dark, sunlight kept out by tinfoil duct-taped to the windows. The paneling on the walls was a faded brown, warped from the humidity and streaked with some kind of dried liquid. The place smelled of dirty clothes, dog food and something fried. A chugging wall unit a/c was not making a dent in the heat.
The kitchen was just an alcove off the living room, dimly lit by a flickering fixture over the sink. The appliances were the same vintage as the trailer, Louis suspected, old avocado things with chipped corners and missing dials.
Ronnie’s son, Eric, was sitting at the small table in the kitchen, finishing a sandwich. His dark eyes settled on Louis’s face and for an instant, Louis saw Jack Cade in him again. Eric’s face had the pink smoothness of a boy, but his eyes the dead glaze of someone who had already given up.
Benjamin Outlaw’s face came to Louis’s mind, with its bright curiosity and hope.
“Dad?” Ronnie called. “Louis Kincaid is here to see you.”
Jack Cade came down the narrow hallway, zipping his pants. His well-muscled arms were exposed by the white T-shirt he wore. His hair was ragged and he had two or three days growth on his jaw.
“You just come around without calling?” Cade asked, reaching for a beer can on the counter. “You threw me out of your place for that.”
“I need to talk to you.”
Cade took a long swallow of the Budweiser, then belched. “I’m listening.”
Louis glanced at Eric. “Outside,” Louis said to Cade.
“What? You don’t like my home?”
“It’s private.”
Cade looked at Eric. “Up, kid.”
Eric hesitated just a moment too long and Cade gave him a light cuff to the head. “I said, move.”
Eric got up, glaring at Cade, then moved over to the couch.
Cade pulled a fresh can of Budweiser from the refrigerator and sank into a chair at the small table. He waved at the other chair and Louis reluctantly sat down, moving Eric’s plate to the side. He laid the newspaper on the table, pushing it toward Cade.
“Did you have anything to do with that?” he asked.
Cade glanced at the newspaper. He took a drink of beer and set the can down, rubbing it with his calloused fingers.
“Next question.”
“I didn’t hear an answer to my first one.”
Ronnie had come in from the back and was standing near the sink. Louis knew he could see the headline from where he stood.
Cade sniffed, running his arm under his nose. “Hate this fucking weather. Can’t breathe.”
“Answer me, Cade.”
Cade shrugged. “If I tell you I did or didn’t, what does that change?”
“It would make me feel a helluva lot better.”
Cade leaned forward, his fingers gripping the can so tight, it cracked. “You’re working for me. You don’t have to feel better. I do.”
Louis sat back, his chest tight. Man, he should’ve trashed this case right from the start.