“You’re thinking about walking out on me now, ain’t you?”
“I think about it every day, Cade.”
Cade smiled. “But you can’t now, because of her, right?”
Louis’s first thought was that he wasn’t sure who Cade meant-Kitty Jagger or Susan Outlaw?
“Who?” he asked.
“The bitch lawyer.”
Louis wanted to punch him.
Ronnie jumped forward. “Can I get you a drink, Mr. Kincaid?”
Louis forced himself to look at Ronnie. He knew Ronnie was in his late thirties, but he looked pretty young right now. And embarrassed.
Louis shook his head, pissed. Sweat was trickling down his back and he could feel his shirt clinging to his skin. It was like a frickin’ oven in here.
Forget it, Kincaid. He’s just trying to rattle you. Ask him what you came to ask and get out of here.
“Tell me why you asked about Bob Ahnert?”
“I told you to leave that shit alone.”
“And I told you it’s the heart of your case. And unless you tell me right now that you killed Kitty Jagger, then I’m keeping at it. Now answer me.”
Louis looked up at Ronnie. His face was like stone. Cade’s was glistening with sweat.
Cade wet his lips. “Ahnert came to see me one day. It was just after the trial started. He wasn’t supposed to talk to me without fucking Duvall there. But he did anyway.”
“What did Ahnert want?”
“He asked me what chemicals I worked with. And he wanted to know if I knew where Atterberry might have gone to.”
“Your alibi witness?”
“Yeah.”
Louis hesitated. Why was Ahnert still asking questions after the trial had already started?
“What did you tell Duvall?”
“I told him I didn’t know where the hell Atterberry was. I only knew him because he hung out at the same bar as me. He worked seasonal, stayed in motels. Anyway, we ran out of cash and Atterberry said he had some beer back at his motel. So he drove us over there and that’s where we stayed.”
“Watching TV?”
“Watching Star Trek,” Cade said, taking a drink.
“What did Spencer Duvall tell you about Atterberry?”
“That they couldn’t locate him,” he said bitterly.
“Did you know where he was?”
Cade shook his head. “I didn’t know then, but I learned later. Atterberry moved on to Texas, to the next job. He wouldn’t have been hard to find.”
“What about the chemicals? Did Bob Ahnert tell you why he wanted to know?”
Cade crushed the empty beer can and tossed it across the kitchen to the overflowing trash can. It rolled to the floor and Ronnie picked it up.
“Nope. I gave him a list. He never got back to me and I never heard about no chemicals brought up in the trial.”
“When did you agree to the plea bargain?”
Cade got up and jerked open the fridge. Ronnie moved out of his way, looking at Louis apologetically.
“A couple weeks into the trial,” Cade said.
There was only one question left, the one Louis had wanted to ask Cade from day one.
“Why did you take the plea bargain?”
Cade hesitated, standing in the center of the kitchen, his fingers on the beer pop-top. “Twenty years or the chair.”
Cade looked over at Ronnie, who immediately averted his eyes. “Blood is thicker than water, man,” Cade said.
Ronnie went over to Eric, who had been watching the exchange intently.
“Come on, we got work to do,” Ronnie said. Eric got up and they left.
Louis ran his hand across his face, wiping away the perspiration. The air was thick with the smells of the trailer. He stood, picking up the newspaper. “I have to go.”
Cade looked up at him. “Leave that girl’s case alone or I’ll fire you.”
“You fire me and I’ll tell the sheriff’s office about that little confrontation you had with the Haitian. Mobley ought to like that, don’t you think?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Kincaid.”
Louis turned and walked out, jerking the door shut behind him. He stopped to pull in a deep breath of fresh air and saw Ronnie and Eric near his car.
Eric was looking at the Mustang, running a hand lightly over the fender. He looked up as Louis approached, his dark eyes almost hidden by the hair falling over his forehead.
“Eric likes your car,” Ronnie said.
Louis looked down at Eric. For the first time, Louis thought he saw some life in the kid’s eyes.
“This a sixty-six?” Eric asked.
“Sixty-five. I’ve had it since high school.”
“This is a classic. Is it worth a lot?”
“Only to me, probably.” Louis got in the car.
Eric walked around the car, peering in the windows. Ronnie leaned in the car’s open window.
“He didn’t mean none of that stuff he said in there,” Ronnie said. “Not about Miss Outlaw or that Jamaican guy. Dad’s just. . angry.”
“Angry and stupid,” Louis said. “I’m trying to help him.”
Ronnie lowered his voice. “He’s scared. He’s scared they’re going to get him for this Duvall thing. He’s scared of going back to prison.”
Louis wanted to tell Ronnie what he was thinking. That Ronnie didn’t know his father, that the man who had left when Ronnie was fifteen was dead and a different man had come back. A man who was capable of things a son couldn’t imagine.
Louis started the car.
“Is he?” Eric said suddenly.
Ronnie turned to look at his son. “What?”
“Is he going back to prison?” Eric asked.
Ronnie turned to his son. “Well, Mr. Kincaid is going to do everything he can-”
“Is he?” Eric repeated.
Ronnie looked at Louis. But Louis was looking at Eric’s eyes. There was no sadness in them, no fear that his grandfather might be going to prison. Just something that hadn’t been there before-cold, hard hope.
Chapter Eighteen
It was four A.M. and he was looking for something that wasn’t there.
The entire Jagger case file was spread on his bed, floor and dresser, the contents divided into statements, evidence logs, photos and interviews. He had found a statement Ahnert had taken from Horace Atterberry that backed up what Cade had said: He and Atterberry were watching Star Trek in a motel room. Louis set it aside.
Odd. That was almost the same alibi Cade offered for the night Spencer Duvall was shot, that he was home watching Star Trek, the Next Generation. Same show, twenty years apart. Was this what Ahnert was talking about?
It couldn’t be that simple.
Hell, maybe Atterberry was still alive. He would try to locate him tomorrow, despite the fact that Susan expected him to follow up on Candace’s lover.
He continued to read, staring at the typed words and gruesome photographs until they were blurry. He could find nothing else.
Thunder rolled overhead and as rain began to patter the roof, Issy ran in from the living room and jumped on the bed. Her fur was wet. She had probably gotten outside through the torn porch screen. He had to get the thing fixed or one day he’d come home and find her flattened on the road.
She rubbed up against him and he nudged her away.
She came back, and again he set her aside. She moved to the end of the bed and stared at him. He took off his glasses and stared back. It occurred to him that in the nearly two years he had owned the cat, he had never felt anything but obligation toward it.
Is that your kitty?
Louis reached for her, but she scampered off, disappearing into the bathroom.
He went back to reading. Another report. Another piece of evidence. All of it seemed in order, everything a prosecutor would need to convict a murdering rapist.
Interviews with Willard Jagger, the owner of Hamburger Heaven, Jack Cade’s customers. He even found Ahnert’s statement from Joyce Crutchfield, but it said only what Ray had already told him, that Kitty had no boyfriends and pretty much led a quiet life, going to school, working and taking care of her father.