Titus left the police station and headed out near the county line that buttressed up next to Strayer County by way of the West River. He turned down Griffin Road, then turned down Kingston Lane. There were three houses on Kingston Lane, three modest ranchers that sat in a row with the marsh and the left bank of the West River in their backyards. One house belonged to Cabot Venturis, a chef at the Pax Romana Restaurant, what passed for fine dining in Charon. Another house belonged to Seth and Sueann Sutcliff. Seth was a shift supervisor at the flag factory and Titus thought he remembered someone saying Sueann sold some candles and air fresheners through a multilevel marketing company that was costing her more money than she was making.
The third house belonged to one of his deputies.
He turned down that driveway and passed the white oak trees that lined the exposed aggregate. The trees were bathed in Spanish moss that hung down like the hair of banshees. The afternoon light billowed through the branches and helped to cast dark shadows across his path.
Titus parked next to a red truck and a gray sedan and a jaunty little blue two-door coupe. He got out, straightened his tie, and adjusted his hat before heading for the door. Titus rang the doorbell and waited.
Barbara Sadler opened the door.
“Hello, Titus,” she said. Her long blond hair was tied up in a messy bun. She was wearing an old dirty T-shirt and a pair of cut-off jean shorts. She didn’t smile at him or ask him to come in. She stood there with her hands on her hips and her mouth set in a tight line. Her demeanor told him she didn’t think much of Titus suspending Tom.
“Tom here?” Titus asked.
“He’s out back. We been draining the pool,” Barbara said. She still didn’t invite him inside the house.
“I need to speak with him. Can I come in?” Titus asked. Barbara looked at him like the last thing she wanted was him to walk through the door into her home, but she stepped aside all the same.
“He’s on the deck,” she said. Titus walked through the living room, through the kitchen, and out the sliding glass doors that led to the deck. Barbara didn’t follow him.
Tom was sitting in a wooden Adirondack chair, sipping from a large yellow plastic cup. Titus stood in front of him. Tom took a long swig from the cup. He grimaced, then set the cup down on a table next to his chair.
“How’s it going, Titus? Y’all making any headway with the Spearman thing?” Tom asked.
Titus looked down at him. He studied his baggy eyes and his narrow nose full of broken veins. His jaundiced eyes. How long had Tom been an alcoholic? And why hadn’t Titus noticed before? Perhaps it was Tom’s easygoing manner that had masked his dependency on spirits. Not the holy kind, but the kind that came in a bottle. Tom went along to get along and never made much noise. That helped hide his addiction and his duplicity.
“I’m not here to talk about that, Tom,” Titus said.
“You here to take me off suspension?” Tom asked, but even he didn’t seem to believe that notion.
“Tom, I know about you and Jasper,” Titus said. No use beating around the bush.
Tom grabbed his cup and took it to the head. Light amber liquid dribbled down his scruff-covered chin. He put the empty cup back on the table. “What about me and Jasper? I go by the Watering Hole every now and then. Other than that, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
Titus took off his shades. He used the temple of his sunglasses to tap the badge on his chest.
“You know this thing here, it’s more than a badge. It’s a promise. You put this on and you’re supposed to be giving your word that you will protect and serve, but more than that, you’re promising to do your very best to keep the people you serve safe. Keep their children safe. Their sons, their daughters. Their brothers and their sisters. That’s what it’s supposed to mean, anyway. That’s the dream, ain’t it? But when you break that promise, this star becomes a cheap piece of tin and you become a liar,” Titus said.
“Titus, what are you talking about?” Tom said. He spoke so low he might as well have been talking to himself.
“You took money from Jasper to tell him when we were gonna raid him. We tried to pop in on him four times in the last year. And all four times in the week before we moved on him you made a huge deposit in the bank. Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars. Just one dollar under the automatic report threshold for the IRS. For a total of forty grand,” Titus said. He didn’t state it as an accusation but as an immutable fact. Tom studied his empty cup.
“I make twenty-eight thousand dollars a year as a deputy. My daughter wants to go to University of Mary Washington this fall. My wife has had one mastectomy and might need another,” Tom said.
“Tom, I’m sorry about Barbara and I hope Allison gets into Mary Washington, but don’t sit and tell me your hard-luck story when you pushing a Gladiator truck and Barbara is rocking a Lexus and Allison is in a Mini Cooper as we sit on your twenty-by-twenty deck on the back of your brick house overlooking your in-ground pool. Don’t disrespect me like that. At least don’t disrespect me any more than you already have,” Titus said, thinking of his own off-duty vehicle, an eight-year-old Jeep Wagoneer.
“I’m not saying anything. I’m telling you where I’m at right now. You don’t understand. I … I got a lot of things on me,” Tom said.
“That why you shot Latrell? Because you had a lot of things on you?” Titus asked.
“What … Why would say that?” Tom asked.
Titus moved closer to Tom’s chair. In the distance a loon sent its love song over the marsh.
“Latrell had seen you at Jasper’s. Seen you talking. He knew you were on the take. So, when he came down those steps after blowing Jeff Spearman’s head off you saw an opening to get rid of him and make sure he never breathed a word to anyone about seeing you with Jasper. It was just a happy coincidence for you that he was armed and dangerous. You saw an opportunity and you took it. And the fucked up thing is you’re probably going to get away with it. The county attorney will never touch you now that you killed that crazy Black boy who endangered the best and brightest of Charon County. You’re a hero now, and no one wants to peel back the mask on a hero,” Titus said. He leaned forward and put his hands on the arms of the chair. He and Tom were less than an inch apart. Almost close enough to kiss.
“So, I can’t put you in jail for first-degree murder, but I can damn sure take that piece of tin and take your gun and make sure you never wear a Charon Sheriff’s Office uniform again. It ain’t much. In fact, it’s just a whore’s hair above nothing, but it’s how I’m going to fulfill my promise. It’s how I keep my people safe. And, Tom? You better not put so much as your pinkie toe across the line from now on. I’m going to be watching you, and if you fuck up just a little bit, I’m going to make it my mission to put you under the jail. You better not even tear the tag off a goddamned mattress,” Titus whispered.
He stood up straight.
“You can mail the badge. Drop the gun off tomorrow.”
“Titus … I didn’t—”
“Tom, how many of your neighbors’ children ODed because you was carrying water for Jasper? How many of them are in the fucking ground because you needed a new pool pump? You think about that for a while before you ever try to speak to me again,” Titus said.
He went down the steps of the deck and walked back to his SUV through the front yard. He thought he heard Tom sobbing as he walked away.
* * *
He caught his father making pork chops when he came through the front door. He could smell the onions and peppers and garlic from the living room. Titus took off his hat and his sunglasses and joined his father in the kitchen.
“What you doing in here, old man? Trying to burn the house down?” Titus said in a deadpan voice.
“Boy, shut your mouth. I’m fixing pork chops for the repast tomorrow,” Albert said.
“These ain’t for dinner? Pop, you falling down on the job,” Titus said.
Albert let out an exasperated sigh. “You think I wouldn’t cook for my son first?” There’s some in the icebox for you, just gotta heat them up.”
Titus went and pulled a plate of pork chops, mashed potatoes, and collard greens out of the fridge. He popped it in the microwave and got a beer while the radiation did its trick. Albert flipped the pork chops in the sizzling grease while Titus sipped. Titus watched as his father’s shoulders flexed and then relaxed, then flexed again.
Finally, he turned to look at his son.
“I was wondering, and I know you’re busy with all this stuff going on, and I know you ain’t much for church, but I was wondering if…”