“I don’t give a fuck.”
“State troopers are rolling,” Sessions reported as he ended the brief call. “I told them the general vicinity. One of them knows where this taxidermy sign is. They’re gonna meet us there. They’ll notify the Prentiss SO and sheriffs of neighboring counties since the loose bladder in there didn’t know exactly which one this place is in. Just in case it’s in Louisiana, authorities over there are being alerted, too.”
Harry looked at Neal. “It’s outside PD jurisdiction, but if you want in on the party, follow close.”
“Tell them about the fingerprint,” Nugent said, virtually loping to keep up as the group made their way toward the side exit of the courthouse.
Neal said, “A fingerprint lifted from the back of a dining chair in Connor’s kitchen belongs to a man in Otterman’s employ. Match came up immediately. He has a list of priors. Illegal possession of firearms. Assault. Suspected but never charged in two execution-style homicides.”
Harry looked at Neal and smirked. “Too bad Crawford’s not here to say ‘told you so,’ but he wouldn’t anyway, ’cause that’s too much like something you’d say.”
Sessions was the first to reach the exit door and held it open for the others as they filed through. Last in line was Harry. He stopped and turned to face Holly, who had kept pace with them.
The Ranger took her by the shoulders. “Judge, ma’am, this is as far as you go. I’ve got your cell number. I’ll call you as soon as we know something.”
Beneath his heavy hands, her shoulders slumped with disappointment and resignation. “Please be careful. And I want to know immediately…whatever,” she finished tremulously.
“Understood. Oh, and sorry about the f-bomb. That guy gets under my skin.” He released her and hurried to catch up with Sessions. They climbed into an SUV similar to Crawford’s and sped away. Neal and Nugent peeled out after them.
Holly counted to ten, then ran to her car and followed.
Upon seeing his father, Crawford’s heart lurched.
Conrad’s feet had been tied to the front legs of the chair with what looked like fishing line. His hands were secured together behind his back. A rolled handkerchief cut like a bit through his mouth and was knotted at the back of his head.
But it was Conrad’s eyes that disturbed Crawford the most. They gazed up at him with shame, hopelessness, and remorse.
Otterman said, “I don’t have to tell you, do I?”
Crawford dropped Joe’s revolver to the floor. “Cut him loose.”
“You wouldn’t come in here with just one handgun.”
Crawford reached toward the small of his back.
“Easy,” Otterman warned.
Crawford removed Smitty’s nine-millimeter from the holster. It joined the other on the floor.
“Kick them away.”
He did.
“Thank you.”
“He doesn’t need to be gagged anymore. Take it off him.”
“Not until you and I have discussed some things.” Otterman used his foot beneath the table to push out a chair for Crawford. “Sit and place your hands down flat on the table.”
Crawford did as told. “You can point the damn pistol at me now.”
Otterman grinned, but kept the gun against Conrad’s temple. “Your father’s a coward.”
“Like that’s news?”
“I had him picked up this morning, and I’m told his efforts to defend himself were pathetic. His house was described as a rat hole.”
“Worse than that.”
“Oh, you’re going for indifference.” He barked a laugh. “Won’t work. You care for him or you wouldn’t have rushed to his rescue last night.”
Still feigning detachment, Crawford said, “I did it for me, not him. I don’t want everybody knowing what a worthless drunk my old man is.”
“But everybody already does.”
“My cross to bear.”
Otterman regarded Conrad with scorn. “Just now, he could’ve warned you by making some kind of sound, even with the gag. But he knew if he did, I’d blow his brains out. So he sat there as mute as a stump and let his son walk right into his own killing.”
“I’m not dead yet.”
Crawford’s words carried a sinister implication, but Otterman remained unfazed. He tipped his head in the direction of the creek. “My man?”
“Resisted arrest.”
“Dead?”
“He didn’t take me seriously.”
“And the other one?”
“Sent his regrets.”
Otterman cracked a smile, or what passed for one. “I was told you’re a smart-ass.”
“Who told you that?”
“Friend of mine.” This time the smile that spread slowly across his face was intolerably smug. “A very close friend who knew you well.”