“Because your dad’s getting his ass kicked?” Serenity suggested.
I laughed, but I knew that explained only the Baldwins’ visit. The only thing that could be driving old Will Devine to cut a deal was the raw fear of death. For himself or his family—or both. And even then, betrayal is an almost incomprehensible step to take. For to date, every Double Eagle who even tried to betray his “brothers” has died for it, and died badly.
Despite the fact that Serenity and I come bearing gifts, Quentin lets us no farther into Edelweiss than the main hall, which irritates me more than a little, since I own the house. He’s wearing a robe cut off and hemmed just below his stumps, and a crumpled comforter lies in the front part of his wheelchair’s seat. Doris stands far down the hall behind him, just outside the door to the kitchen. She’s wearing a translucent nightgown that leaves little to the imagination, even in the faint light spilling onto her from the kitchen.
Quentin is studying the first photocopied page in his lap, after grumpily chastising me for bothering him at this hour. I don’t know why he’s taking so long to speak. I highlighted the names of Fannie Elder and Claude Devereux in yellow, with the dates of their rendezvous. But Quentin is staring down at the photocopy like a doctor deciphering a litany of lab test results.
“You see those names, right?” I ask. “The highlighted ones?”
He doesn’t look up. “I’m not blind yet, goddamn it.”
“You get the significance, right?”
At last he raises his head, his face dark with frustration. “Reverend Baldwin’s out for blood, isn’t he? Forty years of sitting on this, and now he’s ready to blow the whole city wide open. I’ve known Fannie Elder for fifty years. And yes, I know that coonass snake-in-the-grass Claude Devereux. Did Reverend Baldwin tell you that Devereux is definitely Joe’s father?”
“He did.”
“Damn.” Quentin folds the sheet and slips it into his wheelchair pocket. “I guess he would know, if anybody would. He’s Fannie’s pastor. Goddamn it.”
“Don’t you think this could be grounds for a mistrial?”
“A mistrial?” Quentin looks at me like I’m crazy. “Man, I don’t want a mistrial! I want a fair trial.”
“But Quentin—”
“This isn’t the easy call you seem to think it is, Penn. Judicial bias is a funny thing. For one thing, all judges are biased, some way or other. That’s human nature. You start trying to prove it, though, and you’ll run out of friendly jurisdictions quick.”
“You’re not worried about that. Not anymore.”
“Because I have one foot in the grave? Is that what you’re saying?”
“All I’m saying is, look at the situation for what it is.”
“And what is the situation, my brother? As you see it?”
It takes a lot of will to control my frustration. “Judicial bias in a trial is like a rock under a rushing stream. You can’t see it, and you might get through the rapids without hitting it, but that rock is steering the current the whole fucking time. The rock itself doesn’t even know what effect it’s having. But in the end, it’s decisive.”
Quentin smiles. “That’s a pretty good analogy, boy. You’ve got a way with words. But don’t start kidding yourself that you’re a voting member of this defense team. You’re on it because your mama wanted you there. Now, if that’s all, I’ve got things to do.”
“Surely you’re not going to just sit on this.”
The old lawyer takes a deep breath, then blows out all the air in one long rush. “Doris?” he says over his shoulder. “Bring me my cell phone, please.”
The shadow behind him disappears, then quickly returns with the phone.
“Dial Joe Elder for me.”
As Doris does his bidding, Quentin looks at Serenity and says, “I’ve been reading your book. To help myself sleep.”
Tee doesn’t rise to his bait.
“Turns out it’s not as boring as I hoped it would be.”
Doris hands him the phone. While Quentin awaits an answer, he looks up at Serenity again and shakes his head. Then I hear a tinny version of Joe Elder’s bass voice saying, “What the hell are you doing calling me, Quentin?”
“Joe, this is important. . . . Yes, I know. I taught you that, damn it. . . . No, it’s nothing about the trial. It’s personal. . . . No, not about me. About you. I need to give you a heads-up, brother, and you don’t want me to talk about this on the phone. . . . How about you meet me on the bluff, down by the old pecan factory? . . . Listen, Joe. This is no game. This is brother to brother. . . . Right. Thirty minutes’ll work. See you soon.”
Quentin clicks end and hands the phone back over his shoulder to Doris, who retreats down the hall in her nightgown.
“Anything else?” he asks in a challenging tone.
“Yes. What if I told you I may have a Double Eagle ready to turn state’s evidence?”
To this, at least, Quentin has no sarcastic reply.
“This man has almost certainly committed murder with Snake Knox. He probably participated in the rape of Viola Turner, as well. The one at the machine shop.”
“Who is it?” Quentin asks, his eyes as serious as those of a man contemplating a duel.
“Will Devine, the man whose truck was parked near Viola’s house on the night she died. The truck with the Darlington Academy sticker on it.”
Quentin whistles long and low. “How’d you pull off that trick?”
I tilt my head at Serenity, and Quentin gives her a knowing leer. “I might have guessed Wonder Woman here had something to do with it. Well. That changes things a bit. You said you may have a Double Eagle. What exactly does that mean?”
“We’re going to meet his wife and son in a little while. We won’t know for sure what we have until then.”
Quentin is obviously working something out in his mind. “Devine’s going to want a plea deal before he testifies in open court and implicates himself. And he’s going to want protection. What are the odds you can get a federal plea deal done in time for Will Devine to help your father?”
“How long does that give me?”
“Hell, Penn, I need him by tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!”
“Boy, how many rabbits you expect me to pull out of my ass?”
“I see your point. Well, I can sure as hell put John Kaiser on it. And I know the U.S. attorney for the Western District of Louisiana. It’s certainly possible—in theory.”
Quentin nods slowly. “All right, then. You get to work on Devine. Just don’t get killed. You could go to a meeting like that expecting fat Will Devine and arrive to find Snake Knox waiting—like finding a timber rattler where you expect a box turtle.”
“We’ll be careful.”
“I’m guessing Ms. Butler there can take care of herself. Maybe she can take care of you, too.”
“Kiss my ass, Quentin.”
“Are we done?” he asks.
“You never got back to me about what Jewel Washington told me.”
“About Byrd’s deputies possibly tampering with evidence?”
“Yes! The hair and fiber evidence.”
Quentin turns up his palms. “Have you got me any proof?”
“No.”