“I’m about to show it to Brother Shad.”
She shakes her head again, then looks up at me with new eyes. “I was wrong, wasn’t I? You’re not quite as na?ve as your daddy, after all.”
“I hope not.”
“Lord, I’d give a month’s salary to see Shadrach’s face when you show him this.”
“A lot of people would. Jewel, do you know anything about Lincoln Turner?”
She cuts her eyes at me. “Not yet. But I’ve been asking around, quiet like. I’ve already seen him twice today, hangin’ round the courthouse like the ghost at the feast. Don’t worry, I’ll get to the bottom of him.”
“Thanks. What about Judge Joe Elder? He’s not another Arthel Minor, is he?” Minor is a recently retired hack who in the past colluded with Shad to go after one of my father’s partners.
“No, no. Judge Joe’s a good man, and smart as a whip. But he did grow up over in Ferriday. I’m sure he took his share of abuse from the rednecks over there. He’s no reverse racist or anything, but—” Jewel appears to be blushing. “Joe probably wouldn’t find it hard to believe that your father took advantage of Viola back in the old days. Even though I do. I can see why Shad would want Joe over Judge Franklin.”
“Thank you, Jewel.”
She turns back to my monitor and clucks her tongue three times. “My grandbaby fair worships that Darius Jones. But Lord, Shadrach Johnson … pride surely goeth before destruction.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
She looks up, her eyes showing confusion. Then she shakes her head and says, “My daddy told me politics was dirty business. I guess he was more right than I knew. I’d tell you good luck, but I don’t want any part of this.”
“Thank you, Jewel.” I hold up the autopsy report. “For this.”
She nods once, then hurries through my door, pulling her coat around her like a woman going out to face a storm.
Reaching down to my mouse, I move the cursor to the File menu, and press PRINT.
CHAPTER 39
“THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY is expecting you, Mr. Mayor,” Shad Johnson’s male assistant says. “Go in.”
When I open the door, I freeze. As expected, Shad is waiting behind his enormous desk, but I didn’t expect to find Sheriff Billy Byrd’s bulk wedged into a chair to Shad’s left, watching me with a smirk.
“Come in, Mr. Mayor,” Shad says with apparent deference. “Close the door.”
Shad motions me to the chair before his desk, but I don’t sit. Instead I walk forward and grip the chair back, bracing myself for whatever these two have cooked up. They’re the unlikeliest allies I’ve ever seen—a Harvard-educated, liberal black lawyer and a redneck sheriff who barely escaped high school with a diploma—yet they have colluded before, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
“What’s the deal, guys?”
“No deal,” says Shad. “Congratulations on your father getting bail. He obviously has a lot of support in the community.”
Sheriff Byrd gives a porcine snort, his eyes barely visible beneath the brim of his Stetson.
“After the initial appearance,” I say, ignoring Byrd, “you told me there were some things I didn’t know. You said you thought we ought to clear the air. Then you ran straight to the grand jury for an indictment. Have you cut some kind of deal with Joe Elder to revoke Dad’s bail?”
Shad and Billy share a fast look. “Judge Elder will not only be handling the case for now. I can also tell you in confidence that he’s considering staying on the bench through its conclusion.”
A wave of nausea loosens my bowels. Shad wouldn’t have asked Elder to stay through this trial unless he were confident of some kind of bias.
“Don’t look so frightened, Penn. Joe Elder’s the most impartial judge to sit in this county for decades. He’s firm but fair. Your father won’t get a free pass, of course, but then he shouldn’t. Nobody should.”
“Is Elder going to revoke Dad’s bail?” I ask in a barely controlled voice.
Shad sniffs and looks over at a window. “That’s unlikely without an arraignment. But I’d expect that Monday, when the judge comes back to work. Now, let’s move on to more pressing matters—”
“What did you say to the grand jury?” I demand. “Did you repeat Lincoln Turner’s allegations about his paternity? Because if you did, and it gets out, you’re going to find yourself—”
“Whoa, there, Mayor.” Shad glances at Byrd again. “What did I tell you? He can’t speak three sentences without threatening me.”
“You can’t say you haven’t asked for it.”
The DA shakes his head with what looks like forbearance. “I told you, you’ve got the wrong idea about me. But I’ll let the sheriff explain.”
Sheriff Byrd has a set of keys in his hand, and he works each key through his fingers as he speaks. “Couple months back,” he says, “when all that shit broke loose about the casino boat? With the dogfighting and such?”
I give him a faint nod, hyperconscious of the photograph in the inside pocket of my sport coat.
“Back when your girlfriend was putting your picture in the paper every day, saying what a big hero you were?”
“The police chief was in there quite a bit, too,” I remind him. The jurisdictional disputes between the Adams County Sheriff’s Office and the Natchez Police Department are legendary.
“My point,” Sheriff Byrd says, “is that you and Chief Logan seemed happy to take all the credit for the dogfighting and prostitution busts. And I let you. But—I only done that so’s I could protect my sources.”
It takes restraint not to laugh at this. “Sources? What the hell are you talking about?”
The sheriff raises his hat brim a few millimeters, letting light into his puffy little eyes. “I’m talking about the dogfighting and whoring that was going on, on both sides of the river. I’d been investigating that for quite some time when all hell broke loose in October.”