Taking my .357 Magnum from the table beside me, I go to the window and look out. A white pickup truck is parked across the road. The same white pickup that Lincoln Turner was driving last night. Rather than frightening me, the sight of him stalking our house suddenly pushes me past my limit.
Running to the door, I jerk it open and race down the steps, but before I can reach the truck, Turner guns his motor and screeches away from the curb, headed toward the river. Like last night, I want to follow him, but tonight I can’t risk leaving Annie and Mom alone.
Taking out my cell phone, I call Chief Logan and ask why the hell his patrolmen haven’t managed to locate Turner yet, when he’s obviously stalking my family. Logan apologizes and promises to find Lincoln within the next few hours.
Only slightly mollified, I hang up and trudge back toward the steps of my house. Before I reach them, I hear another engine coming from the direction opposite where Lincoln fled. Crouching behind my car, I watch until I recognize the vehicle, which turns out to be a Concordia Parish sheriff’s cruiser. It pulls into the space Lincoln just vacated, and its engine dies. Walker Dennis climbs out and looks up at my front door.
I start to rise from my hiding place, but then I remember John Kaiser asking if Sheriff Dennis might have set up the hit on Henry Sexton—or at least made it possible by pulling his guard patrols. It’s certainly possible, but as I watch the new sheriff studying my door, all my instincts tell me he’s no threat, but rather a man trying to decide whether I can be trusted.
When I rise from behind the Audi, my pistol in my hand, Dennis stares at me in amazement. “You gonna use that pistol, or whistle Dixie?” he asks, a strange smile on his face. “What the hell are you doing, Mayor?”
“Lincoln Turner was just here. He’s stalking me.”
Dennis shakes his head, meaning to convey sympathy.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me this morning. About busting the Knoxes’ meth operations.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t prove they were involved in any of that.”
The sheriff waves his hand dismissively. “I didn’t want to go into any of that with Henry Sexton around. But I’ve got a history with Forrest Knox.”
An electric chill of presentiment races along my arms. “Tell me.”
“Two years back, I lost a cousin who worked undercover in our department. I was just a deputy then. Mikey ran our K-9 unit. Long story short, he got shot making an undercover buy with another cop. Earlier that day, he told me what was supposed to go down. He and this state-cop-slash-informant were supposed to buy some bulk meth chemicals. When Mikey was killed, the state CIB told us he’d died alone. They claimed their guy had been working two hundred miles away with the Gulf Coast High Density Drug Traffic Unit. I tried to follow up that story, but every door got slammed in my face. So one day I took Mikey’s drug dog to where the bastard was. The dog nearly went crazy. I pushed for an investigation based on that, but it got quashed. By Lieutenant Colonel Forrest Knox, in case you’re wondering.”
“I’m sorry, Walker. I had no idea.”
“Bottom line, I guess I’ve been waiting for somebody to come along who’s willing to go to war with the Knox family. My DA sure isn’t hungry to take them on. Most people from Natchez don’t care what happens on my side of the river at all. But after what you did back in October with that dogfighting ring, I figure you might be the guy.”
I nod, weighing the possible outcomes of my earlier plan. “Putting legal pressure on the Knoxes sounds like a good idea to me. Especially since they’d be facing mandatory drug sentences. How soon could you do it?”
“And keep the element of surprise? Twenty-four hours. Maybe thirty-six. It depends on a lot of variables.”
Given that Dad has jumped bail, this doesn’t seem fast enough. As I look into Sheriff Dennis’s earnest eyes, another thought strikes me—something that’s been simmering in my mind ever since I visited Pithy Nolan, and she reminded me of Judge Leo Marston. Back in 1968, J. Edgar Hoover refused a request by one of his agents to tap Judge Marston’s phone, even though he was a murder suspect. As a result, Special Agent Dwight Stone broke into Marston’s home and planted bugs in every part of it, including an outdoor gazebo. Then Stone did something he called “shaking the tree,” which, roughly translated, means scaring the hell out of the suspect. Within hours, Stone got a recording of Judge Marston discussing the murder with Ray Presley—under the gazebo.
“Walker, do you know a judge who will give you a warrant to tap Brody Royal’s cell phone?”
The sheriff whistles long and low.
“Plus his son-in-law, Randall Regan.”
“Jesus, man. I don’t know. The requirements to start a tap are pretty stringent. And Brody’s a heavy hitter in this state.”
“Any chance?”
“Well … I know one judge who’s no fan of his.”
My mother’s voice calls from my front door. “Penn? What are you doing?”
“Talking to the Concordia sheriff! Go back inside.”
Walker looks over and sees Annie standing beside my mother, a suitcase in her hand.
“You guys going on a trip?” he asks.
I give him a look stripped of all affect. “I’m not going to lose my daughter the way you lost your cousin.”
The sheriff’s face closes like a curtain. “Will I be able to reach you tomorrow morning?”
“Call my cell.”
“Okay. You take care of your family. I’ll proceed on all fronts.”
“Thanks, Walker. Thanks for taking a stand. Henry was working on his own for too long, and we all share the blame for that.”