After he returns to the interrogation room, I count to ten, then hurry to find Sheriff Dennis’s utility room.
The big man is waiting for me two corners down the hallway. Drafting behind his broad back, I move down a second hallway, then take a sharp turn into a concrete-floored area that stinks of disinfectant and old vomit. Dennis turns right, into a cul-de-sac, then opens a door to a dim, ten-by-ten room crowded with cleaning supplies, paper towels, toilet paper, and mops. Unshielded pipes and conduit run along the walls and hang from the ceiling. It is to one of these ceiling pipes that Sonny Thornfield has been chained by his wrists. His dark Creole skin cannot hide the nearly bloodless state of his face. This man is a quivering mass of fear, which makes me wonder what Walt said to him during Sheriff Dennis’s absence. Thornfield actually looks relieved to see me as Walt looms at his side. Does Sonny think I’ve come to rescue him? Walker closes the door behind us, then takes up a position behind me.
“Thank God,” Sonny almost whimpers. “Help me, Mayor. This guy’s crazy! He already tried to torture me a couple of days ago.”
With his cowboy hat pulled low and his expression grim, Walt Garrity certainly looks the part of the professional torturer.
“Listen to me, Sonny,” I say. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer every one. Nobody’s ever going to know where I got my information. I promise you that much protection. But—if you don’t answer, Captain Garrity there is going to do whatever is necessary to make you talk. Is that clear?”
“Just tell me what you want! My heart can’t take no more strain, Mayor. I don’t know nothing anyway.”
“I hope that’s a lie, Sonny. For your sake.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to know where my father is.”
Sonny’s eyes go wide, and he looks from me to Dennis, then back. “I don’t know! The last time I saw him was Tuesday night. Him and this fella here kidnapped me from my fishing camp. They tortured me in a van, and then they killed that trooper!” Spittle flies from Thornfield’s mouth in his panicked state. “I don’t care about that trooper, ’cause Deke Dunn was an asshole anyhow. But this’un here wanted to kill me afterwards! Thank God Dr. Cage made him take me to the hospital. Doc’s a good man, and I know you are, too. Please don’t let him hurt me. I’ve got grandkids, and my heart can’t take it. I already had one coronary this week. I can’t stand no more, I swear.”
One glance at Walt tells me Sonny is telling the truth about Tuesday. But my gut says he’s lying about my father. Unfortunately, he’s not lying about his heart condition.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Sonny. But I will. And you’re right: you could have another heart attack at any moment. If you don’t want to die for Forrest Knox, you’d better tell me where Dad is. I don’t care about any of the rest of it. Tell me the truth, no matter how bad it is. Is my father dead?”
The old man shakes his head, on the verge of tears. “No . . . he ain’t. At least I don’t think he is.”
My heart leaps and begins to pound. “Tell me where he is!”
“Forrest took him last night. Doc was hiding out at that colored lawyer’s place in Jefferson County. But Snake didn’t want to come in here without some kind of insurance. He was worried about some kind of setup, something like that planted meth, I guess.”
“So what did he do?”
“We took the doc back from Forrest last night.”
“Where is he now?”
“You swear to God you won’t tell Snake or Forrest I told you?” Sonny’s eyes go to Dennis. “They’ll kill me, Sheriff. Ya’ll will just go get the doc and say you found him, right? If I tell you where he’s at, will you do that?”
“There’s no ‘if’ to you telling, Sonny,” Walker says from behind me. “Talk.”
“Okay, I’m trusting you. Dr. Cage is at my little fishing cabin on Old River.”
I can scarcely believe this. Old River is less than ten miles from where we stand. “Are you lying, Sonny? Are you trying to stall me?”
“No! I swear by Jesus!”
“That’s where we picked this guy up Tuesday,” Walt says. “There’s no legal record of the place. We found it using a GPS tracker.”
“Who’s guarding my father?” I ask Sonny.
“Nobody! We’re all here. I swear, Mayor, he’s just tied up good.”
“Is he hurt?”
“He ain’t in the best shape, but he’s breathing.” Thornfield’s voice betrays how little confidence he has in his captive’s well-being.
“My truck’s outside,” Walt says excitedly. “Let’s go get him.”
“Wait,” says Sheriff Dennis. “What do we do with Sonny meanwhile?”
“Nothing yet.” I’m surprised by the emotionless tone of my own voice. “I’ve got one more question. Who killed Viola Turner, Sonny? No bullshit. Your life depends on it.”
The old man’s chin and lips quiver as he shakes his head. “I don’t know. I swear to God, Mayor. Snake might know, but I don’t.”
I’ve watched too many suspects lie to be fooled by Thornfield’s false sincerity. “You’re lying. Make him tell me, Walt.”
Sonny’s eyes bulge as Walt grabs a long, wet towel, throws it over the pipe, and quickly ties a knot. With the dangling end he ties a second knot around the hanging cloth, making a functional noose.
“Oh, no, now,” Thornfield cries, starting to weep. “My heart’ll blow out if you lift me up there! I don’t know nothing about that nurse, I swear.”
I lean forward until my eyes are only inches from his. “Who killed Viola, Sonny? I know you saw her die.”
Thornfield is too terrified to retreat from his lie. He shakes his head like a thousand suspects I’ve seen driven into a corner, clinging desperately to what they believe is their only currency.
“Lift him up there, guys,” I say coldly.
Walt grabs Sonny by the shoulders and positions him beneath the noose. Sheriff Dennis steps around me in the tight space and grabs the old man by the waist.