Mom walks up behind me and squeezes my upper arm. “It’s going to be all right, Penn. I really believe that.”
Before I can answer, my new BlackBerry rings. After seeing Caitlin’s Treo earlier, I realized I couldn’t live without at least occasional access to my e-mail accounts. As soon as I set up the phone, I gave the number to Caitlin and Walker Dennis, telling them to use it only if they couldn’t reach me on one of my new TracFones.
“Who’s calling?” Mom asks anxiously.
“Sheriff Dennis, from Vidalia.”
She looks grave, and I realize she must fear the worst every time the phone rings.
“What you got, Walker?” I ask. “How are your deputies doing?”
“The second one just died. Terry Stamper was about to go into the OR over in Alexandria. Turns out his aorta was torn, and he bled out while he was on the gurney.”
“Jesus, Walker. I’m sorry.”
“Three kids, Penn. Oldest is six.”
“Is it about Tom?” my mother whispers, probably terrified by my expression.
I shake my head and cover the microphone hole. “Nothing to do with Dad. I may be a while. Why don’t you check on Annie?”
Mom nods and heads for the staircase.
“I’m so sorry, man,” I repeat, sitting at the banquette in the corner of the kitchen. “I wish we hadn’t gone to that warehouse.”
“That’s the job,” Dennis says stoically. “My men knew that. And we’re gonna finish this particular job.”
“I’m with you.”
“Good. I finally got ahold of Claude Devereux. I told him I wanted the Double Eagles in my office at seven A.M. tomorrow. All of them I could get, but for sure Snake Knox and Sonny Thornfield.”
“What did he say?”
“That he’d pass on my request—if he could find them.”
“He’ll pass it on, all right. He probably called Forrest Knox two seconds after you hung up. But Kaiser’s right. I wouldn’t expect to see the Eagles tomorrow.”
“Well, I’m going to question them one way or another, even if I have to extradite them from Texas. You could probably help me with that, huh?”
“Yes, but that’s a slow process. Have you found anything useful in what you confiscated during the busts?”
“Nothing against the Double Eagles. Going through the computers is slow work. But if we find something, it’s gonna be there.”
“What about your interrogations of the people you busted this morning?”
“Not one of them’s talked yet. They’re scared to death, Penn.”
“That tells me they know their employers well.”
“Yeah. But I’ve never seen anything like this. I feel like I could walk in there with a blowtorch and they wouldn’t say a word.”
This takes me back to my days as an ADA in Houston. “Have you checked out their families?”
“What do you mean?”
“I was thinking about hostages. Sometimes you see that in the drug trade. The Double Eagles might be holding some wives or kids, to ensure silence.”
“Oh. I get it. But tracing these families could be tough. Quite a few of these folks are illegals.”
“Do what you can. What about Leo Spivey’s death? Anything come from that?”
“It was probably murder, but there’s nothing pointing to anybody in particular. I’ll tell you something peculiar, though. I noticed it when I talked to Claude Devereux.”
“What’s that?”
“Claude sounded scared, too. Especially for a cocky old lawyer.”
I remember Pithy Nolan telling me that calling Claude Devereux a snake would be a slander to the serpent. “Lawyers who walk the line between both sides of the law tend to build up liabilities over the years. Maybe Devereux’s afraid that his note’s about to come due.”
“It is, if I have anything to do with it.”
“Are you going to tell John Kaiser you called Devereux?”
“I will if I hear the Eagles are coming in. Short of that, I got no use for Kaiser.”
“The FBI could help you with those computers you confiscated.”
Walker pauses for a moment. “I’ll think about it. What’s your plan?”
“I need to sleep, like you said. I’m about to pass out. But I can come over to the station if I can help you with anything.”
“Nah. Get some rest. If the Eagles do come in tomorrow, it’s gonna be a long day, and I want you there.”
“Thanks. And again . . . I’m sorry about your deputy.”
“Tough times, bud.”
Sheriff Dennis hangs up.
The sound of Annie’s footsteps comes through the ceiling. As I walk back into the den, television voices float down from the upstairs. Then my TracFone rings as I’m walking to the garage door to be sure it’s locked.
This time it’s Jewel Washington, the coroner. For a second I wonder if the final toxicology report has come in on Viola Turner, but that process usually takes weeks.
“Hey, Jewel,” I answer. “What’s up?”
“Are you close to a radio?”
“Uh . . . I don’t know. Hang on. What’s happening?”
“Just tune in to WMPR in Jackson. 90.1 on the FM dial.”
Walking back into the kitchen, I find no radio. But in the den stands an ancient console sound system, the kind where you lift the heavy wooden lid and find a turntable and radio. I switch on the system and wait for the tubes to warm up.
“I’ll have it in a few seconds, Jewel. Won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
A crazy thought hits me. “It’s not Dad, is it?”
“God, no. The opposite.”