Smoke and Mirrors wm-4 Page 4

“I’m not going home without you,” Sean said with a finality Winter was all too familiar with. She was holding Olivia and standing in the RV’s master bedroom while he packed clean clothes into his canvas duffel. “Your problem is you have never learned to say no.”

  “If it’s Styer,” Winter said, “I have to stop him. If it isn’t, I’d like to know who wants me to think it is. If Brad didn’t know who I was, I’d be a suspect under a bright light in some interrogation room.”

  “Say it is Styer. Maybe if we go home, he’ll just leave,” she said. “Maybe he’s done here and he’ll move on.”

  “And let me go? Not likely.”

  “But why would he be after you?”

  “Who knows? Maybe he’s had time to think about what happened in New Orleans and he regrets leaving a loose end. He knows I won’t ever forgive him for what he did to Hank and Millie. I’m his enemy. Maybe he figures to end our unfinished business with one of his little games.”

  “You aren’t a killer. Are you prepared to kill him? You know he’s trying to kill you, and if anybody can, he can.”

  “He may figure that killing innocent people is a good way to get me involved. The card and the toothpick mean I’d figure it was him. I have a feeling he’ll keep killing until it’s time to move on me, while he watches me from close by. It has to end here, and fast.”

  “You can get those CIA cutouts to deal with him. They would, wouldn’t they? They’re still looking for him. Let those bastards handle their own kind.”

  “I won’t go that route. Besides, if they tried and missed, I’d be in worse shape than I am now. I’ve thought this through, Sean.”

  “How did he know you’d be out here in the middle of nowhere, and now?”

  “I don’t think he’d harm you or the kids. But he might try something to get me to come after him.”

  “I thought he underwent some sort of spiritual conversion in New Orleans when he walked away from his contract to kill you.”

  “So did I. But I think there’s only one way to deal with Paulus Styer.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek, which Winter gently wiped away.

  “Massey, nobody ever sees him coming. You aren’t forgetting that you didn’t.”

  “I wasn’t aware that he even existed then. That isn’t the case here. I don’t care how well he disguises himself. This time I’ll know him when I see him.”

  “Daddy, gep me op!” Olivia said, reaching out her hands. Sean handed her to Winter and, taking her, he kissed his daughter on her cheek.

  “I’ll check into a motel in Tunica and call you. Go turn in the RV and take the first flight back home tomorrow. Will you do that so I won’t have to worry?”

  “I guess falling in love with a man who attracts violence is the downside of our otherwise perfect relationship,” she said, hugging him and her daughter. “Good thing the upside makes it all worthwhile.”

  “I’m sorry, Sean,” Winter said. “You don’t know how sorry I am.”

  Sean smiled. “Massey, it isn’t like I didn’t know what you were when I met you. You’ll do what you want to do.”

  Thirty minutes later Winter put the venison tenderloins and the quarters of deer meat into the camp’s cooler, figuring he’d return in a day or two and take it to the processor in Batesville, or let Billy Lyons give it to somebody who would make use of it. Winter threw his duffel into the rear of the rented Jeep, turned the RV around, and Sean followed the RV ten miles to Interstate 55, where they switched vehicles. Sean and Winter honked enthusiastic see-you-soons for the half mile before they arrived at the turnoff to Tunica. Faith Ann and Rush waved and made comical faces from the RV’s rear window until it pulled away. And as Sean drove the motor home north toward Memphis, she carried the majority of Winter’s heart with her.

  11

  The Tunica County sheriff’s office was located within the jail facility, a building with all the architectural charm of a shoebox, just down the road from a decrepit cotton gin. Winter parked in the lot across from a pole flying the Mississippi State and United States flags, locked the rented Jeep wagon, and strode up the wide concrete walkway to the front doors, opening them for an elderly woman and a small boy wearing a hooded jacket and threadbare shoes. In the reception area, a line of chairs faced a reception nook where two clerks stood behind bulletproof glass. On the far wall was a row of framed black and white portraits of past sheriffs of Tunica County. Several of the early sheriffs looked like hard-faced lawmen from the Old West, with sweeping handlebar mustaches, strong jaws, and serious eyes sheltered by bushy brows. In the more recent photos, they looked less like gunslingers and more like businessmen who had taken the job for a change in routine. Winter wondered if the last photo was of the sheriff who had been arrested by the Feds for corruption.

  Speaking through a slot in the window, Winter asked the clerk to let the sheriff know he was there.

  After a couple of minutes, an attractive black woman dressed in a gray business suit came out into the reception area smiling at Winter.

  “Mr. Massey,” she said, holding out her hand, which he shook. “I’m Bettye Barry, the sheriff’s assistant.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Sheriff Barnett is expecting you. I’ll take you back.”

  Winter crossed through the metal-detector gate and set off the alarm, which the receptionist ignored. They went down a short hall and took a right at the first intersection, pausing at a steel door with a built-in glass panel. Bettye used her card to open the lock and showed him through, then opened the door to the sheriff’s office spaces. The reception area was small, but the sheriff’s office wasn’t.

  Inside, Winter spotted Brad Barnett at his desk talking on the phone. As Winter entered, Brad hung up.

  “That was the MBI,” Brad said.

  “They coming in?” Winter asked.

  “They aren’t overly enthusiastic about it. Said it looked like a county matter-a hunting accident I could solve. They’re going to review the evidence at the state lab, the crime-scene pictures, and the autopsy report when it comes back from the ME’s office in Jackson. They don’t see a likelihood of solving this if it isn’t an accident, a jilted boyfriend, or nobody confesses or strikes again. If this is a hate crime they’ll get involved, but it’s obvious they don’t want to jump in on a dead-ender. I think it’s more about a dead black girl from a poor family. They assume all county sheriffs here are crooked based on our department’s recent history. This guy you think committed the murder, who’s he on the run from? The FBI?”

  “He’s not officially wanted by anyone in this country. If you’ll get the toothpick ready to ship, I can check it against a sample of his DNA I have.”

  “That takes months.”

  “Get it packed for shipping. I have a friend in the FBI who told me about a technique for getting DNA run in a matter of hours. I’ll call her.”

  “I have someone checking the crime database to see if any toothpicks have shown up in any other killings anywhere. What else can you tell me?”

  “We’ll see if I need to tell you more. Right now I can’t.”

  “Why not? Is it a government secret?”

  “Brad, you don’t want to know. If I think you should, I’ll tell you.”

  “I guess I’ll have to take your word on it. For the time being, anyway. But I don’t like it.”

  Winter shrugged. “I sent my family home.”

  “So, you’ll help me solve this case?”

  Winter nodded. “I’ll do everything I can.”

  “You’ll need temporary official standing. Just so happens I have an opening that needs filling in my homicide department.”

  “You have a homicide department?”

  “Of course I do. You think this is some hick sheriff’s department?”

  Brad reached into his desk, took out a used badge case, and tossed it across the desk to Winter.

  “That was Deputy Bratton’s. He went to Gulfport after Katrina to help his family and ha
sn’t said if he’ll return. Just to cover this legally, we’ll get your picture taken in a minute. You’ll work directly with me, and you can give orders to anybody in my department as you need to. The Sherry Adams case is your only official responsibility. If that suits you, we can figure out compensation.”

  “Put me down as an employee, and pay me a buck.”

  “At least let me cover your expenses.”

  “Can you recommend a motel?”

  “I rattle around in a big old house with four bedrooms. There’s just me and my dog, Ruger.”

  “I don’t want to inconvenience anybody.”

  “You kidding? Guest room is private, has cable TV, clean linens, and a bathroom with big bars of soap.”

  “That’ll do,” Winter said.

  “What size uniform do you wear?”

  Winter’s shocked reaction brought laughter from the sheriff. “Just messing with you, Massey. Raise your right hand.”

  Winter smiled. He had the feeling that the sheriff was like an iceberg-what was below the surface was far more substantial than what wasn’t.

  12

  While Brad went to get the toothpick ready for shipping, Winter picked up the office phone and dialed a cell number in Washington, D.C. He smiled when a familiar voice answered, “Alexa Keen.”

  “Alexa, it’s Winter.”

  “Winter. Have you gotten yourself arrested?” she asked.

  “What makes you ask that? Oh, the caller ID.”

  “Tunica County Sheriff’s Office.”

  “Not yet,” he said.

  “Sean told me you were doing your deer hunt in Como.” She laughed. “So how’s that family-bonding-over-blood thing going for you?”

  “Faith Ann killed her first deer. A major buck too.”

  “I still think that’s a shame, Massey,” Alexa said. “Teaching that child to murder poor defenseless animals.”

  “She’d beg to differ, and obviously you’ve never been assaulted by a deer. Their little hooves are like razors. Anyway, it’s all in the name of game management and a well-rounded education, which was her argument to get me to let her go hunting.”

  “Cheaper than a shopping trip to Europe, I suppose. She is an extraordinary young lady,” Alexa said. “Must be hard on you, being so obviously average and surrounded by extraordinary people. So what are you doing in Tunica? Not gambling, I hope. It’s a superhighway to ruin, you know.”

  Winter told her about the Adams murder, the card, and the used toothpick he’d found. “I need DNA really fast. Awhile back you told me about some new DNA deal that takes hours, not days,” he said.

  “I did indeed. It’s called EDM.”

  “Wasn’t the lab in Nashville?”

  “ProCell. I suppose I can have DNA expedited for your sheriff buddy. You get it there ASAP. The procedure they’re doing is fast, but results aren’t going to be accepted in court. They need three days for accuracy.”

  “Can I do that without having those results included in any official report along with the tests? I’d cover the costs, of course.”

  “Sure, but why?”

  “No big deal. Just a favor for a friend.”

  “A favor for a friend is loaning them your car,” Alexa said. “Your friends tend to ask you to close the gates to hell.”

  13

  On the way to look for Alphonse Jefferson, Brad decided to drop in at the Adamses’ home and pay his respects to Sherry’s parents. A tall, distinguished-looking black man with graying hair stood alone on the porch of a small home in the predominately black section of Tunica.

  Beneath a smoke gray sky, Brad parked on the street and the men got out of the cruiser. They followed behind a fireplug of a woman wearing a black-cloth coat with rabbit fur trim. The hat perched on her head looked like a two-tiered chocolate cake someone had decorated with a trio of long red feathers. Folded potholders protected her bare hands from the heat of the covered casserole dish she carried.

  A professionally painted message on the tire cover of the conversion van parked in the Adamses’ driveway read LIFE IS GOD’S GIFT TO YOU. HOW YOU LIVE IT IS YOUR GIFT TO GOD.

  “Welcome, Sister Bertha,” the man on the porch said in a deep melodious voice.

  “Brother Adams,” the woman said. “Sad day for the world, but it’s a day of rejoicing in Heaven, because an angel has arrived at the pearly gates, praise His holy name.”

  “Go on inside, Sister Bertha,” Mr. Adams said, opening the door. “Mother’s in here.”

  After the woman had gone into the house, Brad took the steps and stood before Sherry Adams’s father. Winter followed him silently.

  “John, my condolences,” Brad said, offering his hand, which John Adams took and shook firmly. “We’re going to find out who did this.”

  “Sheriff Barnett,” he said, smiling sadly. “Thank you so much for coming by to pay your respects. A little while ago your daddy brought us a beautiful baked ham. Dr. Barnett is a saint of a man.”

  “John Adams, this is Winter Massey. He’s from North Carolina and he’s offered to help.”

  John Adams turned his eyes on Winter and extended a strong hand.

  “May the Lord speed and guide you in your work, Mr. Massey,” he said. “Thank you for your help.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Winter said.

  A familiar, road-film-streaked Lincoln pulled as far into the driveway as possible and stopped, its rear end blocking the sidewalk. The driver’s door flew open and Leigh Gardner stepped out, slammed the door behind her, and waited for Estelle to get out before they both walked purposefully to the porch. Estelle nodded at the sheriff and Winter, kissed John Adams’s cheek, and went inside. Through the open door Winter saw a large solemn group of people standing around in the living room.

  “John,” Leigh said, hugging John Adams. “I told Bob Hanson to make sure our Sherry has the best of everything. You and Mary just make the selections and Six Oaks will cover the expenses.”

  John Adams straightened. “You don’t have to do that, Ms. Leigh.”

  “Don’t be difficult, John. I loved Sherry, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  John nodded solemnly, his eyes filling with tears. “We thank you, Ms. Leigh. Sherry loved y’all too.”

  Leigh hugged him again and held the embrace for several long seconds. “Sherry was a member of my family too.”

  “Leigh,” Brad said in greeting.

  “Sheriff,” Leigh said, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “How is your investigation coming?”

  “It’s going forward,” he said.

  Leigh studied the sheriff. “I’m going to offer a ten-thousand-dollar reward for the arrest and conviction of the party responsible.”

  “I think offering a reward is premature, Leigh,” Brad said.

  “And why is that?” she asked, bristling.

  “Because it’ll create worthless tips I’ll have to run down,” Brad said. “Hold off for a couple of days and let us work the case first.”

  “And do you share Brad’s opinion, Mr. Massey?”

  “Yes, I do,” Winter said.

  “John?” Leigh asked Sherry’s father. “What do you think?”

  Mr. Adams nodded. “The Lord works His will in mysterious ways. If the sheriff says he needs time more than money, I expect I agree with him. The Lord will punish the guilty, and He alone will decide if the man who killed Sherry is going to be delivered into the law’s hands, or into His own for judgment. Render unto God that which is God’s, and render to Caesar what is Caesar’s.”

  Leigh considered his words and nodded. “Then it’s your call,” Leigh told Brad. “I’m going to wait until Monday. If you don’t find the killer by then, I’m going to give God a hand with Caesar’s end.”

  She turned and went into the house, closing the door behind her.

  “John, if you hear anything that I should know, you call me.”

  “You know I will, Sheriff Barnett. When will Sherry’s body be coming home?” he
asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Brad said. “I’ll make sure she gets back so you can plan your service for Saturday.”

  Winter wondered if the Adams family already knew that the casket would have to be closed.

  John put a hand on Brad’s shoulder, smiled affectionately, and turned his attention to a cluster of women with plates of food coming up the sidewalk toward the house.

  14

  Cynthia Gardner spent ten minutes with Dr. Barnett, had some blood drawn, and left the doctor’s office. She didn’t want to go straight back home and sit there with the gloom and doom, but most of her friends were either still at school or townie losers she’d rather not see. She was headed to her car when her cell phone beeped, indicating a new text message.

  U meet me big river barn now? J.

  Cynthia smiled as she typed a reply.

  sure n 20

  She climbed in behind the wheel of her Toyota, which her mother hadn’t allowed her to have at LSU her freshman year. As she started it, she wondered if this was a good idea. With everything so crazy over Sherry’s death, she wasn’t sure if meeting the older man was smart. But she wanted to find out what was up, and he was great in the sack. She hadn’t enjoyed his energetic charms since that summer, and she was eager to see if he was just as good as she remembered. Older men just knew more about pleasing a woman-it was a shame, but they really did.

  Putting the car into gear, Cynthia snapped on her seat belt and flew out of the parking lot. As she drove, she picked up her phone and called her mother.

  “Hi, Cyn,” her mother said. “What did the doctor say?”

  “Everything’s totally cool. He said to just keep doing what I’m doing. Listen, I’m going to run to Memphis.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Leigh said. “With everything that’s happening. You come home.”

  “I need to get a dress for Sherry’s funeral. It’s not like I go to many funerals. I want to look-you know-right.”

  Her mother sighed. “Simple black dress. Nothing fancy.”