The Guilty by David Baldacci
Dan Robie started to say something but then stopped. He snorted and looked away, shaking his head.
“I’m not leaving,” Robie said quietly. “I did remember one lesson you taught me. Never leave a job unfinished.”
His father glanced at him. “You really servin’ your country?”
“Yes.”
“You good at it?”
“Yes. Some might say one of the best. So is Jessica.”
“That’s interestin’. A girl doin’ what is traditionally a man’s job.”
“She might be even better than me. And I recently ran into a woman from another country about half my size who could take on five veteran jarheads and kill them all before they even knew what had hit them.”
“Seriously?”
“Very seriously.”
His father fell silent and Robie watched him closely.
He said, “Why the change in attitude? Where’s the fighter inside you?”
“Need somethin’ worth fightin’ for.”
“And your life isn’t?”
His father shrugged.
Feeling he was going in circles over this, Robie decided to change the subject. “Whatever happened to the Barksdales?”
Dan Robie glanced up. “The Barksdales?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Just wondering. I’m staying at their old home.”
His father nodded, his look wary.
“What is it?” asked Robie.
“You and Laura. That was a mistake, you know.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
His father said, “You came from different walks of life. Never would have worked out.”
“You don’t know that!”
“I do know that. And it didn’t work out, did it?”
“I’m not going to waste time discussing this with you,” snapped Robie.
“You just won’t listen, will you?” said his father in disgust.
Robie barked, “What happened to the Barksdales? I know you didn’t buy the Willows from them.”
“I didn’t. They were long gone by then.”
“Gone where?”
Dan Robie shrugged. “Don’t know. They just up and moved out one night. They were just gone.” He added, “Like you.”
“When?”
“I don’t remember exactly. It was a long time ago.”
“How long after I left?”
His father thought about this for a few moments. “Not that long, actually.”
“So you didn’t see them before they left?”
“I wasn’t that close to them. They were the aristocracy of Cantrell. I was just a lowly lawyer. I was surprised that they let you date their precious daughter. Henry Barksdale was so damn proud of his ancestral roots. He thought his family walked on water. That his shit didn’t stink. I thought he was a pompous idiot.”
“They had a lot of money,” pointed out Robie.
“Goes to show that money doesn’t buy class.”
“So you didn’t do their legal work?”
“Hell no. I wasn’t established enough. They used Parnell and Longstreet. Been here forever. The founding partners have long since died. Stuart Longstreet is still here, though. He handled their affairs when they were livin’ in Cantrell.” His father studied him. “Why all the questions about the Barksdales? What’s going on?”
“It’s pretty simple. Regardless of what you thought, I loved Laura. And I just would like to know what happened to her.”
“Well, good luck with that. Not that she’d care. You just up and left all of us, didn’t you? Her included?”
Robie rose. “Hey, Dad, keep your spirits up. You never know, you might just beat this rap.”
Chapter
42
IS LITTLE BILL here?” Reel asked Angie Faulconer, as the two women stood on the front porch of the Faulconers’ home. “I’m a friend of Will Robie’s. He wanted me to give him something.”
“He’s at work right now.”
“Can you tell me where?”
“What is this about?” the woman asked suspiciously.
“Robie said that your son is really good with computers. He has a job for him to do. A paying job,” Reel added, eyeing the poor state of the woman’s house.
“Oh, okay. I can do that. He works over at the mall. At a video game store.”
“Didn’t know you had a mall here.”
“It’s just a strip mall. Half the stores are closed, but kids like their video games, I guess.”
She gave Reel directions and also told her she would call her son so he would be expecting her. Reel drove there in about twenty-five minutes, mostly on winding back roads that weaved in and out of forested land interspersed with swamps.
As Angie had said, the strip mall was half boarded up. The sidewalks were cracked, with grass growing in the crevices. The parking lot’s asphalt was lumpy and she could count the number of cars at the mall on two hands. But they were all parked in front of the video game shop, which seemed to have a lot of activity.
When she walked in a bell on the door tinkled. Reel looked around approvingly. The shop was clean, the displays sharp and eye-catching, and the games neatly racked. There were about twenty customers in the shop, mostly teenagers but some adults, too.
A tall, burly young man came up to her. “Are you Jessica?”
“Yes, you must be Bill.”
“Mom called. She said you had a computer problem?”
“Will Robie does. Which means it’s my problem, too.” She looked around. “But you look pretty busy. Is this a good time?”
“Oh, yeah. They all know what they want. They’re just wastin’ time, playin’ games. And the longer they stay the more they tend to buy. And there’re two other people on duty. Come on back.”
He led her into the rear of the shop where there were some desks and shelves and stacks of boxes. On each desk was a shiny Apple computer.
“So what’s the problem?” asked Little Bill.
Reel pulled out the flash drive. “There’s information on here that we need, but it seems to be in code. I know that’s not exactly a computer problem, but we thought we’d ask.”
“Can I see it?”
She handed it across. Little Bill sat down and popped the drive into the desktop’s USB slot. With a few clicks he brought the file page up.
“Uh, Mom said you were goin’ to pay me?”
“How about two hundred bucks?”
“Damn, sounds good to me!”
“You know about codes?” asked Reel, who was staring over his shoulder.
“I know how to code. Which isn’t the same thing, I realize. But a lot of the games we sell here have codes you have to break, so I know some things about that.”
He studied the files and keyed up one.
“Looks like gibberish to me,” said Reel.
“Where’d this come from?” asked Little Bill.
“I’d prefer not to say.”
He stared up at her. “Why?”
“I’d also prefer not to answer that.”
“Is this somethin’ illegal?”
“It’s something that could lead to the truth coming out,” she replied diplomatically.
“Is this somethin’ about Will Robie’s daddy?”
“Could be.”
“It would help if you told me where you got it.”
“Why?”
“It just would.”
Reel debated and then said, “Pete Clancy.”
Little Bill smiled. “Well, then I think I can get it to make sense.”
“Why?”
“Because Pete is one of my best customers. And this ‘gibberish’ looks like a tactic code from one of the games I sold him.”
“Tactic code?”
“Yep. Pete’s lazy. He wouldn’t have taken the time to create his own code. He’d just piggyback on somethin’ else.”
“Whatever happened to just playing Pac-Man?”
“Thanks, but it was a rhetorical question.”
Little Bill turned back to the screen.
“How long do you think it will take you to crack it?”
“About an hour should do it. You want to leave and come back?”
“No, I’m going to sit here while you do it. And Bill?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t remember anything you might see on these files.”
“Why?”
“It would not be good for your health if this whole thing blows up in our faces.”
* * *
“I appreciate your seeing me, Mr. Longstreet.”
Robie sat across from the lawyer in the latter’s large, paneled office. Stuart Longstreet was in his sixties, with creamy white hair, a clean-shaven chin, a pair of listless blue eyes, and a large belly that protruded between the flaps of his suit coat, which looked like it had been tailored to his flabby proportions. His expression was one of privileged contentment.
“It’s certainly a tragedy with what happened to your father,” he said in a tone that made Robie believe the lawyer was actually enjoying the development.
“Well, I’m hoping that justice will be served.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” the man said hastily and without a trace of sincerity. His manner suggested he wanted to hasten this interview to an end. “Now, you have some legal issue?”
“Well, I guess it’s more of an information issue.”
“Oh, yes?” said Longstreet, looking curiously at him.
“The Barksdale family?”
The expression of privileged content withdrew and was replaced by one of heightened suspicion. The listless blue eyes transformed into a pair of flickering propane gas jets. Robie could just see the wheels turning in the legal brain.
“The Barksdales, you say?”
“I knew the family when I was growing up here. I dated Laura Barksdale. I just wondered what had happened to them. As you know, my father bought their old home.”
“The Willows, yes,” said Longstreet absently. “Still a lovely place. Even with the changes they’ve made.” He sniffed, his expression one of disapproval. “I was stunned along with many others of my…circle when he purchased it.”
“I’m sure.”
“The oil platform case.”
“Yes.”
Longstreet’s features hardened. “Cost Cantrell a lot of jobs. Some say it ruined the town.”
“And the men who lost their lives would no doubt say differently. As would their survivors.”
“Yes, of course. No, I have to admire his, um, professional tenacity.”
And you would have caved a minute after the company’s hardasses came to your office and said Boo, thought Robie.
He said, “But the Barksdales? I understand you handled their legal work?”
“Who told you that?”
“Was that information wrong?”
Robie noted the lawyer’s hand had made a fist so tightly that his index finger was turning pink as the circulation constricted.
“No, no. Our firm has proudly handled the Barksdales’ legal matters for well over a century. My grandfather worked on it as did his father before him.”
“But not anymore?”
“Well, no. They’re no longer here.”
“Which is why I’m here to see you. Do you know what happened to them?”
“No, I don’t,” said the man.
He rubbed at his nose.
Lying caused a physiological reaction that cut the flow of blood to the capillaries located at the end of the nose. It caused a tingling feeling that usually made the liar rub at the spot.
Robie knew this.
Longstreet obviously did not.
“I heard they just up and left one night. And no one has seen them since.”
“Indeed?” said Longstreet.
“Is that what you understand happened?”
“I really couldn’t say.”
“Did you hear from any of them before they left?”
“If I did, and I’m not sayin’ that I did, that would be privileged and I would be barred from revealin’ it.”
“I thought attorney-client privilege protected communications, not the fact that you simply saw or talked to someone.”
He smiled patronizingly. “Well, I could argue the law with you, but since presumably you are yourself not a member of the bar, I will refrain from doin’ so, as the debate would be unfair to you. Now, is there anything else?”
Robie rose. “No, I think you’ve told me all I needed to know. Thanks.”
The lawyer’s blue eyes sparked at this comment and then faded.
As Robie walked out of the building he wondered if Longstreet had picked up his phone yet to call someone.
There seemed to be a lot going on in this small, sleepy southern town.
His phone buzzed.
It was Reel.
“Well, Little Bill was as good as advertised,” she said.
“What’s in the files?”
“Something you’re not going to believe.”
“Tell me.”
“No, you really need to see it, Robie.”