The Guilty by David Baldacci
“I just want you to tell me what you saw.”
The screen door opened and a boy about thirteen came out. He was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a white T-shirt badly in need of laundering. His hair was a tumble of brown and blond strands. He wore round glasses, and in his fist was clutched a can of Pepsi.
“What’s up, Pop?”
“Are you Ash?” asked Robie.
The boy continued to look at his father. “What’s he want?”
Carson took another drink from the can and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Man wants to know what we saw that night.”
“Why’s he care?”
“He’s the judge’s son. That’s why.”
Ash took a step back from Robie and took a swig of his Pepsi. “Saw him clear as day. He was drivin’ that Range Rover’a his. Ain’t nobody got one’a them here but him.”
“No, Sherman Clancy has one, too,” countered Robie.
The boy shot his father another glance.
“It was the judge’s truck,” said Carson. “’Sides, Clancy was in his old Bentley at the time. Dead!”
“Okay, you saw the truck. But did you see my father driving it?”
“’Course we did,” growled Carson. “Like the boy done said.”
“Can you tell me where exactly? Please?” added Robie.
“You know where they found Clancy’s body?” said Carson.
“Yes.”
“You hang a left outta there onto the road and go a quarter mile north. That’s where we saw him. We was comin’ back from catchin’ bait for the mornin’ run. We go to four or five spots and that’s always one of ’em. Good bait there.”
“Wait a minute. If you were catching bait, why were you in a car? Why not your boat?”
“One of the places is in a little cove. Can’t really get to it by boat. So’s we drive over and park near the bank. Catch ’em real good from there with our nets.”
“Okay, what happened next?”
“Well, he comes tearin’ up that road, like to hit us. Dust swirlin’ all over. I banged my horn but he just kept’a goin’. Could’a give a shit he near killed us.”
“But it was dark out, and headlights were coming at you. And it happened fast, presumably. How did you get a look at him?”
“I was as close to him as my boy is to me right now. Couldn’t miss that, could I?”
Robie looked at him curiously and then glanced at Ash. “And did you see him too?”
“Boy was in the passenger seat of the truck.”
“But I seen him too,” said Ash. “Clear as day.”
“But it wasn’t day, it was night,” pointed out Robie. “And were you wearing your glasses?”
Ash suddenly looked uncertain and again glanced at his father.
Robie looked at Carson, and next his beer. “And I take it you hadn’t been drinking?”
Carson finished off his beer, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down with each swallow. Then he crushed the can against the porch railing and tossed it into a plastic bin at his feet that was filled with flattened beer cans. Carson pulled his knife from the railing, took a step toward Robie, and said, “You best be movin’ on. And don’t come back here ’less you want trouble or you got fish you wanna catch.”
“Thanks for talking to me,” said Robie.
He drove off thinking that these two eyewitnesses were anything but.
* * *
Later, he pulled up in front of the Cantrell Jail armed with the retainer agreement that his father needed to sign. He should have gone right from Moses’s office to his father next door, but his courage had failed.
Taggert was at her desk.
“Wonderin’ when you were goin’ to show up,” she said.
“What are you talking about?”
“They’ve been meetin’ for a while.”
“Who?” said a bewildered Robie.
“Your father and his lawyer.”
“Toni Moses is in with my father?”
“She doesn’t let the grass grow under her pumps.”
Taggert led him back into the cellblock area, but past the actual cells.
“Where are we going?” asked Robie.
“Visitor’s room.”
“Didn’t know you had one.”
“Where else would visitors meet with prisoners?”
“I met with my father in his cell.”
“Well, I was afraid he’d get violent with you.”
“He did get violent with me, Sheila,” barked Robie.
“See, it was good I kept you two in the cell then.”
She opened a door at the end of the hall and ushered Robie in before leaving him and closing the door.
Toni Moses was seated at the small table in the center of the room. His father sat opposite, his shackles locked into a steel ring mounted on the floor.
Moses looked up and did not seem unduly surprised by Robie’s appearance. “Glad you’re here. Have a seat.”
Next to her was a stack of files. She had a legal pad in front of her and was busily jotting down notes.
Robie eyed his father, who had not yet looked at him.
“I thought you said he had to sign the retainer agreement.”
With her free hand Moses held up a document. “He already signed it.”
“Then why did you tell me I had to get him to sign it?” said Robie, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.
“I guess I wanted to give you a goal to shoot for, Robie. Never thought you’d actually get it done, so I did it myself.”
Robie eyed his father. “So you agree you need a lawyer?”
Dan Robie looked at Moses. “Why is he here?”
“He’s a client.”
“Not with me he’s not. And his being here breaks attorney-client privilege.”
Robie sat down. “I signed the agreement, too.”
“Then take off your signature or I represent myself.”
Robie looked at Moses. “What if I’m working for the defense?”
“How do you mean?” said an interested-looking Moses.
“As your private investigator.”
“Bullshit,” said Dan.
“I have one of those already,” said Moses.
“I’ve been out to see Tuck Carson and his son. I’m not sure how they could have seen my father late at night, in a swirl of dust and headlights zooming past them. The kid wears glasses and he probably didn’t have them on that night. And the father likes his beer. He drank down a whole one while I was talking to him. So I don’t think their eyewitness testimony stands up.”
He looked at his father. “Unless you tell us you were driving at that spot at that time in your Range Rover and almost hit the Carsons.”
“I don’t have to tell you anythin’,” said the older Robie, looking pointedly at his son.
Robie turned back to Moses. “I can work on the case. I can dig stuff up. I can check things out.”
“I guess you’re expectin’ to get paid?” said Moses.
“No, I’m not.”
“Well, then that works for me. If you know what you’re doin’, that is. No margin of error here.”
“I don’t want him workin’ on my case,” yelled Dan.
Moses put up a hand. “Judge Robie, with all due respect, you’re not the one makin’ the decisions on things like that. I am.”
“And I’m payin’ for your services.”
“She put the five grand retainer on my credit card,” pointed out Robie.
“And I had her cancel that and put it on mine,” countered his father.
“What the hell is your problem? I’m trying to help you.”
“And I don’t remember askin’ for your help, boy.”
Moses stood. “Look, you two knuckleheads, I’m tryin’ a case for murder in the first degree.” She turned to Dan Robie. “Your butt is lookin’ at goin’ away for the rest’a your life. So pardon me if I avail myself of help in defendin’ you.” She turned to Robie.
“I hear you.” He studied her. “Now you really sound like you’re from Mississippi, not Harvard.”
“Hell, baby, when I go in that there courtroom you won’t hear nothin’ but Mississippi come out my damn mouth.”
She sat. “Now what you said about the Carsons is interestin’ and helpful. And it would be more helpful if your daddy would tell us whether he was out that night or not drivin’ in his Range Rover.”
Robie looked at his father. “Were you?”
Dan Robie simply looked away.
Robie turned back to Moses. “Can I get a copy of the file on this case? I assume the prosecution has to turn over its stuff to you.”
“Aubrey Davis had been duly informed of my appearance and he promised that his office will forthwith be sending me their evidence. I will not hold my breath while I wait. But when I get it so will you.”
Robie nodded. “Do you think you can get him out on bail?”
Moses shrugged. “Well, I need to see these credible threats Aubrey is going on about. Maybe we don’t want him out on bail.”
“Do you want to be out on bail?” Robie asked his father.
His father said nothing.
Robie rose. “Well, good luck with your client. When you get the files let me know.”
“Where are you goin’ now?” asked Moses.
“To check out some things.”
“Well, then report back to me with whatever you find.”
Right before Robie hit the door his father said, “If you’re doin’ this to make amends, don’t bother. It’s too damn late for that.”
Robie took a cue from his father and said nothing. He just left.
Moses turned to Dan Robie. “Whether you beat this or not, Dan Robie, let me tell you somethin’.”
“What?” snapped the man.
“You’re a damn fool.”
Chapter
29
IT WAS ONE o’clock in the morning and Will Robie was on the move. He preferred to do his work at night.
He had returned to the Willows and had dinner with Victoria and Tyler. The little boy had stared at his far older stepbrother the entire meal. Robie had once caught Tyler smiling at him.
Afterward, Victoria had shown Robie a picture that Tyler had drawn. It was stick figures, one big and one small, and a large heart was drawn between them.
“I guess you are officially loved,” said Victoria.
Robie had taken the picture, carefully folded it, and slipped it into his pocket.
When he’d told her about Moses meeting with them, she had asked, “Do you think he’ll seek bail?”
“Too early to tell. We need to evaluate the credible threats first.”
Now he stared up at the house. Clancy’s mansion. Dark and hopefully empty. He had seen Pete Clancy head out in his Porsche a half hour before. Probably to go drinking with his buds.
Robie made his approach from the rear. He had seen signs stuck in the ground announcing that there was a security system in place here. He doubted Pete would make use of such a thing, but he would need to check.
He reached the rear porch. The same one Pete had thrown up on. Robie noted with disgust that the vomit, hardened and dried out, was still there.
What a catch he would make for some young woman.
He peered through the glass and noted the alarm pad on the inner wall. It glowed green and thus off. He tried the door. Locked.
He pulled out his pick tools, and a minute later the door swung open.
His Glock was in a waistband holster. He hoped he had no cause to draw it.
He was here for a number of reasons, but principally because if his father had not killed Sherman Clancy, then his son Pete had a great motive to do so.
Money, or whatever was left of it.
There might be something here that would prove this, starting, hopefully, with a Ka-Bar knife with Sherm Clancy’s dried blood on it along with his son’s prints.
The place was garishly decorated. Every room was overstuffed with furniture, every window overwhelmed with huge drapes, every table bursting with expensive and ugly knickknacks, and every wall covered with oil paintings of questionable taste.
And since Pete was now the master of the house, it was also trashed. Empty beer, wine, and liquor bottles were everywhere. Crusted dishes were piled high in the sink. Bugs scampered over them. The fridge was pretty much empty.
Yet Sherman Clancy had not been dead that long. And the pool and grounds had clearly been left to fall into disrepair for a much longer time. Robie thus assumed a lot of this had been going on while the old man was alive.
Was the pot of gold running out? If so, why? Taggert had said Clancy had been a big spender. Was that the reason? Or was there something else?
The house was large and there were many places to look, and Robie was one to be methodical. After an hour or so he finished with the first floor and headed up the winding staircase. The second floor was all bedrooms and bathrooms. He searched each one and found nothing useful.
There was one more floor to go.
There were five rooms up here. One was a club room with a full bar, pool table, steam and sauna room, and a hot tub that looked like it was actually clean and operating normally. Robie thought Pete might bring some of the ladies up here for a quick steam, sauna, and dip in the hot tub. And probably more than that.
He hoped the chlorine level in the water was set on high.
One room was set up as an office. Robie took his time going through this one. There was a desk lamp with a frayed power cord. Robie turned it on and drew it closer to some paper files he had found, moving a half-full can of Budweiser out of the way.
He took pictures of these files. There was also a computer. It was password protected, but Robie finally hit the jackpot when he typed in “Redneck.”
Pete had evidently been using this computer, because he saw e-mails coming in and out from Pete’s account.
It appeared that since Sherm’s death, his son had been contacting various folks at one of the casinos in Biloxi named the Rebel Yell Grand Palace. As he read through these e-mails, it became clear to him that Pete was angling to replace his father as a business partner with these folks.
That could be a terrific motive to kill the old man.
Robie copied these e-mails to a flash drive he had brought. He also copied other e-mails that he didn’t have time to read but that looked interesting. He would read them later.
The next room was apparently Pete’s sleeping quarters.
It was like one would have expected from a young man living alone.
Disgusting.
Robie wondered whether his tetanus shot was up-to-date as he surveyed the interior of the room. He couldn’t see the floor for all the crap