idea what happened today?”
It sounded like a rhetorical question to me. Of course we knew what happened, but I’d learned long ago that the best answer to a rhetorical question was no answer at all, so I kept my mouth shut. Fraley did the same.
“Do you know that the reputation of law enforcement in this community was ruined today? Ruined! I’ve spent the last two years of my life trying to make the people here feel safe, make them feel confident about the men and women who are responsible for providing them with safe streets and an efficient court system. I’ve tried to hire people who are fair and compassionate to victims and defendants alike. And now, in a three-hour span, every bit of credibility we’ve been able to establish is gone.”
I stood there staring down at his desk, focusing on nothing. I told myself that the man had given me a job, and since Caroline had come down with cancer, he’d also probably saved me from bankruptcy. The least I could do was stand quietly while he ranted. Suddenly, he stopped pacing and turned towards us.
“I want you to know that I hold the two of you at least partially responsible for this,” he said.
Fraley and I exchanged an incredulous glance. Since Mooney was my boss, I thought it best that I do the talking.
“Lee, I know you’re upset,” I said. “Everyone is. But pointing fingers won’t do anyone any good.”
“Bullshit!” he snapped. “When bad things happen in an organization people get blamed. It’s called accountability, in case you’ve never heard of it. Those held accountable for whatever has happened usually resign or get fired. At the very least, they change the way they do business. So pointing fingers is exactly what I need to be doing. I have to show the people of this district that we’re accountable when something as monumental as this goes wrong.”
“Explain to me how any of this was our fault in any way,” I said.
“ You’re the one who ordered arrests on the basis of information you received from a confidential informant,” he said, pointing at me. He turned to Fraley. “And you, a veteran TBI agent, went along with it. And as I understand it, your confidential informant had absolutely no personal knowledge of what happened. She didn’t see a thing. Because of that, you gave an opening to the defense. Because of that, they filed motions to suppress and a hearing was scheduled. And because of that, Boyer and Barnett wound up in the same cell and now both of them, along with two police officers, are dead! Do you see what I’m getting at?”
I’d read plenty of appellate opinions in which judges convoluted logic to the point of sophistry, but this was beyond even them.
“Our informant was exactly right about everything, and without her, we would’ve had more victims,” I said.
“We do have more victims! Three more! And we all look like idiots!”
He was shouting now; his face looked like a candy apple with eyes.
“What do you want us to do, Lee?”
“What do I want you to do? I want you to make this right! I want you to redeem yourselves and this office! I want that girl arrested. I want her kept alive long enough for you to convict her of first-degree murder in a very public trial. And then I want her executed. That’s what I want you to do!”
“We don’t have enough evidence to arrest her, Lee. We needed Boyer.”
“Then find some! Plant some! Manufacture some! Do whatever the hell you have to! I want her locked up by the end of the week.”
“We’ll do what we can, Lee,” I said.
“Good. Now get out.”
Fraley and I spun and walked out as quickly as dignity would allow. Instead of going back to my office, I turned towards the stairs and started down. Neither of us said a word until we were outside. I stopped by a bench that sat next to a Civil War-era cannon.
“Can you believe that? He actually tried to blame us for Boyer and Barnett.”
“He seemed a little out of sorts,” Fraley said.
“And do you know what’s even worse? He thinks the only way to redeem himself and the office is with an execution. Redemption through bloodshed.”
“Redemption through bloodshed. Sort of like salvation through bloodshed, isn’t it?”
“If we don’t come through for him, it sounded to me like the ax is going to fall on somebody’s neck, and I’ll bet you a dollar to a doughnut that somebody will be me.”
Fraley reached out and patted me on the shoulder and I saw the glint in his eye.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “Ol’ Fraley’s got you covered.”
“What do you mean?”
“Back when I first got out of the academy, an old buddy of mine told me that if I was going to last in this business, I’d need to learn to deal with bosses and politicians who were looking for fall guys. He taught me to cover my ass. So when we were walking back towards Mooney’s office, I turned on my cover-your-ass gadget.”
Fraley reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a device that was thin and shiny.
“What is that? An iPod?” I said.
“No, no, no. This, my friend, is a digital voice-activated recording device. Top of the line. I never leave home without it.”
“And it was on while Mooney was ranting?”
Fraley pushed a button, and I could hear Mooney’s voice.
“Wait, let me find my favorite part.” He searched through the diatribe for a few minutes.
“Here it is,” he said, and Mooney’s voice came through loud and clear: “Then find some! Plant some! Manufacture some! Do whatever the hell you have to! I want her locked up by the end of the week.” Fraley looked at me and grinned.
“I love you, man,” I said, and I grabbed his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.
Monday, November 10
“Y’all better be careful,” a deep voice said from behind me. “People will say you’re in love.”
I turned around to see the face of Wild Bill Hickok, back from the dead in the form of Jim Beaumont. Beaumont bowed stiffly and tipped his hat. Today’s string tie was made of rawhide with a round piece of polished turquoise mounted on the platinum clasp at his neck.
“I hate to interrupt your affair, Mr. Dillard, but I have a very important matter I’d like to discuss with you.”
I told Fraley I’d catch up with him later to form a strategy for dealing with Natasha, and turned back to Beaumont.
“Let’s walk,” he said.
We started walking leisurely up the brick sidewalk, past the International Storytelling Center and the Eureka Hotel towards the west end of Main Street. The unpredictable November weather had changed yet again, and the past few days had been warm and pleasant.
“News from the investigators already?” I said.
“No, not yet. There are some things I need to tell you. I wish I could have done it sooner, but I was bound by the rules of ethical conduct and client privilege. I hope you’ll understand.”
“Of course.”
“Now that Mr. Boyer has expired, I believe I’m no longer bound by privilege,” Beaumont said. “I’ll start by telling you that you were right about Miss Natasha Davis. She was deeply involved in all six murders.”
“Then why can’t we find any evidence?” I said.
“Being mad doesn’t make her stupid. She wasn’t at the first crime scene, but she ordered Boyer and Barnett to commit the murders because Mr. Beck attempted to share his faith in God with her.”
“What were they doing down on Marbleton Road?”
“It started at a rest stop on the interstate. They’d been to Knoxville for some kind of Goth festival. On the way back, their car started overheating, so they pulled into the rest stop to let it cool down. Mr. Beck approached Natasha; she became angry and gave the other two the order to kill the family. She drove the car back to town and the boys took the Becks down to Marbleton, shot them, and drove their van back to Johnson City.”
“You said she ordered them. Why did she have so much control?”
“Boyer said she controlled them in a variety of ways, but I think it was primarily with two things: she was generous with sex, and she was generous with drugs. She’s also an attractive young lady, or at least Boyer believed
