“Maybe. But she don’t live here. You do.”
“So the rapist happened to see her come in. Then he saw me leave and figured… hell, I don’t know.”
“Sure, sure.” Hightower nodded. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Professor.” That goddamn smug grin again. “Us country cops are slow, but once we get our teeth into something we don’t let go. This don’t seem like a normal rape attempt, but we’ll figure it.”
“And what is it exactly you figure?”
A shrug. Morgan couldn’t quite understand the cop. It was almost like he was lazily working the Sunday crossword puzzle rather than trying to solve a violent crime. “Can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“Maybe you’d better talk to Ginny,” Morgan said. Anything to get the cop on his way. Morgan couldn’t stand talking to him much longer.
“Yeah, well, I talked to her already.” He shook his head,
Morgan cleared his throat. “Is there anything else?”
Hightower shook his head. “Nope.” He flipped his notebook closed, shoved it back into his jacket. “When you coming back from Houston?”
“Monday.”
“Right.” He put his hat back on and gave Morgan a two-fingered salute. “We’ll be in touch.”
Five seconds after Hightower left, Morgan collapsed onto his sofa. His sweaty shirt clung to him. His hands shook, knees like water. Had the cop seen how nervous he was?
Not yet.
He locked up, got in his car, and drove to Professor Reams’s house.
Morgan woke up late the next morning on Reams’s couch. He felt sore, unhappy, desperate. His life was out of control, and the only solution he could come up with was to run away and hide in Houston for the weekend. At least it would give him time to think.
Reams had been childishly overjoyed that Morgan had decided to make the conference. All Morgan had wanted to do was escape into sleep, but in his dreams, he saw Ginny’s battered face. It became Annie’s, all the guilt and bad decisions mixed up together. He’d woken in the middle of the night, his pillow damp with sweat, a feeling of deep anxiety over him like a heavy blanket. He’d finally drifted off again about 4 A.M.
Morgan heaved himself off the sofa, rubbed his back. He called out to Reams but didn’t get an answer. He found a note near the coffeepot. Reams had gone out to gas up the car.
Morgan showered, dressed.
He drank coffee and stared a long time at the phone. He wanted to call Ginny. But not to check on her, and that made him feel guilty. He wanted to get his story straight with her, didn’t want Hightower to find little details to pick at. Morgan was already a wreck. He couldn’t take another go around with the hick cop.
Okay, forget it. He drank coffee. Ginny was smart. She wouldn’t get him or herself into trouble. All Morgan needed to do was lie low for a day or two while he figured things out. And he’d been laying off the booze, trying to get healthy. The first thing Morgan wanted to do in Houston was hop off the wagon long enough for a stiff drink.
A car horn blared outside. Five seconds later, Reams stuck his head in the door. “Let’s go, buddy. Train’s leaving the station.” His finger was still wrapped, but he wasn’t sickly anymore. Reams had the energy of a kid on his way to summer camp.
“Okay.” Morgan dumped his coffee in the sink, grabbed his gym bag.
On the way out to the car, Reams said, “I had to put the Volvo in the shop. Transmission trouble. But I got us this for the drive.”
Morgan stopped on the passenger side of the brand-new Mercedes. It looked nice, long and black, tinted windows. Expensive.
He opened the back door, and the sharp stench of bourbon slapped him in the face. Dirk Jakes stuck his head out. “Hey there, Morgo-man. Ready for a road trip?”
Morgan’s jaw dropped. “What the hell’s he doing here?”
“It’s his car,” Reams said.
Jakes held up a hip flask, swirled it around. “How about a little eye-opener, Morgan?”
It was actually tempting. “No thanks.” He tossed his gym bag into the backseat next to Jakes. Jakes opened his yap to say something, but Morgan shut the door on him. To Reams he said, “You didn’t tell me he was coming.”
“Oh, take it easy.”
Morgan shook his head. Reams’s steadfast enthusiasm for the trip was not contagious. Morgan second- guessed his own decision to hide out in Houston at the academic conference.
Morgan climbed into the front passenger seat and Reams got behind the wheel. Reams went through a complex series of checks: headlights, windshield wipers, turn signals. He turned on the heat and set the thermostat. He was especially concerned with getting the volume exactly right on the radio.
“For Christ’s sake,” Jakes yelled from the backseat. “It ain’t the goddamn space shuttle. Just start driving.”
Morgan fastened his seat belt.
“Wagons ho, gentlemen.” Reams put the Mercedes into gear and headed for the highway.
Jakes leaned forward between Morgan and Reams. “Remember, guys. What happens on the road stays on the road.”
“Exactly,” Reams said. “Just a trio of stout lads out for a good time.”
“What actually do you think you’re going to do?” asked Morgan.
Jakes said, “First thing is we brace ourselves with a few drinky-poos, then we round up some tail.”
Reams didn’t look so gung ho anymore. “Uh… maybe that’s not the best idea, Dirk.”
“Oh, put a sock in it, you sissy.” Jakes grabbed the crotch of his pants. “Damn, I got to take a piss. Pull into that Chevron, will you?”
“We’ve only been on the road three minutes,” Reams said.
“Dammit, Reams, I’m not going to let you fuck up a perfectly good road trip with your bullshit rules and schedules. Now pull into that gas station so I can tap a kidney.”
Morgan sank low in his seat. It was going to be a long drive.
Deke Stubbs let the Mercedes get a head start, then followed. An expensive car. Maybe it was the drug dealer making the buy. Maybe this Morgan character had the cocaine after all. Maybe they had some kind of racket going. The kid had said a hundred thousand dollars’ worth. Hell, maybe more.
Stubbs was red-eyed, queasy, tired. He’d had a very, very bad couple of days, but it would all pay off when he found the drugs and the money. He could turn things around pretty quick then.
What he really needed was sleep. But not now. Not yet. He had to see where Morgan was going in that big black Mercedes. He leaned over, popped open the glove box, and found the half-empty bottle of caffeine pills. They came in handy when Stubbs was on all-night stakeouts.
He rubbed his balls. They still ached. That bitch had kicked him good, but he’d fixed her.
He popped two of the caffeine pills, washed them down with his last beer. Okay, Professor Morgan, you lead. Deke Stubbs is on your ass like shit on a shoe.
twenty-nine
On a hard-packed dirt road under a gray sky just north of Fumbee, Red Zach cursed an underling on his tiny cell phone. Zach wanted answers and he wanted them yesterday.
“I asked you who was in charge of this one-horse shithole,” Zach yelled. “I got to know who to deal
