this?'
'You and me.'
You didn't tell those detectives working the Monroe murders?'
'Not yet.'
You understand that you're withholding important evidence in a murder investigation. You understand that's a crime?'
What evidence? A lying, twisted killer tells me a story. Blames another man for all sorts of things. What does that amount to? Reporters hear stuff all the time.
We listen, process, discard. You tell me: evidence of what?
'His goddamn confession. His description of the deaths of his mother and stepfather. How he worked it all out. Dying declaration, just as he said, is admissible in a court of law.'
He lied. He lied right, left, up, and down. I don't think, at the end, he understood what was truth and what was fiction.'
'Bullshit. That story sounds pretty goddamn real to me.'
That's because you want it to be real. Look at it another way. Suppose I told you that in the rest of the interview, he made up things. Claimed murders he couldn't possibly have committed. Misstated all sorts of stuff. He was grandiose, egotistical, wanted to be remembered for his achievements. Hell, he almost claimed being a part of the Kennedy assassination and to know where Hoffa's body lies. Now, hearing all that stuff mixed together, wouldn't that make you wonder if he was telling you the truth about this little murder or two?'
Brown hesitated. 'No.' Cowart stared at the detective.
All right. Maybe.'
'And what about him and Bobby Earl? Just where does the betrayal start? Maybe he figured this was his way back at Bobby Earl. I mean, what meant what? And now he's dead. Can't ask him, unless you want to take a trip to hell.' 'I'm willing.' 'So am I.'
The detective glared over at Cowart, but then his frown dissipated and he nodded his head. 'I think I see now.'
'See what?'
'Why it's so damn important for you to believe Bobby Earl's still innocent. I see why you tore up your own place here. Tore up your nice little life a bit when you heard what Sullivan told you, huh?'
Cowart gestured, as if to say the detective was stating the obvious.
'Prize. Reputation. Future. Pretty big stakes. Maybe you'd prefer it to just all go away, huh, Mr. Cowart?' 'It won't,' he replied softly.
'No, it won't, will it? Maybe you can close your eyes to a lot, but you're still gonna see that little girl all dripping dead in the swamp, aren't you? No matter how hard you shut your eyes.' 'Correct.'
'And so you've got a debt, too, huh, Mr. Cowart?' 'It seems that way.'
'Need to make things right? Put the world back in order?'
Cowart didn't need to answer. He smiled sadly and took another long drink. He gestured Brown back to his seat. The detective slumped down but remained on the front rim of the chair, wound tight, as if ready to jump up. 'Okay,' said the reporter. 'You're the detective. What would you do first? Go see Bobby Earl?'
Brown considered carefully. 'Maybe. Maybe not. Fox'll walk through the trap unless it's set just right and proper.'
'If there's a trap to set. If he is a fox.'
'Well' Brown said slowly, 'Sullivan said a few things that can be checked out up in Pachoula. Maybe mother talk with that old grandmother, and a look around her place. Sullivan said we missed something.
Let's go see if he was telling the truth about that.
Maybe we can start there, figure out what's the truth and what's not.'
Cowart shook his head slowly. 'That's right. Except we go back there and walk through the front door and there's eight-by-ten glossy photographs of Ferguson committing that murder sitting on the mantlepiece and it doesn't help a damn thing… ' He pointed a finger at Tanny Brown. 'He can't be touched, not legally. You know that you won't ever make a case against him.
Not ever. Not with that confession and with all the other stuff that's muddying up all this. It'll never happen in any court of law.'
Cowart breathed in hard. '… And another thing.
When we show up there, that old grandmother of his will know that something's changed. And as soon as she knows, he'll know.'
Brown nodded but said harshly, I still want the answer.
'So do I' Cowart said, before continuing. 'But the
Monroe case. Well, if he did it – and I'm only saying if – he did it, you could make him on that.' He paused, then corrected himself. 'We could make him on that.
'And that might put things right? Put him back on Death Row, clear the slate? That what you're thinking?' 'Maybe. I hope so.'
'Hope,' said the detective, 'is something I have never placed much faith in. Like luck and prayer. And anyway,' he continued, shaking his head, 'same problem. One lying man says a deal's been made. But the only corroboration of that deal is dead in Monroe County. So; you think maybe we can find some weapon on Bobby Earl? Maybe he used a credit card to buy a plane ticket and rent a car, so we can place him down there on the day of the murder? You think he let someone see him? Or maybe he shot his mouth off to some other folks? You think he was so stupid that he left prints or hair or any damn bit of forensic evidence which your dear friends in the Monroe sheriff's department will generously hand over to you with no questions asked? You don't think he learned enough the first time around, so that he did this clean?' 'I don't know. I don't know that he did it.' 'If he didn't do it, then who the hell did? You think Blair Sullivan struck some other deals in prison?'
'I only know one thing. Making deals, running head games, manipulation, it was what he lived for.' 'And died for.'
'That's right. Maybe that was his last deal.' Brown relaxed in his seat. He picked up his pistol and twirled it around, stroking a finger across the blue metal. 'You stick to that, Mr. Cowart. You stick to that objectivity. No matter how goddamn stupid it makes you look.'
Cowart felt a sudden rush of anger. 'Not as goddamn stupid as someone beating a confession out of a murder suspect so the man gets a free ride.'
There was a brief quiet between the two men before the detective said, 'And there's that one other thing on the tape, right? Where Sullivan says 'Someone just like me…' ' He looked hard at the reporter. 'Didn't that make your skin crawl just a bit, Mr. Cowart? What do you suppose that means?' The detective spoke through tightly clenched teeth. 'Don't you think that's a question we ought to answer?'
'Yes,' Cowart replied, bitterness streaking the word. Silence gripped the two men again.
'AH right,' Cowart said. 'You're right. Let's start.' He looked over at the policeman. 'Do we have an agreement?' 'What sort of agreement?'
'I don't know.'
Brown nodded. 'In that case, then, I suspect so,' replied the policeman.
Both men looked at each other. Neither believed the other for an instant. Both men knew they needed to find out the truth of what happened. The problem, each realized silently to himself, was that each man needed a different truth.
What about the Monroe detectives?' Cowart asked. Let them do their job. At least for now. I need to see what happened down there for myself.' They'll be back. I think I'm the only thing they've got to go on.'
Then we'll see. But I think they'll head back to the prison. That's what I'd do if I were them.' He pointed to the tape.'… And if I didn't know about that.'
The reporter nodded. 'A few minutes back you were accusing me of breaking the
