Stupid little bitch. Landers was offering her a way out, and she had to go all sanctimonious. He wanted to ask her if being a drug-addicted, thieving little whore was better than being a snitch, but he didn’t want to kill the possibility that she might be willing to help him later. He swallowed his pride and smiled.
”Fine,” he said. ”It was nice to meet you. If you change your mind, just give me a call.”
Landers handed her a card and walked out the door. He’d wait and come back in a few weeks, maybe a month. If he was lucky she’d be sentenced by then, looking at a trip to the women’s penitentiary in Nashville. Landers had been down there a couple of times. It was a miserable fucking place. Maybe when the prospect of going to the penitentiary turned into a reality, Dillard’s sister would change her mind.
June 13
1:00 p.m.
Erlene Barlowe hated to do it to Virgil; he was such a sweetie. But Erlene had made an uncharacteristic mistake the night the preacher was killed-she’d let her emotions overcome her good sense and she’d put her beloved Angel in an impossible position. Erlene’s mistake had ultimately resulted in Angel’s arrest, and now she was determined to do something that might begin to set things right.
Erlene had called Virgil and asked him to come out and meet her at the club at one o’clock in the afternoon. She could tell by his voice that he was a little apprehensive, but she assured him she just needed a teeny little favor.
He showed up right on time. Virgil Watterson was a homely sort of man, kind of short, and the hair in his gray wig stuck up in different directions. Erlene had never asked him why, but he always wore a bow tie and suspenders when he came to the club, at least until one of the girls took them off. Erlene had a collection of the bow ties Virgil had left behind.
Virgil was real well off-Gus told Erlene that Virgil owned six McDonald’s restaurants and a whole bunch of real estate. He’d been coming to the club for years, but since he was married and a deacon in his church and a high-class businessman and all, Erlene and Gus had always made the VIP room available for him and let him come and go through the back door. Sometimes he brought a friend or business associate with him, but usually he just came by himself. He always wanted at least two girls to keep him company and he always paid in cash. He was a good customer and a sweet little old man. Wouldn’t hurt a flea, though he did have some sexual tendencies that ran a little to the strange side.
The VIP lounge was a fairly large room with its own bar and dance floor. Off to one side were three small rooms Erlene called bull pens. If a gentleman wanted even more privacy, he was welcome to take a lady, or two or three, off into one of the bull pens and conduct whatever business he needed to conduct.
Gus always called the video recording system he installed in the VIP bull pens his little insurance policy. He didn’t tape everything that went on in there, but he taped enough to be able to do a little trading if the need ever arose. He had tapes of judges and lawyers and doctors and police chiefs and preachers and businessmen and politicians. All the tapes were arranged in alphabetical order and kept in a fireproof safe in a mini-warehouse on the outskirts of the city.
Virgil just happened to be one of the people Gus had taped several times, and Virgil was such a meek little man that Erlene thought he was perfect for what she needed done.
It was just the two of them in the club, and Erlene led Virgil down the hallway in the back to the girls’
dressing room. There was a small lounge for the girls with a television back there, one of those televisions that had a video player built into it. The tape Erlene wanted to show Virgil was already in the machine.
She pulled a chair up for him in front of the television.
”Now you just sit your cute little self down right here,” Erlene said. ”I’ve got something special I want to show you.”
Virgil sat down and Erlene sat down next to him.
She put one hand hand on his knee and pointed the remote at the television with the other.
The screen lit up and there was Virgil, naked, sucking his thumb and talking dirty to a couple of the girls. Erlene kept patting Virgil’s knee as they watched him do some things he probably found a tad embarrassing. After a couple of minutes, he asked her to turn it off. Then he turned to her with the most pitiful look on his face Erlene had ever seen.
”I can’t believe you’d do this to me, Erlene,” Virgil said. ”After all these years and all the money I’ve put in your pocket, I just can’t believe it.”
”Do what, honey?” Erlene said. ”I’m not doing a thing to you.”
”Then what was the purpose of showing that to me?”
”I just need a little favor, sweetie. That’s all. And if you’ll do me just this one little favor, I swear on Gus’s grave I’ll give you every tape Gus ever made of you.”
Erlene watched Virgil carefully as she laid out the proposal. He was reluctant at first, but the more Erlene talked, and the more she rubbed the inside of Virgil’s thigh, the more he seemed to relax. Finally, he agreed to do what Erlene needed done.
He was such a sweetie.
June 15
6:00 a.m.
On the morning my daughter’s last dance recital was scheduled, I was sitting at the breakfast table reading the paper when Caroline wandered into the kitchen rubbing her eyes.
”I need to tell you about something,” she said. I put the paper down.
”Sounds bad.”
”I’m not sure. I saw a silver truck yesterday afternoon, like the one you said almost ran over you. It drove by the house twice. Then when I went to the grocery store later, I came outside and it was parked right beside me in the lot, but I couldn’t see the driver through the tint.”
”Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”
”I was getting ready for the recital, remember? I was busy all day, and then last night when I came in you were already asleep. I thought about waking you up, but I didn’t think it would hurt to wait until this morning. I’m sorry.”
”Tester’s son-the one I was telling you about who made that scene at Angel’s arraignment-owns a silver Dodge truck. It has to be him.”
”But why, Joe? Why would he want to bother us?
You’re just a lawyer doing your job.”
”You didn’t hear him in court that day. Something very strange is going on in that man’s head.”
”What should we do?”
”There isn’t much we can do. If you see him again, call the cops and tell them what’s going on. Maybe they’ll check him out. And make sure you tell Lilly to be watching for him. Show her a picture of a Dodge truck or something so she’ll know what to look for.”
After I finished the paper, I drove to the gym in Johnson City and worked out for an hour. Then I drove over to Unicoi County to represent Randall Finch, one of my two remaining appointed death penalty cases. Randall was a twenty-five-yearold uneducated redneck who’d killed his girlfriend’s thirteen-month-old son in a drug-induced haze. Randall and his girlfriend had been bingeing on crystal meth and hydrocodone for two days and had finally run out of drugs, so the girlfriend went out to find some more, leaving the child with Randall. While she was gone, the little boy apparently started to cry.
Randall first dealt with him by using him for an ashtray, putting cigarettes out on the bottoms of his feet.
Then, for some reason only Randall could understand, he laid the child on the metal protective rack of a hot kerosene heater, producing a sun-shaped burn that covered his back. Finally, when the baby still wouldn’t stop crying, Randall shook him so violently his brain hemorrhaged.
Randall’s girlfriend returned to find the carnage and called the police. They arrested her, too.
Randall didn’t deny killing the baby; he just said he didn’t
