election.
Landers didn’t give a damn about Deacon, but he’d been around long enough to know that shit flows downhill. If the case was lost, Deacon would immediately start looking around for someone to blame. Since Landers was the case agent, Deacon would look in his direction first. Deacon would tell anyone who’d listen that it was Landers’s fault, that Landers had been sloppy or that Landers had talked Deacon into indicting Angel without enough evidence for a conviction. If that happened, Landers knew he could kiss his chances at a promotion goodbye when his boss finally retired.
Landers had just picked up the photograph of Angel with the bruise on her face when the secretary buzzed.
”There’s a man on the phone says he has information about the Tester murder,” she said.
Landers punched the flashing button.
”Who is this?”
”My name is Virgil Watterson. I have some information you may be able to use.”
”What information is that?”
”My understanding is that a body part was found out near Pickens Bridge?”
A crank call. Some pervert wanting to talk about the dead preacher’s dick.
”That’s right. What about it?”
”I crossed the bridge the night of the murder, around one in the morning. When I got onto the bridge, I noticed there was a car stopped right in the middle. As I got closer, I saw a woman standing outside the car near the railing. She could have thrown something in the water.”
What the fuck? A witness? Where had this guy been?
”Did you get a look at her?”
”Sure did. Her car was facing me in the other lane and she was walking back towards it. Caught her full in my headlights. Middle-aged woman, wearing some kind of animal-print jacket and the tightest pants I ever saw. Bright red hair.”
Erlene Barlowe. It had to be her. Landers started scratching notes on a pad. ”Would you recognize her if you saw her again?”
”Probably.”
”What about the car? You get a look at it?”
”Yes, sir. The bridge is narrow so I had to slow way down to get past her. It was a Corvette. A nice one.”
”Get a plate number?”
”No. Sorry.”
”What about the color?”
”It was dark out there, but I’m pretty sure it was red.”
”Was anyone else with her on the bridge?”
”I didn’t see a soul.”
”Anyone else in the car?”
”Not that I saw.”
”Why’d you wait so long to call and tell us about this, Mr. . did you say your name is Watterson?”
”Yes. Virgil Watterson. I’m afraid it’s a little embarrassing.”
”Embarrassing?”
”I wouldn’t want this to get out.”
”Wouldn’t want what to get out?”
The man’s voice got quieter, as though he was trying to keep someone nearby from hearing what he was saying.
”It’s my wife, you see. I’m a married man.”
”So?”
”I’d been on a business trip and came back a little early. I was on my way to someone’s house.”
”Who’s house?”
”I’d rather not say.”
The light came on in Landers’s mind.
”So you came back early from your trip and were going to visit someone besides your wife?”
”That’s possible.”
”And you didn’t go home until the next day?”
”That’s right.”
”And then you heard about the murder and put two and two together?”
”Exactly.”
”I understand,” Landers said. ”So why have you suddenly changed your mind? Why are you coming forward now?”
”I can’t stop thinking about it. I dream about that woman on the bridge every night. I’m afraid you may have arrested the wrong person. My conscience just can’t bear it.”
Landers sat back and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. A steady pressure was beginning to build just beneath his temples.
”Is there anything else you want to tell me, Mr.
Watterson?”
”Not that I can think of.”
”Would you be willing to give me a written statement if I need one?”
”I guess I could if I have to.”
”Would you be willing to testify in court?”
”I’d rather not.”
Landers wrote down Watterson’s address and phone number and told him he’d be back in touch.
If Watterson was telling the truth, Erlene Barlowe could well have tossed Reverend Tester’s dick into the lake. Maybe even the murder weapon. Landers wrote himself a note to have the sheriff’s department drag the lake under the bridge again. They’d already done it once, after the cat found the reverend’s dick, but they hadn’t come up with anything.
Since Watterson said the woman on the bridge was alone, either Angel Christian had still been at the club or Erlene had taken her home. Either way, it probably took Angel out of the picture so far as the murder was concerned. Deacon Baker-that stupid fuck. Landers told him he was pulling the trigger too early. He told him the case was thin. Now it looked like Watterson might be right-they arrested the wrong fucking person.
Landers sat there trying to decide what to do. He could go out and take a written statement from Watterson and add it to the district attorney’s file, but if he did that, Dillard would be entitled to a copy of the statement and Deacon would accuse Landers of sabotaging the case. Payback would be a bitch. Landers figured the better option would be to tell Deacon about Watterson’s call and force
Landers called Deacon’s office, and for once, he was in. Landers told him about Watterson and the woman on the bridge.
”Doesn’t sound like a very reliable witness to me,”
Deacon said. Landers knew it. He
”You know what this means, don’t you?” Landers said. ”If Erlene Barlowe was standing in the middle of the bridge that night and she was alone, we probably arrested the wrong person.”
”I don’t recall any of the Barlowe woman’s DNA being found on the victim,” Deacon said, ”and it had to be dark out there. No way this guy could make a positive ID.”
”You didn’t hear his description. It was her.”
”So? What do you want me to do, Phil? You want me to publicly announce that we charged the wrong person with first-degree murder? What do I say?
Oops? Gee, we’re sorry? Six weeks before an election? You’re out of your damned mind.”
”So you’re asking me to ignore a material witness in a murder investigation.”
