law enforcement officer.
“Now what has my old buddy Dillard gone and got himself into today?” Bates says as he unfolds from a year-old black BMW and sets his cowboy hat atop his head at a slight angle.
“Nice ride,” I say as he walks around to the trunk and retrieves a pair of latex gloves. “When did you start driving that?”
“Last week. Took it off a meth dealer out toward Sulphur Springs.” Bates smiles, admiring the vehicle. “You’d think them drug dealers would have enough sense to lease. But this old boy paid cash, and what was once his now belongs to the Washington County Sheriff’s Department.” He chuckles under his breath. “I love taking their stuff.”
“Where’s the guy you took it from?”
“I turned him over to the federal government, which means he’ll most likely be resting and relaxing at the medium security penitentiary in Beckley, West Virginia, for the next thirty years or so. I understand the inmates up there got a nice view of the mountains. That your pup?”
“It must belong to Hannah.”
I follow Bates back toward the house. He’s mid-forties, perhaps an inch taller than I, and has the sturdy build of a farmer. His hair is medium length and light brown beneath the tan cowboy hat. He’s wearing his ever-present khaki uniform with the brown epaulets and cowboy boots. I’ve already filled Bates in on the details over the phone. He said he’s talked to Hannah Mills a few times and found her to be a “sweet little ol’ gal.”
Bates stops just short of the back door. “Say you’ve already been through the house?”
“Yeah.”
“Touch anything?”
I think for a second. Did I?
“Just the handle on the refrigerator door. Oh, and the knob on the back door… and the knob on the door leading to the basement and a light switch. And the phone.”
Bates shakes his head.
“Don’t touch anything else,” he says, and walks in. “Lord, what’s that smell?”
“Spoiled chicken.”
“Make you think twice about eating such a foul animal,” he says, smiling at his lame pun.
I follow silently as he retraces my earlier route through the house, including the basement. He grunts occasionally, but other than that, he offers no comment. When he’s finished with the house, we walk the edge of the property, finding nothing. Finally, Bates attempts to open the driver’s-side door on the Camry. It’s locked, so he walks back inside the house, reappearing a moment later with a set of keys.
“Got these out of her purse,” he says, dangling them gingerly from his latex-covered fingers.
Bates opens the door and looks through the interior of the car, then opens the trunk.
“This ain’t good,” he says.
“What?” I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.
“Take a look at this.”
I walk around to where he’s standing and follow his pointing finger to a dark spot on the carpet in the trunk. The circumference of the spot is about the same as a coffee cup.
“Blood,” he says. “Bet my badge on it.”
“That could be anything,” I say.
“It ain’t anything. It’s blood.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“C’mon back here and take a peek at this.”
We walk around the car, and he points to the driver’s seat. I look at him stupidly. I have no idea what he’s trying to tell me.
“Good thing you’re a lawyer instead of a cop,” he says. “The unsolved-crime rate would skyrocket.”
“So you think there’s been a crime?”
“I think we’re gonna have some problems finding this gal,” Bates says. “And when we do find her, I’ll bet you a poke full of cash to a pig’s ear she’s gonna be dead.”
21
I leave Leon Bates to what he believes is his crime scene shortly thereafter. There isn’t anything I can do. He’s already put in a call to forensics, a department he’s also funded with money seized from drug dealers. He’s hired and trained specialists so he doesn’t have to go begging to the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation every time he finds himself with a serious crime on his hands. His department even has a mobile minilab. It won’t surprise me if Bates winds up funding his own full- fledged lab sometime in the not-too-distant future. He’s become so proficient at arresting drug dealers that I find it hard to believe there are any left in the county. But I guess they’re like rats, multiplying in the darkness while the world around them pretends they’re under control. I take the puppy to a woman in Jonesborough who boards dogs, then drive back to the office.
I find Mooney in his office, sipping coffee, fiddling with his mustache, and reading the Johnson City newspaper. He must read every word, including the obituaries and the classified ads, because he pores over it for hours every day.
“No luck,” I say as I peck on the door frame.
“No luck? What do you mean?”
“Her car’s there, her purse is on the bed along with a jacket, but she’s nowhere to be found.”
“You looked all over?”
“Twice.”
Mooney leans back in his chair and rubs his chin. “Christ, I guess we ought to start checking around to see whether anybody’s heard from her.”
“Don’t bother,” I say. “Bates is on it.”
“ Bates? What do you mean, Bates?”
“I called him.”
“Why the hell did you do that?”
“Because there’s a puppy in the house that’s obviously been alone for a while. Because there’s meat spoiled in the refrigerator. Because her house is outside the city limits, so it’s his turf. Something’s wrong, Lee. Bates thinks there’s blood in the trunk of her car.”
“Bates is a redneck.”
“Bates is a good cop.”
Mooney leans forward and puts his face in his hands.
“My God,” he says, “she’s such a sweet kid. I’ll never forgive myself if something’s happened to her. And with what’s happened to Judge Green… what will people think?”
What will people think? We have a murdered judge and a young woman missing, and he’s calculating political fallout. My distaste for him is growing faster than a garden weed.
“There has to be some reasonable explanation,” I say.
“I’m the one who talked her into coming here, you know.” Mooney’s voice takes on a dreamy sort of monotone. “She gave a seminar in Nashville about the importance of compassion for victims in the district attorney’s office. She was so convincing, so persuasive. Bright, funny, attractive. When she finished, I felt like I’d been saved at a revival. I saw her in the hotel lobby a little while later and introduced myself and asked her if she’d like to have a cup of coffee. We ended up talking for a couple of hours, and I convinced her she’d love northeast Tennessee and she’d enjoy working here.”
“No offense, but what you’re saying sounds like a little more than professional interest.”
“No!” Mooney says, slamming his palm onto the desktop. His eyes open wide, and he glares at me. “Why is everybody’s mind always in the gutter? It wasn’t anything like that. I just thought she might bring some fresh air into this place. Besides, I’m not a cradle robber. I’m old enough to be her father. That’s the way I felt about her. Fatherly. Protective, you know?”
