“Men like that are pretenders, Neets,” her daddy had said. “Soldiers who’ve been in combat, those who have seen the true face of war, aren’t going to put up a bunch of pictures on the wall. They don’t even like to think about it, let alone be reminded of it all the time.”
She smiled to herself. Thinking of her father always made her smile, and thinking of Harmon as a pretender would make easier what was undoubtedly going to be a difficult conversation.
Harmon came in a few minutes later and closed the door behind him. Anita had always thought he carried himself like one of the wise guys she’d seen in the movies. A few years older than she, he was medium height with a potbelly. His suits were always a bit too tight, and he wore his dark hair combed straight back from his forehead and held in place with hair spray or mousse.
“Do you know how many phone calls I’ve received about this investigation in the past twenty-four hours?” Harmon began.
“Several, I’d imagine.”
“Dozens. The brass in Nashville are so far up my ass, I can feel them tickling my tonsils. They want to know what we’re doing about this.”
“We’re doing all we can.”
“But we’re not getting any results. People want results when a judge is murdered, Agent White. They want somebody arrested. They want somebody punished. They figure, hell, if somebody can kill a judge and get away with it, none of us are safe. People call their congressmen and ask them why nobody’s been arrested yet. They ask them what kind of outfit we’re running up here.”
“But it’s only been a day and a half,” Anita said.
“Doesn’t matter. When people around here call the politicians, the politicians call the brass in Nashville and ask them why nobody’s been arrested yet. And then guess who the brass call? Me. They ask me what we’re doing. They ask me who I put in charge of the investigation. They ask me whether we have a suspect in custody, and if not, why not? And you know what I have to tell them? Lies, that’s what. I tell them I’ve got my best agent in charge of the investigation. I tell them she’s an up-and-comer, a real go-getter. I tell them she already has a suspect and she’s already gotten a search warrant. I tell them she’ll have someone locked up by the end of the day. And then I call her, and she tells me she doesn’t have a damned thing. Not only that; she tells me her only suspect has disappeared like a goddamned fart in a hurricane. I called you in here now because I want you to explain yourself to me so I can explain myself to them. And it had better be good.”
Anita thought back on what Norcross had said to her in the car yesterday. How the boss had been the first agent at the crime scene; how he must have known how tough it was going to be.
“Why did you assign this case to me?” Anita asked.
Harmon looked surprised. He laced his fingers together and rested his elbows on the desk.
“I just told you. You’re my up-and-comer. My go-getter. I thought you were the right person for the job.”
“Do you know what I think? I think instead of assigning this case to me, you draped it around my neck like a yoke. You were at the crime scene. You knew it was outdoors. You knew the weather was about to turn. Fire and water are two of the worst things that can happen to a crime scene, and this one had both. What evidence the fire didn’t consume, the water washed away. So you dumped it on me. When the brass call, why don’t you just tell them the truth? Tell them you knew it was going to be an impossible case, so you dumped it on the agent whose very existence offends you. Why don’t you tell them you knew you might need a sacrificial lamb, so you dumped it on the agent you’d most like to blame if everything goes to hell in a handbasket?”
Anita took a breath. She’d stopped short of saying what was really on her mind. Why don’t you tell them you can all blame it on the woman? The black woman! She refused to toss that card on the table. It was a card her daddy had warned her never to play. “You make your way on hard work and dedication,” he’d said. “You outwork and outthink the bigots, even though you know they hate you and would do anything to destroy you. You stay true to yourself and your principles. You adapt and you overcome. That’s how you do it.”
Harmon’s face flushed. His laced fingers became pink as he squeezed them tightly together.
“Are you accusing me of sexual discrimination and racism, Agent White? Are you suggesting that my decision to assign this case to you was motivated by your gender or the color of your skin?”
Anita knew she was on thin ice. She didn’t want to back down, but she loved the job and wanted to keep it. She chose her words carefully.
“What I’m saying is that you’ve treated me like an outcast since the first day I walked through this door. I find it hard to believe that you’ve suddenly decided I’m some kind of wonder woman.”
Harmon leaned back in his chair and began rocking back and forth. He closed his eyes and massaged his temples for a full thirty seconds before he spoke.
“I hope you understand that we’re both in a world of shit here,” he said. “I thought that since this judge had the reputation of being a first-class son of a bitch, nobody would pay much attention. I underestimated the political fallout. And you’re right. I assigned this murder investigation to you because I knew it was a shit case and I don’t like you. You’re cold, Agent White, and you think your shit doesn’t stink. But we’re stuck with each other. We’re grown-ups. We can agree to disagree.”
“Is that all? Can I go now?”
“You can go as soon as you tell me how you plan to nail the bastard who did this.”
“Honestly? Right now I have no idea. Perhaps you have some suggestions.”
“As a matter of fact, I do have a suggestion-one that might allow both of us to keep our jobs.”
35
I spend another half hour talking to Rider about Hannah Mills/Katie Dean, her background, and her tenuous connection to Ramirez. After an extra ten minutes of arguing, I finally talk him into sharing what he knows with Sheriff Bates. As I drive back to Jonesborough, I try several times to get ahold of Bates to let him know what I’ve found out and that he needs to talk to Rider, but he’s still not answering his cell. I stop and eat a quick lunch at a little diner called the Mountain View and get back to the office around twelve thirty. Rita’s out to lunch, along with everyone else, it seems, but as I walk past her desk and down the hall, I hear voices coming from Mooney’s office. One of them sounds like Anita White, so I decide to walk back and see what’s going on.
“Joe, come in, come in,” Mooney says when I appear in the doorway. He’s smiling broadly, which immediately makes me think he’s going to ask me for a favor. Anita is sitting across the desk from Mooney to his right, and Mike Norcross is across the desk and to his left. “We’re just having a little strategy session.”
“Making any progress on the judge?” I say to Anita.
“Doing what we can.”
“Any solid leads?”
“That’s what we were talking about,” Mooney interrupts. “We’d like to present some evidence to the grand jury, and you’re just the man to do it.”
“Really?” I’m immediately skeptical. He’s talking in his politician voice, a sure sign that reason is being thrown out the window. “What kind of evidence?”
“Evidence of interstate flight to avoid prosecution, evidence of obstruction of justice, evidence of murder.”
“I take it you have a suspect.” I wonder what Anita’s found out since yesterday, and I silently curse myself for not being more diligent about getting in touch with her.
Mooney motions to a chair in the corner. “Pull that chair around here. Let me bring you up to speed.”
I grab the chair, turn it around, and lean on the backrest. Mooney talks for ten or fifteen minutes, occasionally assisted by Anita. He gives me a detailed description of everything that’s been done in the investigation and the conclusions he’s drawn. By the time he’s finished, I’m quite certain he’s either making a sick joke or he’s gone completely insane.
“I want you to present all this to the grand jury and then persuade them to issue an indictment for first- degree murder,” Mooney says.
“You can’t be serious.”
