He reaches back into his pocket and pulls out a pen. “That resignation needs to be effective immediately.”
54
Bates and I are riding through the darkness in silence. I’m stunned by what’s happened, not so much by the fact that Mooney is guilty, but by the fact that he’s going to get away with it. Losing the district attorney’s office will devastate him-he’s become addicted to the power and prestige-but I can’t stop thinking that he needs to be punished. He needs to be dragged through a public trial, convicted, and sent off to prison. There he should be gang-raped for ten years before they finally stick a needle in his arm.
I know Bates is right. The only way to prove that Mooney was involved in Katie’s death would be to bring a string of witnesses into court to testify how the contract came about and how it was executed. But the only direct link to Mooney-Roscoe Stinnett-is dead. So are the two bikers who actually murdered Hannah. Ramirez is in a federal prison, but the prosecution couldn’t force him to testify at a trial without leverage. Even if he did testify, Stinnett apparently never told him precisely who was putting out the contract on Hannah. There’s simply no direct evidence that Mooney was involved, and the only circumstantial evidence is that he’s the father of Hannah’s child. It’s not enough.
I think back to the day I went out to Hannah’s house, discovered she was gone, and then went back to the office and talked to Mooney. He was so emotional, such a skilled actor. What was it he said? Something about being protective of her, fatherly. And then he said, “That’s the way I felt about her.” He knew she was dead. He knew it.
“I can’t believe he’s going to get away with it,” I say to Bates.
“He ain’t gonna go to prison, but he ain’t gonna get away with it, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“I ain’t one to lie much, but I’m afraid I had to lie to him a little. I already mailed a copy of that DNA report to every newspaper and television station within fifty miles. In three days’ time, they’ll be on him like jackals. He’ll have to find him a cave to live in.”
“I wanted to kill him back there.”
“Can’t say as I blame you for that. At least you got a good lick on him.”
I look down at the back of my hand and clench and unclench my fist. The knuckles are bruised. It feels good.
“Don’t you want to know where we’re going next?” Bates says.
“I can’t wait.”
“You’re about to become the new attorney general of the First Judicial District.”
I turn and look at him. He’s smiling as if he just won the lottery.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Mooney’s out, which means somebody’s going to have to take his place. Now, since the attorney general is an elected state official, not a county official, his replacement is appointed by the governor. Under normal circumstances, an interim would be appointed, there’d be nominations, and the governor would choose whoever he thinks would benefit him the most come the next election. But these ain’t normal circumstances. Since me and the governor are such good buddies, I’ve already got the fix in for you, brother. We’re on our way to the airport to meet him right now. All you have to do is say yes.”
“You’re nuts. I’m not a politician, Leon. I don’t want to be the district attorney general.”
“Sure you do. It’ll be grand. You don’t even have to run for office. Instead of some dipstick making all the important decisions, you get to make ’em. You’ll make a hundred and fifty grand a year, and you know what the best part will be? You’ll have some real power. You can mess with the judges to your heart’s content.”
“I–I’m grateful. I appreciate the confidence. I really do. But this is too… It’s too quick, Leon. Too much responsibility.”
“What else are you gonna do, Dillard? Sit at home and twiddle your damn thumbs? You’re the right man for this job, and I aim to see you take it. Me and you will make a great team. If it turns out you don’t like it, don’t run for election when the term is up in four years.”
“You could have at least told me about this, given me a chance to talk to Caroline.”
“She’ll be glad to have you out of the house again. Besides, you really ain’t got no choice now. The governor’s already signed the appointment, and he’s flying all the way up here from Nashville just to meet you. His jet should be landing right about now. That’s why I asked you to wear the suit, brother. I wouldn’t want you to meet the governor looking like a heathen.”
“He knows about Mooney?”
“I told him everything.”
I lean my head back on the headrest and close my eyes. Despite my protests, I find the idea intriguing. I’ve always been critical of the men who occupied the position of district attorney general, and this would give me the opportunity to run the office the way I think it should be run-the right way. Ultimately, I’d control all of the decisions about whom to indict and what crime to charge in a four-county district. But what intrigues me even more is Tommy Miller’s situation. I’ll be in a position to make sure the same thing doesn’t happen to Tommy that happened to Brian Gant. And then there’s Caroline. If the evidence she destroyed ever comes up as an issue and if Anita White or Ralph Harmon or anyone else ever attempts to bring a case against her, they’ll have to get past me. I open my eyes and turn to Bates.
“Okay, Leon,” I say. “You talked me into it. Let’s go see the governor.”
55
The private jet that has carried the governor of Tennessee to Tri-Cities Regional Airport has been pulled into a hangar about a quarter mile from the main terminal. Bates pulls inside the huge opening slowly. Three men in suits-the governor’s security detail-are waiting. They talk to us briefly, wave wands over our bodies, and then lead us across the floor to a set of steps that ascends to the interior of the plane.
I’m a bit startled by the luxury, and by the space, once we get inside. An attractive young woman gives us a brief introduction to the pilot, shows us the kitchenette and the bar and the soft, reclining leather seats-three on each side of the aisle. There’s a flat-screen television on the wall in front of the seats and two computer workstations behind. She leads us down a short hallway past the bathrooms to the back of the plane, opens a door, motions us inside, and closes the door behind us.
James Lincoln Donner III, the governor of Tennessee, is standing behind a sprawling oak desk. I’ve never met Donner, but I know he’s a multimillionaire from Nashville who made his money the old-fashioned way-he inherited it. Donner is the first Democrat to hold the office in sixteen years, but he wasn’t elected because of any noble ideal he represented or because of a rock-solid political platform. He was elected because the two Republican administrations that preceded him used the state treasury as their personal piggy banks. I remember reading a quote from Donner during his campaign in which he said corruption was so rampant at the state capitol in Nashville that his first order of business would be to go into the Senate and House chambers with a fire hose and clean them both out.
I’m surprised by the governor’s size as he walks around his desk to embrace Bates. He looks much bigger on television. Considerably under six feet tall, he’s wearing a tailored gray suit with white shirt and navy blue tie. His hair is chestnut brown and cut short. His cheeks are oddly hollow. His eyes are gray-like Lee Mooney’s.
“Leon, so good to see you,” he says as he pats Bates’s shoulders after he releases the hug. “Is this your man?”
“Sure is,” Bates says. “Joe Dillard, meet Governor Jim Donner.”
“Governor,” I say as he shakes my hand vigorously.
“A pleasure, Mr. Dillard,” he says, “or should I say General Dillard?”
