“Call me Joe, please. I never made it past sergeant, anyway.”
“Yes, a veteran,” he says. “We’ve put together a file on you. Hope you don’t mind. It says you were a Ranger, combat experience, decorated with a Silver Star in Grenada.”
“That was a long time ago, sir.”
“Leon here tells me you’re as honest as anyone he’s ever met. Says you’re a helluva lawyer, too. Just the kind of man we need under these trying circumstances.”
“I have my reservations, to be perfectly honest, but I’m willing to try.”
The governor walks back around the desk and sits in a leather swivel chair. He motions to us to do the same, and I notice he’s looking down on us. He’s obviously installed a platform under his seat to make himself appear taller. I want to snicker or say something, but I know Bates will kick me in the balls if I do. The governor picks up a file in front of him.
“Let’s see here. Born in Johnson City, father was killed in Vietnam, raised by your mother. One sister, Sarah, who seems to have had some problems with the law.” He glances up at Bates and then back down at the file. “Graduated Science Hill High School. Then joined the army. Decorated, honorable discharge. Then graduated East Tennessee State University and the University of Tennessee College of Law. Practiced both as a defense attorney and a prosecutor. Married to the same woman for twenty-two years. Two children, both in college. With the exception of your sister, you’re perfect.”
“My sister won’t be a problem, sir.”
“Let’s hope not.”
He turns back to Bates.
“You’ve spoken to the outgoing district attorney?”
“Just came from his house, Governor,” Bates says.
“Any problems?”
“He was too drunk to give us any guff. I have his resignation right here.”
Bates hands the paper across the desk, and the governor reads it out loud.
“ ‘ I hereby tender my resignation as Attorney General of the First Judicial District, effective immediately. ’ Short and sweet, signed and dated. I wonder what he’ll tell his wife.”
“That’s the least of his problems,” Bates says. “By the time I get through with him, he’s gonna have to leave the state.”
“Republicans,” the governor says. “Just can’t seem to keep their peckers in their pants, huh?”
I want to say something-something about Hannah and what a beautiful human being she was, something to remind him of what this is really about. It isn’t about sexual misconduct. It isn’t about Republicans and Democrats. It’s about a public official being responsible for a murder, and I don’t appreciate his cavalier attitude. But this is Bates’s show. I keep my mouth shut.
“I don’t think the inability to keep the pecker in the pants is an affliction that’s unique to Republicans,” Bates says. “Ever heard of Bill Clinton? Eliot Spitzer? Gary Hart?”
“Ah, touche, my friend, touche.”
The governor turns to me.
“So, Joe, I understand you’re not particularly interested in politics.”
“My plate’s always been full just trying to make a living and raising my family,” I say. “I’m not really interested in trying to run things.”
“Well, you’re going to be running something now. The district attorney’s office. Do you have any plans to rehabilitate the image of the office after the public learns of Mooney’s demise?”
“I really haven’t had a chance to think about any plans, Governor. The sheriff just dropped all of this on me about a half hour ago. But I don’t think it’s rocket science. People commit crimes, the police arrest them, and the district attorney prosecutes them under the law.”
“So you’re a black-and-white kind of guy.”
“I guess I am, but the older I get, the more gray I seem to see.”
Governor Donner opens a desk drawer and pulls out a legal-sized piece of paper. He holds it up in front of him and stands.
“This is a copy of the appointment that will be filed with the Supreme Court in the morning. It makes you the new district attorney general. I’ve already signed it. Thought you might want to frame it. Congratulations.”
He extends his hand again. Bates and I stand, and I grasp it.
“Thank you, Governor. Thank you.”
“Thank Leon,” he says. “I have a file on you, but I really don’t know you from Adam.”
Bates and I turn to leave. Just as I’m about to clear the door, I hear the governor clear his throat.
“Mr. Dillard,” he says.”
I turn to face him. “Yes, sir?”
“Don’t make me regret this.”
56
A sound awakens me. I open my eyes in the darkened bedroom and look at the digital clock on the dresser. Almost three in the morning.
I hear it again, a low growl coming from the foot of the bed. It’s Rio. Something has startled him.
“Shhhh, Rio. Go to sleep.” I lay my head back on the pillow and close my eyes. I can hear Caroline breathing rhythmically next to me. I start to drift off, but Rio growls again, this time louder. I sit up and slide my legs over the side of the bed. I’ve heard him growl thousands of times. This one is different.
I flip on the lamp beside the bed and stand up. Rio has also gotten to his feet and is standing near the closed bedroom door. His ears are laid back flat against his head, and he’s quivering. I walk over to him and pat him on the shoulder in an attempt to calm him, but he ignores me. Something is wrong; definitely wrong. I take hold of his harness and look over toward Caroline. She’s sitting up now, rubbing her eyes. I put a finger to my mouth and open the bedroom door.
“Go get ’em!” I whisper, and I let go of the harness. The dog launches himself into the darkness beyond the door as though he’s been shot from a cannon.
I hear a deafening gunshot about three seconds later, followed by a pitiful wail. Caroline screams. The first thing that enters my mind is that someone from Brian Gant’s family has come for a little revenge. I dive across the bed and turn the lamp back off. I can hear the dog whining somewhere in the house. I grab Caroline by the arm.
“Be quiet,” I whisper, and I pull her toward the walk-in closet between the bedroom and bathroom. There’s a semiautomatic Remington twelve gauge standing in the closet corner. I always keep it loaded. My fingers find it immediately, and I flip the safety off.
I help Caroline down beneath the clothes and boxes and so that she’s facing the door. I hand her the gun.
“Stay here. It’s ready to go. All you have to do is pull the trigger. When I come back, I’ll say something before I get to the door. Anybody else comes through, blow them away.”
“Where are you going?” The whisper is almost desperate. She doesn’t want me to leave her.
“I’m going to go kill the son of a bitch who broke into my house and shot my dog.”
A quiet rage is building within me. This is my home. It’s the middle of the night. My wife is terrified. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let whoever has invaded us walk out alive. I creep back into the bedroom for the nine- millimeter Beretta I keep in the drawer with my socks. I ease the clip out, check it, and push it back in. The pistol is loaded and I’m ready, though my heart is thumping against my chest and my hands are trembling slightly. I take a few deep breaths and try to focus.
Let them come to you. Whoever it is has come this far; they’ll come the rest of the way.
I crouch on the floor next to the dresser for a couple of the longest minutes of my life and listen. I hear a thump, then mumbling. It’s coming from the kitchen. He’s run into the counter or the island.
After another moment-an eternity in the dark-I hear what I think is a creak in the floor. Screw this. I can’t
