“Uh-huh,” I said. “Well, that don’t surprise me. What all did you know?”
“Can this be used against me? Or my boy?”
“I’m not a cop,” I said. “I’m not telling anyone unless it helps him.”
She nodded nervously. “What I know,” she said, “is that he had money all of a sudden. A lot of it. I don’t know from where, if it was drugs, or stolen… whatever people steal and sell, I have no idea. But he was doing something, and he was real proud of it, almost. I mean, like he was getting away with something.”
“He tell you he have money?” I asked. “Or show you? Or what?”
“My washer died,” she said. “Back in the springtime. And he heard—from Jackson, I guess. He came around with a fistful of hundred-dollar bills for me to buy a new one. He was real cocky about it, but I took it. I mean, I can’t live without a washing machine.”
“Course not.”
“And then he bought Jackson a new bed,” she said. “Because he was still sleeping on the little, you know, the twin bed we got for him when he was maybe six years old.”
“So Karl was stepping up? Trying to make up a little bit for what he hadn’t done before?”
“That’s how he saw it,” she said. “And he thought, you know, since he was buying things we needed, I should—” She winced and looked away. “Like, he’s stepping up as a father, for once, so I ought to be… you know… available.”
I shook my head, angry at him and at the same time feeling like it was a waste of energy to be angry at a dead man. I wished to hell he could’ve just fallen off his boat and drowned, instead of causing his family even more problems in death than he had in life.
She said, “That’s what the fight was about. I mean, the night he died. Or part of what it was about.”
“Oh,” I said, connecting the dots at last. “That’s why he was there yelling that you owed him money?”
“Yeah. He figured if I wasn’t going to… you know… then he wanted his money back.”
“Goddamn him.”
She took a Kleenex and blew her nose. I looked at my Redwelds of papers about Jackson’s case. Everything she was saying made sense, but I wasn’t sure it helped. If anything, it could make a jury think Jackson had all the more reason to go after his daddy that night.
When she’d dabbed her eyes and pulled herself together, I asked, “You were saying that’s part of what the fight was about? Was there something else?”
She looked at me and said, “Leland, this cannot leave this room.”
I nodded. “It won’t.”
“The reason I kept this to myself before is that I didn’t know—I still don’t know—if Jackson was involved at all. I mean, in whatever illegal things Karl was doing. When Karl came into money, he started coming around a lot, asking Jackson to hang out with him. They went places together. And it seemed like Jackson had a little more money too.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Any idea what they did together? Or where they went?”
“I heard,” she said, “not from them, but from a lady I know, that they went to the Broke Spoke a couple times.”
“Oh? Huh. You ever talk with Jackson about that?”
“No. I told Karl off. I mean, my son is—he was eighteen years old at that point, and that man was taking him to a strip club? That’s how he steps up as a father? I told him to cut it out or stay the hell away from both of us. But, I mean, I couldn’t control what Jackson did with his time.”
“Nope,” I said. “You can’t, can you. I know exactly what you mean.” I thought for a second and then added, “Jackson ever mention any card games or trips to Charleston with his dad?”
She shook her head.
“He ever say anything about Dunk McDonough? Or any of his bartenders, or anything?”
“No, I don’t think so. I mean, you hear about Dunk, just around, but I don’t think I heard anything from him. It’s not like he was gonna tell his mama what he was up to down at the strip club.”
“No, I suppose not.”
She took a sip of her coffee and looked out the window. Some of the fronds on the palmetto were brushing against the glass.
“I did hear him arguing once, though,” she said. “On the phone with Karl. He was in the backyard, and I don’t know why he was so riled up, but he said something about somebody named Pete.”
I froze. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” She was shaking her head, with her eyebrows screwed up like she couldn’t quite make sense of it. “He said, ‘You keep Pete the hell away from her.’ I don’t know who he meant, though. I mean, I don’t know who Pete or the woman were.”
24
Friday, September 27, Afternoon
I was glad I’d decided to get lunch at the ’50s-style diner downtown. Roy’s advice to “get out there more” had led me to bring peanut butter sandwiches to work most days so that once a week I could afford to head over to the diner where judges and successful lawyers liked to eat. Apparently Ruiz was one of those lawyers. When I walked in I saw him a couple booths away, sitting by himself, and gave him a nod.
Jackson’s second appearance, where he would enter a plea on the murder charges, was two and a half weeks away. I still hadn’t heard word one from Ruiz about a possible plea deal, which was strange. It was a good time to run into him.
I gave him a Mind if I join you? gesture, and he shrugged. Not a real welcoming shrug, but I wasn’t going to be picky.
He had a cup of coffee but no plate yet. As I sat down, the waitress came over to top up his cup, pour me one, and hand me a
