Greg Iles 3-Book Thriller Collection: The Quiet Game, Turning Angel, The Devil’s Punchbowl. Greg Iles
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wasn’t much of a riot. Everybody was scared to death, but nobody got killed. Just a bunch of broken store windows.”
“Let’s hope that’s all that happens this time.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.”
She gives me an icy look. “You think I want the town to explode so I can sell papers?”
“No.”
She doesn’t look convinced. “Three hours ago a CNN crew yelled a question at John Portman as he was leaving the Hoover Building. He walked over and told them on camera that the Del Payton case involved matters of national security, and that the FBI was looking into the question of whether you or I had violated any laws in our pursuit of the case.”
“The best defense is a good offense, I guess. Anything else I should know?”
“Leo Marston’s attorney gave me a phone interview. He said your charges are ridiculous and they’re going to cost both of us seven figures. I’m running it tomorrow.”
“I expected that.”
Caitlin smiles like a child hiding a cookie. “I also have some good news. My father called back and told me that if I was sticking by my story, there must be something to it. He’s going to help.”
“How?”
“By committing the full resources of the media group to investigating Marston and Portman. He’s already spoken to Senator Harris from Virginia. Tomorrow, Harris is going to the Senate Intelligence Committee to ask for a special resolution authorizing the opening of the Payton file. Failing that, he’ll ask that it be moved from FBI custody to a place where it can’t be tampered with, at least until Director Portman’s involvement in the case can be clarified. If that doesn’t work, he’ll stand up on the Senate floor and ask the same things on C-Span.”
I feel the relief of a man trying to push a car uphill when four strong backs join him in his effort. But the feeling vanishes quickly. “Asking that the file be opened is good. But if he can’t get that, it’s best that the file stay where it is. At least until Sunday.”
For a moment Caitlin looks confused. Then she grabs my wrist. “Lutjens is going to try for the file?”
“Sunday.”
“I’ll tell my dad to call the senator back.”
“It’s nice to have powerful friends.”
Her eyes twinkle with irony. “Isn’t it?”
Kelly laughs. He’s not sure what he’s gotten into, but he’s clearly enjoying it.
“How did Mr. Kelly here save your life?” Caitlin asks.
“He killed two guys who were trying to kill me. One was Arthur Lee Hanratty’s brother.”
“Jesus. Did this happen near the river? We heard some kind of call on the scanner, but it was coded.”
“That was it.”
“Can I print this story?”
“Absolutely. The more public this thing gets, the safer we are.”
“We ought to be very safe, then. I’m getting nonstop calls from the major papers, the networks, everybody.”
There’s a sharp knock at the door, and Caitlin walks into the hall for a hurried conference. When she returns, her face is flushed pink with excitement. “The police just trapped the Whitestone suspects in the Concord Apartments. I’m going over to cover the arrest.”
The Concord Apartments are a low-income housing development, and a center of drug and gang activity in Natchez. “The residents over there aren’t big fans of the police,” I warn her. “They’re probably as volatile as old dynamite right now.”
“That’s why I’m going. You want to come along?”
“I can’t take the time. I’ve got to file my interrogatories and requests for production along with my answer. That’ll keep Marston off balance, make him think I’m ready to go to court on a moment’s notice.”
“Speaking of Marston, where’s your other friend?”
“My other friend?”
She give me a sidelong glance. She means Livy.
“Oh. I have no idea. With her father, I guess.”
Caitlin obviously wants to say more, but she’s unwilling to do so in front of Kelly. “I’ve got to get going, guys.”
“Wait. Go with her, Kelly.”
Kelly looks at Caitlin, then back at me. “I think you’re the one who needs protection, boss.”
“I’ll have a photographer with me,” she protests. “I’ll be fine.”
“Kelly’s worth ten photographers. I’ll be here for at least two hours, then I’m going straight back to the motel. He can tell you how he saved my life on the way.”
Caitlin is wavering.
Kelly bends over, lifts a cuff of his jeans, and pulls out a small automatic, which he passes to me. “Safety’s on.”
I slip the gun into my pocket and look at Caitlin. “Satisfied?”
“Okay, I’ll take him. But you go straight to the motel from here. No side trips.”
“I need a computer. And coffee. Lots of coffee.”
“We’ve got plenty of both.”
Kelly and Caitlin still haven’t returned when I leave for the motel. While typing my discovery requests, I overheard enough newsroom conversation to follow the situation unfolding at the Concord Apartments. The two teenagers who allegedly shot Billy Earl Whitestone had holed up in the apartment of their grandmother. Somehow, Caitlin managed to get them on the telephone, and during that conversation one of the boys admitted to the shooting. He claimed he’d shot Whitestone because Ruby Flowers’s death had so upset his grandmother that he had to do something. He chose Whitestone as his victim because he’d often heard an uncle talk about how Whitestone had run the Klan during the “bad times.” An hour after this confession, the grandmother talked the boys into giving themselves up, on the condition that Caitlin be allowed to accompany them to the police station to ensure their safety. I assume Caitlin is still at the station now, running the police crazy and keeping Kelly jumping.
Kelly’s pistol is on my lap as I drive toward the motel. There’s no traffic on the streets, or even the highway. Fear has worked its way into the fabric of the town.
A police car screams out of the empty darkness, siren blaring, going in the opposite direction. Halfway to the motel, a jacked-up pickup filled with white teenagers roars alongside me, pauses as its occupants peer in at me, then roars off again. Night riders looking for a fight? Or kids trying to figure out what all the excitement’s about? I won’t know until I read tomorrow’s paper.
The single-story buildings of the Prentiss Motel remind me of the motor courts of my childhood vacations. But viewed without the kaleidoscopic lens of wonder, they are a mean and depressing sight. The thought of my parents forced to live here because of my actions is hard to bear. Yet they have not uttered one word of complaint since the fire, not even my mother, who urged me to avoid the Payton case from the beginning. Now that events have proved her right, what is she doing? Making the best of things. I feel like dragging some realtor out of bed and buying her the biggest goddamn house in the city.
Orienting myself by the greenish glow of the swimming pool, I park and start walking toward our rooms with Kelly’s gun held along my leg. Halfway there, I feel a sudden chill.
There’s someone sitting in one of the pool chairs. Fifty feet away, a dark silhouette against the wavering light of the water. As I walk down the long row of doors, the figure rises from the chair. I put my finger on the trigger of the pistol