The Guilty (Will Robie 4)

“I just want you to tell me what you saw.”

The screen door opened and a boy about thirteen came out. He was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a white T-shirt badly in need of laundering. His hair was a tumble of brown and blond strands. He wore round glasses, and in his fist was clutched a can of Pepsi.

“What’s up, Pop?”

“Are you Ash?” asked Robie.

The boy continued to look at his father. “What’s he want?”

Carson took another drink from the can and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Man wants to know what we saw that night.”

“Why’s he care?”

“He’s the judge’s son. That’s why.”

Ash took a step back from Robie and took a swig of his Pepsi. “Saw him clear as day. He was drivin’ that Range Rover’a his. Ain’t nobody got one’a them here but him.”

“No, Sherman Clancy has one, too,” countered Robie.

The boy shot his father another glance.

“It was the judge’s truck,” said Carson. “’Sides, Clancy was in his old Bentley at the time. Dead!”

“Okay, you saw the truck. But did you see my father driving it?”

“’Course we did,” growled Carson. “Like the boy done said.”

“Can you tell me where exactly? Please?” added Robie.

“You know where they found Clancy’s body?” said Carson.

“Yes.”

“You hang a left outta there onto the road and go a quarter mile north. That’s where we saw him. We was comin’ back from catchin’ bait for the mornin’ run. We go to four or five spots and that’s always one of ’em. Good bait there.”

“Wait a minute. If you were catching bait, why were you in a car? Why not your boat?”

“One of the places is in a little cove. Can’t really get to it by boat. So’s we drive over and park near the bank. Catch ’em real good from there with our nets.”

“Okay, what happened next?”

“Well, he comes tearin’ up that road, like to hit us. Dust swirlin’ all over. I banged my horn but he just kept’a goin’. Could’a give a shit he near killed us.”

“But it was dark out, and headlights were coming at you. And it happened fast, presumably. How did you get a look at him?”

“I was as close to him as my boy is to me right now. Couldn’t miss that, could I?”

Robie looked at him curiously and then glanced at Ash. “And did you see him too?”

“Boy was in the passenger seat of the truck.”

“But I seen him too,” said Ash. “Clear as day.”

“But it wasn’t day, it was night,” pointed out Robie. “And were you wearing your glasses?”

Ash suddenly looked uncertain and again glanced at his father.

Robie looked at Carson, and next his beer. “And I take it you hadn’t been drinking?”

Carson finished off his beer, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down with each swallow. Then he crushed the can against the porch railing and tossed it into a plastic bin at his feet that was filled with flattened beer cans. Carson pulled his knife from the railing, took a step toward Robie, and said, “You best be movin’ on. And don’t come back here ’less you want trouble or you got fish you wanna catch.”

“Thanks for talking to me,” said Robie.

He drove off thinking that these two eyewitnesses were anything but.

* * *

Later, he pulled up in front of the Cantrell Jail armed with the retainer agreement that his father needed to sign. He should have gone right from Moses’s office to his father next door, but his courage had failed.

Taggert was at her desk.

“Wonderin’ when you were goin’ to show up,” she said.

“What are you talking about?”

“They’ve been meetin’ for a while.”

“Who?” said a bewildered Robie.

“Your father and his lawyer.”

“Toni Moses is in with my father?”

“She doesn’t let the grass grow under her pumps.”

Taggert led him back into the cellblock area, but past the actual cells.

“Where are we going?” asked Robie.

“Visitor’s room.”

“Didn’t know you had one.”

“Where else would visitors meet with prisoners?”

“I met with my father in his cell.”

“Well, I was afraid he’d get violent with you.”

“He did get violent with me, Sheila,” barked Robie.

“See, it was good I kept you two in the cell then.”

She opened a door at the end of the hall and ushered Robie in before leaving him and closing the door.

Toni Moses was seated at the small table in the center of the room. His father sat opposite, his shackles locked into a steel ring mounted on the floor.

Moses looked up and did not seem unduly surprised by Robie’s appearance. “Glad you’re here. Have a seat.”

Next to her was a stack of files. She had a legal pad in front of her and was busily jotting down notes.

Robie eyed his father, who had not yet looked at him.

“I thought you said he had to sign the retainer agreement.”

With her free hand Moses held up a document. “He already signed it.”

“Then why did you tell me I had to get him to sign it?” said Robie, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

“I guess I wanted to give you a goal to shoot for, Robie. Never thought you’d actually get it done, so I did it myself.”

Robie eyed his father. “So you agree you need a lawyer?”

Dan Robie looked at Moses. “Why is he here?”

“He’s a client.”

“Not with me he’s not. And his being here breaks attorney-client privilege.”

Robie sat down. “I signed the agreement, too.”

“Then take off your signature or I represent myself.”

Robie looked at Moses. “What if I’m working for the defense?”

“How do you mean?” said an interested-looking Moses.

“As your private investigator.”

“Bullshit,” said Dan.

“I have one of those already,” said Moses.

“I’ve been out to see Tuck Carson and his son. I’m not sure how they could have seen my father late at night, in a swirl of dust and headlights zooming past them. The kid wears glasses and he probably didn’t have them on that night. And the father likes his beer. He drank down a whole one while I was talking to him. So I don’t think their eyewitness testimony stands up.”

He looked at his father. “Unless you tell us you were driving at that spot at that time in your Range Rover and almost hit the Carsons.”

“I don’t have to tell you anythin’,” said the older Robie, looking pointedly at his son.

Robie turned back to Moses. “I can work on the case. I can dig stuff up. I can check things out.”

“I guess you’re expectin’ to get paid?” said Moses.

“No, I’m not.”

“Well, then that works for me. If you know what you’re doin’, that is. No margin of error here.”

“I don’t want him workin’ on my case,” yelled Dan.

Moses put up a hand. “Judge Robie, with all due respect, you’re not the one makin’ the decisions on things like that. I am.”

“And I’m payin’ for your services.”

“She put the five grand retainer on my credit card,” pointed out Robie.

“And I had her cancel that and put it on mine,” countered his father.

“What the hell is your problem? I’m trying to help you.”

“And I don’t remember askin’ for your help, boy.”

Moses stood. “Look, you two knuckleheads, I’m tryin’ a case for murder in the first degree.” She turned to Dan Robie. “Your butt is lookin’ at goin’ away for the rest’a your life. So pardon me if I avail myself of help in defendin’ you.” She turned to Robie.

“I have no idea why you dragged your butt back here ’cept you got some daddy issues need sortin’ out. But if you’re workin’ this case for me, you don’t do nothin’ that’ll jeopardize my defense, you hear me?”

“I hear you.” He studied her. “Now you really sound like you’re from Mississippi, not Harvard.”