But with the election on the horizon, Henkel had begun to worry that the Cut might be considering an intervention to tilt the balance back in its favor. It wouldn’t take much – a quiet word with some influential figures, a veiled threat or two where necessary – to sow doubts in the minds of voters about the wisdom of re-electing Henkel as sheriff, with Ned Ralston hovering behind, ready to become a puppet sheriff another term down the line.
Now here was Oberon, his hair hanging down his back in a carefully worked ponytail, his red checked shirt neatly pressed, his jeans worn but clean, his work boots old but freshly treated with dubbin in anticipation of the coming winter. His beard was thick but not unruly, the ends of his mustache hanging almost to his chin, giving him the aspect of a Viking, as though by his very presence he offered proof to those who believed that Norsemen had done more than establish short-term settlements in these lands.
‘Mind if I join you?’ asked Oberon.
Henkel saw that Miss Queenie was watching them from her post by the register. Some of the younger men and women of the Cut occasionally came into her place of business, always maintaining a low-key presence and paying in cash, but she could not recall ever seeing Oberon darken her door. Her hand hovered over the push-button phone on the wall, Miss Queenie having no truck with cell phones, but Henkel caught her eye and gave the slightest shake of his head.
Oberon didn’t turn his back, but he must have guessed what was happening.
‘I just want to talk,’ he said.
Henkel indicated the seat opposite, and Oberon sat. Connie, the waitress, came over and asked if he’d like to order anything. She regarded Oberon curiously, and not without a certain interest, for he was an imposing man, and Connie and he were of a similar age.
‘Some mint tea, if you have it,’ said Oberon, and Connie told him she’d be right back with it. He and Henkel didn’t speak until the tea arrived, and Connie gave them some space. The booths and tables nearest to them were all empty, so there was no chance that they might be overheard.
‘I saw the Charleston paper on the front seat of your car,’ said Oberon. ‘You had a chance to read it yet?’
‘I skimmed through it,’ said Henkel.
‘You see the story about those two young men, the ones that the Lutter boy stumbled on over by Mortonsville?’
‘I did.’
‘I hear you were there when they were found.’
‘I came later, but not by much.’
Oberon nodded. ‘After Clyde Bentley, right?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘The newspaper story claimed those boys – Killian and Huff, if I have their names right – might have been engaged in the distribution of narcotics.’
‘That’s what I read.’
‘It’s a dangerous business to be in.’
‘It was for them.’
Oberon nodded again and tugged gently at his beard, as though contemplating the profundity of Henkel’s observation.
‘Do you have any information you’d like to share about the circumstances of their deaths?’ asked Henkel.
Oberon’s expression didn’t change, but his body seemed to relax into position, like a fencer’s after an opponent’s first thrust has confirmed that the match is on.
‘No, I don’t think that I do,’ said Oberon.
‘Well, if that situation changes, you ought to contact the Bureau of Criminal Investigation. They have the lead, on account of their resources.’
Oberon looked out the window to where Benedict was seated in the truck with the windows down, his left hand tapping a cadence on the door.
‘Sheriff Henkel,’ said Oberon, ‘I sometimes think we got off on the wrong foot from the start.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Well, in the event of something like this happening in the past, your predecessor, Sheriff Dugar, would have taken the time to inform me and my people of it, just as a matter of courtesy. The Cut occupies a significant area of Plassey County. What affects the county affects the Cut.’
‘Sheriff Dugar did a lot of things differently, and not all of them in ways of which I approve.’
‘I understand that. I don’t have any illusions but that you’re your own man. But two bodies being discovered so close to the Cut is obviously a matter of concern to us. Those boys were found early in the morning, yet it was almost noon when we heard about it, and then only because one of my people was driving out that way and saw the commotion.’
‘Well, I’m real sorry I couldn’t spare a deputy to bring you the news in person,’ said Henkel. ‘As you can imagine, moving two bodies from a shallow grave eats up a lot of time and resources. It’s smelly work, too, and dirty. Makes you feel bad for the men and women who have to do it, bad for the victims too, and inculcates a certain negative disposition toward whomever might have put them in the ground to begin with.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Oberon. He was listening intently to Henkel, both to what was being said and what lay behind it.
‘I have been considering how they came to be found so easily, though,’ Henkel continued. ‘Seems to me that it was a botched job, burying them so shallow like that. Makes me wonder if the people responsible might have been interrupted, or believed they were at risk of discovery. It could be that somebody saw them or their vehicle, and maybe doesn’t realize the significance of it as of yet. But, like I said, that’s mostly a matter for the state police, although we’ll provide any assistance we can.’
Henkel leaned forward and clasped his hands before him.
‘What I’m saying is, somebody fucked up. They killed those boys, rushed their burial, and managed to put them in the ground on the wrong side of the county line. Worse, what I hear is that Killian and Huff weren’t just on the radar of the state police here and in Ohio, but the DEA had started to take an interest in them as well. So who knows what kind of shit is going to start spilling into Plassey County on account of all this? And, as you just told me, what flows into this county flows into the Cut.’
Oberon took a sip of his mint tea, the first time he’d touched it since it arrived at the table. He didn’t seem to find it to his liking, and pushed it away.
‘Sheriff, you sound almost pleased about all this attention,’ he said.
‘I enjoy seeing the law in operation,’ said Henkel. ‘It gives me faith in the future of our society.’
Oberon stood.
‘Thank you for your time,’ he said. ‘My apologies for interrupting your reading.’
‘No apologies necessary,’ Henkel replied. ‘Oh, and you might want to tell the boy with you that the wearing of seat belts is mandatory in the state of West Virginia, and violators can be fined up to twenty-five dollars. I wouldn’t want to have to pull him over and ruin his day. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him around much until this morning. He been away?’
‘He had some business to conduct,’ said Oberon.
‘And where would that have been?’
‘Elsewhere.’
‘Elsewhere, right,’ said Henkel. ‘I just hope it turned out satisfactorily, because what’s good for the Cut is good for the county, right? And the mint tea is on me. Anytime you need to talk again, you know where to find me.’
‘I do,’ said Oberon. ‘Here, obviously. At your office. And—’
Henkel wagged a finger, but he did not smile.
‘And that’s it. I like to think of my home as inviolate. You could almost say I’m excessively protective of it.’
‘I’ll remember that.’
‘Make sure that you do,’ said Henkel. ‘Because I’ll kill anyone who walks through my door uninvited.’
‘Likewise,’ said Oberon.
Henkel stared after him as he left, and continued watching him as he climbed back into his truck and said something to Benedict. The boy reached into his pocket, pulled out three bills, and sent them fluttering to the ground, grinning all the time at Henkel as the wind carried the $25 away. The truck pulled out and turned right,
bound for the Cut.
Henkel sat back in his chair. There was sweat on his palms, and his chest hurt. He reached under the table and touched the grip of his gun. It was time, he thought.
Time to bring the Cut to an end.
45
Parker called Castin and told him about the imminent meeting with the Portland PD, although he decided to leave out the part about Macy shoving cans of soda up his ass as he didn’t want to prejudice proceedings before they’d even begun. He joined Angel and Louis for a quick coffee at Big Sky, and asked them to swing by Harpur Griffin’s place and then cruise the streets. Griffin’s building would already be swarming with police, but at least Angel and Louis would recognize the car driven by the two men who’d been with Griffin at the Porterhouse, and it was just possible that they were still in the vicinity: possible, but unlikely.
Parker headed down to Portland PD headquarters on Middle Street, and parked by the Portland Regency Hotel. Castin was waiting for him at the corner, with a soda in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Despite this, he looked surprisingly relaxed, but Parker guessed that he had probably been smoking, as well as drinking sugary carbonated drinks, for so long that he was largely immune from the effects of both, and only withdrawal was likely to cause him complications.
They consulted for a minute or two before heading into the lobby to wait for Macy to escort them to the meeting room. Fortnum or Franks was already present, along with a lieutenant from CID named Dundonald, who Parker vaguely knew by sight, and – hey! – Gordon Walsh. Once the introductions were complete, and coffee was offered and declined, Castin explained how Parker had been engaged to search for the recently released Jerome Burnel, for whose safety Castin was now concerned. Parker, in turn, explained how he had come to track Harpur Griffin to the Porterhouse, which was when the ears of the detectives in the room pricked up. Parker knew that they’d like the sound of Burnel bearing a grudge against Griffin for his treatment of him in Warren, but there was nothing he could do about it. He still didn’t believe that Burnel had anything to do with Griffin’s death, but if he had, there was no point in trying to protect him by concealing the truth from detectives like Macy and Walsh, who were smart enough to figure it out for themselves. He gave them detailed descriptions of the two men who had been with Griffin at the bar, along with the make and license number of the vehicle that they’d been driving. It was at this point that Macy’s face clouded.
‘What is it?’ asked Parker.
‘That car was found burned-out early this morning,’ said Macy, ‘in a disused lot off Route 1 in Saco. We only received the notification from Saco PD an hour ago, after they heard about our own burned-out vehicle and wondered if there could be a connection between the two incidents.’
‘Might have helped us if you’d come forward earlier to tell us about the men at the Porterhouse,’ said Furnish, now that the earlier introductions had clarified just what his name was.
‘Why would I have done that?’ asked Parker. He wasn’t about to let Furnish score points off him. ‘I had no knowledge of the commission of a crime.’
‘You were looking for a man in violation of his probation.’
‘I was searching for Mr Castin’s client. I wasn’t aware that the law had changed to oblige me to keep you notified of my movements.’
‘Boys, boys,’ said Macy. Walsh just grunted. Dundonald made a note of something, then crossed it out. Furnish folded his arms and tried not to look like he was sulking.
‘And you have no knowledge of Mr Burnel’s current whereabouts?’ Macy asked Castin.
‘No.’
‘He hasn’t been in contact since he asked you to pay Mr Parker for his services?’
‘No.’
‘Has any further attempt been made to withdraw money from his account?’
‘He doesn’t have a bank card. Any withdrawal would have to be made through me, or in person at the counter, and neither of those instances has occurred. Naturally, I’ll keep an eye open for any withdrawals once the bank opens tomorrow. I may even have the account frozen.’
‘I have to advise you,’ said Macy, ‘that your client is a suspect in what we now believe to be the murder of Harpur Griffin – at least, we’re assuming that it’s Griffin in the car, pending the arrival of dental records from Warren.’
‘Understood,’ said Castin.
‘Is there anything else Mr Parker would like to share with us?’ asked Dundonald.
‘No, I think that’s everything,’ said Parker. Walsh grunted again. Parker gave him the hard eye, and he looked away, but Macy had picked up on Walsh’s skepticism. She waited until everyone else had left, and Castin was on his way out, before grabbing Parker’s arm and yanking him toward a window.
‘If you’re withholding information that may be of use in this investigation,’ she said quietly, ‘and I find out, I’ll have you charged with obstruction of justice.’
‘You’ve been spending too long with Furnish,’ said Parker. ‘I’m not psychic so I can’t tell what seemingly irrelevant detail might prove pertinent at some point in the future. I have no interest in protecting Burnel if he’s a killer, but I’ve told you already that I don’t believe he is. The ones you should be looking for are the two men who were with Griffin at the Porterhouse, but I don’t have any more idea of who they might be, or where they’ve gone, than you do. Right now, we’re on the same page.’
‘I don’t believe that for a moment. You remember what I said: I’ll come after you.’
Parker shrugged, and said, ‘I hear you’re dating that restaurant guy, Sanders.’
Macy looked slightly stunned at the sudden change in direction that the conversation had taken.
‘What the hell has that got to do with anything?’
‘Nothing. Just what I heard.’
‘Is this where I tell you that you had your chance?’
‘If you like. Why are you dating Sanders anyway? I’ve seen him. He looks like he eats all his meals at Denny’s.’
‘You’re a piece of work, you know that?’
‘I think you’re dating him because it’s the only way you can afford to eat in his restaurants.’
‘Fuck you.’
But she was grinning.
‘You’re right,’ said Parker. ‘I had my chance.’
‘Yeah, you did. Are you going to keep looking for Burnel?’
‘I’ll talk to Moxie, see what he says.’
‘And if he says no?’
‘I think I’ll keep looking anyway.’
‘You find out anything, you call me.’
‘I have your number,’ he said.
‘No, you never had my number,’ she replied, and she left him to find his own way out of the building.
Castin was waiting for Parker outside. He was smoking another cigarette, and drinking from a new can of soda, which Parker could only assume he had been keeping in his briefcase for emergency use.
‘I always felt sorry for Jerome Burnel,’ said Castin, between puffs and slurps.
‘You may have more cause to feel sorry for him now than before.’
‘I think you’re right, although I hope you’re not. So what do you need?’
‘You want to keep paying me to look for him?’
‘You know, I figure I could set you to search for him for free, because I can see in your eyes that you’re not going to let this thing go. I don’t work that way, though. Bill me for your hours, and try not to kill anybody. If you do, call Aimee Price up in South Freeport. She must be used to you by now.’
‘Well, since I’m on your dime I’ll draw on your resources. Can you have someone dig out everything to be found on Harpur Griffin, including the name of his lawyer in Maine. I’d be surprised if it wasn’t a court-appointed attorney, in which case he, or she, might be more amenable to talking about him than someone in private practice. Once you get me the details, I’ll cross-check them with what I have on Burnel.’
‘I’ll call my secretary and have he
r come in. She could use the overtime.’ Castin looked at the glowing tip of his cigarette. ‘Hell of a way to go, being burned alive.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Someone must really not have cared much for Harpur Griffin.’
‘I met him. He was hard to warm to.’
‘Easier after they burned him,’ said Castin, smiling at his own joke.
But Castin was right, thought Parker. If the object of the exercise had been to silence Griffin, there were simpler and more efficient ways of going about it. Burning a man alive in his car was a severe punishment. Had Griffin earned it in the eyes of his killers by being foolish enough to talk about the Dead King while in Warren? It still seemed excessive to Parker, unless a message was being sent to someone else, a warning to remain silent. But if that was the case, then at whom was it directed?
Moxie finished his cigarette and soda, and trashed the can and the butt.
‘I’ll be on my way, then,’ he said.
‘Sure. And Moxie?’
‘What?’
‘Does anyone ever call you Oleg?’
Castin thought for a moment.
‘Who’s Oleg?’
46
Parker took another run past the scene of Griffin’s murder. The cordon was still in place, and a fingertip search of the scene had commenced, but the body was gone and the car had been placed on the back of a flatbed truck for transportation to the lab.
Parker called Angel and arranged to meet him and Louis for brunch at the Bayside American Cafe, which used to be called Bintliff’s, although thankfully only the name had changed and not the quality of the food. Angel and Louis both ordered the lobster eggs Benedict, as was their admittedly expensive habit, while Parker stuck with bacon and eggs. As anticipated, Griffin’s apartment had been sealed off by the police, and Angel and Louis had found no trace of the men who had been with him at the Porterhouse. Parker, in turn, went over all that had passed in the course of the meeting at Middle Street, and watched a light begin to glow in Louis’s eyes at the news that Castin was paying Parker to find out what might have befallen Jerome Burnel. The two men at the bar had raised Louis’s hackles, and he was now almost certainly guaranteed another encounter with them, one that might result in violence and death.