Down River Part 25

"Jesus."

"Okay. I'm rolling."

I closed the phone, rattled a vase on a side table as I pa.s.sed down the hall. I walked into the sudden warmth of sunset and saw Parks Templeton climbing the steps. I pointed at him and then at my father. "I need to see you two inside, right now."

"Where's your mother?" my father asked.

"Stepmother," I said automatically. "This is not about her."

"What is it?" Parks asked.

I looked around the porch. Every eye was on me, and I realized that discretion was irrelevant. It would happen soon and it would happen right here. I put my eyes on the horizon one more time, and saw just how few seconds were actually left.

It looked like three cars. Lights on, sirens off.

I met the lawyer's eyes. "You're going to earn your money today," I said. He looked perplexed and I pointed. The lights flashed brighter as the day darkened around us. They were close; two hundred yards. Engine noise reached out and touched us. It swelled as my family came to its feet around me, and I heard the sound of rocks being thrown against metal, the dull clank and bang of cars moving too fast on gravel. Ten seconds out the lead car killed its lights; the others followed suit. "They're here to serve an arrest warrant," I said.

"You're sure?"

"I am."

"Let me do the talking," the lawyer replied, but I knew that he would be useless. Grantham would not care about subtleties. He had his warrant, and it was enough. I felt a hand on my shoulder; my father. He squeezed hard, but I did not turn around; and no words found their way past his lips. "It's going to be all right," I said, and his fingers tightened.

That's how Grantham found us-an unbroken line. His hands settled on his hips, and his deputies formed up around him, a wall of brown polyester and black belts that angled low on one side.

Parks stepped into the yard, and I followed him down. Dolf and my father joined us. The lawyer spoke first. "What can I do for you, Detective Grantham?"

Grantham dipped his chin to peer across the tops of his gla.s.ses. "Afternoon, Mr. Templeton." He shifted slightly. "Mr. Chase."

"What is it that you want?" my father asked.

I looked at Grantham, whose eyes shone intently behind the same thick and dirty gla.s.ses. There were four men, not a single expression between them, and I knew then that there was no stopping it.

"I'm here lawfully, Mr. Chase, warrant in hand." His eyes found mine and his fingers spread out. "I don't want any trouble."

"I'd like to see the warrant," Parks said.

"Momentarily," Grantham replied, his eyes still on me. He'd not once looked away.

"Can you stop this?" my father asked the lawyer in a low voice.

"No."

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Parks." Louder.

"We'll have our moment, Jacob. Be patient." He spoke to Grantham. "Your warrant had best be in perfect order."

"It is."

I stepped forward. "Then get on with it," I said.

"Very well," Grantham replied. He turned to my left, the cuffs coming out. "Dolf Shepherd, you are under arrest for the murder of Danny Faith."

Light flashed on steel, and when it circled his wrists, the old man bent under the weight of it.

This was wrong. In almost thirty years I'd never seen Dolf raise his hand or his voice in anger. I pushed toward him and deputies drove me back. I called Dolf's name, and the batons came out. I heard my name; my father yelling for me to calm down, to not give them an excuse. When his hands, thick and speckled, finally gripped my shoulders, I allowed him to pull me back. And I watched as Dolf was stuffed into one of the marked cars.

The door slammed, lights pulsed on the roof, and I closed my eyes as a sudden roar filled my head.

When it died, Dolf was gone.

He'd never once looked up.

CHAPTER 19.

I called Robin from the car and told her what had happened. She wanted to meet us at the jail but I told her no. She was already in this thing too deep. She fought me about it, and the more we argued the more convinced I became. She'd made her choice-me-and I wasn't going to let that choice hurt her. We agreed to meet the next day, once I had some idea just what the h.e.l.l was going on.

We went downtown to the Rowan County Detention Center; Parks, Dad, and me. Jamie said he couldn't handle it, and I knew what he meant. The bars, the smells. The fact of it. n.o.body tried to talk him out of it. He'd been sullen all afternoon and there was little love lost between him and Dolf. The building loomed against the descending sky. We crossed against traffic, mounted broad steps, and pa.s.sed through security. The front room smelled of hot glue and floor cleaner. The door fell shut behind us, a crash of metal, and lukewarm air sighed out from ceiling vents. Four people sat in orange plastic chairs along the wall, and I took them in at a glance: two Hispanics in gra.s.s-stained clothes, an old woman in expensive shoes, and a young man biting his nails b.l.o.o.d.y.

Parks stood out in his immaculate suit, but no one was impressed, least of all the sergeant who sat behind the scuffed bulletproof gla.s.s. Parks drew himself up and played the lawyer card and asked to see Dolf Shepherd.

"No." The response was unequivocal, offered with the tired indifference of long practice.

"I beg your pardon?" The lawyer appeared truly offended.

"He's in interrogation. n.o.body sees him."

"But I am his lawyer," Parks said.

The sergeant pointed to the long row of molded chairs. "Help yourself to a seat. It'll be a while."

"I demand to see my client now."

The sergeant leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Age had put its mark on the man: deep frown lines and a belly like a suitcase. "Raise your voice to me one more time and I will personally put you out of this building," he said. "Until I hear otherwise, no one sees him. That's the word from the sheriff himself. Now, sit down or leave."

The lawyer settled back onto his heels, but the hard edge did not leave his mouth. "This is not over," he said.

"Yes, it is." The officer rose from his chair, walked to the back of the room, and poured a cup of coffee. He leaned on a counter and stared at us through the bulletproof gla.s.s. My father put a hand on the lawyer's shoulder.

"Sit down, Parks."

The lawyer stalked to a far corner and my father tapped on the gla.s.s. The sergeant put down his coffee and came over. He was more respectful to my father. "Yes, Mr. Chase?"

"May I speak with the sheriff?"

The man's features relaxed. In spite of everything that had happened in recent years, my father was still a force in this county and respected by many. "I'll let him know you're here," he said. "No promises."

"All I'm asking for."

My father moved away and the sergeant lifted a phone off its cradle. His lips moved minutely, and he hung up. He looked at my father. "He knows you're here," he said.

We gathered in the corner. Parks spoke in a low whisper. "This is intolerable, Jacob. They cannot keep an attorney from his client. Even your sheriff should know that."

"Something's off," I said.

"Meaning what?"

I read the frustration in the lawyer's eyes. My father was paying him three bills an hour and he could not get past the front desk.

"We're missing something," I said.

Parks paled. "That's not much help, Adam."

"Nevertheless..."

"What are we missing?" my father asked.

I faced him, saw that he was close to the edge. Dolf may as well have been his brother.

"I don't know. Dolf knows that Parks is here. And Parks is right. Even this sheriff knows better than to interrogate a suspect with his attorney cooling his heels in the lobby." I looked at the lawyer. "What's our recourse here? What can we do?"

Parks settled down, looked at his watch. "It's after-hours, so we can't go to the courts for relief. Not that they could do anything. The warrant looked solid. Other than barring my entry, the sheriff is acting within his authority."

"What can you tell us about the warrant?" I asked.

"Short version? Dolf's .38 fired the shot that killed Danny Faith. They seized the gun when they searched the house. Ballistics confirmed it as the murder weapon. According to the warrant, it has Dolf's prints on it."

"Dolf's prints?" I asked.

Not mine?

"Dolf's prints," the lawyer confirmed. And then it hit me. Dolf was a meticulous man. He would have cleaned the gun before putting it back in the cabinet. He'd wiped off my prints and left his.

"They can't make a case with just the murder weapon," I said. "For trial, they'll need more. Motive. Opportunity."

"Opportunity won't be a problem," Parks said. "Danny worked part time for your father. Fourteen hundred acres. Dolf could have killed him anytime. Motive is another matter. The warrant is not specific in that regard."

"So what?" my father asked. "We just sit here?"

"I'll make some calls," Parks said.

My father looked to me. "We wait," I said. "We talk to the sheriff."

We sat for hours. Parks rousted one of his a.s.sistants at home and instructed him to begin drafting a motion to suppress evidence based on the denial of right to counsel. That was all he could do, which was basically as good as doing nothing. At nine fifteen the sheriff walked through the security door. An armed deputy flanked him. He held up his hand and spoke before Parks could launch into a tirade.

"I'm not here to debate or discuss anything," he said. "I'm well aware of your complaint."

"Then you know that it is a const.i.tutional violation to interrogate my client out of my presence."

Color rose in the sheriff's face. He stared the lawyer down. "I have nothing further to say to you," he said, and paused a beat. "You are irrelevant." He spoke to my father. "Before you get all riled, Jacob, you may as well hear what I have to say. Dolf Shepherd has been charged with the murder of Danny Faith. He has been advised of his right to counsel and has refused that right." He looked at Parks and smiled. "You are not his attorney, Mr. Templeton. Therefore, there has been no const.i.tutional violation. You will not be going further than this lobby."

My father's words exploded in a rush. "He doesn't want a lawyer?"

A smile spread above the uniform. "Unlike some, Mr. Shepherd seems unwilling to hide behind lawyers and their tricks." His eyes swiveled onto me.

My stomach churned. A familiar feeling.

"What are you saying?" Parks demanded. "That he's confessed?"

"I'm not speaking to you," the sheriff replied. "I thought I'd made that clear."

"What are you saying?" my father asked.

The sheriff held my father's gaze then turned slowly to me, the smile sliding into obscurity. There was no reading his face. "He wants to see you," he said.

"Me?"

"Yes."

Parks interrupted. "And you'll allow that?"

The sheriff ignored him. "I can take you back whenever you're ready."

"Just a minute, Adam," Parks said. "You're right. This doesn't make sense."

The sheriff shrugged. "You want to see him or not?"

Parks gripped my arm and pulled. He spoke in a whisper. "Dolf's been in custody for what, three or four hours? He's refused counsel, yet asked for you. Unusual, to say the least. Most troubling, though, is the sheriff's willingness to go along with that request." He skipped a beat, and I saw that he was deeply concerned. "Something is definitely wrong."

"But what?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I can't see it."

"It doesn't change anything," I said. "I can't refuse."

"You should, though. Legally speaking, I don't see what can be gained."

"It's not always about the law."

"I advise against it," Parks stated.

"Dad?" I asked.