by Greg Iles
The coroner shakes her head, but I cant tell if shes offended or not. What are you telling me? Stop working this death?
No. Just dont do anything out of your normal investigative routine. Follow the book, and nothing more. And by that standard, I think youre finished.
Now she looks offended. If Id followed the book, you wouldnt know what you know now.
I realize that. And I appreciate it. But the risk is mine to take, not yours.
Whys that?
Because I owe somebody.
A small, strange smile shows on Jewels face. Now you sound like your daddy. Okay, then. Youre telling me Im at risk just by coming here, right?
You could be. If theyre watching Dad. You need to come up with a plausible reason for your visit.
Prescription, Dad says. Is your mother still having problems with peripheral neuropathy?
Jewel smiles broadly now. Do you ever forget anything about a patient?
Hell, yes. More every day.
I dont believe it.
I touch the coroners wrist. You said there was something else.
Pathologist found something in your friends rectum.
What? Drugs?
No. The cap from a thumb drive.
My heart thumps against my sternum.
A thumb what? Dad asks.
A flash-memory device, Jewel explains. USB type. Made by Sony. Its about two inches long and a third of an inch wide.
Only the cap? I ask, certain that Im a lot closer to at least the copy of the data on the DVD Tim stole from the Magnolia Queen. Not the actual device?
Right. Weird, huh?
Maybe not.
Jewel ponders my face. He stuck the drive up there to hide it from whoever killed him, didnt he?
To smuggle it off the boat, I think. Probably.
This guy worked on the Magnolia Queen, right?
Jewel
So was he smuggling information off the boat.
Please stop, right there. Im not kidding.
She frowns and waves me away as she might a pestering child. I aint tellin nobody nothin bout this. I just want to know for my own self. So when I sit up at night thinking about it, like I always do, Ill eventually be able to get me some sleep instead of puzzling about it till the sun comes up.
Youre on the right track, thats all I can tell you.
Okay. So the question is, who has the USB drive now?
I nod.
Well, your friend left work just before midnight, and he died around twelve thirty-five. So whoever tortured him didnt have him long, not even if they had him that whole time, which they probably didnt. Jessup had lots of welts and abrasions on his legs and arms, like hed been running through the woods.
Really?
Mm-hm. So lets say they had ten minutes to torture him in the backseat of that SUV. I doubt they had time to do a cavity search.
Dont be too sure. Some professionals do that kind of thing automatically.
Jewels brow furrows. What kind of professionals? You talkin bout cops?
Not exactly. Military types. Ex-military. Paramilitary, maybe.
What exactly does paramilitary mean?
Sort of military, Dad explains. Like paramedic. Not quite a doctor.
They didnt expect Tim to get out of that vehicle, I reason aloud. They injected him with drugs, started torturing him, but somehow he got out while they were driving down Broadway. So unless they cavity-searched him, or he gave up the USB drives location right away, he got out of that vehicle with it. Who had access to the body, postmortem?
The cops at the scene, Jewel says.
You think theyd pull his pants down and cavity-search him with spectators hanging over the fence like they were?
They could have, Dad says. They could have leaned a bunch of guys over him to shield it, the way NFL teams do when they want to hide an on-field injection from the camera.
No. That would take too many dirty cops. Lets assume the drive was still in situ when Jewel got the body. Who had access after that?
Jewels still looking at the ceiling, nodding slowly. It was so late that I put him in the morgue at St. Catherines rather than drive him to Jackson. University said theyd rush the autopsy for me, but it wouldnt speed it up any for me to drive him up in the middle of the night. And Id been all day under that hot sun
The morgue is locked, right?
Most of the time. And the drawers are locked. But it aint like I got the only key. They gave me my key to the drawers when I got the job. I probably should have put new locks on them, but the administrator might not appreciate that, seeing how I dont own the hospital. So, I guess anybody with a key to the drawers could get to the body. The local pathologist for sure. Maybe some med techs or even nurses. Hell, maintenance might have a key, for all I know.
We need to find out.
Jewel snorts. The way things are at that hospital right now, you could ask questions for a month and never find out everybody whos got a key. Thats like asking whos got a key to a church or a school. And if I start asking, everybodys gonna know it. That how you want to play this?
No. Forget that. But as far as you know, no cops have reported a USB drive being found?
Nope. They dont even know about the cap, or Id have already heard a dozen jokes about somebody putting a cap in his ass.
I think we need to get Jewel moving, Dad says.
One last thing, I say. Shad Johnson.
Jewels brown eyes filled with an emotion I cant read. Pardon my French, Penn, but that mans sure got a hard-on for you. I reckon ever since you beat him out for mayor, hes been out to get you.
It goes back farther than that. It was the Del Payton case.
Mm-hm, Jewel responds with a unique emphasis that Ive only heard from black women. Thats why he lost for mayor. Betrayed his own people. And we knew it. Were finally past the time where black folks always gonna vote for you just cause you black.
Shad explicitly warned you not to share any information with me?
Yes, indeed.
Did he give you a reason?
He said the victim was a friend of yours, and you might be involved in the case somehow. Giving you any kind of information would be improper, maybe even illegal.
Were those his exact words?
He said something about a firing offense.
Yet here she is, Dad says. Good people.
I do appreciate it, Jewel, I tell her. More than you know. But from now on, you need to lie low. Theres nothing more you can do.
She pulls a wry face. I aint so sure about that. But you wont hear from me unless Ive got something you really need.
How will you know that, if you dont know what Im trying to do?
Boy, I know what you trying to do. You trying to prove your friend was a good man and nail whoever killed him. And thats something I can get behind. Shad Johnson can kiss my big ass if he thinks he scares me. I could break that man over my knee.
Its not Shad you have to worry about.
Jewel nods slowly. I hear you. But I know how to walk soft when I need to. Now, let me get out of here. Im dying for a cigarette. I hate to admit it, but its the Lords truth.
Im rising to shake her hand when my cell phone rings.
Go on and get that, she says. You gonna give me that scrip for my mama, Doc?
I move into the hall. Hello?
Penn, this is Julia Jessup.
Julia! Are you all right?
No. I just got off the phone with that girl you used to date, or live with, or whatever.
Who? Libby Jensen?�
�
No! The one that wrote those lies in the paper this morning!
Caitlin Masters? Wait a minute. How did you talk to Caitlin? Did she call your cell phone? Youre not supposed to have that switched on.
I called her. Im not going to have half this town believing Tim was dealing drugs. There wasnt any damn meth in our house.
I know that, Julia. Jesus. And I know youre upset. We need to talk about this face-to-face.
What you need to do is call that bitch and tell her what you just told me. Tell her to write a retraction in tomorrows newspaper.
Julia, listen, please. The last thing you want right now is Caitlin Masters poking around this story. All that matters is you and your son staying safe. Thats all Tim would want.
I hear a child crying, then what sounds like a hand patting flesh. You dont know what Tim wanted, she says. It doesnt sound like you do, anyway. He wanted to make those bastards he worked for quit whatever theyre doing. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldnt listen. He said you were helping him, and now hes dead. And I dont see you defending him. Maybe if Caitlin Masters put all this on the front page, something would get done. Ill bet shed do it too. She already asked me for an interview.
Beads of sweat have sprung up on my face. How can a woman who just lost her husband not see that what shes proposing could cost her and her son their lives? Just saying it on the telephone has put her at risk, and Caitlin too.
Julia, Tim came to me for a reason. He trusted me because Ive dealt with this kind of thing before, and because he knew I would do the right thing. But the right thing is rarely what your emotions tell you to do when youre upset. I know you cant see that right now, but you have to try. Julia ? Are you still there?
Im here.
Please forget about talking to Caitlin. Nothing good will come of that, and it could cost you everything. Everything. Do you understand? Julia? Do I have to spell this out for you?
Her only reply is a strangled growl, a mixture of rage and frustration that rises to a crescendo, then abruptly ceases.
Julia, as long as you stay where you are and keep quiet, youll be safe. You can call me tonight, and well work out a way to see each other. All right?
Christ, she says in disgust. Im hanging up.
The phone goes dead.
I walk to the open door of my fathers office. Dad is bending over his desk to sign a prescription, while Jewel studies a photograph of our family when I was eleven and my sister seventeen.
Yall ever see Jenny anymore? she asks.
Not very often, Dad confesses.
She looks just like Mrs. Peggy, almost exactly.
Im sorry, Ive got to run, I tell them.
Where are you going? Dad asks.
I have to find Caitlin. Thanks for everything, Jewel. No more warnings from me.
The coroner smiles. Boy, I didnt make it this far not knowing how to take care of myself. Get out of here.
With a quick wave, I turn and run for my car.
CHAPTER
23
Tim Jessups father is the last man I expected to hear from today, but four blocks from Caitlins house, I answered my cell phone and heard the old surgeons voice in my ear. Jack Jessup is the opposite of my father: arrogant, greedy, brusque with patients. Golf, money, and the respect of society are his primary obsessions, at least the ones I know about. Seen through his fathers eyes, Tim must have seemed a complete failure from the time he entered high school.
Dr. Jessup gave me no specifics, but asked if I could stop by the Catholic rectory in the next half hour. I assumed that he intended to ask me to read or say something at Tims wake. I wanted to see Caitlin as soon as possibleshe had agreed via text message to meet me at her housebut since the cathedral and rectory are only a few blocks away from our houses, I agreed to meet the surgeon.
Its close to dark when I pull up to the imposing mass of St. Marys Minor Basilica, a monument to the Irish immigrants who came to Natchez in the nineteenth century. The Irish dominated the Catholic faith here, leavened by a few Italian families who escaped indentured servitude upriver in Louisiana. Of course, Natchez has black Catholics as well, and they worship at the historic Holy Family Church on St. Catherine Street, but their journey, like so many in Natchez, was a parallel one. The dual cultures, shadows of each other, stretch out toward infinity, a single breath apart, but never quite meeting.
The rectory is a modest building, built of the same brick as the cathedral. A long, gray Mercedes is parked in front of it, and behind this an older Lincoln Continental. As I approach the door, a woman bursts through and rushes past me. She looks familiar, but all I really register is a graying bouffant and pancake makeup concealing a face twisted into a grimace of rage and anguish. She disappears into the Lincoln, then races down the street with a squeal of rubber.
Whats going on here? I wonder.
Father Mullen is a new priest, and young. Ive only met him on a couple of occasions, at civic functions. A well-educated Midwesterner, he seems somewhat bemused by the Southernness of his new flock. I wonder how he sees Jack Jessup, a clotheshorse who used to charge $1,000 to remove a mole my father would have cut off for $75.
I find Dr. Jessup and Father Mullen in the priests office, the surgeons expensive chalk-stripe suit a marked contrast to Mullens black robe. I can tell by Jessups posture that hes disturbed about something. Hes leaning over the priests desk like a naval officer at the rail of a ship about to go into battle.
Judiciously clearing my throat, I say, Excuse me?
The surgeon turns sharply, but his face softens when he recognizes me. He motions me forward, and I shake his hand.
Behind him, Father Mullen looks as though he would rather be mortifying his flesh in a monastery than dealing with Dr. Jessup in his present state. The surgeon has intimidated more formidable men than priests.
What can I do for you, Dr. Jessup? I ask.
The surgeons mouth works behind his closed lips for a few moments, as though hes being forced to chew and swallow a day-old lemon wedge. When Dr. Jessup finally speaks, I realize his voice is choked with indignation.
Did you see who just left?
She looked familiar, but she passed me so fast, I didnt recognize her.
Charlotte McQueen.
I blink in surprise, but it takes less time than a blink for me to decode the subtext of this situation. Charlotte McQueen is the mother of the boy who died when Tim ran his car off the road in college during his beer run to the county line. In fact, shes the one who pushed the DA into making Tim do jail time. Mrs. McQueen is an influential member of the Catholic church, and I doubt she came to express her condolences.
I see, I temporize. Well, how exactly can I help, Doctor?
Dr. Jessup jerks his head toward Father Mullen. Ill let him explain it to you.
The priest tries a conciliatory smile as he stands and walks around his desk, taking care to make a wide arc around Dr. Jessup. I can only imagine what must have transpired before I entered the rectory. Mr. Mayor, he begins in a soft voice, but then he stops and looks closely at me. Are you all right, Mr. Cage?
What do you mean?
Your eyes are very red.
I havent gotten much sleep this weekend. Please go on.
Im not sure we should even be having this conversation, but Dr. Jessup feels that your input might help shed some light on the situation.
What exactly is the situation?
Well, as you may know, Timothy Jessup was
Just tell him what the woman said, Dr. Jessup snaps. Tell him what she wants.
Father Mullen gives the surgeon a pained look. Dr. Jessup, I really dont think you need worry about Mrs. McQueens request. What she asked
Demanded.
Yes yes, I suppose she did. Nevertheless, its really very rare nowadays. Only in the most extreme cases does
Stop all the mushmouth! Just tell him.
Father Mullen turns to me. Well, as you probably know, Mrs. McQueens son Patrick died twenty-seven years ago on a highway near Oxford, Mississippi.
Yes, I know. Tim Jessup served time for manslaughter as a result. How does that bear on the present?
The vindictive old bitch doesnt want Tim to have a Church funeral, Dr. Jessup says in a choked voice.
Blood rises into my cheeks. Is that true?
Father Mullen diplomatically retreats a step. Not exactly. But in broad terms, yes. I dont believe Mrs. McQueen has ever gotten over the death of her son.
Of course not. No one does. But I fail to see how that would have any bearing on Tims funeral.
Well, Father Mullen says in the tone of a man being forced to point out the most inconvenient of truths, according to canon law, certain persons may be prohibited from having Catholic funerals. If the person is known to be an apostate or a heretic, or is such a publicly manifest sinner that having a Church funeral would cause a scandal among the congregation, the mass may beand occasionally iswithheld.
Dr. Jessup is shaking his head in disgust. I cant believe my ears. Ive been coming here for thirty-seven years, and
Just a moment, Dr. Jessup, I say. Father, are you seriously considering Mrs. McQueens request?
Well, not in the way you might think. But given the situation, I dont feel I can simply reject it out of hand. The problem is that the congregation has become aware that a large quantity of drugs was found in Tims home on the night he died.
The night he was murdered, Dr. Jessup corrects. Isnt that right, Penn? Wasnt my son murdered?
He was.
Father Mullen nods awkwardly, as though this information hardly advances Tims cause. It seems that some embarrassing pictures have surfaced as wellpictures of a young lady not Mr. Jessups wife. They were also found in his home.
