Justice Lost (Darren Street Book 3)

by Scott Pratt

  “He’d kill you in a heartbeat,” Calvin said.

  “I know that. I know what he’s capable of. Hell, he’s threatened to kill me several times over the years. He threatened to come here and kill you if I ever crossed him. And I’ve seen what he can do with my own two eyes. But I ain’t like him. I can’t kill him.”

  “Then arrest him.”

  “I might as well put a gun to my head and pull the trigger.”

  “Get this new district attorney to kill him for you.”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “There’s been all kinds of talk about him killing folks. Go talk to him. Tell him what you’ve told me. Tell him somebody has to either arrest Roby or kill him, and you doubt anybody’s gonna be arresting him anytime soon. If he really has killed people before, and if he wants to clean things up around here, maybe he’ll do it.”

  “He’d have to kill me, too. I’d be a witness.”

  “So? Just because you’re a witness doesn’t mean you have to say anything.”

  “Roby’s kin, Daddy. He’s my uncle. The district attorney would think I’d tell.”

  “Will you stop going on about Roby being kin? Roby Penn doesn’t give a tinker’s damn about anything or anybody but Roby. He got drunk and killed his girlfriend and left her in a dumpster. He fights animals, Clifford. What kind of person fights animals and gambles on it? You say he threatened you, threatened me. You’ve heard the stories, just like I have. You know he’s killed men, probably women and children, too. Who knows how many? Everyone he kills from this point forward is on you. You have the power to stop him. I don’t know who the person in Nashville was that told you to kill Roby, but seems to me he was giving you some pretty good advice.”

  Tree wiped his mouth, rose, and put his bowl and bread plate in the sink.

  “Thank you for the advice,” he said. “I don’t know how much of it I can use, but thanks just the same.”

  “Go talk to the district attorney,” Calvin said. “What can it hurt? Just be honest. It might feel good.”

  Tree stopped at the door and looked back at his daddy.

  “It might at that,” he said. “I’ve never really known what it felt like to be a real sheriff. Hell, I might just like it. You be safe now. Keep an eye out.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Roby Penn liked to stay close to home, but on this day, he was a little more than fifty miles from his trailer outside Knoxville. He was standing on a tree-covered hillside five hundred yards away from a house that was being built just outside of Newport, the county seat of Cocke County. The town was known for its lawlessness in East Tennessee. Its rugged mountains were home to folks who raised fighting roosters and pit bulls, operated chop shops, and grew large patches of marijuana.

  Roby had made three trips to Newport before he picked out his spot. The shot wouldn’t be that difficult, and the report would echo off the surrounding mountains so that nobody would know where it came from until the investigators figured out the angles many hours or even a day after Roby was long gone. He had borrowed a truck from a man who owed him a gambling debt and placed a tag he’d stolen off a car on the truck. It was parked half a mile away off an old logging road. Anyone who may have happened by would think the driver was either deer hunting or looking for deer signs since the gun-hunting season had started four days earlier.

  Roby was looking through a Leupold 3-9x40mm scope that sat atop the barrel of a Remington 700 rifle. The shot would be about five hundred yards, give or take ten yards. It was a shot Roby had made hundreds of times in his life. With the combination of the Remington 700, the scope, and the 300 Winchester Magnum ammunition he was using, Roby had no doubt his target would be dead within seconds of him pulling the trigger.

  The target would not be a deer, but a human. Roby had decided that Harley Shaker needed to die. Roby couldn’t exactly articulate a reason why Harley had to die; it was just a feeling. Roby knew Harley haunted the honky-tonks around Newport on the weekends, and he was afraid that one night he’d get too much beer or liquor or combination of both in him and feel the need to brag. Roby shook his head a little and smiled slightly. It was funny. He’d taken Harley along the night they’d killed Morris and his wife and the lawyer and the girlfriend because he felt like Harley owed him because of the marine he’d killed. And Harley had done a damned fine job. The hit on the district attorney’s wife was clean, Harley had shot the bagman lawyer without blinking, and he’d stood lookout with Tree while Roby had gone into the girl’s apartment and taken care of her.

  Tree, Roby thought as he pictured the sheriff staying in the kitchen while Roby went into the bedroom to finish off the girl. He might have to be next. He’s afraid of his shadow, and he’s just too damned dumb to live.

  Roby’s eye twitched slightly as he saw his prey walk up to a scaffold that was against the house and begin to climb. Once Harley was atop the scaffold, Roby put the crosshairs on the middle of his back, took a breath, held it, and squeezed the trigger. The Remington cracked and bucked, and Roby watched through the scope as the round found its target. Harley’s arms flew up at his sides, his knees buckled, and he fell over straight onto his face.

  Roby turned away and slung the rifle over his shoulder.

  Another one down, he thought. Maybe one, maybe two more, to go.

  CHAPTER 40

  The second time I walked into my apartment and Sheriff Tree Corker was there, I was armed. District attorneys general in Tennessee are issued badges and are allowed to carry guns. My Walther was in a holster at the small of my back, hidden by my sport coat and my overcoat, and I almost drew it. I’d spent another day listening to people bitch because Tom Masoner had reassigned them. They still had good jobs, but you’d think from listening to them whine that their lives were about to end. I was as irritable as a snake that had just shed its skin. I’d faked smiles for so long that day my cheeks were sore. Late in the day, however, two men became so belligerent that I told them they could either accept their new assignment, resign, or step outside with me and take an ass whipping. Finally, at the end of the day, I’d called Wynken, Blynken, and Nod into my office and unceremoniously fired all three of them at the same time. The administrative side of the job was beyond distasteful to me, and to be honest, I wasn’t very good at it.

  The sheriff looked totally different this time. He wasn’t wearing his uniform. He wasn’t wearing his cowboy hat. The pistols were nowhere in sight. He was sitting at the counter in my kitchen.

  “Again, Sheriff?” I said in a tired voice. “I swear to God I’d be within my rights to put a bullet in you.”

  “I’m not armed,” he said.

  “I can see that. It’s like you’re walking around without pants.”

  “We need to talk. It’s serious.”

  Something about his tone told me he was genuine, and I walked in and took two beers out of the refrigerator.

  “I had a long talk with my daddy today,” he said. “You ever do that?”

  “Can’t say that I do. My father died a long time ago.”

  “Sorry to hear it. My daddy made me realize there are some things you and I need to straighten out. Some things we need to talk over. You’re not going to like some of what I have to say, and I’m not going to like having to say it.”

  “Sounds like you’re either getting ready to threaten me or confess to me,” I said.

  “I ain’t going to threaten you.”

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “Do you know how I got my job?” he said. “I mean, back at the beginning? Do you know how I became sheriff?”

  “I assume the county commission appointed you when Joe DuBose fell off his roof and broke his neck.”

  “That’s right, but do you know where I’d been working up to that point? Had you ever heard of me?”

  I shook my head. “Can’t say that I’d ever heard of Tree Corker,” I said, “but to be honest, I didn’t pay that much attention.”

  “Nobody did, but it was Ben
Clancy who got me in. Roby Penn suggested it. Clancy had a lot of political power in those days, back before you got hold of him, and he got some of his friends on the county commission to nominate me, and they ramrodded me right through. I went from applying for a job at the department at thirty-five to working in the jail for two years to being a patrol deputy for two years to being sheriff. I had no clue what I was doing. Still don’t, really.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Sheriff?”

  “Clancy already had all the hustles and rackets—all those things you mentioned to me the last time we talked—set up. Joe DuBose did what I do—kept his eyes and ears open, collected the money, distributed the money. Clancy’s big earner was my uncle Roby Penn. Clancy was a terrible man, but he hated drugs, wouldn’t have nothing to do with them, wouldn’t let the dealers get a foothold. So Roby was his big earner. I’m scared of Roby Penn and always have been. He’s a crazy, murderous man who doesn’t give a damn about anybody but himself and is filled with hatred and bitterness.”

  “Think it was him that killed Harley Shaker?”

  “What?”

  “Harley Shaker was murdered this morning over in Newport. Killed by a sniper.”

  The news visibly shook the sheriff. “I didn’t know. I’ve had a busy day.”

  “Harley have it coming?”

  “I don’t think so. Probably not.”

  “Him and Roby have any problems?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “You look worried.”

  “That’s because I might be next.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to see how it shakes out,” I said. “It happened in another jurisdiction, so it isn’t really my problem. So what were you saying? Oh, Roby and Clancy knew they could depend on you to keep your mouth shut and help with their scams and Clancy hated drugs. Did you bring Morris in? I doubt Clancy had much to say to him after Morris beat him in the election.”

  “I brought him in. It wasn’t hard. He was a greedy man, Morris. He was the one who suggested we let the drug dealers start operating and skim off them, too. It’s big money.”

  “Okay, so you brought Morris in, and he let the drugs in. That’s the only thing you’ve told me that I didn’t already know, Sheriff. I’m still not sure why you’re here.”

  “After you got out of prison and they put Clancy in there in your place, I went to the feds. I’d had enough.”

  The sheriff then told me a long tale of how he’d provided an FBI agent named Wilcox with several years’ worth of solid evidence and millions of dollars, only to have Wilcox disappear when the sheriff told him Roby Penn was about to murder Morris and the others. My prior experience with the FBI hadn’t been good, so I wasn’t all that surprised that a rogue agent had popped up, especially with all that money at stake.

  “And what is the FBI doing now?” I said. “Any idea on what their plan is?”

  “Honestly? I don’t think they’re going to do a damned thing. I think they’re embarrassed.”

  I shook my head. “Hell of a system we have, isn’t it, Sheriff?”

  “There’s another person involved in all of this,” Corker said. “I don’t know a name or a title, but I met with a lawyer this morning in Cookeville who represents him or her. I go down there once a month and take the lawyer money, same share as everybody else. But today was a special meeting. The lawyer told me that somebody saw me driving a boat the night Morris and his wife were killed. Well, they didn’t see me, but they saw my pistols, and nobody else around here wears those pistols. Because this person saw those pistols, they put two and two together and knew it must have been Roby who killed Morris.”

  My heart nearly stopped. Only one person knew I had seen those pistols, and he was the head of the state’s most powerful law enforcement agency. I wanted to scream. I wanted to kill someone immediately, and that someone was Hanes Howell III.

  “You look like I just hit you in the head with a hammer,” the sheriff said.

  “I feel like you did,” I said.

  “I’m going to share something else this lawyer told me. He told me his client had neutralized you. That’s the word he used. He told me his client lied to you and you shouldn’t be a problem in the future. If it turns out you become a problem, though, they’ll want me to kill you. They also want me to kill Roby.”

  “Unless he kills you first,” I said. “When are you supposed to do it?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  I drained the last of my beer, which certainly wouldn’t be the only beer I’d drink that night, and stared at the sheriff. There was fear in his eyes.

  “What are you going to do?” I said.

  “I ain’t no killer,” he said. “All that stuff I do, them Pythons, it’s all for show. And there’s something else I want you to know. I turned over every dime of the money I took to the FBI, even the money I took in the beginning. I didn’t keep a cent. As far as Roby, I don’t think there’s much I can do. He’d put me down in a heartbeat if I went after him.”

  “But then he’d have me to contend with, because the county commission isn’t going to put another one of Roby Penn’s relatives in the sheriff’s seat. They’ll appoint someone a lot different than you.”

  I got up and walked to the refrigerator, pulled out two more beers, and handed one to the sheriff. He was looking at me strangely, almost longingly.

  “What?” I said.

  “You. You should be the one.”

  “To do what? Kill Roby Penn? I’m the district attorney now. I can’t go around playing vigilante.”

  “You could if you wanted to,” the sheriff said. “One last time. I’ll help you any way I can.”

  “Let me give it some thought,” I said.

  We sat there in silence, both lost in thought. After several minutes, the sheriff drained his beer and stood to go.

  “I want you to know I’m ashamed of the things I’ve done,” he said. “Well, some of them, anyway.”

  “It doesn’t help much to be ashamed,” I said. “I’ve heard some good might come from personal failings or character flaws if a person can change, but I’ve never been able to do it.”

  The sheriff handed me a card with his cell number on it. “Call me anytime. I hope we can figure something out.”

  He said goodbye and walked out the door. After the sheriff left, I drank three more beers. I had to just keep my hands from shaking because I was so livid. Scandal and corruption were certainly nothing new to Tennessee politics and law enforcement. I’d been reading about scandals all my life and had experienced more than my share of corruption firsthand, but to think that Hanes Howell, who acted so smug and respectable, was involved with Ben Clancy and Joe DuBose and Roby Penn and Stephen Morris, not to mention all the pimps and drug dealers and human traffickers, made my stomach turn. I remembered what he’d said about Roger Tate, and a smile crossed my face. He’d called him a “washed-up old fool.” We’d just see about that.

  Maybe it was the beer, and maybe, once again, I’d just reached my limit, but I began to reflect. I’d tried to do the right thing after Grace died, but Morris swatted me away like an annoying insect. Because of that, I killed Fraturra, believing I had no choice. If I hadn’t killed him, who knew how many others he might have hurt?

  Once that was over, I’d tried to find some solace in Grace’s memory, but she rejected me. My mother had faded into nothingness.

  And then the game changed completely. At Granny’s suggestion, and with the help of Roger Tate and Claire, I’d thrown myself into the race for district attorney general and had largely managed to put Grace and the past out of my mind. The irony of it still slapped me in the face a couple of times a day. I wasn’t running the office the way many would have liked it to be run, but with the exception of helping Granny with her gambling aspirations, I had no plans to take part in any kind of corruption.

  And then Roby Penn started killing people left and right and wasn’t answering for anything. The conversation with the sheriff
had been insightful, if what he was saying was true. He seemed sincere, though, and I’d become a pretty good judge of who was lying and who wasn’t.

  With the embarrassing exception of Hanes Howell III.

  I’d had it. I’d had it up to my eyeballs with worrying about what was right and what was wrong and what was just and unjust. Not many months before, I hadn’t cared about any of that. Now, I found myself no longer wanting to care. I only wanted to kill. Grace had abandoned me. My mother wasn’t around anymore. I had been left to my own devices, and I knew that could turn out badly and bloody.

  There wasn’t a single person I could trust outside of Claire and the Tiptons. There really wasn’t anything Claire could do, at least not yet. Granny and her grandsons might be able to help me with Roby, but I wasn’t the type to bushwhack somebody. If I was going to confront Roby, I would confront him face-to-face. To me, he was like Big Pappy. He hadn’t really done anything to me personally, but I figured he was just biding his time.

  I looked at my phone. It was almost ten o’clock at night. I called Claire, who had returned to the swamp.

  “Am I bothering you?” I said.

  “You sound like you’ve had a little to drink.”

  “I have. Not too much, but a little.”

  “It’s good to hear your voice,” she said.

  “Yours, too. Listen, I’m going to do something in the morning, and it may not work out for me.”

  “What, Darren? What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to put an end to at least part of what’s been going on here, one way or another. I’m going to put an end to it, or I’m going to die trying.”

  “Darren, don’t make rash decisions when you’ve been drinking. What’s happened?”

  “Nothing’s happened, that’s why I have to do something. The man who killed Stephen Morris and all those other people is probably planning his next murder. The hustles haven’t stopped, the money is still flowing. There’s corruption everywhere, even at the highest level of state law enforcement.”