He was unharmed, and at the moment that was his only concern.
NORTH OF Clanton, the land dipped in the backwaters of Lake Chatoula, and for a two-mile stretch the road was straight and flat. Known simply as The Bottoms, it had long been the turf of late-night drag racers, boozers, ruffians, and hell-raisers in general. His nearest brush with death, prior to that moment, had been in high school when he found himself in the backseat of a packed Pontiac Firebird driven by a drunken Bobby Lee West and drag racing a Camaro driven by an even drunker Doug Terring, both cars flying at a hundred miles an hour through The Bottoms. He had walked away from it, but Bobby Lee had been killed a year later when his Firebird left the road and met a tree.
When he hit the flat stretch of The Bottoms, he pressed the accelerator of his TT and let it unwind. It was two-thirty in the morning, surely everyone else was asleep.
Elmer Conway had indeed been asleep, but a fat mosquito had taken blood from his forehead and awakened him in the process. He saw lights, a car was approaching rapidly, he turned on his radar. It took almost four miles to get the funny little foreign job pulled over, and by then Elmer was angry.
Ray made the mistake of opening his door and getting out, and that was not what Elmer had in mind.
"Freeze, asshole!" Elmer shouted, over the barrel of his service revolver, which, as Ray quickly realized, was aimed at his head.
"Relax, relax," he said, throwing up his hands in complete surrender.
"Get away from the car," Elmer growled, and with the gun pointed to a spot somewhere around the center line.
"No problem, sir, just relax," Ray said, shuffling sideways.
"What's your name?"
"Ray Atlee, Judge Atlee's son. Could you put that gun down, please?"
Elmer lowered the gun a few inches, enough so that a discharge would hit Ray in the stomach, but not the head. "You got Virginia plates," Elmer said.
"That's because I live in Virginia."
"Is that where you're headed?"
"Yes sir."
"What's the big hurry?"
"I don't know, I just - "
"I clocked you doing ninety-eight."
"I'm very sorry."
"Sony's ass. That's reckless driving." Elmer took a step closer. Ray had forgotten about the cut on his hand and he was not aware of the one on his knee. Elmer removed a flashlight and did a body scan from ten feet away. "Why are you bleedin'?"
It was a very good question, and, at that moment, standing in the middle of the dark highway with a light flashed in his face, Ray could not think of an adequate response. The truth would take an hour and fall on unbelieving ears. A lie would only make matters worse. "I don't know," he mumbled.
"What's in the car?" Elmer asked.
"Nothing."
"Sure."
He handcuffed Ray and put him in the backseat of his Ford County patrol car, a brown Impala with dust on the fenders, no hubcaps, a collection of antennae mounted on the rear bumper. Ray watched as he walked around the TT and looked inside. When Elmer was finished he crawled into the front seat, and without turning around said, "What's the gun for?"
Ray had tried to slide the pistol under the passenger's seat. Evidently it was visible from the outside.
"Protection."
"You got a permit?"
"No."
Elmer called the dispatcher and made a lengthy report of his latest stop. He concluded with, "I'm bringin' him in," as if he had just collared one of the ten most wanted.
"What about my car?" Ray asked, as they turned around.
"I'll send a wrecker out."
Elmer turned on the red and blue lights and pushed the speedometer to eighty.
"Can I call my lawyer?" Ray asked.
"No."
"Come on. It's just a traffic offense. My lawyer can meet me at the jail, post bond, and in an hour I'm back on the road."
"Who's your lawyer?"
"Harry Rex Vonner."
Elmer grunted and his neck grew thicker. "Sumbitch cleaned me out in my divorce."
And with that Ray sat back and closed his eyes.
RAY HAD actually seen the inside of the Ford County jail on two occasions, he recalled as Elmer led him up the front sidewalk. Both times he had taken papers to deadbeat fathers who'd been years behind in child support, and Judge Atlee had locked them up. Haney Moak, the slightly retarded jailer in an oversized uniform, was still there at the front desk, reading detective magazines. He also served as the dispatcher for the graveyard shift, so he knew of Ray's transgressions.
'Judge Atlee's boy, huh?" Haney said with a crooked grin. His head was lopsided and his eyes were uneven, and whenever Haney spoke it was a challenge to maintain a visual.
"Yes sir," Ray said politely, looking for friends.
"He was a fine man," he said as he moved behind Ray and unlocked the cuffs.
Ray rubbed his wrists and looked at Deputy Conway who was busy filling in forms and being very officious. "Reckless, and no gun permit."
"You ain't lockin' him up, are you?" Haney said to Elmer, quite rudely as if Haney were in charge of the case now, and not the deputy.
"Damned right," Elmer shot back, and the situation was immediately tense.
"Can I call Harry Rex Vonner?" Ray pleaded.
Haney nodded toward a wall-mounted phone as if he could not care less. He was glaring at Elmer. The two obviously had a history that was not pretty. "My jail's full now," Haney said.
"That's what you always say."
Ray quickly punched Harry Rex's home number. It was after 3 A.M., and he knew the interruption would not be appreciated. The current Mrs. Vonner answered after the third ring. Ray apologized for the call and asked for Harry Rex.
"He's not here," she said.
He's not out of town, Ray thought. He was on the front porch six hours ago. "May I ask where he is?"
Haney and Elmer were practically yelling at each other in the background.
"He's over at the Atlee place," she said slowly.
"No, he left there hours ago. I was with him."
"No, they just called. The house is burning."
With Haney in the backseat, they flew around the square, lights and sirens fully engaged. From two blocks away, they could see the blaze. "Lord have mercy," Haney said from the back.
Few events excited Clanton like a good fire. The town's two pumpers were there. Dozens of volunteers were darting about, all seemed to be yelling. The neighbors were gathering on the sidewalks across the street.
Flames were already shooting through the roof. As Ray stepped over a water line and eased onto the front lawn, he breathed the unmistakable odor of gasoline.
CHAPTER 35
The love nest wasn't a bad place for a nap after all. It was a long narrow room with dust and spiderwebs and one light hanging in the center of the vaulted ceiling. The lone window had been painted sometime in the last century and overlooked the square. The bed was an iron antique with no sheets or blankets, and he tried not to think about Harry Rex and his misadventures on that very mattress. Instead, he thought of the old house at Maple Run and the glorious way it went into history. By the time the roof collapsed, half of Clanton was there. Ray had sat alone, on the low limb of a sycamore across the street, hidden from all, trying in vain to pull cherished memories from a wonderful childhood that simply had not happened. When the flames were shooting from every window, he had not thought of the cash or the Judge's desk or his mother's dining room table, but only of old General Forrest glaring down with those fierce eyes.
Three hours of sleep, and he was awake by eight. The temperature was rising rapidly in the den of iniquity, and heavy steps were coming his way.
Harry Rex swung the door open and turned on the light. "Wake up, felon," he growled. "They want you down at the jail."
Ray swung his feet to the floor. "My escape was fair and square." He had lost Elmer and Haney in the crowd and simply left with Harry Rex.
"Did you tell them they c
ould search your car?"
"I did."
"That was a dumb-ass thing to do. What kinda lawyer are you?" He pulled a wooden folding chair from the wall and sat down near the bed.
"There was nothing to hide."
"You're stupid, you know that? They searched the car and found nothing."
"That's what I expected."
"No clothes, no overnight bag, no luggage, no toothbrush, no evidence whatsoever that you were simply leaving town and going home, per your official story."
"I did not burn the house down, Harry Rex."
"Well, you're an excellent suspect. You flee in the middle of the night, no clothes, no nothing, you drive away like a bat outta hell. Old lady Larrimore down the street sees you in your funny little car go flyin' by, then about ten minutes later here come the fire trucks. You're caught by the dumbest deputy in the state doin' ninety-eight, drivin' like hell to get away from here. Defend yourself."
"I didn't torch it."
"Why did you leave at two-thirty?"
"Someone threw a rock through the dining room window. I got scared."
"You had a gun."
"I didn't want to use it. I'd rather run away than shoot somebody."
"You've been up North too long."
"I don't live up North."
"How'd you get cut up like that?"
"The brick broke the window, you see, and when I checked it out, I got cut."
"Why didn't you call the police?"
"I panicked. I wanted to go home, so I left."
"And ten minutes later somebody soaks the place with gasoline and throws a match."
"I don't know what they did."
"I'd convict you."
"No, you're my lawyer."
"No, I'm the lawyer for the estate, which by the way just lost its only asset."
"There's fire insurance."
"Yeah, but you can't get it."
"Why not?"
"Because if you file a claim, then they'll investigate you for arson. If you say you didn't do it, then I believe you. But I'm not sure anybody else will. If you go after the insurance, then those boys will come after you with a vengeance."
"I didn't torch it."
"Great, then who did?"
"Whoever threw the brick."
"And who might that be?"
"I have no idea. Maybe some guy who got the bad end of a divorce."
"Brilliant. And he waits nine years to get revenge on the Judge, who, by the way, is dead. I will not be in the courtroom when you offer that to the jury."
"I don't know, Harry Rex. I swear I didn't do it. Forget the insurance money."
"It's not that easy. Only half is yours, the other half belongs to Forrest. He can file a claim for the insurance coverage."
Ray breathed deeply and scratched his stubble. "Help me here, okay?"
"The sheriff's downstairs, with one of his investigators. They'll ask some questions. Answer slowly, tell the truth, blah, blah. I'll be there, so let's go slow."
"He's here?"
"In my conference room. I asked him to come over so we can do this now. I really think you need to get out of town."
"I was trying."
"The reckless driving and the gun charge will be put off for a few months. Give me some time to work the docket. You got bigger problems right now."
"I did not torch the house, Harry Rex."
"Of course you didn't."
They left the room and started down the unsteady steps to the second floor. "Who's the sheriff?" Ray asked, over his shoulder.
"Guy named Sawyer."
"Good guy?"
"It doesn't matter."
"You close to him?"
"I did his son's divorce."
The conference room was a wonderful mess of thick law books thrown about on shelves and credenzas and the long table itself. The impression was given that Harry Rex spent hours in tedious research. He did not.
Sawyer was not the least bit polite, nor was his assistant, a nervous little Italian named Sandroni. Italians were rare in northeast Mississippi, and during the tense introductions Ray detected a Delta accent. The two were all business, with Sandroni taking careful notes while Sawyer sipped steaming coffee from a paper cup and watched every move Ray made.
The fire call was made by Mrs. Larrimore at two thirty-four, approximately ten to fifteen minutes after she'd seen Ray's car leave Fourth Street in a hurry. Elmer Conway radioed at two thirty-six that he was in pursuit of some idiot doing a hundred miles an hour down in The Bottoms. Since it was established that Ray was driving very fast, Sandroni spent a long time nailing down his route, his estimated speeds, traffic lights, anything to slow him down at that hour of the morning.
Once Ray's exit route was determined, Sawyer radioed a deputy, who was sitting in front of the rubble at Maple Run, and told him to drive the exact course at the same estimated speeds and to stop out in The Bottoms where Elmer was once again waiting.
Twelve minutes later, the deputy called back and said he was with Elmer.
So in less than twelve minutes, Sandroni said as he began his recap, "Someone - and we're assuming this someone was not already in the house, aren't we, Mr. Atlee? - entered with what evidently was a large supply of gasoline and soaked the place thoroughly, so thoroughly that the fire captain said he'd never smelled such a strong odor of gas, then threw a match or maybe two, because the fire captain was almost certain the fire had more than one point of origin, and once the matches were thrown this unknown arsonist fled into the night. Right, Mr. Atlee?"
"I don't know what the arsonist did," Ray said.
"But the times are accurate?"
"If you say so."
"I say so."
"Move along," Harry Rex growled from the end of the table.
Motive was next. The house was insured for $380,000, including contents. According to the Realtor, who'd already been consulted, he'd been writing up an offer to purchase it for $175,000.
"That's a nice gap, isn't it, Mr. Atlee?" Sandroni inquired.
"It is."
"Have you notified your insurance company?" Sandroni asked.
"No, I thought I'd wait until their offices open," Ray responded. "Believe it or not, some folks don't work on Saturday."
"Hell, the fire truck's still there," Harry Rex added helpfully. "We got six months to file a claim."
Sandroni's cheeks turned crimson but he held his tongue. Moving right along, he studied his notes and said, "Let's talk about other suspects."
Ray didn't like the use of the word "other." He told the story about the brick through the window, or at least most of the story. And the phone call, warning him to leave immediately. "Check the phone records," he challenged them. And for good measure, he threw in the earlier adventures with some demented soul rattling windows the night the Judge died.
"Y'all had enough," Harry Rex said after thirty minutes. In other words, my client will answer no more questions.
"When are you leaving town?" asked Sawyer.
"I've been trying to leave for the past six hours," Ray replied.
"Real soon," said Harry Rex.
"We may have some more questions."
"I'll come back whenever I'm needed," Ray said.
Harry Rex shoved them out the front door, and when he returned to the conference room he said, "I think you're a lyin' son-ofabitch."
CHAPTER 36
The old fire truck was gone, the same one Ray and his friends had followed when they were teenagers and bored on summer nights. A lone volunteer in a dirty tee shirt was folding fire hoses. The street was a mess with mud strewn everywhere.
Maple Run was deserted by midmorning. The chimney on the east end was still standing, as was a short section of charred wall beside it. Everything else had collapsed into a pile of debris. Ray and Harry Rex walked around the rubble and went to the backyard, where a row of ancient pecan trees protected the rear boundary of the property. They sat in the shade, in metal lawn chairs that Ray ha
d once painted red, and ate tamales.
"I didn't burn this place," Ray finally said.
"Do you know who did?" Harry Rex asked.
"I have a suspect."
"Tell me, dammit."
"His name is Gordie Priest."
"Oh him!"
"It's a long story."
Ray began with the Judge, dead on the sofa, and the accidental discovery of the money, or was it an accident after all? He gave as many facts and details as he could remember, and he , raised all the questions that had been dogging him for weeks. Both stopped eating. They stared at the smoldering debris but were too mesmerized to see it. Harry Rex was stunned by the narrative. Ray was relieved to be telling it. From Clanton to Charlottesville and back. From the casinos in Tunica to Atlantic City, then back to Tunica. To the coast and Patton French and his quest for a billion dollars, all to be credited to Judge Reuben Atlee, humble servant of the law.
Ray held back nothing, and he tried to remember everything. The ransacking of his apartment in Charlottesville, for intimidation only, he thought. The ill-advised purchase of a share in a Bonanza. On and on he went, while Harry Rex said nothing.
When he finished, his appetite was gone and he was sweating. Harry Rex had a million questions, but he began with, "Why would he burn the house?"
"Cover his tracks, maybe, I don't know."
"This guy didn't leave tracks."
"Maybe it was the final act of intimidation."
They mulled this over. Harry Rex finished a tamale and said, "You should've told me."
"I wanted to keep the money, okay? I had three million bucks in cash in my sticky little hands, and it felt wonderful. It was better than sex, better than anything I'd ever felt. Three million bucks, Harry Rex, all mine. I was rich. I was greedy. I was corrupt. I didn't want you or Forrest or the government or anyone in the world to know that I had the money."
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