White River Burning полностью

Coolidge eased his chair back a few more inches and gestured toward the armchairs by the fireplace. “Would you gentlemen like to sit down?”

Without taking his eyes off Gurney, Payne moved cautiously to the brown leather chair on the far side of the hearth. Gurney took the matching one facing it.

Gurney studied Payne’s face. “You resemble your father.”

His mouth twitched. “The man who’s calling me a murderer.”

Gurney paused, struck by the young man’s voice. The timbre was the same as his father’s, but the tone was tighter, angrier.

“When did you change your name from Beckert to Payne?”

“As soon as I could.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because that patriarchal thing is bullshit. I had a mother as well as a father. Her name was Payne. I preferred it. What difference does it make? I thought we were going to talk about these murders I’m being accused of.”

“We are.”

“Well?”

“Did you commit them?”

“No! That’s ridiculous! A stupid, disgusting idea.”

“Why is it ridiculous?”

“It just is. Steele and Loomis were good people. Not like the rest of that stinking department. What’s happening now scares the shit out of me.”

“Why?”

“Look at who’s dead. Look at who’s being blamed. Who do you think will be next?”

“I’m not following you.”

Payne counted the names off on his fingers with increasing agitation. “Steele . . . Loomis . . . Jordan . . . Tooker. All dead. And who’s being blamed? The Gort brothers. And me. You see the pattern?”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“Seven people with one thing in common! We’ve all created problems for the sainted police chief. He’d be much happier if none of us existed. And now he’s got four of us out of the way.”

“Are you claiming that your father—?”

“Not with his own hands. That’s what he has Judd Turlock for. It’s amazing how many people have been killed or put in the hospital for ‘resisting arrest’ since Turlock and the great Dell Beckert came to White River. That’s all I can think about. The minute I heard my name on that Flynn thing last night, that was my thought—I’m next. It’s like living in some gangster dictatorship. Whatever the big man wants, somebody makes it happen. Whoever gets in his way ends up dead.”

“If you’re afraid of being tracked down and shot in a manufactured confrontation, why not get yourself a good lawyer and turn yourself in?”

Payne burst out in a harsh laugh. “Turn myself in and sit for God knows how long in Goodson Cloutz’s jail? That would just make it easier for them. In case you haven’t noticed, Cloutz is a slimy piece of shit. And there are people in that fucking jail who’d actually pay him for the chance to kill a police chief’s son!”

Gurney nodded thoughtfully. He sat back in his chair and let his gaze drift out the far window into the churchyard. In addition to giving himself a moment to consider the implications of what Payne was saying, he wanted to create an emotional break to let the young man’s level of agitation subside before moving on to another subject.

Coolidge’s voice interrupted the silence, asking if they’d like some coffee.

Gurney accepted. Payne declined.

Coolidge went to prepare it, and Gurney resumed his inquiry.

“We need to address some evidence issues. There’s video footage of you driving a black Corolla to and from both sniper locations.”

“The apartment building in Grinton and the private house up in Bluestone?”

“Yes.”

“When they showed those places on the news this morning, I almost threw up.”

“Why?”

“Because I recognized the buildings. I’d been there. To both of them.”

“Why?”

“To meet someone.”

“Who?”

He shook his head, looking both angry and scared. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know who you were meeting?”

“I have no idea. People contact me. It’s no secret where I stand politically. I founded White Men for Black Justice. I’ve been on TV. I ask for information. I publicize my phone number. Sometimes I get anonymous tips from people who want to help me.”

“Help you do what?”

“Expose the rot in our fascist police establishment.”

“That’s why you went to those places? To meet someone who promised to help you?”

“He said he had a video—the actual dashboard video from the police car at the Laxton Jones shooting. A video that would expose what really happened—and expose the police story as total bullshit.”

“It was a man’s voice?”

“It was a text. I guess I just assumed it was from a guy. There was no name on it.”

“So you got this anonymous text offering you the video?”

“Yes.”

“Telling you to go to that apartment building on Bridge Street to get it?”

“Yes.”

“This was the evening of the BDA demonstration in the park?”

“Yes. I was supposed to drive into the alley behind the building and wait.”

“And you did that.”