Smoke and Mirrors

35

As Brad and Winter entered the main drag near the courthouse, the radio came to life.

“Sheriff, what’s your twenty?” Chief Deputy Roy Bishop’s voice crackled.

“I’m almost at the courthouse.”

“Me too,” Bishop said.

“I see you,” Brad said.

A cruiser flashed its lights ahead and pulled over on the opposite side of the wide street. Roy Bishop got out and hurried over as Brad rolled down the window. “What’s up, Roy?”

“The damned press is driving me crazy. We have to tell them something soon.”

“Soon,” Brad told him. “Tell them we’re getting close on the Adams murder, and as soon as we have things sorted out, we’ll let them know. You met Winter last night.”

“I did.” Roy reached over Brad to shake Winter’s hand. “Bettye said you were some kind of specialist. Welcome aboard.”

“Winter’s a retired U.S. marshal. Grew up in Cleveland, Mississippi. He’s agreed to help us with the Adams homicide and Beals. As a personal favor.”

The chief deputy gave Winter a quizzical look. “Wait a damn minute,” he said, his face reddening. “You’re that Winter Massey? I mean, Jesus Christ! You’re that U.S. marshal. Hell, I thought you would be taller.”

“So did my mother,” Winter said.

“We don’t get many murders around here,” Roy said. “Now we get two in one day. Jack Beals was a first-class prick, but he didn’t deserve to die like that. Hey, is this something bigger than it looks?”

“Looks plenty big to me as it is,” Winter said.

“Where’s David Scotoni?” Brad asked.

“At the Best Western with Walters watching him. He wants to get the hell out of Dodge.”

“No problem,” Brad said. “He’s told us everything he knows. Get his phone numbers and escort him to the state line.”

“Sure thing,” Roy said, straightening as a speeding Lincoln Navigator flew past, then made a sweeping U-turn. “Damn,” Brad said. “Go on, Roy. If you need me, use the cell. I don’t want to use the radio with the press all over the place.”

Winter saw a red-faced man in a suit who looked like a newscaster get out of the Navigator and race toward the truck. The man maneuvered around Bishop and looked into the cab.

“Brad,” he said.

“Ed,” Brad said. “I want you to meet Winter Massey. Winter, this is our prosecuting attorney, Ed Moore.”

Moore nodded at Winter. “I had a call from the head of MBI. They want in on these killings now. They said you’re blocking them so they want me to make the request. I wanted to clear it with you as a courtesy before I did it.”

“Don’t need them,” Brad said. “This is proceeding nicely.”

“Two homicides, Brad. Why wouldn’t you need them, for Christ’s sake?”

“That’s why I asked Massey in. He’s a specialist in this sort of thing and has no dog in the fight. Lab assistance is all I need from the MBI for now.”

“Captain Mackey was very insistent,” Moore said.

“He said I’m in over my head, right? They only want in on the Beals killing because it’s tied to a casino employee, and they want to clear it up however they can. We’re already on top of it and it’s staying that way.”

“Damn it, Bradley. If it concerns the casinos…” Moore said nervously.

“Relax, Ed. It concerns an ex-deputy dead guy who worked security at a casino. If you want, you can tell them it was an armed robbery gone bad. We both know that MBI will only come in and make us look bad if they can, to make sure the casino doesn’t get any negative publicity. They’re always working in the casinos’ best interests.”

“That’s not something I know at all,” Moore said defensively.

“Know this. If the MBI comes in, I’ll request the FBI come in and we’ll have us a sharp-elbow sideshow and I can guarantee you that the casinos will get more negative press than they can deal with.”

“Wait a minute,” Ed said. “That’s not something we want. That sounds like a threat.”

“I can make that a promise if you’d feel more comfortable with that. The FBI isn’t coming in unless I request their assistance,” Brad said. “MBI is not going to use my department to wipe the casino’s butt, and they aren’t going to bury anything as long as I’m in this office. If someone from the casino operation is responsible for a murder, that’s just going to be a shit-hits-the-fan deal. Early next week we’ll reevaluate where we are and if I need MBI, I’ll pull them in.”

Moore said, “Your office doesn’t exactly have a sterling reputation around the state. People see the MBI as better suited, less able to…”

“You say ‘be bought off,’ and I’ll climb out and beat your ass right here in the street. I whipped your ass in the fifth grade and I can do it again.”

“I’ve known you all my life, Brad. You don’t have to say shit like that to me.” Moore smiled. “This is still our county. It’s your call.”

“I know it.”

Using the back of his fingers, Ed Moore slapped Brad’s shoulder through the window.

He turned and took a few steps before turning around and coming back. “And, Brad. You didn’t beat my ass in the fifth grade. I slipped and fell.”

Brad pushed open the door, and Ed made a show of hurrying toward the Navigator. His laughter echoed richly in through the window as Brad rolled it up.

“In the fifth grade I whipped old Ed like a redheaded stepchild,” Brad said, winking at Winter. “He’s been in denial ever since.”