Act of Deceit

Chapter 56

B efore breakfast the next morning, Donnally transferred to Corazon’s office computer the video files of Corazon and Janie’s new set of interviews with Sherwyn’s victims. He cut out the names of the boys and dates that would allow Sherwyn to identify them, then copied the audio portion of the interviews onto a CD.

Donnally’s cell phone rang as he pulled the disk out of the drive.

“Nothing happens in this place that I don’t find out about,” Sherwyn said, his words slurred, sounding like he had a hangover. “And not only will those kids recant, but their parents will say that you paid them to lie… in fact-”

Donnally heard muffled conversation in the background.

“In fact… the first ones have just come in.” Sherwyn laughed. “You’ve been a bad, bad boy, Donnally. They’re claiming you threatened them, and their children.”

Sherwyn’s voice hardened, like caffeine was kicking against the weight of last night’s alcohol.

“You still don’t have a clue about how things work around here, do you? This won’t be any more successful than your gimmick to link me with Gregorio Cruz. The U.S. Attorney will have no use for recanting witnesses and the Mexican police will dismiss your little tapes as frauds. They may even charge you with witness tampering.”

Sherwyn laughed again, but this time in a jittery way, as if he was an adolescent boy watching a horror movie and not comfortable in his desire to witness a horde of ax-wielding zombies disemboweling a victim.

“That’s assuming, of course, that Gregorio’s brother doesn’t get to you first, and that could get quite messy.”

Donnally sensed, underneath Sherwyn’s arrogance, a racket of thoughts suppressed by techniques perfected while living a double, triple, and in the murder of Anna Keenan, a quadruple life.

He looked at his watch. Janie and Corazon were driving to Merida, the inland state capital, to hide the boys in a hotel.

“It doesn’t make any difference what the parents claim,” Donnally said, “you can’t get to the kids.”

“Eventually they’ll come to me. They always do. They’re part of my world now. They don’t fit into yours anymore, and there’s no going back.”

For a moment Donnally thought Sherwyn had gone delusional, but then realized that Sherwyn’s fantasy was just the distorted reflection of Corazon’s prison analogy.

“It’s out of their hands,” Donnally said.

“Only if you intend to hold them as prisoners.”

“If I have to, but it won’t come to that.”

Donnally decided to bring at least one of Sherwyn’s fears to the surface.

“Aren’t you wondering how I figured out you were down here?” Donnally asked.

Sherwyn didn’t answer right away, almost as if the question hadn’t crossed his mind because the answer would be too obvious. Donnally suspected that it was because Sherwyn had spent so many years expecting to be caught that he was no longer capable of surprise.

“And aren’t you also wondering why SFPD hasn’t released Cruz’s name to the press? You think maybe it’s to give the Justice Department time to negotiate a deal with the Mexican attorney general to cut out the local police and bring in the federales to haul your ass to jail?”

Donnally hoped he was applying pressure, but Sherwyn’s “Get off it, Donnally” told him he’d pushed too hard.

“It’s because you haven’t told them,” Sherwyn said. “You’re not going to risk me getting caught up in the judicial system down here. This is the goddamn briar patch.” Sherwyn laughed again, this time a rough, solid laugh. “Hey, I know what I’ll do. You’ll just love this. I’ll surrender to the Mexicans and plead no contest. Get it? No contest. You know, Donnally, no harm, no foul.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“What are you going to do? Cut me up in little pieces and feed me to the barracudas out in the mangroves?”

“You’re going back to the States. Alive and in one piece, and voluntarily.”

“And why, exactly, would I want to spend the rest of my life in a U.S. prison?”

“Because it will be the lesser evil.”

Sherwyn clucked. “Poor Donnally. How naive. Eventually you’ll learn that all of life is the lesser evil.”

The line went dead, but seconds later it rang again. Donnally picked it up.

“I forgot something,” Sherwyn said. “Slick move with the gone-fishing angle, Donnally, but you’re the one who’s not getting away. Even better was using that cop to convince Gregorio’s brother that you were still in California. That is until Jago got pissed off. He wasn’t so much interested in a two-day tour of the dirt roads along the Trinity River as in leaving you in a shallow grave next to it.”

The line went dead again.

A shallow grave. A dark current flowed through Donnally as he repeated the words to himself.

He called the cafe. Marian answered.

“Have you seen Deputy Pipkins in the last twenty-four hours?” Donnally asked.

“No. And he didn’t show up for his shift today. His father was in here looking for you, wanting to know what you did with him. Real angry. I’m not sure whether it was at you or his son. He wouldn’t tell me what he thinks the kid did, but he’s convinced that you’ve got him chained up somewhere.”

Donnally thought back to the spot along the river where the deputy had intercepted him to serve him with the DA’s subpoena for Charles Brown’s hearing. He guessed that Pipkins would’ve started his search there, and then worked downstream toward the ocean.

But at some point during their search, Jago would have concluded that Pipkins’s aim had been to divert him from Donnally or to cover Donnally’s escape.

Jago would then either torture Pipkins for information that he didn’t possess or kill him.

Or both.

“Describe the Mexican to the sheriff,” Donnally said. “Tell him that he should start looking at Brush Creek Road along the Trinity and search the north side of the river down toward Salt Flat.”

“Will you meet him there?”

“I’m too far away.”

“Where’s that?”

“It’s better that you don’t know.”