Louis looked over. “What was it?”

“A gold necklace. Some kind of heart-shaped locket. Guess Ahnert needed the money.”

“Why? Did he pawn it?”

Mobley shook his head. “Someone else found it in his cruiser before he could pawn it. But if he wasn’t going to pawn it or sell it, why the fuck would he take it?”

Louis resisted the urge to touch his own back pocket. He knew the picture he had taken from Kitty’s bedroom was still there.

“I’ve got to go,” Louis said suddenly. “Thanks, Sheriff.”

“You owe me again, Kincaid,” Mobley said. “And like I said, I don’t come cheap.”

Chapter Seventeen

Louis sat in the Mustang a long time, Monday’s newspaper folded on his lap. He had not wanted to come out here to J.C. Landscaping again. The place had a sadness about it that drained him. But the questions couldn’t wait.

He wanted to know about why Cade had asked about Bob Ahnert. He wanted to know more about Kitty and what Cade told Spencer Duvall during the trial. And he wanted to know about the Haitian man.

He got out of the car. It was almost December, but the temperature was still in the mid-eighties, the air sticky and thick. He looked at the lopsided trailer, sitting in the brush, baking under the mid-day sun.

As he started to the door, Ronnie came around the back of the trailer, carrying a small tree, its roots wrapped in burlap. It looked dead.

Ronnie stopped and put the tree down. He ran his forearm across his forehead and smiled nervously.

“Hey, Mr. Kincaid.”

Louis took off his sunglasses. “Is your father here, Ronnie?”

“Yeah, inside.” Ronnie nodded to the trailer but made no move toward it. Louis suspected he was embarrassed to have him inside.

Finally, Ronnie wiped his hands on his jeans and led Louis to the trailer. The door stuck and Ronnie had to jerk on it to get it open.

“Come on in,” Ronnie said.

The trailer was dark, sunlight kept out by tinfoil duct-taped to the windows. The paneling on the walls was a faded brown, warped from the humidity and streaked with some kind of dried liquid. The place smelled of dirty clothes, dog food and something fried. A chugging wall unit a/c was not making a dent in the heat.

The kitchen was just an alcove off the living room, dimly lit by a flickering fixture over the sink. The appliances were the same vintage as the trailer, Louis suspected, old avocado things with chipped corners and missing dials.

Ronnie’s son, Eric, was sitting at the small table in the kitchen, finishing a sandwich. His dark eyes settled on Louis’s face and for an instant, Louis saw Jack Cade in him again. Eric’s face had the pink smoothness of a boy, but his eyes the dead glaze of someone who had already given up.

Benjamin Outlaw’s face came to Louis’s mind, with its bright curiosity and hope.

“Dad?” Ronnie called. “Louis Kincaid is here to see you.”

Jack Cade came down the narrow hallway, zipping his pants. His well-muscled arms were exposed by the white T-shirt he wore. His hair was ragged and he had two or three days growth on his jaw.

“You just come around without calling?” Cade asked, reaching for a beer can on the counter. “You threw me out of your place for that.”

“I need to talk to you.”

Cade took a long swallow of the Budweiser, then belched. “I’m listening.”

Louis glanced at Eric. “Outside,” Louis said to Cade.

“What? You don’t like my home?”

“It’s private.”

Cade looked at Eric. “Up, kid.”

Eric hesitated just a moment too long and Cade gave him a light cuff to the head. “I said, move.”

Eric got up, glaring at Cade, then moved over to the couch.

Cade pulled a fresh can of Budweiser from the refrigerator and sank into a chair at the small table. He waved at the other chair and Louis reluctantly sat down, moving Eric’s plate to the side. He laid the newspaper on the table, pushing it toward Cade.

“Did you have anything to do with that?” he asked.

Cade glanced at the newspaper. He took a drink of beer and set the can down, rubbing it with his calloused fingers.

“Next question.”

“I didn’t hear an answer to my first one.”

Ronnie had come in from the back and was standing near the sink. Louis knew he could see the headline from where he stood.

Cade sniffed, running his arm under his nose. “Hate this fucking weather. Can’t breathe.”

“Answer me, Cade.”

Cade shrugged. “If I tell you I did or didn’t, what does that change?”

“It would make me feel a helluva lot better.”

Cade leaned forward, his fingers gripping the can so tight, it cracked. “You’re working for me. You don’t have to feel better. I do.”

Louis sat back, his chest tight. Man, he should’ve trashed this case right from the start.

“You’re thinking about walking out on me now, ain’t you?”

“I think about it every day, Cade.”

Cade smiled. “But you can’t now, because of her, right?”

Louis’s first thought was that he wasn’t sure who Cade meant-Kitty Jagger or Susan Outlaw?

“Who?” he asked.

“The bitch lawyer.”

Louis wanted to punch him.

Ronnie jumped forward. “Can I get you a drink, Mr. Kincaid?”

Louis forced himself to look at Ronnie. He knew Ronnie was in his late thirties, but he looked pretty young right now. And embarrassed.

Louis shook his head, pissed. Sweat was trickling down his back and he could feel his shirt clinging to his skin. It was like a frickin’ oven in here.

Forget it, Kincaid. He’s just trying to rattle you. Ask him what you came to ask and get out of here.

“Tell me why you asked about Bob Ahnert?”

“I told you to leave that shit alone.”

“And I told you it’s the heart of your case. And unless you tell me right now that you killed Kitty Jagger, then I’m keeping at it. Now answer me.”

Louis looked up at Ronnie. His face was like stone. Cade’s was glistening with sweat.

Cade wet his lips. “Ahnert came to see me one day. It was just after the trial started. He wasn’t supposed to talk to me without fucking Duvall there. But he did anyway.”

“What did Ahnert want?”

“He asked me what chemicals I worked with. And he wanted to know if I knew where Atterberry might have gone to.”

“Your alibi witness?”

“Yeah.”

Louis hesitated. Why was Ahnert still asking questions after the trial had already started?

“What did you tell Duvall?”

“I told him I didn’t know where the hell Atterberry was. I only knew him because he hung out at the same bar as me. He worked seasonal, stayed in motels. Anyway, we ran out of cash and Atterberry said he had some beer back at his motel. So he drove us over there and that’s where we stayed.”

“Watching TV?”

“Watching Star Trek,” Cade said, taking a drink.

“What did Spencer Duvall tell you about Atterberry?”

“That they couldn’t locate him,” he said bitterly.

“Did you know where he was?”

Cade shook his head. “I didn’t know then, but I learned later. Atterberry moved on to Texas, to the next job. He wouldn’t have been hard to find.”

“What about the chemicals? Did Bob Ahnert tell you why he wanted to know?”

Cade crushed the empty beer can and tossed it across the kitchen to the overflowing trash can. It rolled to the floor and Ronnie picked it up.

“Nope. I gave him a list. He never got back to me and I never heard about no chemicals brought up in the trial.”

“When did you agree to the plea bargain?”

Cade got up and jerked open the fridge. Ronnie moved out of his way, looking at Louis apologetically.

“A couple weeks into the trial,” Cade said.

There was only one question left, the one Louis had wanted to ask Cade from day one.

“Why did you take the plea bargain?”

Cade hesitated, standing in the center of the kitchen, his fingers on the beer pop-top. “Twenty years or the chair.”