“Kitty wasn’t killed until April 9th of the following year, right?” Mobley asked.

“Maybe the work got stalled or something. We can call Leyland Brothers to find out. But that isn’t what’s interesting. Look at this.” Louis slapped a second permit in front of Mobley. “A new permit was pulled for the same job by a different contractor, Delacarpini and Sons.”

Mobley was looking at the date on the second permit. “April 30, 1966.”

“I think the cabana was still under construction when Brian killed Kitty there,” Louis said. “That’s why she had cement powder in her hair. And then, after Brian dumped Kitty’s body, the second permit was pulled and the cabana work was completed.”

Mobley looked up at Louis.

“Maybe Brian got scared and told his father. That’s why Charles Brenner made the deal with Duvall to set up Cade and then he hid the evidence by bringing in new workers to finish the cabana.”

Mobley was rubbing his temple, looking at the permit. “I was in that house once, for a party in high school,” he said quietly.

“Brian’s been trying to sell it,” Louis said. “He knew this might all come out if Cade brought suit against Duvall.”

Mobley looked up. “So you think Brian killed Duvall too?”

Louis nodded. “Duvall was treated for depression right around the time of the Cade trial. I think he always felt guilty about what he did, and when Cade got out and threatened to sue him, it all came back.” Louis paused. “Maybe Duvall was going to come clean, maybe he even told Brian. Brian had no choice. His father wasn’t around to clean up his mess this time.”

Louis finally picked up his Heineken. It tasted good, and for a second, that surge of adrenaline he had been expecting with Vince came forward.

“But why Jack Cade? Why’d they set him up?” Mobley asked.

But before Louis could answer, Mobley spoke again. “Never mind. I can guess. Cade did the Brenners’ lawn, right?”

Louis nodded slowly. “I called Cade and asked him. Cade was always losing his tools. Brian probably found the Clot Buster in his yard and realized he could make it look like Cade did it.”

“What about the panties? They had Cade’s blood type on them, not Brian’s,” Mobley said.

“Cade told me he found the panties in his truck the next morning and figured Ronnie left them there. He used them to jack-off in. I think Brian put the panties in Cade’s truck to set him up.” Louis paused. “The semen inside Kitty was AB-negative. It’s a rare blood type, Lance, only five percent of the population. That’s what is important.”

Mobley was quiet, looking down at his glass.

“Jack Cade was the perfect murderer,” Louis said. “He was the man any jury would love to hate.”

Mobley took a long, slow drink of his scotch, then looked off across the bar. It was a moment before he looked back at Louis.

“What about Scott? Is he involved?” Mobley asked quietly.

Louis shook his head. “First of all, he was away at school at Florida State. And second, he’s the wrong blood type.”

“What is he?”

“I don’t know, but I guarantee he’s not negative.” Louis paused. “I don’t think Scott knows anything. My guess is the old man never told Scott, just in case something ever did come to light. If Brian went under, at least the favorite son wouldn’t. The heir and the spare.”

“What?”

“That’s what Ellie Silvestri called Scott and Brian.”

Mobley’s shoulders slumped slightly as his gaze drifted over all the evidence Louis had laid before him.

“Jesus H Christ,” he said. “Why the hell would Duvall do it?”

“Money, success, status.” Louis paused, deciding not to bring up Candace right now. “He knew what he was doing.”

“Faust selling his soul to the devil,” Mobley said, shaking his head.

“He sold it to Dr. Mephisto. I looked it up.”

Mobley just stared at him. Then he picked up his glass, finished off the scotch and set the glass down. The laughter of the bar floated around them. Mobley ran both hands across his face.

Louis watched him, not knowing what to say. There was nothing he could do now. He had taken things as far as he could. It was all up to Mobley now.

“Sheriff?” Louis asked.

“Scott and I have known each other a long time,” Mobley said, without looking up. “I want to talk to him first. Before we go after Brian.”

Louis tensed. “Look, I like Scott, but Brian’s his brother. If we tip-”

Mobley’s head shot up. “This is my call, Kincaid. You want to be there, fine. But we handle it my way.”

Mobley started gathering up the papers. When Louis tried to help, Mobley jerked the folder away. “I can do it, goddamn it,” he said.

Louis sat back in the booth. Jesus, don’t let him blow this.

Mobley rose, picking up the folder. His eyes traveled over the crowded bar and came back to Louis. “Five P.M. tomorrow,” he said. “Brian Brenner’s office.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Louis waited in the first floor lobby of Brenner’s office building, watching the glass doors for Mobley. It was ten minutes after five. Where was he? A Lee County cruiser pulled up and Mobley got out. Louis held the door open for him.

“You ready for this?” Mobely asked.

Louis nodded.

At the elevator, Mobley jabbed at the button. His dark green uniform looked fresh from its dry-cleaner plastic. He looked rested but grim. Louis’s eyes dropped to the folder in Mobley’s hands. He wished he knew how Mobley was going to handle this. What the hell did he plan to say?

The doors opened and they stepped into the Brenner reception area. The receptionist’s desk was empty; Mobley led the way past it, down the short hall to Scott’s office. The door was open.

Scott was picking up his suit coat and paused, his eyes moving from Mobley to Louis. Louis knew he was trying his damndest to figure out what they were doing here together.

“Evening, guys,” Scott said, shrugging on his coat. “Something I can do for you?”

“Is Brian here, Scott?” Mobley asked.

“No, he left early,” Scott said, looking again at Louis. “Is there something wrong?”

Mobley hesitated. “We need to talk to you.”

Scott looked puzzled, but motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, sit down.”

Mobley didn’t move. “There’s been a couple things come up in the Kitty Jagger investigation I thought you should know about.”

Scott’s face brightened. “Oh, well. Good. I need all the leverage I can get for the motion to retry.”

Mobley drew in a breath. “Scott, we think Brian raped and murdered Kitty Jagger.”

Scott froze, his eyes locked on Mobley’s face. Then placing both hands on his desk, slowly sat down.

“Lance, you’ve known Brian and me since high school,” he said quietly. “You know he couldn’t have. .” Scott’s voice trailed off.

Mobley glanced at Louis, then stepped forward. “Scott, listen to me.”

“No,” Scott said, shaking his head. “You’re wrong.”

“We’re not wrong,” Mobley said. “We think Brian picked Kitty up after work and took her to your house. Then something went wrong.”

Louis resisted the urge to cut in. Jesus Christ, how much was he going to tell him?

“After he killed her,” Mobley went on, “he threw her body in the dump, and tossed the panties in Cade’s truck, which we know he saw every morning in your neighborhood.”

Scott tightened, closing his eyes, trying to hold himself together.

“Scott, we need your help on this,” Mobley said. “Brian was a kid. We understand that.”

“He didn’t do this,” Scott said, his voice stronger.

“Then ask him to submit to a blood test.”

Scott’s head was down and his eyes were closed. It was quiet enough that Louis could hear the ring of a telephone out on the secretary’s desk. It rang for a long time before the person finally gave up.

Scott pushed himself up from his desk. Slowly, he straightened his lapels and touched his tie. A change came over his expression, like he had suddenly slipped on a mask that didn’t quite fit.