Page 103 of The 1 Lawyer

“It’s my family’s place. My dad harvested pecans from the old natural groves on the river. But I’ve added to it since he passed on, put in some seeded orchards. We’re doing right well, got a good crop of the Kiowa nuts and the Elliot pecans.”

The farm was tidy, well maintained. The barn behind the house was new, had probably replaced an old structure on the same spot. The former detective had worked hard to preserve the family farm.

Keeping her voice casual, she asked, “You ever miss it? The police work?”

He looked thoughtful. “I did at first. The circumstances of my departure weren’t ideal. I got mad and quit. Don’t know whether you heard that.”

She had, but she didn’t comment, just waited for him to say more.

“I’d just come into the detective job, rose through the ranks in Gulfport. So I was a real fire-eater, wanted to see every case solved, tied up tight. I couldn’t take it when they let the case of that woman who washed up on the shore go cold.”

This was Jenny’s cue. “You’re talking about Desiree Whitman. Right? Her body washed up on the beach in Gulfport.” When he nodded, she said, “I started looking at Desiree’s case when Daniel Caro was on trial for the murder of Aurora Gates.” She pulled out her phone and set it on the small wooden table between their chairs. “I’d like to know more about the Desiree Whitman investigation. That’s what I came to talk to you about.”

He frowned down at the phone. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “This is off the record, ma’am.”

She was disappointed, but she didn’t want to push her luck. Jenny turned off the phone, holding it so he could clearly see her do it, and tucked it away in her bag. “Tell me about the case,” she said. “The cause of death, the condition of the body—what do you recall?”

“She’d been shot through the forehead at close range. There was evidence of strangulation prior to the shooting, bruising on the neck. And she had been sexually assaulted.”

“Was there evidence that was improperly handled? I’ve talked to the victim’s husband, Germain. He said he was told something about the rape kit not being stored correctly so the samples weren’t preserved.”

“Bullshit,” Pettus said. He had been rocking in his wicker chair, but the movement ceased abruptly. Jenny studied his expression, sensing that he was ready to unburden himself, confide a secret he had kept for too long.

He said, “I was a newcomer in the detective division, not a member of the inner circle. But we had some evidence; I was building a case. Hell, the woman’s body told a story. We were comparing it to some other assaults and violent crimes in the region. We hadn’t narrowed it down to one suspect, but we were getting there. I could feel it. You know what I’m talking about? When you can feel a case getting ready to crack wide open?”

He paused. Jenny held her breath, scared he would lapse into silence.

Pettus started rocking the chair again. It creaked under his weight. “I had some theories. But I’m not sharing them with you, not after all this time. I don’t want to run my mouth and get slapped with a lawsuit. I’m not letting some jerk sue me for slander and end up with a piece of this farm.”

She was disappointed. Her mind whirled as she tried to figure out the best way to keep him talking. “Bill, I’d love to tour your property. Will you walk me through the pecan groves?”

“Nope.” His answer was abrupt, and his manner had become taciturn. “This isn’t a tourist destination, ma’am. I’m a working farmer now, and I’ve got things to attend to before I can head to Little Rock.” The chair stopped rocking and he rose with a grunt. “I’d best not say any more or I’ll get myself in trouble. I’ll walk you to the car, Ms. Glaser. The dogs might come running from the barn. They’re friendly, basically, but they get pretty excited with strangers. Little old gal like you might get knocked down.”

Jenny was grateful for the escort. She suspected that either one of the dogs could knock her flat. As they walked across the yard, she admired the dogs, hoping to get on Pettus’s good side. “Those are two fine-looking dogs. And they’re just doing their job, right? Letting you know when somebody comes onto the property?”

“That’s right.”

She lingered by the car door, trying to prolong the conversation. “Is there another time we can get together? I’m glad to do whatever fits your schedule. I could take you to lunch when you return from Little Rock. Or to dinner.”

He laughed out loud. “Oh, my wife would like that, all right. If I was to tell her I was meeting a pretty woman from Biloxi for dinner, you’d be fishing me out of the Gulf with a bullet between the eyes. I guarantee you’d find my dead body on the beach with a note saying, ‘Served that sumbitch right.’”

Jenny didn’t find the joke very funny, but she faked it, gave him a conspiratorial wink. “The offer still stands.”

He opened the car door for her. “I like you,” he announced. “Gonna let you in on something. But if you ever repeat it, I’ll swear you’re a liar.”

Jenny froze. Her heartbeat accelerated as she waited for him to speak.

“Nobody ever said a word about evidence being mishandled or samples not being preserved or insufficient evidence—not until after somebody put on the squeeze.”

She waited for him to continue. After a moment, he did.

“Why he was able to shut a police investigation down, I don’t even know. Did he have something on somebody, someone higher up the food chain than me? Probably. Cops are like anybody else. Some of them have their vices; they dabble on the dark side.”

Jenny nodded. “So you think it’s possible that someone was able to influence the outcome of the murder investigation?”

“At the time, that was the only thing I could figure. And I couldn’t live with it, just couldn’t abide it. So I quit.” He hawked and spit on the ground. “If Hiram Caro is running Gulfport’s police department, I ain’t working there.”

CHAPTER 82

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