Page 44 of Small Town Beast

“Ah, we don’t let civilians…”

“Ah, but I have apersonal interestin seeing this case resolved.”

The detective saw the glint in Saverin’s eye and turned the color of a plum. “I don’t want trouble with the McCalls,” he wavered.

“I would hate that for both of us,” agreed Saverin.

“You…you know something about this case?” The detective asked, stepping out of Saverin’s reach.

“The mother is a friend of mine.”

“I hope you don’t mean…Well. I suppose one look wouldn’t hurt. I suppose your Uncle was the Chief…Hmph…”

Ignoring the man’s strange look, Saverin followed him into his office. The precinct had been renovated since the last time he was here. The new trucks in the parking lot, the desks, the fixtures, the furniture, the windows and the new gymnasium downstairs had not come cheap.

“So you just don’t investigate for the Black kids?” He asked point blank as he inspected the office, which was the strangest room he had ever stepped into. It was damn near a shrine to Robert E. Lee.

“Not really,” said the detective. “Like I told you, I’ve got better things to do.”

“What about an Amber Alert?” Saverin probed, powering through a very ugly truth and the sudden urge to take the man by the throat.

“What for? Look, I know it sounds harsh,” said the detective, rifling through his cabinet. “But be honest. Do these people add any value to our society? I say the sooner they wipe themselves out the better.”

“You talk like they’re animals.”

“Aren’t they?” The detective laughed. “You’ve seen how they live. I hear you have a colony of them up in those hills. I remember in your Uncle’s time, he — oh, here it is.”

“Thank you,” said Saverin, knowing he had to get out of the man’s presence before he did something regrettable. His hand shook as he took the file he was handed. The detective frowned. “Alright, Bailey?”

Ignoring him, Saverin opened the very thin folder that determined whether Tanya would ever see her baby son alive again. He read it all in thirty seconds.

“Are there missing pages?” He asked, setting it down on the desk.

“No, that’s all,” said the detective.

“Thank you,” said Saverin. “What is that book over there?”

“That?” The detective perked up. “You have a good eye. That Bible belonged to Jefferson Davis himself.” He paused, letting the fact impress on Saverin. The first and only president of the Confederacy was a hero among many southern whites. The detective brought Saverin the Bible proudly. “You won’t believe what I had to do to get it. Scoured every inch of Kentucky— Lord have mercy, it was the search of a lifetime.”

“Can I see it?”

“Certainly. Be careful with the cover, mind. Let’s just say I went togreat lengthsto pay very little for it.” Chuckling, the man handed it to Saverin.

Saverin’s hands closed around the ancient book, its crusty leather cover as rough as the skin on his face. He’d encountered enough confederate memorabilia in his life to know the value of things. Sure enough the Bible bore Jefferson Davis’s signature and that of his first wife, Sarah Taylor. Saverin’s eyebrows lifted. That alone made it worth a fortune. He tucked the relic carefully under his arm.

It was almost amusing to see the look of stricken horror cross the detective’s face as he realized his mistake. “Give that back here, Bailey,” he said quickly.

“I need leads. Information.” Saverin’s voice held no quarter. “Until then I’ll hang onto it for you.”

“You can’t do that— it’s theft!”

“Call it insurance,” suggested Saverin.

“It was the grandmother that done it,” the detective seethed. “You want your kidnapper? Start there! She’s the one who took the kid— look to her.”

I knew it, Saverin thought. Out loud he offered his thanks, and he even tipped his hat. “Thanks for your assistance, detective. Rest easy, I’ll take good care of old Jefferson’s Bible.”

“You damn well had better,” the detective swore, shaking in a red rage. “I’m tired of you McCalls pushing us all around— your day is coming, just like Roman’s! Mark my words!”

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