Page 20 of The Evening Wolves

“For heaven’s sake, John-Henry, don’t be a fool.”

The words came from Grace Elaine. She had drawn herself up, her pale eyes fixed on her son.

“Mother—”

Glenn spoke over him. “Your mother is right.”

“Again, I appreciate that you want to make sure I’m alright, but I’m not a child, and I don’t need or want my parents to bail me out.” He must have heard his own words, though, because a pained smile crossed his face. “I take that back since you literally bailed me out, but I think you know what I mean.”

“John,” Emery said, pitching his voice low and squeezing his hand. “The situation is complicated—”

“Do you have any idea what this will do to you?” Grace Elaine said. “Do you have any idea how the world works? You’re a grown man, John-Henry. Don’t be naïve. As far as this town is concerned, you’re already guilty.”

“That’s enough,” Emery said.

“It’s not enough, and we don’t have time for you to coddle him. The people in this town are like people everywhere, John-Henry. They’re pack animals, and they’re vicious, and at the first sign of weakness, they’ll go for your belly. This is their opportunity. And since no one else will do you the service of being frank with you, I will. Every day this charge hangs over your head, it grows closer to being permanent. It doesn’t matter if they clear you. It doesn’t matter if you’re acquitted. What people in this town will remember—what they’ll think every time they hear your name—is that you did these things and got away with them. Have no delusions about that.”

“Jesus,” Auggie whispered.

Some of the color had leached from John’s face. He was clutching Emery’s hand so tightly that his nails bit into the flesh, but the pain registered only distantly.

When Emery opened his mouth, though, Grace Elaine said, “Am I wrong?”

Emery finally had to shut his mouth because he had nothing to say.

John gave a tiny, dazed shake of his head. Emery watched him. I’m sorry, he wanted to say. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you first, without everyone here to see it. I’m sorry I couldn’t spare you this. I’m sorry that she’s right. I’m sorry that I can’t stop your world from collapsing.

“I don’t—” John gave a rubbery laugh. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Son,” Glenn said, “there’s more to it than the court of public opinion. Someone has engineered these events, and they’ve done so in a way that suggests an undue influence. They’ve fabricated evidence—and, in the process, accessed and tampered with a police computer. They arranged for the grand jury to be empaneled and for an indictment to be handed down, and I never caught a whiff of it. And neither did you. That should tell you something about what we’re facing. Whoever is behind this will not hesitate to manufacture more evidence if it’s necessary, to bring that influence to bear on whoever might be useful in furthering their designs. You cannot count on your colleagues to do their jobs. You cannot count on the courts to be impartial. Emery, for God’s sake, say something.”

The hollows around John’s eyes looked worse. A faint tremor showed in his jaw before he turned to look at Emery.

I’m sorry, Emery wanted to say.

But instead, he said, “There are logistical complications to investigating. The conflict of interest, of course, and the fact that whatever we find will be perceived as biased. If we don’t do everything exactly right, a prosecutor will make mincemeat out of it, and that’s not to mention the possibility of additional criminal charges like witness tampering, interference with an ongoing investigation, and obstruction of justice.” He took a breath. “But, at the same time, the defense is entitled to an investigation too, and I don’t think there’s anyone better suited to do this. I see two primary approaches: one, identify this witness and learn everything we can about him so that we can discredit him and his bogus recording; and two, prove that the material on your computer was planted. We’ll have to be careful. And we’ll have to be smart. But most of all, we’ll have to be fast. Whatever is happening, I believe it’s time sensitive. The kind of influence being brought to bear, and the quality of this evidence—at some point, scrutiny from state or federal officials will unravel the whole mess. But, John, that might be six months from now. Or a year. Longer. We can’t wait for that.” He shook his head. “I won’t wait for that.”

“If we’re not going to wait,” North said, “then we’d better fucking do something.”

Jem nodded. “We should hit the Cottonmouth Club. Tonight. Get in there hard and fast, before they can stop us.”

“Sounds like your dating profile,” North said. “But he’s not wrong.”

“Also, I want to propose as a backup plan that Tean should make a lion eat them.”

“You know what we’re going to do? We’re going to get a baby gate, and we’re going to put him and Shaw and the fucking dogs on the other side of it.”

“The Cottonmouth Club is a dead end,” Emery said. “Whoever was or is operating out of it, they’ve left nothing in the club itself that might give them away.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Actually, I do. I’ve been in there three times since August.”

“The last time, he tripped their new security system,” John said.

“I should have anticipated that they’d upgrade it. The point, however, is that there’s nothing in the Cottonmouth Club to help us. I’m not sure we’ll ever know how deeply the club was involved in their organization, but whatever they were using the space for, they’ve since shifted their operations elsewhere.”

“Where?” Tean asked.

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