Page 62 of The Devil's Advocate

I nodded, said, ‘Just so I’m clear, you’re sure it didn’t happen that way?’

‘Impossible,’ said Bloch. ‘Cody’s been dead a lot longer than Betty. Can’t tell how long because he was frozen.’

‘Frozen?’ said Harry.

Bloch nodded, said, ‘He hasn’t thawed properly yet. His eyelids are still frozen shut.’

‘Richard Kuklinski, a serial killer and hit man for the mob, used to do the same thing. Stick a body in the freezer, sometimes for months, and then thaw it out and there’s no way of telling when that person was killed,’ I said.

‘Was that the mistake?’ asked Harry.

‘No, there are a lot of mistakes,’ said Bloch. She beckoned us closer and pointed to the ground.

There were a few different tracks on the driver’s side. As if a couple of different people had walked over the ground. One was Bloch, one was me, and there were at least two others.

‘Someone drove the SUV here. Parked it. Moved Cody’s body into the driver’s seat. On the passenger side there are two different footprints, both in the same line, as if they were following each other’s steps precisely. They double back on themselves,’ said Bloch.

Harry and I stayed clear of those footprints as we crossed the track to look at the passenger side.

Bloch continued, ‘The footsteps on the passenger side are close together as if—’

‘As if two people were carrying something heavy between them,’ I said.

Bloch nodded, pointed into the cab of the vehicle and shone her torch at Betty’s dress. The bottom of the dress had ridden up, and was bunched around her waist.

‘Two men carried her body here and put her in this car,’ said Bloch. ‘No woman sits in a car with her dress ridden up like that. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough to make the Sunville County sheriff declare it a murder suicide. I know small-town sheriffs, and this is how they’ll write it up.’

‘What about the knife?’

‘That doesn’t fit with making it look like a suicide. They can leave Cody’s body long enough to thaw out before calling the medical examiner. Won’t take long in this heat. Maybe none of that matters if the sheriff and the medical examiner are on Korn’s payroll or under his control. They could file a report saying these people drowned if they wanted to.’

‘The knife is a message for us,’ said Harry. ‘Someone killed Cody Warren and Betty Maguire, and dumped their bodies a half mile from Andy Dubois’ house. The knife confirms it.’

I could tell even Bloch didn’t follow this completely.

‘How is the knife a message?’ I asked.

‘The flower on the hilt. It’s a white camellia. The Klan weren’t the only group of murderers and racists in the South. There were the Knights of the White Camelia out of Louisiana, though they had chapters in other states. The Klan were mostly poor white folks. The White Camelia were much more dangerous, although there were never very many of them. A group of wealthy men. Powerful men. A lot of ex-Confederate officers founded the group, and they were joined by newspaper editors, doctors, lawyers, landowners, lawmen, and even judges. The cream of upper-class Southern society. They lobbied, used their wealth and influence to try to advocate for the supremacy of the white race. They murdered, harassed and destroyed whole black communities.’

‘I’d never heard of them,’ I said.

‘They died out in the 1870s, supposedly. Although with the nature of underground movements like this, you can never tell for sure. Look at the hilt of that knife. That’s mother of pearl, and old silver and steel. I’ve seen pictures of knives just like that, buried in the bodies of white folks who were against the White Camelia. Most of them were Republicans, I should add. Lincoln’s party was the one crying for tolerance in the South for a long time.’

‘Things change,’ I said.

Harry nodded, said, ‘This is a warning. If we continue with this case, we’re in serious danger. All of us.’

Bloch stepped forward and stared into the SUV. Her jaw muscle moved as she clenched her teeth. I knew she was burning those images into her memory. Two innocent people, dead.

We didn’t have much choice but to call the law. The Sheriff’s Department sent two deputies I didn’t recognize. They took a statement from me and called in forensics. I left them to it and went back to Patricia’s house. As I set foot on the porch, I heard a noise coming from inside the house. I opened the door and saw Patricia and Andy sitting on the couch.

They were sitting together. Patricia had her arm around Andy, her palm gripping his right shoulder. With his left hand, he gently patted the top of her hand, and rocked back and forth as Patricia whispered to him, telling him it was alright.

When I’d first seen Andy in that cell, he was doing the exact same thing. Patting his shoulder, rocking back and forth. Trying to comfort himself. It looked like they did this a lot, mother and son, comforting one another in their own way.

‘Andy had a nightmare. Happens a lot. It’s okay, he’ll come around. What was all that business with the sheriff?’ she asked. She’d obviously seen the police lights on their cruiser when it arrived.

I didn’t want to tell her. Not now. Not yet. Everything is worse at nighttime. Some things should only be said in the daylight.