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“You’re poking a stick in the wrong place, Dave.”
Before I spoke again I waited a moment and looked out the screen at the rain falling through the limbs of the mimosa tree in my backyard.
“So there’s nothing to Lyle’s story, then?” I asked.
“As a matter of fact, there is. But it’s not anything you might be interested in. The truth is that Lyle takes money from a lot of pitiful nigras and po’ white trash who think heat lightning is a sign out of Revelation. But after the television cameras are off and the audience goes home, my brother has problems with his conscience. Instead of dealing with it, he’s developed this obsession that our old man is back from the dead and is trying to thread our souls on a fish stringer.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“A week or so.”
“Give me your mother-in-law’s address and phone number.”
I wrote them down on a notepad.
“Did you make plaster casts of those footprints by the bayou?” he asked.
“We’re a low-budget department, Weldon. Also, plaster casts usually tell us that the suspect wore shoes. Let me explain something to you. There’s not a lot of interest down there about your shooter. Why is that? you ask. Because when the intended victim acts like Little Orphan Annie, with wide, empty eyes, it’s hard to get other people to bite their nails over that person’s fate. If you want to let a hired gumball cancel your ticket, maybe we figure that’s your business.”
In my mind’s eye I could almost see his hand squeezing on the receiver.
“What do you mean ‘hired gumball’?” he said.
“People around here usually kill only their friends and relatives. They usually do it in bars and bedrooms. A long-range shooter, a guy probably using a scope, a guy who got in and out without being seen, I think we’re talking about a contract killer, Weldon. There was something else I didn’t tell you. Our fingerprint man didn’t find even a trace of a print on that shell casing. In all probability that means the shooter wiped each shell clean before he loaded the rifle. It sounds pretty professional to me.”
“You’re a smart cop.”
I didn’t answer and instead waited for him to speak again.
But he remained silent.
“You don’t want to tell me anything else?” I said.
“It’s a story that involves a lot of players. You couldn’t guess at it.”
“When people get into trouble, it’s over money, sex, or power. Always. It’s not a new script.”
“This one is. It’s a real stomach churner.”
I waited again for him to continue, but he didn’t.
“How about it?” I said.
“That’s all I have to say, except I’m not going to do time and I’m not going to get clipped by some gumball. If that doesn’t float with somebody, or if they want more information on that, they might try dialing 1-800-EAT SHIT for assistance. How’s that sound?”
“Who said anything about doing time?”
“Nobody.”
“I see. Have a nice trip to Baton Rouge. Tell me, though, before you hang up, how bad did you and Lyle hurt your father’s friend?”
“What? What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“Yeah, I did. You listen to me, Dave. You stay out of my goddamn family’s history. It doesn’t have anything to do with this. You understand that? Are we clear on that?”
“Call back when you have something of value to tell me, Weldon,” I said, and softly replaced the receiver in the telephone cradle. I suspected that I left him with knives turning in his chest. But Weldon was one of those who became interested in the cathedral only after you barred its entrance to him.
