The Psalmist (22 page)

D
URING THE TEN
o'clock news Charlotte drank herbal tea while Luke and the Carringtons refreshed their drinks. Luke checked his cell phone during a stop in the restroom. Still nothing.

Midway through the news, Judy Carrington went into a series of sneezes, an event that occurred nearly every visit, usually at about the same time.

“My, I must be allergic to something,” she said.

By the end of the newscast, Luke noticed, she was asleep, her vodka and tonic still in her right hand.

Lowell leaned over and plucked it from her. “Well,” he said, “I guess we'll be calling it a night. Looks like Jude's gotten a little head start on me.”

He kissed the side of his wife's face and she snapped awake. “Oh my goodness,” she said, her eyes turning to Luke and then to her husband. “I must have dozed off for a second.”

Luke smiled politely and she smiled back.

“Thanks again, Judy,” he said. “The salmon and the peach cobbler were wickedly good.”

Once her parents were safely upstairs, Charlotte said, “Go for a walk?”

“Shall we bring the opera singer with us?”

“Please.”

It was a lovely evening, clear and not nearly as cold as it had been the night before. They walked hand in hand through the night shadows down the hill toward the creek, letting Sneakers trot ahead, sniffing at the bushes and lawns but not finding anything worth stopping for.

“I love this old neighborhood,” Charlotte said.

“I can tell. I like it, too.”

They stopped at the bottom of the street and listened to the creek in the woods. He watched Charlotte's breath rise, misting in the streetlight. As they kissed gently, he felt something buzzing in his pants.

Charlotte's face became a frown. “You brought your cell phone? Why?”

“Oh,” Luke said.

He pulled it out, his heart racing, ready now to tell Charlotte what had happened.

Except he saw that this wasn't the threatening caller from earlier, as he'd expected.

It was Amy Hunter, of all ­people. By the time Luke got the phone open, he'd missed her call. “Hunter,” he said. “That's odd.”

“Go ahead. Call her back.” Charlotte was standing on a rock now by the creek. Sneakers lowered his head and tentatively licked at the water. “I'll just hover about and pretend I'm not eavesdropping.”

Luke smiled.

“I mean, unless there are some personal issues the two of you need to iron out. Maybe you had a tiff before you left?”

“Funny.”

She walked alongside the creek, giving him a little space. Sneakers was beside her. Hunter answered right away.

“Hi, it's Luke Bowers.”

“Yes, thanks for calling back. I just left you a message.”

“Oh, okay.” It grew quiet. Luke looked back up the hill, saw the lights upstairs in the Carringtons' house, someone moving behind a curtain. A dog barked twice. Sneakers's head rose and tilted alertly; he was considering whether to go into his growl.

“I wanted to tell you: They're bringing charges in the Kwan Park case. Probably tomorrow.”

“Really,” he said. “Federal?”

“No. Local.”

“Not against Robby Fallow?”

“No,” she said. “Not Fallow. Against your friend, Jackson Pynne.”

“Oh.” Luke suddenly felt ill. The silence seemed to thicken. “Well,” he said, “they may have a difficult time finding him.”

“No, they won't,” she said. “He just turned himself in.”

“What?”

“Yes. And he's asking for you.”

“Me.”

“Yes. He says you're the only one he'll talk to.”

 

Chapter 38

T
UESDAY,
M
ARCH 21

T
HE VISITING ROOM
at the Tidewater Correctional Facility was stark white, newly painted, with metal tables and benches bolted to the floor, fluorescent lighting overhead. Luke Bowers had done prison ministries here for several years, and as he walked through the series of doors from the processing center to the visiting area, he was struck, as usual, by the contrast between the bright surfaces and the hardened, diminished demeanors of so many of the inmates.

Jackson walked in wearing an orange jumpsuit. They sat across from each other at a small square table, maybe two feet by two feet. Pynne had refused so far to talk with the state police and the sheriff's office and insisted that his meeting with Luke could not be recorded. So it wasn't an interview, just a conversation. Although, of course, Luke could ask whatever he wanted.

“Hello, Jackson.”

He nodded hello, his face expressionless.

“You look good,” Luke said. An inane remark, although he wanted to start with something positive. In fact, Jackson didn't look so good. He needed sleep and a shave.

Jackson shifted his feet, then folded his hands together. His eyes took in the room, the other two inmates who were meeting with family members, the two guards.

“Would you like to pray first?” Luke asked.

He shrugged and leaned forward, arms on his knees, looking up from under arched eyebrows. Luke lowered his head and prayed for him.

Jackson seemed to be staring at him when Luke opened his eyes again. “Tell me what they have,” he said in a small voice. “Evidence, I mean. What's the case?”

“Well, they're charging you with speeding, I'm told, and interference in official acts. Resisting arrest. And they may be adding a weapons violation. You were carrying an unregistered handgun?”

“Kwan's murder,” he said brusquely. “What evidence do they have?”

“Oh.” Luke cleared his throat. “From what I'm told, your DNA and shoe prints were found at the church and also at what they're calling the murder scene—­a cottage at Oyster Creek—­”

“What's the DNA?”

“Cigarette butts. Chesterfields.”

He nodded slightly, keeping his head down, like a boxer absorbing punches.

“Jackson, you told me you didn't do this, right?”

“Right.”

“So do you want to tell me what happened, and what's going on?”

His eyes lifted, but he avoided looking at Luke. There was something slightly off about him, Luke thought; Jackson wasn't quite as upset as he should be.

“Abridged version?”

“Okay.”

“All right, abridged version.” He took a deep breath and began. “It goes back three years—­or, let's say, more like two and a half, okay? I started a company with two partners. They came to
me
, actually, I'd worked with them before. We took over the operation of four Quik Gas stores, two in Ohio, one in Delaware, one in Maryland. It was basically hands off for me. Just a place to park some cash. The stores did all right—­gave us a steady income for most of that time. I was planning to start a new development company in north Florida at the time, eventually sell my interest in the stores. But before that happened, this attorney contacts us, last summer, says he's representing an investor. Offers to buy the stores. His offer was good, too good to turn down.” Jackson coughed, a smoker's hack.

“I met Kwan at our Sharonville store,” he went on. “She started there, like, within a week of when we sold it. I stopped in a ­couple of times, just to pick up some cigarettes, lottery tickets. Shoot the crap, just friendly back and forth. I admit, I took a liking to her right away. There was something about the lady that was very intelligent, very classy. But at the same time, kind of aloof, if you know what I mean. Private, in some ways, and I guess that sort of interested me. Anyway, it didn't take long for me to figure out that something wasn't right about the setup.”

“What do you mean, wasn't right?”

“Just something about the business, something that was bothering her.” He shuffled his feet. “And so, anyway, before long we sort of became kindred spirits. I mean, I'm fifty-­six years old, right? She's what, thirty-­two?” His eyes misted with emotion as he looked off. “But it was one of those things, had nothing to do with age, really.”

“What was bothering her about the business?”

“What was bothering her? Well, I don't know—­I mean, why did they want those stores so badly in the first place?”

“Tell me.”

He shrugged, and shook his head, meaning he wasn't going to say. An inmate three tables over stood and walked toward the vending machines with his two visitors; mother and sister, Luke guessed. Jackson exhaled dramatically, his eyes glazing over. He waited until they passed. “But so, anyway, one night we meet outside of work, okay? Meet for a drink. And that's when I really began to see how scared she was. A very lovely lady, although she made herself hard to see sometimes, if you know what I mean. But a very lovely lady.”

“What'd you
think
was going on?”

“With the store? Or with her?”

“Either one.”

He shrugged a shoulder and made a face, pushing out his lower lip. “No idea. Drugs? Money laundering?” His eyes did a quick inventory again of the visitors' room. “I mean, I've been around that kind of thing before. It could've been anything. But I guess what really made me take notice was the lottery thing. She got very nervous about that.”

“About selling the winning lottery tickets. With multi-­million-­dollar payouts.”

“Yeah, right. Absolutely didn't want to talk about it.”

“And did you have any idea what was behind this organization that bought the stores?”

“Later, I did.”

“When, later?” Luke said.

“Months later. I mean, gradually she began to reveal little things here and there to me about the setup. And about the man running the thing. And I began to understand why she was frightened.”

“The man running it was August Trumble.”

“Yeah, right.” He showed a tiny smile, looking at Luke. “Trumble.”

“Why was she telling you this, Jackson? What did she want you to do?”

“
Why
was she telling me? To get it off her chest. Because she wanted out. It was like, the walls were starting to close in. That's how she described it.”

“Explain. Why were the walls closing in?”

“
Why?
I don't know, maybe she'd outlived her usefulness or something. She was scared of this guy, everyone was, but she also depended on him. I mean, he paid her six figures, right? Took care of her health care. Paid her rent, leased her car. But then they also expected her to behave a certain way. It was like the old song—­you sell your soul to the company. But then Kwan decided she wanted it back again. And he didn't want to give it to her. Thought it was his.”

“Seems odd for a company that owns convenience stores to operate that way.”

“Well, yeah. Exactly.”

“So what happened?”

“Long story short: I offered to help her. As I got to know her, I found out there were a few other ­people who were just as scared as she was. They'd become this sort of secret alliance, I guess you might say. And so I helped Kwan and the others come up with a plan to get away.”

“Were those the three names you gave me at the church the other night?”

He turned his eyes to Luke and nodded.

“So you made a plan for her to quit and get away, you're saying.”

“Right.”

“And what about the others?”

“They were on their own. My concern was Kwan.”

“Okay. But something went wrong.”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

“How was it supposed to work?”

“How was it supposed to work?” He waited for the other inmate and his guests to pass again. “Kwan was supposed to drive to the airport in Cincy, fly to Reagan Monday morning, get on the Metro. I was going to meet her in Virginia. Pick her up, we'd go from there, catch 95 south, I'd arranged a place for her to stay.” He looked at the floor between his knees, his eyes glistening. “Then I get an e-­mail Monday evening says, ‘Let's meet tomorrow morning in Tidewater instead. In front of the Methodist church.' ”

“And so what'd you do?”

“What did I do?” He gave Luke a sharp look. “I tried to reach her, obviously. I couldn't. And so finally I came out. Drove through, just in case. Then the next day, Wednesday, I read the thing about the woman in the church. In the newspaper.”

“You didn't do this, Jackson. Right?”

“I told you, Pastor.”

“Okay.” Luke watched him, trying to understand his expression, and what he wasn't saying. Jackson Pynne could be something of an omission artist, Luke knew, and this didn't seem to be the whole story. “How do you think your DNA ended up at the two crime scenes?”

“Couldn't tell you.”

“Take a guess.”

“Anyone could have followed me and saved my cigarette butts. I have no idea.”

“Could Kwan Park have saved your cigarette butts?”

He shook his head and turned toward the wall, his eyes shining vulnerably again.

“How about the shoe prints? The shoes that made them were found in the garage at your town house here in Tidewater County.”

He blinked rapidly. “I don't use that town house. It's a summer rental, the real estate agency handles it. The shoes? No idea. Maybe they were planted there.”

“By whom? Who would have planted them?”

“No idea.” Jackson lowered his head again. “Look,” he said. “The thing is, this wasn't really about us, okay? Just to be clear. What Kwan really wanted was to blow the whistle. I was going to help her—­”

“Blow the whistle on?”

“On what this organization was doing. Not just about stealing money from the government. I don't think any of us gave a shit about that. But what they were doing to their own ­people.”

“Their own employees?”

“Yeah.” His face took on a faraway look. “And I guess they must've found out what we were doing, and considered it disloyalty or something. Which, to them, is kind of like a capital offense.”

“They who?” Luke said.

“Trumble. Trumble's security ­people.”

“Is that who's after you?” Pynne shrug-­nodded. “Why
you
, Jackson? You weren't part of this organization, were you?”

“Never. It's because of what I know—­or what they think I know. And because I helped plan this thing. I was part of the betrayal.”

“You need to tell this to the police, Jackson. They need to know what you just told me. Okay? You need to talk to Amy Hunter, the lead investigator. Will you do that?”

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Don't want to.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't need to. Because I feel safe here, okay? I walk out of here, I wouldn't make it to the county line. Guarantee you. That's why I turned myself in.”

“Then stay here. But you still need to tell your story. So they can find who actually did this.”

Jackson said nothing. He looked back at the floor. He seemed to be waiting for Luke to disappear now. Luke finally signaled the guard across the room.

“Anything else, Jackson?”

“Yeah, one thing,” he said. He sat up straighter. “What did she look like? When you found her?”

“She looked beautiful.” Jackson was watching him attentively. “Until I got up close.”

“Then what?”

“She still looked beautiful. But then I could tell that she'd been hurt.”

He nodded, as if this was what he'd wanted to hear. Both men stood, Luke first. Then Jackson reached to shake his hand.

“She
was
beautiful,” he said, holding on weakly. “I can't believe anyone would think I could've hurt her. I mean, I'd be the last one. The
last
one.”