Holt spent the morning in front of Judge Lomax. The court calendar was primarily arraignments and the entry of guilty pleas. The high point was the first appearance in court of the man arrested over the weekend and charged with kidnapping and aggravated assault. A high-priced lawyer from Atlanta appeared on the man’s behalf and tried to convince the judge to lower the man’s bond to $250,000. After the lawyer finished his presentation, Holt stood to respond.
“Your Honor, the state respectfully shows the court that the current bond of one million dollars—”
“Is perhaps too low,” the judge interrupted. “The defendant poses a significant flight risk on these serious charges. Do you have a motion to increase the bond?”
“Objection!” The defense lawyer was immediately on his feet. “We’ve not been notified of any motion to modify my client’s bond.”
“The fact that you requested the matter be placed on this morning’s calendar demonstrates to the court’s satisfaction that you are prepared to address the issue,” the judge replied. “Mr. Douglas?”
“The state asks that the bond be increased to five million dollars.”
“Any evidence in response?” The judge turned to the defense lawyer.
The lawyer, who was huddling with his client, faced the judge. “Such an exorbitant increase is an abuse of the court’s discretion,” he said, his face turning red. “Mr. Perez has no prior criminal record.”
“And is charged with kidnapping the children of an alleged coconspirator in a multinational drug operation and holding them hostage in a house in Ashley County to ensure the coconspirator’s cooperation. You presented evidence that Mr. Perez is a citizen of Venezuela. The court takes judicial notice that Venezuela does not have an extradition treaty with the United States. The state’s motion is granted.”
The drama associated with the Perez case sent a surge of adrenaline through Holt. It took a few not-guilty pleas in misdemeanor cases to calm him down. As the calendar call came to an end, he checked the gallery to see who remained. There were a handful of people sitting together, and a solitary older man with close-cut gray hair seated on the back bench. When Holt turned around, the man raised his hand slightly in greeting. Puzzled, Holt did the same.
Judge Lomax left immediately upon completion of the final case for the day. The only other people remaining in the courtroom were the court reporter and a lawyer huddled on the opposite side of the room with a client and his family.
“Mr. Douglas?”
Holt turned around. It was the man who’d been sitting in the rear of the courtroom.
“Yes, I’m Holt Douglas.”
The man extended a beefy hand. “I’m Tony McDermott. Do you have time to talk?”
Holt quickly glanced around. “Uh, sure. I was going to grab lunch. Would you like to join me?”
“Yeah, what’s the name of that barbecue restaurant off Main Street?”
“Right.” McDermott smiled. “I was thinking about that place during the drive down from the mountains this morning.”
Holt checked his watch. “I need to return these files to the office. Can you meet me there in ten minutes?”
“See you then.”
Holt watched the former detective leave the courtroom. McDermott was a large man whose broad shoulders hinted at what must have been, at one time, a very intimidating physique.
When Holt arrived at the restaurant, there was no sign of McDermott. Several groups were waiting to be seated, but as soon as Holt came in and held up two fingers, HC escorted him to a table against the wall.
“I appreciate the VIP treatment, but I don’t want to make those other folks mad,” Holt said.
“Jake says, ‘They’ll forget the wait when they get their plates,’ ” HC replied with a smile. “And you’re a VIP to us.”
“I’m meeting a guy who should be here in a couple of minutes.”
“I’ll fetch your tea and take your order when he gets here.”
There was a menu on the table. Holt didn’t need to look at it. He’d memorized it long ago, but he picked it up to pass the time. After verifying that the price of Brunswick stew and a pulled-pork plate hadn’t changed, he checked his watch. It was a short drive from the courthouse to the restaurant. The only reason for delay would be the need to park farther down the street than normal. HC returned. The crowd waiting to be seated was growing larger.
“It looks like the man I was supposed to meet is late,” Holt said apologetically, “so I’ll go ahead and order.”
“Burnt ends with—” HC started.
“No, a bowl of Brunswick stew with corn bread. I’m not as hungry as usual.”
“Spicy.”
While he waited for his food, Holt sipped tea and tried to guess why McDermott drove all the way to Paxton to meet with him in person instead of calling on the phone. In Holt’s mind there could be only one reason—significant information about Rex Meredith’s death.
HC returned with a steaming bowl of stew. Jake’s version of the Southern goulash contained both smoked chicken and pork in a tomato base, along with corn, diced tomatoes, onions, and baby lima beans. Holt tore off a piece of corn bread and dropped it into the stew to soak up some of the red broth. He then used his spoon to retrieve the bread. The stew had just the right amount of hot-sauce kick. Holt loved the stew, but he wanted to talk to Tony McDermott.
Trish touched the gun in her holster as she walked up the steps of the salon. Her heart was pounding. She knew what she was about to do could get her fired—and she knew if she didn’t do it she could get fired. She paused for a few seconds on the front porch, shrugged her shoulders, and adjusted her posture to what she hoped was an authoritative stance. Channeling her inner Butch Clovis, she opened the door and stepped inside.
“Good afternoon,” said a smiling young woman with blond hair. “I’m Brittany. How may I help you?”
Keeping a stern expression on her face, Trish touched her badge. “I’m Deputy Patricia Carmichael. I need to speak with Ms. Angelina Peabody.”
A woman who was sitting to the side reading a magazine looked up at Trish, and her mouth dropped open. The smile on Brittany’s face evaporated.
“She’s with a customer who’s getting a color—”
“I need to speak with her immediately,” Trish interrupted. “I don’t care if she’s in the middle of a perm.”
Trish felt foolish for throwing in the extra comment about interrupting a permanent, but Brittany didn’t smile. Instead, her eyes widened.
“Okay. I’ll go upstairs and tell her you’re here.”
After Brittany left, Trish continued to stand with her legs spread wide in front of the receptionist’s desk. She could feel the customer staring at her but didn’t turn around. Trish wished she were wearing sunglasses to hide her eyes, but it would have made it hard to see inside the building. Two sets of legs descended the stairs. Angelina came down in front of the receptionist. She had a worried look on her face.
“What’s wrong?” the owner of the salon said.
“I need to speak to you privately,” Trish said.
“Is it about Holt?” Angelina asked, her level of anxiety obviously rising. “Is he okay?”
Trish suddenly realized Holt’s former girlfriend was worried that something horrible had happened to him and the sheriff’s office had sent Trish to deliver the bad news.
“He’s fine,” she said, her voice softer. “Where can we talk?”
“In the kitchen,” Angelina said.
Trish followed her down a short hallway. With each step Trish felt more and more remorse for using her badge to strong-arm her way into the salon and interrupting Angelina’s busy schedule. They went into the kitchen. Angelina faced Trish.
“Am I in some kind of trouble?” Angelina asked.
“No, and I’m sorry to pull you away from a customer,” Trish began. “But this is about Holt. I know you’re upset with him because we met at the sub shop on Eastway Drive to discuss a case we’re working on together, but there’s nothing going on with us other than business. I didn’t want to be the cause of friction between you, so I came over here to remove any misunderstanding.”
“Holt and I are finished,” Angelina replied flatly.
Trish took a deep breath. “I realize you’re upset with him, but I wish you’d give him a second chance.”
“Aren’t you interested in him?”
“No,” Trish answered with confidence, now that she knew the true circumstances surrounding Calico’s death.
Angelina pressed her lips together tightly for a moment before she spoke. “Look, it’s nice of you to come over to let me know there’s nothing between you and Holt, but if it’s okay, I really need to get back to my customer. Right now she’s part light brown and part brunette.”
Trish was standing between Angelina and the door. She didn’t move.
“Would you at least contact Holt and let him know it’s okay with you if I help him with the case? I can’t tell you what it’s about, but he ended my involvement because he didn’t want to upset you.”
“I’m not sure he’ll take my advice about something like—”
“But could you try?” Trish tried to keep the desperation from her voice. “Coming from you, I think it would make a huge difference.”
Angelina gave her a puzzled look. “I’ll consider it, but here’s another plan. Why don’t you tell him we talked, and I said I don’t care what he does. He can work with you on all of his cases if he wants to.”
“I guess I could do that,” Trish said hesitantly.
“Are we finished?”
“Yes.”
Trish stepped to the side. Angelina gave her a dubious look and led the way out of the kitchen. As Angelina went upstairs, Trish paused in the receptionist area. Both Brittany and the woman waiting for her appointment were staring at her.
“Everything is fine here,” Trish said to the customer. “There are no problems. I’m sure it’s a great place, and you can recommend it to your friends.”
Neither of the women said anything.
“Bye,” Trish said to Brittany. “Thanks for your help.”
During the drive back to the sheriff’s department, Trish felt more foolish by the second. As she walked toward the building, Butch Clovis and a large older man who looked vaguely familiar approached her.
“Deputy Carmichael!” Clovis called out. “Come over here.”
Trish reluctantly changed direction to intersect with the detective.
“Yes, sir,” she said when she reached the two men.
“Do you remember Tony McDermott?” Clovis asked. “He was one of our detectives a few years ago.”
“Yes.”
Trish shook the detective’s hand.
“Your father works for the farm equipment dealership, doesn’t he?” McDermott asked. “He sold me a yard tractor. Great piece of equipment. I’m still using it.”
“Her father was killed by a drunk driver,” Clovis said. “It happened shortly after you left the department.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” McDermott said.
“Thanks,” Trish said. “It still hurts.”
Trish was trying to recall exactly what Holt had told her about McDermott’s interest in Rex Meredith’s death. All she could remember was that they’d talked on the phone and McDermott was going to send Holt information that wasn’t in the sheriff’s department file.
“The driver is still in prison,” Clovis said. “And I hope the parole board keeps him there until he serves every day of his sentence.”
Clovis had never mentioned the case to Trish, and his concern seemed fake. He put his hand on McDermott’s shoulder.
“Tony and I were going over the old case I mentioned to you yesterday. He had a few questions that I was able to clear up for him about the investigation and the reasons behind my report.”
“Yes.” McDermott nodded. “It’s easy to jump to a wrong conclusion when you don’t have all the facts.”
“I’m sure it is,” Trish said.
“And I’m on my way back to the mountains,” McDermott said, turning to Clovis. “And my grandsons will have a blast on that Jet Ski.”
“It’ll be on the truck to Lake Burton by the end of the week. I appreciate you taking it off my hands.”
“At that price, how could I refuse? Nice to see you again, Deputy Carmichael. Sorry again about your loss.”
The two men continued across the parking lot. Trish heard them laugh. McDermott’s obvious change of opinion about the Rex Meredith case was troubling. It was one thing for Clovis to browbeat her into believing Holt’s theory was wrong. Convincing McDermott, a seasoned detective no longer employed by the sheriff’s department, would have been much harder to do. Trish wondered what Clovis showed him. Or if a discounted price on a used Jet Ski was part of the argument.
Holt finished his solitary lunch, returned to the office, and checked his voice mail to see if McDermott had called. He hadn’t.
Midafternoon, the phone on his desk buzzed, and he picked it up.
“Deputy Carmichael is on line five,” Sally said.
Getting chewed out again by Trish wasn’t on his calendar, but he couldn’t totally ignore her as long as he remained her liaison with the DA’s office.
No one spoke. Holt waited a second.
“Are you there?” he asked.
“Yes, I was waiting for someone to move past my desk before I said anything.”
“What’s going on?”
“I know you said you didn’t want my help in the Meredith investigation, but I can’t get it out of my mind.”
“Okay,” Holt said slowly.
“Did Angelina call you?”
“No. Why?”
“I went by the salon to clear the air about why we met at the sandwich shop.”
“You did what?” Holt blurted out.
“Calm down. I’m trying to help you.”
Holt listened with increasing anxiety as Trish told him what she’d done.
“Once I explained everything, Angelina was very nice,” Trish concluded. “She doesn’t mind if we work together.”
“You told her about the Meredith investigation?”
“No, I’m not stupid. I just said our time together at the sub shop had to do with a case. I didn’t even tell her it was an old one.”
There was an odd note in Trish Carmichael’s tone of voice.
“You sound stressed,” Holt said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you still mad at me?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t keep me from wanting to help you do the right thing.”
“I’m not even sure what’s next. Tony McDermott turned up in court this morning and wanted to go to lunch with me. Then he didn’t show.”
“I know where he was and what he was doing.”
Holt leaned forward in his chair. “Tell me.”
“Are you letting me back into the investigation?”
“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.”
“I ran into McDermott and Clovis in the parking lot at the sheriff’s office when I came back from the salon.”
“Did you talk to them?”
“Just for a minute. McDermott remembered me from his days with the sheriff’s department. He and Clovis acted like best friends.” Trish stopped.
Holt tapped the top of his desk with a pen as he thought for a moment before he spoke. “McDermott must have bumped into Clovis outside the courthouse and told him he’d talked to me about Rex Meredith’s death, which caused Clovis to launch into damage control mode. That means Clovis knows—”
Holt stopped. Trish didn’t say anything.
“Does Clovis know you’ve helped me?” he asked.
Trish didn’t respond.
“Does he?”
“Yes, but—”
Holt pressed his teeth together tightly for a second. “And he’s ordered you to find out what I’m doing so you can report back to him.”
The phone line went dead.