Juror #3(71)

Cary Reynolds had transformed from a supportive defense tool into a poison pup, but at least I knew why. He had an ax to grind because he was bearing an old grudge. In my head, I pictured him returning to the witness stand, and tried to calculate how I might undo the damage without opening the door to further injury. If I opened the door on the reason for his bias against Lee, it would muddy my client as well as Cary Reynolds.

When my cell phone hummed, I was tempted to ignore it. I was in no mood for conversation. But I pulled it out of my pocket just before it went to voice mail, and though it was from an “unknown caller,” I answered.

“This is Ruby Bozarth.”

“Yeah, this is Officer George, with the Vicksburg PD. I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon. I got your message.”

I sat up straight. “Oh, thank God.”

“Did you get my message?”

“No, I’m sorry, Officer George. I’ve been in court all day. You worked undercover in Vicksburg, right? With Detective Guion?”

Since Tuesday, when I’d learned about the death of my Vicksburg cop, I had tried repeatedly to reach his coworker, without success. I was so happy to hear him on the phone, I almost swallowed my gum.

In a voice pitched so low I had to strain to hear it, he asked, “How’d you get my name?”

“Detective Guion mentioned you, said you were a good cop. That he trusted you. I’d really like to talk to you. Can I meet you somewhere?”

He hesitated. “I’m beat. I’m on a crazy investigation, haven’t hardly slept in two days.”

I stood, pacing in front of the bench. “It’s really important. We can meet anywhere you like, whatever is convenient for you. But I have to talk to you, and I want to do it in person.”

He sighed into the phone. “Okay. I gotta eat something, anyway. You know the Seven Gables truck stop? It’s on the highway, outside the Vicksburg city limits.”

I didn’t know the place, but I said, “Sure. I’ll meet you there. Six o’clock?”

“Okay.”

When he ended the call, I took off for my car at a run.





Chapter 64



WHEN I REACHED the truck stop, I walked into the adjoining restaurant, taking a careful look around. I hadn’t asked him for a description, figuring I could spot a cop. But walking through the tables of customers, I didn’t see anyone who looked like a law enforcement officer.

As I cruised by a booth in the back, a shaggy-haired man in a camouflage jacket nodded at me. I paused by his table. He pointed to the opposite side of the booth and said, “Sit down, Ruby.”

I slid into the vinyl seat across from him. “You had me fooled for a minute.”

“That’s the idea.” He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “I’m undercover. Don’t blow it.”

“Right.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “I represent Lee Greene. He’s on trial for the murder of Monae Prince last spring.”

When the cop didn’t say anything, I went on. “Your friend Guion was supposed to testify at the trial.”

He blinked. “Got him killed.”

I waited for him to elaborate, but he was mute. So I said, “Really? You think?”

“Monae was snitching for him.”

“Yeah. I know that. He was going to testify at trial about her criminal background. Her prostitution and drug use. But—obviously—Monae is dead. So why would talking about her put Detective Guion in danger?”

The officer rubbed his face with his hand. He had a three-day growth of whiskers. “Monae knew too much.”

Again, I waited in vain for him to say more. When he remained silent, I prodded. “Too much about what?”

He looked like he was trying to decide whether to answer me. Finally, he shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, he said, “What Monae told him was bigger than prostitution. It was a major drug trade, and a big meth ring. So much money involved, there was a money-laundering operation to cover up the illegal funds.”

“Wow. I didn’t know all that. He didn’t tell me.” I reached into my bag for a legal pad, but the officer stopped me with a warning shake of his head.

So I whispered again. “This insight into Monae’s life could have a crucial impact on my trial. I need to establish it in court. Can you testify? Tomorrow? Or next week?”

“No.”

I sat up straight in the booth, attempting to look intimidating. “If you are under subpoena, you’ll have to appear. You know that.”

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “I can’t testify because I don’t have the personal involvement. There’s nothing I could say that would get into evidence. Never worked with the snitch, never even met her. Guion kept her under wraps. And he kept the information close to his chest.”

“But he must have submitted reports in writing. Someone has to know about this, someone who can help me.”

“He was after a major player. And the guy had connections. That’s the worst part. Someone inside the department was on this dude’s payroll. Guion didn’t trust anybody with the information. He was afraid of a leak.”

I slumped in my seat. “No hard file I can access, maybe?”

“Nothing.” He picked up a coffee mug and wrapped both hands around it. “Nothing at all.”