Justice Lost (Darren Street #3)(64)

I looked at her and winked. “I knew you wanted to stay,” I said. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“How did your meeting go?” she said.

“I don’t know how much I should tell you, so I guess I’ll just tell you everything.” I recounted the day for her, including the clandestine meeting with Hanes Howell III.

“Will they arrest anybody for murder?” she said when I was finished.

“I think that depends on how strong the bond is between Sheriff Corker and his uncle, Roby Penn. If they turn them against each other, they’ll have a shot.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“Working my butt off. You’ve seen the mess at the office. It’s going to take me a while just to get things running smoothly.”

“I have no doubt you’ll get it done,” she said.

She surprised me like that sometimes. She would be difficult and stubborn, and then she would turn right around and say something kind that genuinely boosted my confidence, because I knew she wouldn’t say it if she didn’t think it was true.

“I couldn’t have done any of this without you, Claire,” I said. “Thank you. Before you came into my life, I was lost again, terribly angry, and had no real focus. I feel like I’m back on the right track now, and a lot of it is because of you. If you hadn’t come along, I may very well have . . . Well, let’s just leave it at I’m grateful for you.”

Claire slid across the couch until her thigh was touching mine. She looked into my eyes and said, “I think we’ll see each other again. I’ve never met anyone quite like you. You have this strength and resilience in you that anyone who gets to know you can see and comes to admire. You’re like a strong tree in a hurricane, Darren, a tree that will bend and bend and bend and maybe lose some branches, but it refuses to break. I’m happy for you, and I’m glad I was able to help you achieve what you wanted to achieve here.”

She kissed me gently on the cheek and lingered. I felt her warm breath on my face, smelled the faint odor of the wine mixed with her perfume. Just as I was about to reach for her, she stood.

“I’d better go,” she said.

“Go? You just got here.”

“I’m afraid this might get out of hand.”

I stood in front of her and held her hands. “You’re right. Thank you, again, Claire. Anytime you need a break from the swamp, you know where to find me.”

“I hope you get what you want, Darren,” she said. “I hope you find some peace.”

She picked up her purse, and I watched her walk out the door. I felt the urge to run after her into the parking lot, to beg her to stay, but I resisted. Instead, I picked up the half-empty bottle of wine off the table and drained it.





CHAPTER 37

Sheriff Corker pulled his Dodge pickup into the corner of the parking-lot complex and parked next to the white Lexus. He got out and squeezed himself into the front seat of the Lexus next to the lawyer, who was beefy and wearing a tan suit and too much cologne. The lawyer pulled the shiny, expensive vehicle onto the highway and began to cruise north.

Today, the sheriff wasn’t wearing his cowboy hat or his uniform or his Pythons. He wore bib overalls and a simple cap on his head. He could have been any farmer or auto-parts-store worker from any area of Tennessee. The lawyer called him “Sheriff.” They’d met several years ago, when Corker had been appointed by the Knox County Commission to take over as sheriff after the previous one had fallen from a roof and died. Their early meetings had sometimes been strained, and Corker had occasionally been belligerent. But he eventually gave in, and the operation he’d become involved in had gone relatively smoothly for years. The recent developments had obviously changed some things, and the sheriff had been summoned.

Corker had done some research and learned that the lawyer was a solo practitioner by the name of Gates Turner. His website said he specialized in wills, estate planning, and trusts. Corker knew he also specialized in being a sleaze.

“Nice to see you, Sheriff,” Turner said. “I hope you’re doing well.”

“Things are a little rough right now,” Corker said. “I’m sure you know that.”

“Yes, I’ve heard, and as much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news, they’re about to get rougher.”

“I don’t see how they could,” the sheriff said. “And what am I doing down here, anyway? It isn’t time for our regular meeting. What does your client want?”

The sheriff had been instructed long ago to never refer to the lawyer’s client by anything other than “your client.” No name was ever uttered, nor was a title. Corker had been told to never inquire, and he never had. He hadn’t really cared until he’d started—or at least thought he’d started—working with the FBI, but he hadn’t been able to break though Turner’s hard shell. Turner was smart and incredibly cautious. Sheriff Corker had absolutely no idea who Turner’s client was, but he knew the client had to be powerful. Ben Clancy would never have agreed to give him a cut back in the beginning had the person not been in a position of great power.

“You’re here because some information has come to light that has to do with you assisting the two men who murdered Stephen Morris and his wife. We have no doubt that you also had a hand in murdering Jim Harrison and Stephen Morris’s girlfriend, Leslie Saban.”