Justice Lost (Darren Street #3)(69)

“Think it was him that killed Harley Shaker?”

“What?”

“Harley Shaker was murdered this morning over in Newport. Killed by a sniper.”

The news visibly shook the sheriff. “I didn’t know. I’ve had a busy day.”

“Harley have it coming?”

“I don’t think so. Probably not.”

“Him and Roby have any problems?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You look worried.”

“That’s because I might be next.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see how it shakes out,” I said. “It happened in another jurisdiction, so it isn’t really my problem. So what were you saying? Oh, Roby and Clancy knew they could depend on you to keep your mouth shut and help with their scams and Clancy hated drugs. Did you bring Morris in? I doubt Clancy had much to say to him after Morris beat him in the election.”

“I brought him in. It wasn’t hard. He was a greedy man, Morris. He was the one who suggested we let the drug dealers start operating and skim off them, too. It’s big money.”

“Okay, so you brought Morris in, and he let the drugs in. That’s the only thing you’ve told me that I didn’t already know, Sheriff. I’m still not sure why you’re here.”

“After you got out of prison and they put Clancy in there in your place, I went to the feds. I’d had enough.”

The sheriff then told me a long tale of how he’d provided an FBI agent named Wilcox with several years’ worth of solid evidence and millions of dollars, only to have Wilcox disappear when the sheriff told him Roby Penn was about to murder Morris and the others. My prior experience with the FBI hadn’t been good, so I wasn’t all that surprised that a rogue agent had popped up, especially with all that money at stake.

“And what is the FBI doing now?” I said. “Any idea on what their plan is?”

“Honestly? I don’t think they’re going to do a damned thing. I think they’re embarrassed.”

I shook my head. “Hell of a system we have, isn’t it, Sheriff?”

“There’s another person involved in all of this,” Corker said. “I don’t know a name or a title, but I met with a lawyer this morning in Cookeville who represents him or her. I go down there once a month and take the lawyer money, same share as everybody else. But today was a special meeting. The lawyer told me that somebody saw me driving a boat the night Morris and his wife were killed. Well, they didn’t see me, but they saw my pistols, and nobody else around here wears those pistols. Because this person saw those pistols, they put two and two together and knew it must have been Roby who killed Morris.”

My heart nearly stopped. Only one person knew I had seen those pistols, and he was the head of the state’s most powerful law enforcement agency. I wanted to scream. I wanted to kill someone immediately, and that someone was Hanes Howell III.

“You look like I just hit you in the head with a hammer,” the sheriff said.

“I feel like you did,” I said.

“I’m going to share something else this lawyer told me. He told me his client had neutralized you. That’s the word he used. He told me his client lied to you and you shouldn’t be a problem in the future. If it turns out you become a problem, though, they’ll want me to kill you. They also want me to kill Roby.”

“Unless he kills you first,” I said. “When are you supposed to do it?”

“As soon as possible.”

I drained the last of my beer, which certainly wouldn’t be the only beer I’d drink that night, and stared at the sheriff. There was fear in his eyes.

“What are you going to do?” I said.

“I ain’t no killer,” he said. “All that stuff I do, them Pythons, it’s all for show. And there’s something else I want you to know. I turned over every dime of the money I took to the FBI, even the money I took in the beginning. I didn’t keep a cent. As far as Roby, I don’t think there’s much I can do. He’d put me down in a heartbeat if I went after him.”

“But then he’d have me to contend with, because the county commission isn’t going to put another one of Roby Penn’s relatives in the sheriff’s seat. They’ll appoint someone a lot different than you.”

I got up and walked to the refrigerator, pulled out two more beers, and handed one to the sheriff. He was looking at me strangely, almost longingly.

“What?” I said.

“You. You should be the one.”

“To do what? Kill Roby Penn? I’m the district attorney now. I can’t go around playing vigilante.”

“You could if you wanted to,” the sheriff said. “One last time. I’ll help you any way I can.”

“Let me give it some thought,” I said.

We sat there in silence, both lost in thought. After several minutes, the sheriff drained his beer and stood to go.

“I want you to know I’m ashamed of the things I’ve done,” he said. “Well, some of them, anyway.”

“It doesn’t help much to be ashamed,” I said. “I’ve heard some good might come from personal failings or character flaws if a person can change, but I’ve never been able to do it.”