The Bishop's Pawn (Cotton Malone #13)(52)

Lael nodded. “A few times. That’s one slimy bastard.”

“Did Valdez arrange for James Earl Ray to be in Memphis?” I asked again.

He stood there, arms crossed on his chest like an umpire under attack. But I caught a look of unfeigned indecision on his chopped countenance. Like he was wrestling with a dilemma. Sizing us up. Making a decision. His eyes drifted again down to the pad on the table, then back up.

“I told your daddy yesterday to leave this alone,” he said. “You two should take the same advice.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him no when he contacted you?” I asked. “Why lead Oliver to him?”

“You’re going to have ask him that.”

“We’re asking you.”

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” Lael spit out. “I was an FBI agent before you were even born. You apparently have little to no experience, barging in here, thinking I’m going to break down and confess all my sins. Or that the threat of some subpoena will scare me.” He pointed a finger. “What you need to be asking yourself is why did they pick you for this? With all the trained agents available, why go to a rookie?”

I wasn’t going to allow this guy to rattle me. “It doesn’t matter why. I’m here.”

He chuckled. “So you’re doing as you were told? Following your orders. Not asking questions. Where have I heard that before? Oh, yeah. That would be me.”

I decided to ask something that had been nagging my brain. “You said you taped a lot of people. Yet you made a point, ten years ago, to connect with Reverend Foster. Why him?”

He shook his head. “Not going there. I never crossed Oliver back then and I haven’t in the years since.” But his eyes again contradicted his words, as did another nod toward the pad. Then he pointed at the door. “Get out.”

Neither of us moved.

He reached beneath his shirttail and pulled out a Glock.

“You can walk. Or I’ll drag your bodies out after I shoot you. It’s legal to kill home intruders in this state.”

“That subpoena will be coming,” I said.

“I can hardly wait. I’ll have my two words ready.”

I motioned and we left through the front door, Lael right behind us, still holding the gun, only now his grip was concealed by the wrinkled folds of his T-shirt.

I carried the waterproof case.

“Get on down the street,” he said. “Disappear. And don’t come back.”

No sense arguing any further, so we walked away. I had the name and telephone number from the pad etched in my mind.

“One more thing, rookie,” Lael called out.

I stopped and turned.

“Tell whoever it is that sent you that I didn’t take that case away from you. Though I should have. That ought to count for something.”

I got the message. Just like inside with the name on the pad. He was doing what he could. Maybe he wasn’t the total asshole I thought him to be.

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Now get on. I’m going fishin’.”

We walked away.

“Were you serious about the subpoena?” Coleen asked.

“That won’t be my call. But it sounded good. You saw the name and phone number on the pad? He wanted us to see that, without him saying it.”

Was he just being cautious?

Or was something else at play?

The street remained tranquil, the houses understandably quiet for a Thursday workday morning. I glanced back and saw Lael still watching us, standing at the curb, beside his Taurus at the driver’s door, one hand on the gun beneath his shirttail. We were fifty yards away, the end of the block another fifty yards ahead, where we would turn and leave the neighborhood.

We kept walking.

Then an explosion rocked the morning.

I whirled around.

Streaks of flame burst upward from the Taurus, blue and yellow and red fusing into one violent tint. Glass shattered into fragments, then a second explosion rocked the car side-to-side.

We instinctively reeled down, shielding our faces.

Flames seared though the car’s interior.

Black smoke billowed from the hulk.





Chapter Thirty-two


I watched the Taurus consume itself. We were far enough down the street that the concussion effects of the explosion never reached us.

“My God,” Coleen muttered.

Lael was nowhere to be seen outside the car.

A few neighbors had drifted out of their front doors, investigating the commotion. I figured we had another five minutes before all hell broke loose. That bomb had obviously been planted between the time Lael returned from Lake Okeechobee yesterday and now, just waiting for him to crank the engine. Our being here could never have been anticipated.

I heard the distant braying sound of emergency vehicles.

They came faster than I thought.

“Let’s get off the street,” I said.

We hurried into a stand of trees between two houses. I laid the case down and we stood out of sight and watched as a sheriff’s car raced by.

I wondered about such a public display with Lael’s murder. A lot of attention would be drawn.

But maybe that was the idea.

More sheriff’s cars rushed past from the direction we were going.