“Is that what the police think?”
She looked away. “You want to see where they pulled out Janet Chisum? Not too far from here.”
They got back in her car and drove about a quarter mile farther down a road paralleling the Pearl.
A few minutes’ walk through some woods brought them to the spot. Taggert showed him where the body had snagged on the branch of a downed tree.
Robie gazed at the spot and then looked up and down the length of the river, which was fairly narrow at this point.
“The body was probably put in the water upriver, then came down here and hooked on the tree.”
“Way we see it, yeah. Forensics showed she’d been dead about twelve hours when her body was discovered. Gator had taken a nibble on her.”
“Have you run a river current analysis to see where she might have gone in the water?”
“How do you know about things like that?” she snapped.
“I watch a lot of crime shows on TV.”
“Uh-huh. Matter of fact, we have. With the currents, time she was in the water and so on appears she was put in close to where we found Clancy’s body.”
“I heard she was killed by a gunshot wound to the head.”
“That’s right.”
“You find the gun?”
“No, but our folks said it was a forty-caliber fired from a Smith & Wesson. And Clancy had one of those, only he said he lost it when we came to collect it for ballistics.”
“What was the time period between their deaths?”
“Well, Chisum’s was much earlier. Had to be, o’course. Clancy was arrested and went to trial. That don’t happen overnight. I’d say ’bout three months, all told.”
“How long between his acquittal and his murder?”
“Only five days.”
“So it was probably connected.”
“One reason your daddy’s sittin’ in jail for the crime.”
“If Clancy didn’t kill Chisum, who did?”
“We’re followin’ that up, Robie, never you mind ’bout that.”
“What has my father said to the police?”
She sighed and shook her head. “You lose all your manners when you moved from Cantrell?”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying, Sheila. Who’s the prosecutor on the case?”
“I guess there’s no harm in tellin’ you that. Aubrey Davis.”
“Aubrey Davis? The one we went to high school with?”
“The same,” she said resignedly.
“He was the most arrogant son of a bitch around here mainly because his parents had money and his father was a state legislator.”
“I would say he ain’t changed a bit. And he’s got a thin’ for your daddy, let me tell you. Mor’n once he got his nuts handed to him in a courtroom by Judge Robie.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say the good prosecutor ain’t above cuttin’ corners gettin’ a conviction. He’s got ambition, see. He’s a prosecutor now with a run for Congress in his future. All he’s got to do is get the nomination and he’s as good as punched his ticket to Dee-Cee. Takin’ down what some folks see as a judge soft on crime would be a right good sellin’ point for his campaign.”
“And with that sort of personal animus against my father he’s allowed to prosecute him?”
“Hell, there’s only two prosecutors in Cantrell and the other one just had a stroke. Leaves Aubrey.”
“And my father’s lawyer?”
“He don’t have one yet.”
“But you said his arraignment was tomorrow?”
“Who told you about it?”
“Priscilla. Pete Clancy is a bully, just like his father.”
“So you know Sherman Clancy?” he asked.
She didn’t answer right away, but led him over to the table and poured them out two glasses from the pitcher.
“Sangria,” she said. “A wonderful antidote to the heat and humidity.