“Is this somethin’ illegal?”
“It’s something that could lead to the truth coming out,” she replied diplomatically.
“Is this somethin’ about Will Robie’s daddy?”
“Could be.”
“It would help if you told me where you got it.”
“Why?”
“It just would.”
Reel debated and then said, “Pete Clancy.”
Little Bill smiled. “Well, then I think I can get it to make sense.”
“Why?”
“Because Pete is one of my best customers. And this ‘gibberish’ looks like a tactic code from one of the games I sold him.”
“Tactic code?”
“Yep. Pete’s lazy. He wouldn’t have taken the time to create his own code. He’d just piggyback on somethin’ else.”
“Whatever happened to just playing Pac-Man?”
> “We’ve got Pac-Man. It’s in the classics session. Has a whole new interface and some really sick turboed graphics.”
“Thanks, but it was a rhetorical question.”
Little Bill turned back to the screen.
“How long do you think it will take you to crack it?”
“About an hour should do it. You want to leave and come back?”
“No, I’m going to sit here while you do it. And Bill?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t remember anything you might see on these files.”
“Why?”
“It would not be good for your health if this whole thing blows up in our faces.”
* * *
“I appreciate your seeing me, Mr. Longstreet.”
Robie sat across from the lawyer in the latter’s large, paneled office. Stuart Longstreet was in his sixties, with creamy white hair, a clean-shaven chin, a pair of listless blue eyes, and a large belly that protruded between the flaps of his suit coat, which looked like it had been tailored to his flabby proportions. His expression was one of privileged contentment.
“It’s certainly a tragedy with what happened to your father,” he said in a tone that made Robie believe the lawyer was actually enjoying the development.
“Well, I’m hoping that justice will be served.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” the man said hastily and without a trace of sincerity. His manner suggested he wanted to hasten this interview to an end. “Now, you have some legal issue?”
“Well, I guess it’s more of an information issue.”
“Oh, yes?” said Longstreet, looking curiously at him.
“The Barksdale family?”
The expression of privileged content withdrew and was replaced by one of heightened suspicion. The listless blue eyes transformed into a pair of flickering propane gas jets. Robie could just see the wheels turning in the legal brain.
“The Barksdales, you say?”
“I knew the family when I was growing up here. I dated Laura Barksdale. I just wondered what had happened to them. As you know, my father bought their old home.”
“The Willows, yes,” said Longstreet absently. “Still a lovely place. Even with the changes they’ve made.” He sniffed, his expression one of disapproval. “I was stunned along with many others of my…circle when he purchased it.”
“I’m sure.”
“The oil platform case.”
“Yes.”
Longstreet’s features hardened. “Cost Cantrell a lot of jobs. Some say it ruined the town.”
“And the men who lost their lives would no doubt say differently. As would their survivors.”
“Yes, of course. No, I have to admire his, um, professional tenacity.”
“Well, Little Bill was as good as advertised,” she said.
“What’s in the files?”
“Something you’re not going to believe.”
“Tell me.”
“No, you really need to see it, Robie.”