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“Tolliver,” Allen breaks in. “The man who framed him.” He spreads his hands as if to say,There you go, I solved your case for you.
“Cary Tolliver died in Kiner Hospital early this morning,” Tom says. “When it comes to the one he considers guilty, we thinkyou’rethe likely target.”
“Why?” But Allen’s eyes say he thinks he knows why. The letter (thepurportedletter).
But Izzy goes in a different direction. “Duffrey’s fingerprints weren’t on those kiddie porn pamphlets, were they?”
No reply from Allen, but Izzy can read his thought:Nobody said they were.
“They were on Mylar comic book bags that Tolliver took back after Duffrey handled them. You led the jury to believe the prints were on the pamphlets themselves.”
There’s a brief look of panic in ADA Allen’s eyes as he considers the ramifications of what they know… and who they could tell. Then he gathers himself. “I… that is to say, I and my second… never lied about the location of those prints. It was incumbent on Russell Grinsted to—”
“Save your justifications for the board that will decide on whether or not to sanction you,” Izzy says. “Our concern is whether or not this Bill Wilson knows you railroaded Alan Duffrey and got him killed. The letter Tolliver might have lied about—”
“Ofcoursehe lied! He wanted his fifteen minutes of fame by getting a guilty man out of Big Stone! Name in the papers! Interviews on TV! Were we going to put him on trial for lying? Of course not, and he knew it! Not when he was dying already!”
“I’m guessing Bill Wilson took that into account,” Izzy says. “But the mischief with the fingerprints, Mr. Allen… that was all you.”
“I resent—”
“Resent all you want,” Tom says. “We want to see your files on the case. We need to find Bill Wilson before he kills more innocent people. And, quite likely,you.”
Doug Allen stares at them. Words are his living, but at the moment he seems to have nothing to say.
Izzy, however, does. “Are you interested in police protection until we catch this guy?”
7
That afternoon John Ackerly attends the Straight Circle meeting on Buell. It’s a lively discussion about how to deal with the nearest and dearest who are still drinking and/or using, and John enjoys listening to various points of view. Big Book Mike Rafferty isn’t there, however, nor is he at The Flame coffee shop afterward.
Because John’s at odds and sods for the rest of the day—also because he likes Holly and is sorry he forgot what she asked him to do—he decides to take a run out to Tapperville. He doesn’t know exactly where the Rev lives, but it has to be near the Rec, because the Rev has a barbecue there for a bunch of Program people every year on Bill Wilson’s birthday. Which, according to the Rev, should be a national holiday (a sentiment John actually agrees with).
John asks at the nearby Piggly Wiggly. The clerk doesn’t know, but a postman outside does. He’s sitting on a bench in the shade and drinking an end-of-shift Nehi.
“Go on down that way about a quarter of a mile.” The postman points. “Number 649. Little house sitting all by itself. Turdy-brown paintjob.”
“Thanks,” John says.
“You a friend of his?”
“Kind of.”
“Does he ever shut up?”
John smiles. “Rarely.”
“Take him his mail, would you? Box is full. I had to really stuff in today’s.”
John says he will and drives on down to the Rev’s house, which is indeed turdy-brown. The mailbox is stuffed full of bills, catalogs, and magazines, including a copy of this month’s AAGrapevine. John parks in the driveway and gets out, carrying the Rev’s latest charge of mail in his hand. He goes to the back door, climbs the steps, and goes to ring the bell. His thumb freezes before it can press the button. His hand opens and he drops the Rev’s mail on his shoes. There’s a window in the door, and looking across the kitchen, he can see Mike Rafferty’s feet. The door is unlocked. He goes in and makes sure the Rev is dead. Then he goes back outside, picks up mail that will never be read, and dials 911.
Chapter 7
1
May 22nd. The day after the Des Moines disaster.
Corrie lets herself into Kate’s mini-suite with a key card that works for both rooms. She comes bearing coffee, croissants, and the morning paper. Kate is looking out the window. There’s nothing to see out there but the parking lot, Corrie knows because she has the same view, but Kate doesn’t look around when the door closes. Her iPad is open on the table next to the window.