The Devil and the River (24 page)

“You’re telling me there is nothing—absolutely nothing—we can do to hold on to Webster?”

“Well, Hagen tells me he said he done cut up the girl, but he didn’t kill her, right?”

“That’s right.”

“So right now he could be charged with removing evidence from a crime scene, destruction of evidence, for that’s what she was, you see, little more than evidence of a murder. He could be charged with them two, but you done messed it up with this illegal search. Hell, man, I’ve even had Ken Howard on the phone telling me my job, and he’s the guy who’s supposed to be defending your boy! Bottom line, son, is that the law is the law, and whether we like it or not, we have got to charge him with something else and hope to hell he doesn’t make bail, or we gotta let him go. Whichever way you decide, you got about two hours to do it.”

Gaines was left speechless.

“So?” Kidd said. “Whaddya wanna do, son?”

“Pull the murder charge, charge him with destruction of evidence, obstructing an ongoing investigation—”

“That will fly like a fuckin’ dodo, that one will. Nancy Denton’s murder wasn’t even discovered when he took the body. There was no
ongoing
investigation. Do like I said. Charge him with removing evidence from a crime scene and destruction of said evidence. That’s what you got. Who you got down there on circuit? Wallace?”

“Yes, I have Wallace on circuit, but I got Otis for Branford County.”

“Wallace is as sharp as Otis. If Wallace can find a way to hold him without bail, all well and good, but I doubt it. Those are misdemeanors, because the nature of the original crime does not influence the severity of the removal or destruction charges, you see?” Kidd exhaled audibly. “Shee-it, Gaines, you really done fucked the dog.”

“I know it. I don’t need to keep hearing it.”

“Well, maybe you do, son, just to make sure you keep your damned wits about you and don’t pull some dumbass stunt like this again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, go disappear whatever paperwork you had on the first-degree charge, and get some new paperwork on the lines for the removal and destruction. Get Wallace out of whatever watering hole he’s in and tell him to call me if he has any questions.”

“Will do.”

“And, Gaines?”

“Yes?”

“Use your head and not your heart on this stuff, will you? I know how big a deal this is for you folks. I don’t even remember the last time Whytesburg had a murder, and I don’t think you’ve ever had anything as bad as this, even when old lover boy Don Bicklow was running the show. It’s a tough one. I get that. But the tougher they are, the more you gotta color inside the lines. People get emotional, son, especially when it comes to dead kids, and you gotta be real careful what you say and do. Otherwise you wind up with Webster back on the street and a lynch mob on your hands. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Well, good. Now, go hustle up that paperwork and let’s see if we can’t keep the crazy son of a bitch off the streets for a little while longer. Sure as hell he’s been free and easy for twenty-some-odd years, but that don’t mean we have to give the crazy motherfucker another day of liberty if we can help it.”

Kidd hung up.

Gaines followed suit. He stood there for a while, felt the speed and force of his own heart in his chest. Kidd was right. He had pulled a dumbass stunt. He had let his emotional reaction to the whole thing override his senses.

Gaines went back out front and called for Hagen. He told him what was needed on the paperwork. Hagen got going, and Gaines started calling around for Judge Marvin Wallace.

A
t 1:45 p.m. on the afternoon of Friday, July 26, 1974, Michael Anthony Webster, ex-lieutenant, US Infantry, appeared before Judge Marvin Wallace, Whytesburg Circuit Court, to face two charges, first that he did remove evidence from the scene of a crime, said evidence being the body of Nancy Grace Denton, and second that he did inflict destruction and damage against said evidence, such being the person of Nancy Grace Denton.

Webster was handcuffed on each side, to his left Officer Lyle Chantry, to his right Officer Forrest Dalton. He stood immobile and implacable as the charges were read out, and when Wallace asked Howard if the defendant wished to plead, Howard merely said, “At this time, the defendant wishes to plead no contest to both charges.” Webster had decided to leave his options open as to a guilty or not guilty plea. Perhaps he was hoping for a deal from the DA.

“Prisoner is held over in custody,” Wallace said. “Bail is set at five thousand dollars.”

Howard stepped forward. “Your honor, I have to ask that the prisoner be released on his own recognizance. He is a decorated war veteran and has no prior convictions in this or any other state. I do not consider that he is a flight risk.”

“Understood, Counsel, and your comments are noted. However, due to the severity of this crime, I am setting bail at five thousand dollars.” The gavel came down. The discussion was over.

Howard glanced at Gaines. Gaines knew that Howard had had no choice but to contest Wallace’s ruling. A failure to contest could be considered tantamount to inadequate defense representation at some later appeal hearing.

Webster didn’t say a word, and only when Chantry and Dalton started moving did he move with them.

They took him back across to the Sheriff’s Office.

Wallace stopped Gaines as Gaines was leaving the courtroom. “That bail amount was the highest I could set,” Wallace explained. “I tried to get it higher, but there was no additional justification. Anyway, I think someone like Webster has as much chance of raising five grand as he does fifty.”

Gaines thanked Wallace and headed back to the office to check that Webster was safe and secure in the basement.

Once again, Webster was silent and immobile.

Gaines did not want to speak to him, didn’t want to see him. He returned to his office.

Hagen was there. He had an anxious expression on his face.

“What?”

“Someone is here to pay Webster’s bail.”

Gaines sighed resignedly. “Let me guess. Matthias Wade, right?”

“In reception. He says he has the money to pay Webster’s bail right now.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Gaines said, his dismay evident in his voice. “This is some kind of fucking stunt . . .”

He stepped around Hagen, headed for the door, then hesitated and turned back. “Find out something for me, would you? Morgan City, Louisiana. Check which parish it is. Get hold of the sheriff there and tell him I need to see him.”

“Will do,” Hagen said.

Gaines went across the building to reception. As he approached the desk, a man stood up and smiled at him.

Immediately there was recognition. Gaines had been right. This was the eldest of the Wades from the pictures in the photo album. The blond hair had grayed, but that jawline was unmistakable.

“Sheriff Gaines,” he said. “My name is Matthias Wade, and I am here to assist my friend Lieutenant Webster. I understand that his bail has been set at five thousand dollars . . .”

Wade was not a tall man, perhaps no more than five seven or eight. At first there seemed nothing specific or extraordinary about his appearance. He was dressed casually—an open-necked shirt, a plain sport jacket, a pair of dark blue slacks. He was in his early forties, Gaines guessed, clean-shaven, his features forgettable, ordinary. His eyes were blue-green, and to any outside observer, he would have seemed relaxed, unhurried, friendly, even extending his hand in greeting as Gaines cleared the desk and stood in front of him.

Gaines did not shake the man’s hand.

Wade paid the absence of courtesy no mind. “So,” he said, “how do we do this?”

Gaines smiled awkwardly, more disbelief than dismay. “Seriously, you are here to pay Webster’s bail?”

“Sure I am,” Wade said, and there—in his tone—were the last vestiges of New Orleans. This man was as Louisianan as Gaines, but he had lost the greater part of his accent somewhere along the road.

“You are what to him? His friend? His counselor?”

“I am just a businessman, Sheriff Gaines. I have a number of small businesses here and there, but I am also a good citizen, a hard worker, and I like to think of myself as somewhat of a philanthropist. Seems to me that when a man has some good fortune in his life, he carries a responsibility to share that fortune with those less fortunate.”

“And Webster is one of these less fortunates?”

“Michael Webster is a war veteran, as I believe you are, Sheriff. He seems to have been given a raw deal, wouldn’t you say? Some men seem to be able to integrate themselves back into society. Take yourself, for example. You served your country at war, and now you are home and you are continuing to serve your country. You are perhaps made of stronger stuff than Lieutenant Webster. Some men are just a little more fragile than others, you know?”

“You’re telling me that
he
is the victim here? Are you fucking crazy?”

“Oh, I am saying nothing of the sort, Sheriff. I am well aware that a heinous crime has been perpetrated here, that some poor girl was abused and murdered, but this was all twenty years ago. Memories might be long, but evidence is short-lived for the main part. I just think that Michael Webster is incapable of establishing any kind of stable ground for his own defense, and I would like to think I am assisting him with his constitutional right to fair representation when it comes to his day in court.”

“This is just bullshit, if you don’t mind me saying, Mr. Wade. This is just the most extraordinary bullshit I have ever heard. I have a killer in my basement, plain and simple. And even if he was not directly and solely responsible for her death, he was certainly responsible for what was done to her after she was dead.” Gaines stopped. “But, then again, I don’t need to detail what he did to her, do I, Mr. Wade?”

Wade frowned. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. I don’t think I understand what you mean.”

“He says he told you. All those years ago, he told you what he’d done, and so, according to your friend, you are as guilty of withholding this as he is . . . ?”

Wade smiled. Then he started laughing. “I think Lieutenant Webster is even more fragile in his mind than I understood him to be. Or perhaps it was just a simple misunderstanding, much the same kind of misunderstanding as you and he had when you thought he’d given you permission to search his motel room . . .”

Wade let the statement hang in the air.

Gaines had no response.

“So,” Wade said eventually, “who wants my five thousand dollars?”

B
efore and after combat there was fear. During combat there was only adrenaline. It seemed that the two were mutually exclusive—one could not exist in the presence of the other. Other emotions did not register or apply. It was only later, much later, that anger, hatred, disbelief, horror, wonder, and awe overtook everything else. It was only later that mental and emotional reactions impinged upon the physical, that hands shook uncontrollably, that nervous twitches assaulted muscles. Gaines was familiar with this delayed response, and though he did not feel anything so overpowering as that, he did feel rage and dismay as he watched Michael Webster leaving the Sheriff’s Office with Matthias Wade.

He knew it would be no time at all before Judith Denton got word of what had happened. The thought of facing her, of trying to explain himself, how he had failed her, how he had failed Nancy . . .

It was five minutes past three on the afternoon of Friday, July 26th, and Gaines watched silently as Matthias Wade walked Webster to a plain sedan parked outside the office. Where they were going, Gaines did not know. Neither Webster nor Wade had to tell him. Perhaps Wade would take Webster to his own house. Perhaps Gaines would not see either of them again.

Had Gaines applied the letter of the law, Webster would more than likely still be in the basement, if not there then en route to Jackson or Hattiesburg to be remanded until trial. If Gaines had acted according to standard protocol, then some of the things that Webster had told him would be on tape, Ken Howard would have been present, and bail would never have been granted. But Gaines had acted impulsively, without due consideration, and now Webster was going to leave nothing more than a trail of dust behind him as he was chauffeured out of Gaines’s custody.

Gaines turned away from the swiftly vanishing sedan and went back to his office.

Hagen was waiting there for him. “Morgan City is St. Mary Parish,” he said. “I spoke to the deputy, and he said that the sheriff wouldn’t be back until about five.”

“His name?” Gaines asked.

“Sheriff is Dennis Young. Deputy is Garrett Ryan.”

“I’m going over there,” Gaines said. “It’s about a hundred or so miles. I’ll be there by the time he gets back from wherever he is.”

“You want I should come with you?”

“No, you stay here.”

“Judith Denton’s gonna turn up, ain’t she?”

“I reckon so.”

“What do I tell her?”

“You tell her whatever you think she can stand to hear, Richard. I don’t know what to say. I fucked it up, and now Webster is out on the street and we have no way of keeping tabs on him.”

“And what’s the deal with this Wade character? You know anything about him?”

“Nothing ’cept rumor an’ hearsay. That’s why I want to go on up and see Sheriff Young in Morgan.”

Hagen sighed audibly. “Jesus, this is a hell of a mess, ain’t it?”

“As good as any I’ve seen before,” Gaines replied.

Hagen left the office. Gaines called home, was relieved when he got Caroline instead of his ma.

“Gonna be late tonight, more than likely,” Gaines said. “Have to go on out to see someone. You got any plans for later that I’m upsetting?”

“No, I’m good, John,” Caroline replied.

“Appreciated, sweetheart. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d cope, I’m sure,” Caroline said. “Safe travels.”

Gaines hung up, fetched his hat down from the stand behind the door, headed on out to the car, and aimed it west toward Slidell.

Crow-wise, it was little more than a hundred and fifty clicks to Morgan City. Use the bridge, it was heading for 180. The other route—I-12 from Slidell to Hammond, south on 55, cutting through the outskirts of New Orleans and turning west again toward Morgan—wasn’t significantly greater. Gaines decided to bypass the bridge and go around the northeast route. Perhaps the traffic through the center of New Orleans would be fine, but he didn’t want to risk it.