Greg Iles - The Devils Punchbowl

“You’re not hearing me, William. Your pet psychopaths crossed the line down here. I no longer give a shit about your investigation, and I have enough evidence to arrest Sands for money laundering on my own hook right now. I want proof of life, and I want it in fifteen

minutes. If I don'’t get it, your investigation goes straight down the toilet. Make it happen.”

“What kind of proof do you have in mind?”

“I want an answer from Caitlin Masters to a question that only she would know.”

“What is it?”

“Who did you lose your virginity to?”

Kelly gives me a strange look.

“You got that, Hull?”

“Yes, but—”

“Make it happen. Once I know she’s alive, we’ll go from there. If I don'’t have the answer in fifteen minutes, I pull the trigger.”

Hull is still trying to talk when I hang up.

Kelly stands and stretches. “Are we waiting here for their answer?”

“Might as well. I want to ask you something. I think it’s bothering me down so deep that I couldn'’t quite voice it. But there’s no use hiding from it.”

“You’re wondering if they'’re planning to kill her no matter what. Right?”

“Yeah. Kidnapping alone carries the death penalty in Mississippi. How could they hope to let her go and get away clean? No matter what kind of immunity deal they have with Hull.”

“I think it depends on what that plea deal is—what Sands’s plans are after Po is busted. If he’s planning to go back to China and take over Po’s operations, I guess he could let Caitlin go.”

“But what about Po’s son? He’ll want the China operations, right?”

Kelly begins a set of what look like isometric exercises with his hands. “No doubt. More likely, they’ve cut a private deal for Sands to keep the U.S. casinos, while the son takes over the China stuff.”

“And in that case?”

“I don'’t think Sands will want Caitlin running around screaming about kidnapping. Much easier to kill her, lose the body, and never worry about it again.”

The detachment in Kelly’s voice nudges my nestled fear back toward panic. “But even if that’s his plan, he has to keep her alive until the sting. Right?”

“Absolutely.”

“So we’ve got what, thirty hours to find her?”

“Or to find something to trade for her.” Kelly sits on the wall again and hits my knee with his fist. “And we will, man. We will.”

The buzz of my cell phone makes both of us jump, but the caller isn’t Hull or Sands. It’s my father. “Dad?”

“Penn, I need you to come by the house, if you can.”

“What’s the matter? You’re not at work?”

“Take it easy. Peggy called me. Annie called her from school, saying she had a stomachache, and Peggy called me to come home and look at her. I think she’s having a delayed reaction to the separation in Houston. All she really needs is to see you. To see all of us together.”

Remembering our conversation in the car this morning, this doesn’'t surprise me. But Annie has almost never asked to be checked out of school. I wonder if Dad could be getting me home for some other reason.

“I'm on my way.”

“Good.”

Kelly is on his feet again. “Everything okay?”

“We need to get to my dad’s house.”

We move quickly to Kelly’s 4Runner. “Can we talk in here?” I ask, climbing into the passenger seat.

“Swept it right before I drove down here. We’re okay.”

Kelly is turning left on Wall Street when my cell phone chirps, signaling a text message. Closing my eyes briefly, I take my cell out of my pocket and check the message. It reads: PHILIP RIVERS.

“What is it?” Kelly asks. “Caitlin’s answer?”

I nod, thinking.

“Is it the right answer?”

“It’s

an

answer. But not the right one. Not quite.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s part right and part wrong. The message says Philip Rivers. The guy’s name was Philip, but Philip McKey.”

“Okay, then. That'’s Caitlin doing that. She’s handing you information. A clue about something. Philip means she’s alive. What does

rivers

mean?”

“The river!” I cry.

“She’s by a goddamn river,” Kelly agrees. “But which river?”

“The Mississippi. Has to be, right? That'’s where all the action has been. All the dogfights and training stuff. They probably have her at one of those camps, or on an island.”

“But she said ‘ri-

vers,’

plural.”

“The singular would be too obvious. Wouldn’t sound like a name.”

“Maybe. But she could also be on a tributary, something that flows into the Mississippi.”

“Who cares? Either way, we know she’s alive, and she’s somewhere close to a river. Odds are, it’s the Mississippi.”

“So, what are you thinking?” Kelly asks.

“I'm thinking Danny McDavitt and his FLIR pod.”

“Classic. We can fly the river as soon as it gets dark. I'’ll be his TFO.”

“His what?”

“Tactical flight officer. You need two guys to run FLIR from a chopper. The pilot to fly the ship and hold position, and a TFO to control the pod and read the monitor. That'’s why they missed those dogs that hit us the other night. Carl doesn’'t have any hours on a FLIR screen. Just rifle scopes. But I’'ve done time in an AH-64 in Afghanistan. I’'ve spotted IEDs from six miles out in pitch-darkness. And we know how these guys roll. Wherever she is, there’ll be guard dogs, shit like that.” Kelly jams his elbow into my side. “If she’s on the river, we’ll find her.”

Excitement flashes through me…hope, even. “Let’s get over to my dad’s place. Quick.”

“Can you get us out of a speeding ticket?”

“That'’s

one

thing I still have the power to do.”

Kelly laughs and floors it.

James Ervin is standing outside the door of my father’s house. The familiar beagle eyes of the old cop always make me smile.

“How you doing, Penn?” he asks.

“Better than I was this morning. What about you?”

“I'm all right. Got a little surprise waiting in there.”

My pulse quickens. “Good or bad?”

“Same as last time.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.”

I move quickly through the door and into my parents’ den. Dad is sitting in the La-Z-Boy from which he dictates his medical charts, facing a stranger wearing a three-piece suit and heavy-rimmed glasses.

“Who’s this?” I ask sharply, wondering if it could be William Hull.

The stranger takes off his glasses, and the unfamiliar face coalesces into that of Walt Garrity, Texas Ranger. “I figured it was time to check in,” Walt says. “Hated to risk it, but I have some news, and I had a feeling things might be popping on your end.”

“In that getup, you’re a man transformed. What’s your news?”

Walt’s lips crack into a thin smile. “J. B. Gilchrist just got invited to a dogfight. I'm in, boys.”

“When’s the fight?” Kelly asks.

“I won'’t know till the last minute, but I'm guessing tonight.”

“How’d you wangle that?”

“Just played my part and stuck to it. Lost enough of Penn’s money to attract attention, then let Sands know I was interested in some real action.”

“You’re sure nobody followed you here?”

“Give me some credit, soldier. If somebody was following me, they think I'm still in the Natchez Mall, where my Roadtrek is parked. My clothes are hidden in a storage cabinet in a department store. I picked these up on my way out.”

Dad says, “What do you think, Penn?”

“We need to tell you guys something. Caitlin was kidnapped last night.”

While they listen with growing anxiety, I relate the morning’s events. Dad hasn’'t even heard the news about Paul Labry, probably because he left work early.

“Where’s Annie?” I ask. “Is she really here?”

“She and Peggy are in the back watching TV. She really did call with a stomachache, but she’s fine.”

Walt says, “This puts a new spin on everything. I'’ll keep my eyes and ears open tonight, especially if we’re on the river. Maybe I'’ll pick up a clue to where Caitlin could be.”

“I doubt it,” says Kelly. “More likely they'’re just testing you. We think the Po sting is set for tomorrow night. I don'’t think they’d let

somebody they don'’t know close to anything important with that cooking.”

“I’'ve been thinkin’ about that,” says Walt.

“What?” I ask.

“Po. You gotta figure this mandarin motherfucker can see just about anything he gets an itch to see over there in China. If not, then in Russia or Thailand. What the hell could Sands offer that would make the old man risk setting foot on U.S. soil?”

“God only knows,” I say. “It could be an orgy with fifty blond twelve-year-olds, or dinner and a show with Barbra Streisand.”

“I’d say the former’s more likely,” says Kelly.

“You never know with moneyed folk,” drawls Walt. “Especially your oriental types. They got all kinds of strange fixations about America. Course, it could be a simple business meeting. Straightening a few things out, or replacing some people.”

“It doesn’'t matter,” says Kelly. “All that matters to us is the time limit. The sting is our ticking clock. According to Labry, we had thirty-six hours to find Caitlin. By now, I say we figure on twenty-four.”

“Well,” says Walt, standing, “I guess it’s back to business. What are you boys gonna be doing today?”

“This and that,” says Kelly. “But we’re going to fly the river tonight with a FLIR chopper, hoping to pick up something.”

Walt looks suitably impressed. “Well, if you get in a bind trying to save the girl, or if you’re outgunned somewhere and you need backup, call the Louisiana Highway Patrol. Ask for the man in charge and give him my name. I was saving this for later in the game, but it sounds like it’s time to call in all the heat we’ve got.”

“You trust him?”

“Yessir. And there seems to be a shortage of cops we can trust around here.”

“What makes you trust him?” Kelly asks bluntly.

Walt smiles. “He started out as a Texas Ranger.”

“Good enough,” Kelly says, and shakes Garrity’s hand. “Thanks for the tip, and good luck.”

“Good luck to you boys. We don'’t want to lose that girl.”

“Penn,” Dad says, getting up much slower than Walt, his knees creaking. “I got a package today, FedEx. I think it’s for you.”

“Who’s it from?”

“It said Dwight Stone.”

This piques my interest. Dwight Stone is a retired FBI agent who helped me nail the former director of the Bureau.

“Here you go,” says Dad, having retrieved a thick envelope from the kitchen.

“While I'm thinking about it,” I tell him, “I’d like you to do me a favor this afternoon, if you can.”

“What is it?”

“Find Jewel Washington and speak to her face-to-face. I think Shad Johnson has the USB drive that matches the cap the pathologist in Jackson took out of Tim’s rectum. I want Jewel to use her contacts at the hospital to find out if anyone saw Shad there the night Tim died. Or if Shad has any particular connection with anybody who has access to the morgue. One more thing. If she can, have her find out the exact model of the drive that mates with that cap. No phone calls, though. This has to be face-to-face.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Thanks. I also think we should all stay in my house tonight. You, Mom, Annie, everybody.”

Dad’s face darkens. “Why’s that?”

“Things are moving fast now, and we don'’t know what might happen. We’re safer all together. And my house has the old shutters that really work. We can shut those things and lock the place down.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kelly says.