“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.

27

At 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?”