Gaines smiled sardonically. “That can go both ways, Victor, but it wouldn’t cost me anything to make him vanish.”

“I didn’t hear that,” Powell said.

“That’s because I didn’t say it.”

“Okay, so I’m not going to stop you from trying to talk to her, but how do you do that without Matthias knowing?”

“Well, she must have her own life. I’m sure she doesn’t spend every waking hour locked up in that house. She must go out; she must know people.”

“Well, I haven’t a clue who knows them, who doesn’t, where they go, what they do. Maybe check with Bob Thurston; see if he knows who the family doctor is. Maybe he can tell you something about their comings and goings.”

Gaines’s first thought had been to check with Nate Ross and Eddie Holland. There was little they did not know, and questions along that line would be more discreet than any kind of official action. To ask the Wade doctor for anything at all would require some kind of warrant, as records and personal details would be confidential.

“I’ll start looking around,” Gaines said as he rose from his chair.

“And how are you doing?” Powell asked. “Everything went fine in Baton Rouge?”

“It hasn’t reached me yet,” Gaines replied. “Not fully. I think I have to get through a few more days without her to even realize she’s not there anymore.”

“She was one hell of a woman, John, no doubt about it. Like I said, if there is anything I can do—”

Gaines thanked Powell. They shook hands. Gaines left the building and headed back over to Nate Ross’s place on Coopers Road. Eddie Holland was evident in his absence, but Nate Ross was all too willing to welcome Gaines in and offer him a drink.

Gaines accepted, took delivery of a significantly loaded glass of W.L. Weller, and the pair of them sat in Ross’s kitchen in silence until Ross asked after Gaines’s well-being.

“I’ll be fine,” Gaines said. “I just said to Vic Powell that I have to get through a few more days of being alone to really get that she’s not here.”

“Know where that’s at,” Ross replied. “Took me a year, maybe two, to finally accept that my wife had passed. Every room seems too big, every day is too long, and it’s always so damned quiet. Half the reason I have Eddie Holland around here all the time is ’cause he makes so much noise.”

Gaines smiled. “Which begs the question, where is he?”

Ross smiled back, but knowingly. “Take a guess.”

“Hell, Nate, I haven’t a clue.”

“Maybe Gulfport.”

“Gulfport?”

“Sure thing. He gets a call from Maryanne Benedict yesterday. They were on the phone for half an hour. Seems your visit stirred her up some, and she was asking about Michael Webster, about the Denton girl, and about you.”

“Me?”

Ross shrugged. “Don’t ask me why she’d be interested in a broken-down deadbeat like you, but she was.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me about this?”

“Hell, John, you were dealing with everything else, with your mother, going out to Baton Rouge. I was gonna tell you, but maybe later today.”

“Tell Eddie that I want to know what she said when he gets back.”

“About you?”

“Yeah sure, Nate. That really is at the forefront of my attention right now.”

Ross raised his hand in a placatory fashion. “I’m just baiting you. I’m not serious.” He sipped his drink, cleared his throat. “So what brings you out here again?”

“Della Wade.”

“What about her?”

“You say she still lives up at the Wade house?”

“Last time I heard, yes.”

“I want to know everything you can tell me about her.”

“What have you heard?”

“Nothing, Nate. That’s just the point.”

“Well, she was a wild one, John, and she has been corralled by that family and brought back into line, but there’s a streak in that one that’ll never get tamed, no matter how long you lock her up.”

“Wild? How?”

“Well, there were a few years while she was in her twenties that she was forever causing some kind of trouble. Drugs, the whole bohemian lifestyle thing in New Orleans. I can only presume she was hanging out with the brother, the musician, Eugene. But then she got herself in some serious shit and Daddy had to bail her out. He brought her back here, and here she’s been ever since.”

“What serious shit?”

“Blowing the family fortune on Lord knows what. Parties, gambling, got herself pregnant on two separate occasions by two different guys. Aborted both times. Involved with women, you know, sexually and everything. Got in with a crowd of small-time crooks, one of whom ripped her off for about ten grand, which means that he ripped off old man Wade for ten grand. Anyway, she’s been back home for a good while now, and they have her on a short leash.”

“She goes out?”

“I would think so, yes, but you’re asking me specifics about something that I really don’t know one hell of a lot about. If you want the inside scoop on Della Wade, then you need to talk to a man called Clifton Regis.”

“And who the hell is Clifton Regis?”

“He’s the guy who’s rumored to have taken her for ten grand, but only for a short while.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that Della Wade got ten grand out of old man Wade, gave it to Regis, and then went back for more. Wade figured out what was going on, or maybe Matthias did, and as far as I know, that ten grand went back where it had come from pretty damned fast.”

“When was this?”

“This was just before they clipped her wings, maybe a coupla years ago. I don’t recall exactly.”

“But he’s not going to know the ins and outs of Della Wade’s life if he hasn’t seen her recently.”

“No, but he can tell you a great deal more about her than I can, and maybe that will give you an inside line on getting to her.”

“And why would he know anything about her . . . I mean, wasn’t he just trying to take her money?”

“No, not as far as I understand. What I heard, they were planning on getting away together. What happened in the end, I don’t know.”

“You know where he lives?”

“Used to live in Lyman, but whether he’s still there or not is anyone’s guess.”

“Appreciated, Nate.” Gaines got up to leave. He lifted his glass, drained it, turned toward the door. Reaching it, he paused, turned back, and added, “And tell Eddie that anything he got from Maryanne Benedict, anything of any use, would be appreciated, too.”

“Sure will, John,” Ross replied. “And you take care now. Always been my way to have as little to do with the Wades as I could, and I advise that course of action for you as well.”

“I’ll bear that in mind, Nate.”

45

Friday morning, Gaines set to work finding Clifton Regis, and it proved to be a great deal easier than he’d anticipated. One call to the Lyman Sheriff’s Office, another to the County Records Bureau, and he had him located. However, Gaines’s task did not stay so straightforward. First and foremost, Clifton Regis was a colored man. That was the first difficulty. The second difficulty was that Regis was mid a three-to-five for burglary, and they had him up at Parchman Farm, all of two hundred and fifty miles northwest in Sunflower County.

It had taken no more than half an hour to track him down, but Gaines—seated there at his desk, the notepad in front of him where he had scrawled the man’s details—spent twice that time figuring on how best to tackle this obstacle.

Being colored, Regis would more than likely be unwilling to countenance a visit from a white sheriff. Such a thing would become quickly known, and Regis would not fare well as a result. Discussions with law enforcement officials meant only two things—further charges, or deals being made. In either case, the prisoner would request legal counsel be in attendance. Gaines did not want any third party present at his intended conversation with Regis. And if Gaines did not go into Parchman in an official capacity, then there would be no reason for him to go in.