“Oh, it’s no matter at all, gentlemen. Please, be seated. Let me get you something to drink. Perhaps some coffee, some tea, some lemonade.”

“Whatever’s the least trouble would be fine,” Gaines said.

“Well, considering you’re here on such a fine day, then I think a little lemonade would best suit.”

Gradney indicated a large table to the left of the room, and here they sat while Sarah busied herself with a jug from the refrigerator and glasses for each of them. Once she had served the lemonade, she stood momentarily with her hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“I’ll be out in the yard with the children,” she said. “Anything else you boys need, you just holler.”

“Thank you, Sarah,” Gradney said.

“Appreciated, ma’am,” Gaines added.

Sarah left them to it, closing the parlor door behind her.

“You have a beautiful home,” Gaines said, “and a lovely wife.”

“Lucky man,” Gradney replied. “They sort of came together.

Sarah was a Lanafeuille ’fore I married her. They own pretty much everything between here and Pascagoula. Hell of a wealthy family, and they didn’t take too kindly to the idea of their daughter up and marrying a policeman. But hell, in the end there wasn’t a great deal they could do about it. They’re good people, when it comes down to it.”

“Well, it seems like you really have made a good life for yourself here . . . and beautiful children you have, too.”

“Which is all as well as may be,” Gradney said, smiling, “but that sure as hell ain’t motivation enough for you to drive over here on a Sunday afternoon. So, what are we talking about here?”

“Leon Devereaux,” Gaines said.

“Oh my. Oh my,” Gradney said. “So what has the charming and delightful Mr. Devereaux gotten himself into now?”

“You know him?”

“Know him? Hell, I might as well be related to him, the number of times we visit with each other. He’s a thief and a liar and a cheat and pretty much anything else you can think of. A drunk as well. Far as he’s concerned, life is just something that gets in the way of him and his liquor. I keep tellin’ him, he ain’t gonna find nothin’ worth much of anythin’ in this life if he just keeps lyin’ about everythin’, but he doesn’t seem able to restrain himself. If he isn’t somewhere maneuvering to sleep with some poor son of a bitch’s wife, then he’s someplace else sleeping off a drunk or hiding from a husband with a gun.”

“Sounds like a fine, upstanding citizen.”

“Well, like many a folk, somewhere along the line he got the idea that rotgut whiskey was the curative for all that might ail him now or in the future. But Leon goes a little way further than that. Took me a while to appreciate where he was at, but there ain’t much good goin’ on in there, and that’s the truth. I always try to give folk the benefit of the doubt, you know? Seems when it comes to most bad people, there’s always someone good trying to clamber on out and show their face. With others, well, they’re just bad right through to the core. Leon Devereaux falls into the second category.”

“You know he works for the Wades, right?”

“Works? Is that what they call it? Leon doesn’t do a great deal of that, I can tell you right now. Maybe he has some sort of agreement with the Wades, but that factory he’s supposed to manage, well, I don’t know that they see him there more than once a month.”

“Do you know what his relationship with the Wades is? Matthias Wade, specifically?”

“Don’t know, and don’t know that I want to know. Somehow or other, he always manages to wind his way out of trouble. I’ve had him for DUIs, B&Es, harassment, statutory rape, criminal damage, aiding and abetting an escaped felon, grand theft auto, pandering. The list is endless. I’ve had him locked up more times than anyone in my career, but never for long. Somehow or other, the witness always retracts their statement, the judge gives him a fine, a warning, anything but a custodial sentence, and Leon Devereaux goes back to doing whatever Leon Devereaux does, thankfully much of it outside my jurisdiction, as far as I can see.”

“We have a report that he cut a man’s fingers off and did so under orders from Matthias Wade,” Gaines said.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Gradney replied. “You came on in here and told me that he’d raped both your wives, drowned your kids, drank all your liquor, and then robbed the Whytesburg Savings and Loan, I’d ask you what he did after lunch.”

“When did you last have him in your office?”

“Oh, must be a month or so ago.”

“For?”

“Lord, I can’t remember. Got drunk and walloped a few people, more than likely. He ain’t such a big guy, but he won’t go down. Hit him as many times as you like, he won’t go down, stubborn son of a bitch that he is.”

“Where does he live?”

“Well, when he’s here, he lives down off Collins Road. Has a couple of trailers down there.”

“And he’s been here a long time?”

“Longer than me, and I been here six years.”

“Is he from here, originally?”

“No, he’s from Louisiana. Born and raised in Lafayette, went into the army down there, served in the war—”

“He’s a Vietnam veteran?”

“Sure is,” Gradney said. “Says it was the best vacation he ever took.”

“Crazy before he went out, or just when he came back?”

“Oh, I reckon he was as crazy as a shithouse rat from the moment he was born, Sheriff Gaines. I think the first thought when he came out of his ma was how many folks he could fuck with in his three score and ten.”

“Married?”

“No.”

“Kids?”

“Oh, I should think so. Probably a coupla dozen from a host of different women between here and Memphis, though I don’t figure him for the settlin’ down type, you know?”

“And when he’s not here, he’s just on the road?”

“I guess so. He drives a black Ford pickup, more rust than anything else. God knows how it stays together. When the car’s here, he’s around. When it’s not, he’s gone. He can be gone for weeks at a time, and then I get a call to say he’s busted some poor fella’s nose in a bar someplace and he’s getting ready to bust a great deal more. I go down, pull him in, keep him in a cell until he’s slept off the drunk, and then I kick him out again. Whoever he bashed never presses charges, or there’s someone ready to stand up and say it was self-defense. This has been going on for all the years I’ve been here, and I am sure it will continue this way until someone wallops him so hard, he don’t get up again. Shame is that whoever winds up doing that will probably get life for it, and in all honesty, he should get a medal pinned on his chest and a county pension for life.”

“Do you know if he’s here in town now?”

“I don’t believe he is,” Gradney replied. “Friday and Saturday night went by without a single word on Leon, so I guess he’s elsewhere.”

“And do you know if Matthias Wade has ever been down here to visit with him?”

“Couldn’t say. Leon is not someone I go looking for, and I don’t keep tabs on him unless I know he’s causing trouble somewhere. There have been times when I’ve known he was in town, but there’s been no trouble to speak of. How his deal works out with the Wades is his business, and I’m happy to leave it that way. Simple truth is that you go looking for Leon, you’re going to find trouble of one variety or another.”

Gaines looked at Hagen. “Anything else you can think of?”

“No, I think we’ve got what we need,” Hagen said. “Think the next thing is to go down and make a visit.”

“Like I said, down on the Collins Road. Head back toward town. Second intersection on the right is signposted for the state line. You head on down there a half mile or so and then take the road signposted Pascagoula. Follow that road for a good mile and a half, and you’ll see Devereaux’s trailers set back on the left-hand side. If his truck is there, he’s home. If it ain’t, he ain’t.”