“You called Bishop Pennington?”

  “Be that.”

  They entered through the kitchen door.

  “We can sit at the table in here,” Holt suggested.

  Ignoring him, Sonny continued through the kitchen and across the hallway to the study door. Puzzled, Holt followed.

  “Why do you want to meet in here?” he asked.

  Sonny pointed at the massive portrait of Rex Meredith on the wall. Holt wasn’t sure exactly what Sonny meant.

  “You want to do this in a place where Mr. Meredith can see you?”

  Sonny nodded and then pointed at the spot on the floor where Rex Meredith’s body fell. It was bizarre, but Holt wasn’t going to quibble about the venue. All he wanted was for Sonny to read and approve the statement so he could call Belinda and get her over to the house to notarize it. Once that happened, Holt would be ready to lay out the case for Ralph. They sat close to each other in the two leather wing chairs with a small end table between them. The thought crossed Holt’s mind that they were probably sitting where Rex Meredith and Cecil Burkdale sat on the night Meredith died. He involuntarily shivered.

  “Here’s the affidavit,” Holt said, opening his briefcase and handing the paperwork to Sonny. “There are some big words at the beginning, but after that I tried to make it sound like you. The notes you gave me the other day helped a lot.”

  Sonny squinted at the papers for a few seconds, then laid them down and pointed to his eyes.

  “My glasses be,” he said, pointing with his finger toward the rear wall of the study and his cottage beyond.

  “Okay. Do you want me to wait here?”

  Sonny left the room. A bell beeped when the caretaker left the house. Holt remained on the edge of the chair. It didn’t seem right to lean back and relax against the supple leather. He took out his cell phone and called Bishop Pennington. The bishop didn’t answer, and Holt left a message that he and Sonny were going over the affidavit. The bell beeped again, and seconds later Sonny returned to the room. The caretaker put a pair of cheap reading glasses on his nose and picked up the affidavit. Holt handed him a pen.

  “If you see something that’s incorrect or isn’t the truth, mark it. I want this to be completely accurate.”

  Sonny grunted and started reading. It was slow going. Several times he made marks on a page. The beep for the door sounded again.

  “That’s Bishop Pennington,” Holt said.

  Sonny kept reading. Holt stood up to go to the kitchen and let the bishop know where they were. Before he reached the study door, it opened.

  And Greg Stevens came into the room.

  44

  Stevens was wearing a dark suit and red tie. He locked eyes with Holt as soon as he stepped into the room.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Talking with Sonny,” Holt replied.

  “No one talks to Sonny.”

  Stevens quickly surveyed the room. His eyes stopped at the affidavit in Sonny’s hands.

  “What’s going on in here? Give me those papers,” he demanded.

  Sonny, his eyes wide, held out the affidavit, but before Stevens could take it, Holt snatched the sheets from the caretaker’s hands and dropped them into the open briefcase. He stood and faced Stevens.

  “That information belongs to me, not you.”

  “What information?”

  Before Holt answered, Sonny pointed at the portrait over the mantel. “Be that him.”

  Holt started to push past Stevens and leave. However, concern for Sonny held him back.

  “What does this have to do with Mr. Meredith?” Stevens asked Holt.

  “When the time is right, you’ll find out,” Holt responded, trying to sound confident and in charge.

  Sonny grunted and made the motion with his fingers of a gun going off. Stevens’s eyes got bigger.

  “No!” he yelled at Sonny. “What did you tell him?”

  Holt quickly placed himself between the caretaker and Stevens. He held up his hands with his palms out.

  “It’s over. I know how Mr. Meredith died.”

  Greg Stevens’s face was bright red. He clenched his hands together into fists. Holt braced himself. He was younger, bigger, and stronger, but he hadn’t been in a physical fight since ninth grade. He kept his eyes on Stevens as he spoke.

  “There are multiple copies of the surveillance tape from the night of Mr. Meredith’s death, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “What tape?”

  “The real tape, not the phony one you staged and gave to Detective Clovis. And Sonny is prepared to verify it.”

  As quickly as Stevens’s face became red, it now turned pale. He looked at Sonny and then Holt, who touched his briefcase.

  “Sonny’s testimony and the surveillance video are going to send you to prison for the murder of Rex Meredith.”

  “Me?” Stevens blurted out in shock. “That’s impossible!”

  Holt’s indignation rose to the surface. “Mr. Stevens, you may hire the best lawyers money can buy, but facts don’t lie, and whether it’s one year, two years, or longer, you will be held responsible for what you’ve done.”

  Stevens’s eyes darted about the room like a cornered animal. Holt wasn’t sure if he was looking for something to pick up and use as a weapon or seeking a way to escape. Finally, his shoulders slumped, and he collapsed on the small leather couch. He put his face in his hands and didn’t move for several seconds. Raising his head, he looked at Holt with surrender in his eyes.

  “I want to see a copy of the tape,” he said.

  Holt hesitated. The only question in his mind was whether there was an advantage to withholding the information until later or showing it now. Stevens would eventually watch the DVD while sitting in a paneled conference room with his lawyers. When that happened, Holt would be stuck in his cheap office in Paxton. Holt wanted to see Stevens’s initial reaction to the images. He reached into the briefcase and took out the envelope.

  “Okay.”

  Holt watched Stevens as he turned on the TV and powered up the old DVD player beneath it. The former accountant remained in his place on the couch. Sonny scratched the top of his head and shifted nervously in his chair. Holt inserted the DVD and waited for it to load. Never in his life had time passed so slowly. Finally, he pressed the Play button, then moved to the side so he could watch Stevens’s reactions. The copy had been edited so it contained only a few seconds of the empty study.

  When Rex Meredith’s body appeared, Holt saw Stevens’s jaw muscles tighten. His eyes remained glued to the screen, and he began rubbing his hands together as if washing them. When he saw himself leaning over to place the gun in Rex Meredith’s hand, Stevens nodded his head as if reliving the moment. He showed no sign of emotion. As soon as Meredith’s face became visible, Stevens looked away.

  “Is that it?” he asked.

  Holt was incredulous. “Believe me, Mr. Stevens,” he replied, “it’s more than enough. Did you record another tape and give it to Detective Clovis?”

  “Yes,” Stevens said as his shoulders slumped forward.

  “What’s on the tape you gave Clovis?”

  “I come into the room and discover the body. The EMTs arrived a few minutes later. I’d called 911 immediately after the replacement video started recording.”

  It was a huge admission, the first step to a full-blown confession. Holt decided to lay another foundation stone, albeit a cracked one.

  “I’ve also obtained an affidavit from Cecil Burkdale,” he said. “He says that on the evening of Mr. Meredith’s death, he and your father-in-law met in this room, and Meredith told Burkdale you were going to be removed from your position at Meredith Enterprises.”

  “That’s true.”

  Holt glanced at Sonny. The caretaker was hearing everything. As soon as possible Holt would depose Sonny to preserve his testimony in case he died before Stevens went to trial.

  Stevens spoke: “Rex came over to our house a few hours before that and told me I was going to be fired. My wife began crying. Rex had been drinking, and when Valerie got emotional it made him furious. He started throwing and breaking things.”

  “Is that why he later sent Claudine over to clean up?”

  “Yes.”

  “Burkdale thought you and your wife had a fight.”

  “No.” Stevens shook his head. “I love Valerie more than my own life.”

  It was a startling statement from a cold-blooded murderer. Stevens seemed vulnerable, and Holt decided to exploit it.

  “Do you want to tell me everything else that happened?” he asked in a soft voice.

  Stevens didn’t respond. Holt waited. Stevens took out his phone and stared at it and then closed his eyes. He held up his phone so Holt could see a photo of Valerie in a yellow-and-red sundress standing on a white beach with her hair blowing in a breeze.

  “That’s my favorite picture of Valerie. Did you know she’s the most sensitive, courageous person in the whole world?”

  Confused, Holt didn’t know what to say. Greg Stevens was following an invisible path. He glanced again at the photo on his phone.

  “I shot Mr. Meredith,” he said in a monotone voice.

  Holt paused to let the impact of the words sink in. He’d done it. He’d broken the case. It was his greatest moment of honoring Calico’s dream.

  “Is that what you need to know?”

  “Yes, but I want details, from the time Mr. Meredith came to your house until—”

  “No,” Stevens interrupted. “I’ve told you all that’s necessary. I don’t want to relive that night ever again. It’s tormented my dreams for years. Maybe now I can find peace.”

  “Will you sign a statement admitting what you’ve told me?”

  “Yes. Write up a confession, and I’ll sign it.”

  Holt hurriedly wrote down a statement in which Greg Stevens admitted to the murder of Rex Meredith. He added a few sentences that eliminated self-defense or any other basis for a justifiable killing. When he went over the language, Stevens didn’t argue or change a word. Holt couldn’t believe it. Stevens’s will was broken as totally as a scared juvenile arrested on a shoplifting charge. He signed the confession. Sonny and Holt witnessed the signature. Holt put the confession in his briefcase and snapped it shut.

  “How long do I have before I’m arrested?” Stevens asked in a flat tone of voice. “I want to say good-bye to Valerie.”

  “A warrant will be issued within a couple of hours.”

  “I’ll be at home. Call me, and I’ll come to the jail. I don’t want to be led from the house in handcuffs.”

  “Okay. And you know there’s no point in trying to flee—”

  “If I was going to run, Mr. Douglas, I would have left as soon as I saw the surveillance video. Deep down, I always knew this day would come. I just didn’t know when and how.”

  Holt waited until Stevens was gone before leaving the house. He gave his cell phone number to Sonny. Holt could tell that the caretaker was still in shock.

  “Valerie,” Sonny said in a slightly garbled manner, then stopped and touched his heart.

  “You love Valerie?”

  Sonny nodded and pointed to the portrait of Rex Meredith.

  “You’ve shown your loyalty and love to both of them for many years,” Holt said. “What happened tonight won’t change that. But now your conscience is clear.”

  Holt drove away from the Meredith house. There was a lot to do. The first step would be to provide Ralph Granger the details he’d promised. Holt glanced down at his briefcase on the seat beside him and thought about the confession it contained. Murder suspects were a peculiar breed. Some were conscienceless brutes. But others, like Stevens, were seemingly mild-mannered, nonviolent people who, for a twisted reason or a moment of uncontrolled passion, committed the ultimate crime.

  Holt pulled into the parking lot of the DA’s office and got out of the car. He wished he had more time to prepare his presentation for Ralph, but that wasn’t possible. He doubted Stevens would flee; however, the same unpredictability that had caused him to become a murderer might convince him to do something else irrational. Holt walked rapidly through the front door of the DA’s office. Standing in the reception area were Butch Clovis and Nick Watkins.

  “Stop right there,” Clovis said as soon as he saw Holt. “Don’t take another step.”

  45

  You’ve been fired and have to leave the premises immediately,” Clovis said.

  “That’s crazy!” Holt protested as he moved forward. “I want to talk to Ralph Granger.”

  Clovis held out his hand. “Mr. Granger is the one who asked me to come over and make sure you don’t attempt to return to your former office. I left you a voice mail to set up a meeting, but you ignored it.”

  Belinda came into the reception area with a large cardboard box in her arms. Holt could tell she’d been crying.

  “What’s going on?” Holt asked her. “Is Ralph back there?”

  “Here are the personal items from your office,” Belinda said and sniffled. “There may be a few other odds and ends. I’ll double-check and let you know.”

  Holt moved close as Belinda handed him the box. He spoke in a low voice. “Belinda, I don’t know what’s behind this, but do you remember the case I told you about before I left the office—”

  Holt felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Nick. He pulled Holt backward.

  “This way, Mr. Douglas.”

  Holt angrily shrugged off the deputy’s hand. Belinda, her eyes downcast, retreated through the door into the office suite. Sally wasn’t at her desk. They’d obviously cleared the area in anticipation of Holt’s arrival.

  “It’s time for you to leave,” Clovis said.

  “You’re going to regret this,” Holt said to the detective.

  “Move on before we arrest you for trespassing and disorderly conduct.”

  “A citizen has a right to be on county property,” Holt shot back.

  “And I’ll be glad to take you to jail so you can trot out your defense in front of Judge Lomax.”

  Steaming, Holt moved toward the door. He didn’t want to risk an arrest because then Clovis would inventory the contents of his briefcase at the jail. If he did, Greg Stevens’s confession would end up in the sheriff’s department shredder.

  “Who’s going to tell me why I got fired?” Holt asked as he pushed the box against the front door to open it.

  “I’m sure you’ll receive appropriate notification in the mail,” Clovis replied. “In the meantime, Mr. Granger instructed me to inform you that any attempt by you to reenter the district attorney’s office complex will not be tolerated.”

  Holt passed through the door and into the parking lot. Clovis and the deputy kept in step with him. Holt reached his car and pressed the button that unlocked the doors.

  “Is there information related to any of your cases in that briefcase?” Clovis asked. “If so, it needs to remain here.”

  “No,” Holt replied. “All paperwork for my open files is in the district attorney’s office.”

  “Open the briefcase so I can inspect it,” Clovis responded.

  Holt threw the briefcase into the backseat of his car and closed the door. “Not without a search warrant.”

  Holt watched the jaw muscles of Clovis’s face tighten. He knew the detective could open the car door, take the briefcase, and later claim Holt opened it voluntarily. Holt took out his phone, turned on the voice record function, and faced Nick.

  “Officer Watkins, did you hear what I told Detective Clovis about the need for probable cause and a search warrant before searching my briefcase?”

  “Get out of here,” Clovis cut in. “You and your smart mouth.”

  Holt got in the car and locked the doors. He carefully backed out of the parking space and left the lot. His body was trembling. There were only two possible reasons why he’d been fired.

  Greg Stevens or Trish Carmichael.

  Trish was working the second shift and didn’t notice when Butch Clovis left the sheriff’s office with Nick Watkins. She was on the phone with the shotgun-toting Granville Jenkins.

  “My mama says Ricky is going to be in town within the next couple of days to see my sister,” Jenkins said.

  “Why did your mother let you know? She knows you don’t like him.”

  “It came up when I asked about getting some hay out of the barn behind their house. I need my sister to move the truck, and Mama said Ricky was going to come back in a couple of days to get it.”

  “I really appreciate the call. Is there any way you can let me know for sure when he’s there? I can’t waste another trip. I want to make it count.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but if he sees me coming, Ricky ain’t going to hang around. He knows I’d like nothing better than to fill his britches with a load of buckshot.”

  Trish didn’t doubt the sincerity of Jenkins’s intention. “Okay. Do what you can. Call the dispatcher if you spot him. They can get in touch with me 24/7.”

  Trish hung up the phone. She’d finished updating two other cases when her line buzzed, and she pressed the intercom button.

  “Holt Douglas is on the phone for you.”

  Trish’s stomach immediately twisted in a knot. “Ask him which case it’s about.”

  She held the phone and waited. She had no obligation to speak to Holt except on official business. The dispatcher came back on the line.

  “He says a murder case.”

  “Okay,” Trish sighed. “I’ll take it.”

  She opened a new screen on her computer so she could take notes of the conversation in case Detective Clovis or the sheriff grilled her later about it, then pressed the blinking light on her phone.

  “This is Trish Carmichael,” she said.

  “A little over an hour ago Greg Stevens confessed to killing his father-in-law,” Holt said.

  Trish’s fingers, poised above the keyboard, didn’t move.

  “There’s way more to it than I can go into,” Holt continued, “but I need to know something else first. Do you have any idea why I’ve been fired from the district attorney’s office?”