Both doors were new, unpainted, and much heavier than the old ones. Ray silently thanked his landlord for the extra expense, though he knew that there would be no more break-ins. The pursuit had ended. No more quick looks over the shoulder. No more sneaking to Chaney's to play hide-and-seek. No more hushed conversations with Corey Crawford. And no more illicit money to fret over, and dream about, and haul around, literally. The lifting of that burden made him smile and walk a bit faster.
Life would become normal again. Long runs in the heat. Long solo flights over the Piedmont. He even looked forward to his neglected research for the monopolies treatise he'd promised to deliver by either this Christmas or the one after. He had softened on the Kaley issue and was ready for one last attempt at dinner. She was legal now, a graduate, and she simply looked too fine to write off without a decent effort.
His apartment was the same, its usual condition since no one else lived there. Other than the door, there was no evidence of a forced entry. He now knew that his burglar had not really been a thief after all, just a tormentor, an intimidator. Either Gordie or one of his brothers. He wasn't sure how they had divided their labors, nor did he care.
It was almost 11 A.M. He made some strong coffee and began shuffling through the mail. No more anonymous letters. Nothing now but the usual bills and solicitations.
There were two faxes in the tray. The first was a note from a former student. The second was from Patton French. He'd been trying to call, but Ray's cell phone wasn't working. It was handwritten on the stationery from the King of Torts, no doubt faxed from the gray waters of the Gulf where French was still hiding his boat from his wife's divorce lawyer.
Good news on the security front! Not long after Ray had left the coast, Gordie Priest had been "located," along with both of his brothers. Could Ray please give him a call? His assistant would find him.
Ray worked the phone for two hours, until French called from a hotel in Fort Worth, where he was meeting with some Ryax and Kobril lawyers. "I'll probably get a thousand cases up here," he said, unable to control himself.
"Wonderful," said Ray. He was determined not to listen to any more crowing about mass torts and zillion-dollar settlements.
"Is your phone secure?" French asked.
"Yes."
"Okay, listen. Priest is no longer a threat. We found him shortly after you left, laid up drunk with an old gal he's been seeing for a long time. Found both brothers too. Your money is safe."
"Exactly when did you find them?" Ray asked. He was hovering over the kitchen table with a large calendar spread before him. Time was crucial here. He'd made notes in the margins as he'd waited for the call.
French thought for a second. "Uh, let's see. What's today?"
"Monday, June the fifth."
"Monday. When did you leave the coast?"
"Ten o'clock Friday morning."
"Then it was just after lunch on Friday."
"You're sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. Why do you ask?"
"And once you found him, there was no way they left the coast?"
"Trust me, Ray, they'll never leave the coast again. They've, uh, found a permanent home there."
"I don't want those details." Ray sat at the table and stared at the calendar.
"What's the matter?" French asked. "Something wrong?"
"Yeah, you could say that."
"What is it?"
"Somebody burned the house down."
'Judge Atlee's?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"After midnight, Saturday morning."
A pause as French absorbed this, then, "Well, it wasn't the Priest boys, I can promise you that."
When Ray said nothing, French asked, "Where's the money?"
"I don't know," he mumbled.
A five-mile run did nothing to ease his tension. Though, as always, he was able to plot things, to rearrange his thoughts. The temperature was above ninety, and he was soaked with sweat when he returned to his apartment.
Now that Harry Rex had been told everything, it was comforting to have someone with whom to share the latest. He called his office in Clanton and was informed that he was in court over in Tupelo and wouldn't be back until late. He called Ellie's house in Memphis and no one bothered to answer. He called Oscar Meave at Alcorn Village, and, expecting to hear no news of his brother's whereabouts, got exactly what he expected.
So much for the normal life.
AFTER A tense morning of back-and-forth negotiations in the hallways of the Lee County Courthouse, bickering over such issues as who'd get the ski boat and who'd get the cabin on the lake, and how much he would pay in a lump-sum cash settlement, the divorce was settled an hour after lunch. Harry Rex had the husband, an overheated cowboy on ............