Page 84 of Hudson
Hud leaned back and studied him. A man who had known better every step of the way and kept going anyway. There was no anger left in it, just the particular weariness of watching someone reckon with what they’d chosen.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Hud said. “You’re going to give me the names of every buyer you sold that beef to. Every transaction, every dollar amount, everything you have. And you’re going to do it today.”
Whittingham nodded slowly. “Alright.”
“Your wife. What did she know?”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Everything.” He took a deep breath. “She kept the books.”
Hud stood. “Then you’d both better start talking.”
Carla Whittingham waived her right to an attorney and gave them everything without hesitation. Dates, names, dollar amounts, all of it laid out with the quiet efficiency of a woman who had been waiting for this moment longer than anyone in the room realized. Hud got the impression she was relieved it was finally over.
As Hud and some of the men were talking, a deputy led Harold White, Sr. into the room.
“I want this one,” Hud said quietly and followed them in.
White sat at the table in handcuffs, the deputystanding behind him. He gave Hud a short nod.
“Deputy.”
“Agent. I’ll be right outside.” The deputy stepped out and pulled the door behind him.
Hud set a small recorder on the table, then stood against the wall with his arms folded and stared at White, who glared back at him. Hud grinned.
“Am I supposed to be intimidated by that?”
“Fuck you, Agent.”
Hud pulled out the chair across from him, sat down and folded his hands on the table. “You have a long road ahead of you.”
“For what?”
Hud raised an eyebrow. “Rustling, selling stolen livestock, destroying evidence, two counts of attempted murder. For starters.”
“For starters?”
“The agent you shot is barely hanging on. If he dies, I will personally see to it that you face the death penalty.”
“What makes you think I’m the one who shot him?”
“You were the one yelling out there. I recognize your voice.” Hud shrugged. “That’s enough for me.”
White shook his head. “You have no real proof.”
Hud sat back and folded his arms. “Every man with you will talk. They’ll give you up without a second thought for a lighter sentence. Fitch already gave you up. So did Whittingham and his wife. And your ex-wife.” He paused. “And then there’s Tanner Whitman.”
He watched the color drain from White’s face and said nothing.
White looked at him. “I want a lawyer.”
Hud pushed back from the table, stood and placedboth hands flat on the surface, leaning forward. “You’re going to need one. But there will be no deal. I want you to get life without the possibility of parole, unless the agent dies...” he let that hang, walked to the door and waved the deputy back in. “He wants a lawyer.”
“He’s going to need one,” the deputy said.
“Get him out of here.”
The deputy took White by the arm and lifted him from the chair, steering him toward the door. Hud stopped them just before they cleared the threshold.
