Page 84 of Backtrack

Pink rattled the chain on his restraints and glared. “I hope your wife dies soon.”

Cutter ignored him, focusing on Johnson and the jailer. “This has to be by the book.”

Johnson looked at the young giant and shook his head. “Due respect, Boss,” he said. “But I think we’re writing this book as we go along.”

“LJ,” Cutter said. “That may be the wisest thing you’ve ever said.”

The jailer’s radio squawked. “Hey, Gil,” the dispatcher said. “Tell Cutter Bud wants to see him in his office. Pronto.”

Where most men in Bud Langford’s position might decorate their office with shooting trophies and signed eight-by-ten glossies of them standing alongside famous people, the Parker County sheriff had clearly turned his office into a shrine. There were a few photos of his champion cutting horses and prizewinning shorthorn cattle, even his favorite Australian cattle dog, but standing next to each was his smiling son, the spitting image of Bud Langford—and not too awfully different from LJ. A color portrait of the young man in his Marine Corps uniform took center stage on the shelf behind a desk cluttered with case files and correspondence.

Langford’s sweat-stained straw hat sat upside down beside his inbox rather than on the hat hook by the door. He’d been interrupted on his way out.

James Reed, the Parker County district attorney, stood by the window along with Chief Smith. Sheriff Langford leaned back in his chair, his hands folded across his belly.

Reed was compactly built with perfect weatherman hair and a polished face that looked like he shaved at least once an hour.

“Jim.” Cutter nodded to the DA and then looked to the sheriff. “LJ’s in the hall. Mind if he—”

Langford flicked a hand. “Get your ass in here, LJ,” he said, quiet but clear, at the volume of a seasoned stockman.

Johnson took up a position against the wall, but Cutter motioned him front and center. “You were as much a part of this as anyone,” he said.

Chief Smith leaned against the filing cabinet.

“Wanted to let you know, some boys runnin’ dirt bikes found the copper Buick LeSabre half submerged in a stock tank outside ofPeaster,” he said. “Fire Department pulled it out while y’all were at the hospital.”

“It’s a long shot,” Cutter said. “But we’ll need to look for prints.”

“Texas Rangers are taking care of that as we speak,” Smith said. “Duvall has a big-ass scar on his right thumb. With any luck, they’ll find a match.”

“We better pray that they find something,” Reed said.

Cutter cocked his head to the side. “That sounds an awful lot like you don’t think we have enough to nail these guys.”

“Jim’s always going to want more,” Langford said before the lawyer could answer. ”Dissatisfaction is in his genes.” The sheriff swiveled his chair to face the district attorney. “Go ahead. Tell them what you just told me.”

“It’s still early days, mind you,” Reed said. “But if we can get the evidence to support it, I’m looking to charge Richard Pink as an adult.”

LJ smashed a fist into his open hand. “Yes!” he whispered.

“I thought you might go that route,” Cutter said.

The sheriff eyed Reed. “And the death penalty’s back on the menu, right?”

“It’s a possibility as of last year,” Reed said. “Gregg v. Georgia reinstated it. But if—and it’s a mighty large if—you get me a tight case, I’ll seek capital punishment for Allen Duvall.”

“That ain’t right,” Smith said. “I say if Duvall gets a date with Old Sparky, so should Mr. Pink. That boy’s old enough to know better. Robbery and … Good Lord above, what’s the body count now? Half a dozen? They cut Sue Bryant, would have killed her had Ray Gene not shown up. Hell, what they did to that poor Foster woman should be plenty. And Pink’s the one who had the box cutter!”

“No way,” Reed said. “Not a chance in hell. Sending a fifteen-year-old to the electric chair is a bridge too far, even for a Parker County jury. I’m not going to roll the dice on that one. And anyway, taking the death penalty off the table makes me look downright compassionate.”

“They did kill the driver,” Johnson offered. “He was their man on the inside.”

“He was,” Cutter said. “But I’m not sure they killed him.”

Langford swiveled his chair toward Cutter now and gave him what everyone at the Sheriff’s Office calledthe eye.

“Care to elaborate on that, D Wayne?”