jg.thepartner-第22部分

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　Cutter　was　certain　there　was　no　connection　between　the　truck　driver　and　Patrick。
　Statistically；　there　was　strong　evidence　that　the　disappearances　of　Pepper　and　Patrick　were　related。　If；　by　some　chance；　Patrick　didn't　perish　in　his　Blazer；　Cutter　and　Sweeney　were　now　almost　positive　Pepper　did。　This　evidence；　of　course；　was　much　too　speculative　to　be　admitted　in　a　court　of　law。　Patrick　could've　picked　up　a　hitchhiker　from　Australia；　a　hobo　from　parts　unknown；　a　drifter　from　a　bus　station。
　They　had　a　list　with　eight　other　names；　ranging　from　an　elderly　gentleman　in　Mobile　who　was　last　seen　driving　errantly　out　of　town；　in　the　general　direction　of　Mississippi；　to　a　young　prostitute　in　Houston　who　told　friends　she　was　moving　to　Atlanta　to　start　a　new　life。　All　eight　had　been　declared　missing　months　and　even　years　before　February　of　1992。　Cutter　and　the　Sheriff　had　long　since　declared　the　list　worthless。
　Pepper　remained　their　strongest　prospect；　they　just　couldn't　prove　it。
　Neldene；　however；　thought　she　could；　and　she　was　quite　anxious　to　share　her　views　with　the　press。　Two　days　after　Patrick　was　caught　she　went　to　a　lawyer；　a　local　sleazeball　who'd　handled　her　last　divorce　for　three　hundred　dollars；　and　asked　his　assistance　in　guiding　her　through　the　media　maze。　He　quickly　obliged；　said　in　fact　he'd　do　it　for　free；　then　did　what　most　bad　lawyers　do　when　presented　with　a　client　with　a　story…he　called　a　press　conference　at　his　office　in　Hattiesburg；　ninety　miles　north　of　Biloxi。
　He　displayed　his　weeping　client　to　the　media；　and　said　all　sorts　of　vile　things　about　the　local　Sheriff　down　there　in　Biloxi　and　the　FBI　and　their　lame　efforts　at　locating　Pepper。　Shame　on　them　for　dragging　their　feet　for　over　four　years　while　his　poor　client　lived　in　sorrow　and　uncertainty。　He　ranted　and　raved　and　made　the　most　of　his　fifteen　minutes　of　fame。　He　hinted　at　legal　action　against　Patrick　Lanigan；　the　man　who　obviously　killed　Pepper　and　burned　his　body　to　hide　the　evidence　so　he　could　make　off　with　ninety　million　bucks；　but　he　was　vague　on　specifics。
　The　press；　disregarding　whatever　caution　it　may　have　collectively　possessed；　if　any；　ate　it　up。　They　were　given　pictures　of　young　Pepper；　a　simple…looking　boy　with　nasty　peach　fuzz　around　his　mouth　and　unkempt　hair。　A　face　was　thus　given　to　the　faceless　victim；　and　he　became　human。　This　was　the　boy　Patrick　had　killed。
　THE　PEPPER　STORY　played　well　in　the　press。　He　was　properly　referred　to　as　the　〃alleged　victim；〃　but　the　word　〃alleged〃　was　invariably　mumbled　under　the　breath。　Patrick　watched　it　alone　in　his　dark　room。
　Shortly　after　Patrick　disappeared；　he　learned　that　Pepper　Scarboro　was　rumored　to　have　been　lost　in　the　fire。　He　and　Pepper　had　hunted　deer　together　in　January　of　1992；　and　had　eaten　beef　stew　over　a　fire　late　one　cold　afternoon　in　the　woods。　He　had　been　surprised　to　learn　that　the　boy　practically　lived　in　the　forest；　preferring　it　to　home；　which　he　spoke　of　sparingly。　His　camping　and　survival　skills　were　extraordinary。　Patrick　offered　the　use　of　the　cabin　porch　in　the　event　of　rain　or　bad　weather；　but　to　his　knowledge　the　kid　had　never　used　it。
　They　had　met　several　times　in　the　woods。　Pepper　could　see　the　cabin　from　the　top　of　a　wooded　hill　a　mile　away；　and　when　Patrick's　car　was　there　he　would　hide　nearby。　He　enjoyed　tracking　behind　Patrick　as　he　took　long　walks　or　made　his　way　into　the　woods　to　hunt。　He　would　toss　pebbles　and　acorns　at　him　until　Patrick　would　yell　and　curse。　They　would　then　sit　for　a　short　talk。　Conversation　was　not　something　Pepper　thrived　on；　but　he　seemed　to　enjoy　the　break　in　solitude。　Patrick　took　him　snacks　and　candy。
　He　wasn't　surprised　by　the　assumption；　then　or　now；　that　he　had　killed　the　kid。
　DR。　HAYANI　watched　the　evening　news　with　great　interest。　He　read　the　papers　and　talked　in　great　detail　to　his　new　wife　about　his　famous　patient。　They　sat　in　bed　and　watched　it　all　again　on　the　late　news。
　The　phone　rang　as　they　were　turning　off　the　lights　and　preparing　for　sleep。　It　was　Patrick；　full　of　apologies；　but　in　pain；　and　scared；　and　just　needing　someone　to　talk　to。　Since　he　was　technically　a　prisoner；　his　calls　were　restricted　to　his　lawyer　and　his　doctor；　and　only　twice　a　day　each。　Did　the　doctor　have　a　minute？
　Of　course。　Another　apology　for　calling　so　late；　but　sleep　was　impossible　now；　and　he　was　deeply　upset　by　all　the　news　and　especially　the　suggestion　that　he　killed　that　young　kid。　Did　the　doctor　see　it　on　TV？
　Yes；　of　course。　Patrick　was　in　his　room　with　the　lights　off；　huddled　in　his　bed。　Thank　God　those　deputies　were　in　the　hallway　because　he　was　scared；　he　had　to　admit。　He　was　hearing　things；　voices　and　noises　that　made　no　sense。　The　voices　were　not　ing　from　the　hall　but　from　within　the　room。　Could　it　be　the　drugs？
　It　could　be　a　number　of　things；　Patrick。　The　medicine；　the　fatigue；　the　trauma　of　what　you've　been　through；　the　shock　both　physically　and　psychologically。
　They　talked　for　an　hour。
　Seventeen
　HE　DIDN'T　WASH　his　hair　for　the　third　straight　day。　He　wanted　the　oily　look。　He　didn't　shave　either。　For　his　outfit；　he　switched　from　the　light　cotton　hospital　gown　he'd　slept　in　back　to　the　aqua　surgeon's　scrubs；　which　were　very　wrinkled。　Hayani　promised　to　get　him　new　ones。　But　for　today；　he　needed　the　wrinkles。　He　put　a　white　sock　on　his　right　foot　but　there　was　a　nasty　rope　burn　just　above　his　left　ankle；　and　he　wanted　people　to　see　this。　No　sock　there。　Just　a　matching　black　rubber　shower　sandal。
　He　would　be　displayed　today。　The　world　was　waiting。
　Sandy　arrived　at　ten　with　two　pairs　of　cheap　pharmacy　sunglasses；　per　his　client's　instructions。　And　a　black　New　Orleans　Saints　cap。　〃Thanks；〃　Patrick　said；　as　he　stood　before　the　mirror　in　the　bathroom　and　admired　the　sunglasses　and　prepared　the　cap。
　Dr。　Hayani　arrived　minutes　later；　and　Patrick　introduced　one　to　the　other。　Patrick　was　suddenly　nervous　and　light…headed。　He　sat　on　the　edge　of　his　bed；　ran　his　fingers　through　his　hair；　and　tried　to　breathe　slowly。　〃I　never　thought　this　day　would　happen；　you　know；〃　he　mumbled　to　the　floor。　〃Never。〃　His　doctor　and　his　lawyer　looked　at　each　other　with　nothing　to　say。
　Hayani　ordered　a　strong　depressant；　and　Patrick　gulped　down　both　pills。　〃Maybe　I'll　sleep　through　it　all；〃　he　said。
　〃I'll　do　all　the　talking；〃　Sandy　said。　〃Just　try　and　relax。〃
　〃He's　about　to；〃　Hayani　said。
　A　knock　on　the　door；　and　Sheriff　Sweeney　entered　with　enough　deputies　to　quell　a　riot。　Stiff　pleasantries　were　exchanged。　Patrick　put　on　his　Saints　cap　and　his　new　shades；　large　dark　ones；　and　held　out　his　wrists　to　be　handcuffed。
　〃What　are　those？〃　Sandy　demanded；　pointing　to　a　set　of　ankle　irons　a　deputy　was　holding。
　〃Ankle　irons；〃　said　Sweeney。
　〃I　don't　think　so；〃　Sandy　said　harshly。　〃The　man　has　burns　on　one　ankle。〃
　〃He　certainly　does；〃　Dr。　Hayani　said　boldly；　anxious　to　enter　the　fray。　〃See；〃　he　insisted；　pointing　to　Patrick's　left　ankle。
　Sweeney　pondered　this　for　a　moment；　and　his　hesitation　cost　him。　Sandy　charged　ahead：　〃e　on；　Sheriff；　what　are　his　chances　of　escape？　He's　injured；　handcuffed；　surrounded　by　all　these　people。　What　the　hell's　he　gonna　do？　Break　and　run？　You　guys　aren't　that　slow；　are　you？〃
　〃I'll　call　the　Judge；　if　necessary；〃　Dr。　Hayani　said　angrily。
　〃Well；　he　came　here　with　ankle　irons；〃　the　Sheriff　said。
　〃That　was　the　FBI；　Raymond；〃　Patrick　said。　〃And　they　were　leg　chains；　not　ankle　irons。　And　they　hurt　like　hell　anyway。〃
　The　ankle　irons　were　put　away；　and　Patrick　was　led　into　the　hallway；　where　men　in　matching　brown　uniforms　grew　silent　at　the　sight　of　him。　They　gathered　around　him　and　the　mob　moved　slowly　toward　the　elevator。　Sandy　stayed　to　his　left；　gently　holding　him　by　the　elbow。
　The　elevator　was　too　small　for　his　entire　entourage。　The　ones　who　didn't　make　it　scurried　down　the　staircase　and　met　them　in　the　lobby　where　they　reorganized　and　shuffled　past　the　front　reception　and　through　the　glass　doors；　into　the　warm　autumn　air；　where　a　regular　parade　of　freshly　waxed　vehicles　awaited　them。　They　put　him　in　a　sparkling　new　black　Suburban　with　Harrison　County　insignia　plastered　from　bumper　to　bumper；　and　away　they　went；　followed　by　a　white　Suburban　carrying　his　armed　protectors。　It；　in　turn；　was　followed　by　three　freshly　cleaned　patrol　cars。　In　front；　two　more　patrol　cars；　the　newest　additions　to　the　fleet；　led　the　invasion　as　it　cleared　military　checkpoints　and　entered　the　civilian　world。
　Through　the　cheap　thick　sunglasses；　Patrick　saw　everything　outside。　Streets　he'd　driven　a　million　times。　The　houses　looked　familiar。　They　turned　onto　Highway　90　and　there　was　the　Gulf；　its　calm　brown　waters　seemingly　unchanged　since　he　left。　There　was　the　beach；　a　narrow　strip　of　sand　between　the　highway　and　the　water；　too　far　from　the　hotels　and　condos　on　the　other　side　of　the　highway。
　The　Coast　had　prospered　during　his　exile；　thanks　wholly　to　the　surprising　arrival　of　casino　gambling。　There　had　been　rumors　of　its　ing　when　he　left　town；　and　now　he　was　riding　past　large　Vegas…style　casinos　with　glitz　and　neon。　The　parking　lots　were　filling；　at　nine…thirty　in　the　morning。
　〃How　many　casinos？〃　he　asked　the　Sheriff；　seated　to　his　right。
　〃Thirteen　at　last　count。　With　more　on　the　way。〃
　〃Hard　to　believe。〃
　The　depressant　was　quite　effective。　His　breathing　became　heavy　and　his　body　relaxed。　He　felt　like　nodding　off　for　a　moment；　then　they　turned　onto　Main　Street　and　he　was　anxious　again。　Just　a　couple　of　blocks　now。　A　few　more　minutes；　and　his　past　would　e　roaring　back　to　greet　him。　By　City　Hall；　to　the　left；　quickly　now；　for　a　glimpse　of　the　Vieux　Marche；　and　in　the　middle　of　the　old　street　lined　with　shops　and　stores；　a　fine　large　white　building　he　once　owned　a　piece　of　as　a　partner　in　Bogan；　Rapley；　Vitrano；　Havarac；　and　Lanigan；　Attorneys　and　Counselors…at…Law。
　It　was　still　standing；　but　the　partnership　was　crumbling　within。
　Ahead　was　the　Harrison　County　Courthouse；　only　a　three…block　walk　from　his　old　office。　It　was　a　plain；　brick　two…story　building　with　a　small　green　lawn　in　the　front　next　to　Howard　Street。　The　lawn　was　covered　with　people　milling　about。　The　streets　were　lined　with　cars。　Pedestrians　hurried　along　the　sidewalks；　all　headed　for　the　courthouse　it　seemed。　Cars　ahe