The Quiet Game by Greg Iles Page A

obligation to do it. But the road to Payton’s killers runs right through Ray Presley, because he worked on the case. I knew you’d eventually go see him, and if you did, you’d probably find out about this. He might even hit you up for money. I wanted you to hear the truth from me.”
    â€œThe hell with Del Payton. There’s only one thing to do.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œGo to the D.A. before Presley can. Tomorrow morning we’re going to walk in there, tell the whole story, and demand that Presley be arrested for murder and extortion.”
    Dad raises both hands like a supplicant. “I’ve thought of doing that a hundred times. But why should the D.A. believe me?”
    I think of Austin Mackey, district attorney and former schoolmate ofmine. Not my first choice for a sympathetic confessor, but we go back a lot of years. “The D.A. has a lot of discretion in a case like this. And it’s possible we could sting Presley. Wire you before meeting with him. Videotape a blackmail payment.”
    â€œYou’re underestimating Ray. Since he started this, he’s talked and acted as though we were partners from the beginning.”
    â€œDamn.”
    â€œMackey would probably insist that you drop the Payton business, Penn.”
    â€œI dropped it the second you told me about this. We don’t have any options. We’ve got to come clean, and Mackey’s the man we have to see.”
    Dad seems to sag behind his desk. “If that’s what you think, I’m prepared to do it. It’ll be a relief, no matter what happens. But even if Mackey decided not to prosecute, wouldn’t I still be subject to prosecution in Alabama?”
    He has a point. “Yes. Anywhere that an element of the crime took place. But I can get Mackey to talk to the Mobile D.A. for us.”
    â€œHillman’s brother still lives in Mobile. The cop. I checked two months ago.”
    Wonderful. Even if Mackey does his best to convince the Mobile D.A. to lay off, my father’s life will be in the hands of the Alabama authorities. And that comes pretty close to unacceptable risk. That’s why Dad has not come forward before now.
    â€œPresley has cancer,” I say, thinking aloud. “How long does he have to live?”
    Dad shrugs. “His oncologist thought he’d be dead before now. But he’s still ambulatory. Ray is one tough son of a bitch. One of those I always say is too damn stubborn to die. He could live another year.”
    â€œA year isn’t so long. We could keep paying him till he dies. Pay his medical bills.”
    â€œThat’s what I’ve been doing so far. It’s getting damned expensive.”
    â€œHow much have you paid him?”
    â€œA hundred and sixteen thousand dollars to date.”
    I shake my head, still unable to believe the situation. “Over how long?”
    â€œSeven or eight months. But he wants more. He’s talking about needing to provide for his kids now.”
    â€œThat’s the way it is with blackmail. It never stops. There’s no guarantee it would stop with his death. He could give the gun to one of his kids. He could leave documentary evidence. A videotape, for example. A dying declaration. You know, ‘I’ve got cancer, and I’ve got something to get off my chest before I stand before my maker.’ That kind of thing is taken very seriously by the courts.”
    My father has turned pale. “Good God.”
    â€œThat leaves us only one option.”
    Something in my voice must have sounded more sinister than I intended, because Dad’s eyes are wide with shock. “You don’t mean kill him?”
    â€œGod, no. I just told you his death wasn’t necessarily a solution.”
    Relief washes over his face.
    â€œEverything depends on that gun.”
    â€œWhat are you suggesting? That we steal it?”
    â€œNo. We buy it.”
    Dad shakes his head. “Ray