Taylor absorbed the blow but couldn’t keep his lips together. His shoulders sagged and he dropped his gaze. When he spoke again his voice was hoarse. “Why’d you put that hood over my head?”
“Because we find your face offensive. Because we’re the FBI and we’ll do anything we want.”
“I suppose you’ll keep my money, maybe split it between the two of you.”
“The money is the last of your worries, Taylor. Conspiracy to commit murder by contract killing is a capital offense in Tennessee. They use the electric chair here. Down in Mississippi, killing someone for money will get you the gas chamber.”
“Decisions, decisions. Do I get a vote?”
“No. You’re going to Biloxi. Ever been there?”
“Nope.”
Whitehead handed something to Lewis, who laid it on the table. “Recognize this, Taylor?”
“Nope.”
“Didn’t think so. It’s the detonator you left behind at the Biloxi courthouse, the one used to set off the bomb that killed Jesse Rudy. Sloppy, sloppy. Your name was Lyle back then. We found your shirt too, in the same garbage can. There’s a partial fingerprint on the detonator that matches the prints taken from your hospital room. Sloppy. Coincidentally, those prints match at least a dozen we found in Room 19 at the Beach Bay Motel in Biloxi, including six taken from the two handguns you tried to hide under the mattress. Coincidentally, those prints match ones we lifted from your Dodge pickup truck, along with several dozen taken from your home, your little bomb lab out back, and your office in the warehouse in Union City. You’re a dumbass, Taylor. You left behind enough prints to bring down the entire Dixie Mafia.”
“I got nothing to say.”
“Well, you might want to reconsider that. Your pal Noll is talking, singing like a bird, trying to save his own skin since he doesn’t give a damn about yours.”
“I’d like to talk to a lawyer.”
“Okay, we’ll find one, eventually. We’ll keep you locked up here for a few days as we finish things. They’re gonna put you in a cell by yourself, no phones, no contact with anyone.”
“Don’t I get a phone call?”
“That’s for drunks and wife-beaters. You get nothing, Taylor, until we say so.”
“The food sucks.”
“Get used to it. In Mississippi, they keep you on death row in solitary for ten years before they gas you. Twice a day they give you the same meal, sawdust mixed with rat shit.”
* * *
Four hours later, Lewis and Whitehead arrived in Corinth and parked at the Alcorn County jail. The sheriff met them and they compared notes. He led them to a small room where they waited a few minutes while the jailer fetched their man.
Noll was handcuffed but not hooded. He sat in the chair across the table and sneered at the two agents as if they were interrupting something.
Lewis said, “You’re a long way from Biloxi.”
“So are you.”
“You had ten thousand bucks in your pocket last night. Where’d it come from?”
“I like to carry cash. It’s not illegal.”
“Of course not, but peddling stolen Semtex is. Where’d you get it? Keesler?”
“I have the right to a lawyer. His name is Joshua Burch. I ain’t saying anything else.”
* * *
A chartered King Air saved them six hours of driving time to the Coast. They arrived in Biloxi at 3:30 and went to the courthouse. Keith Rudy had been alerted and was waiting. Captain Moffett from the state police and two of his investigators joined them. They gathered in Keith’s new office and locked the door. Two uniformed troopers sat outside and dared anyone to come close.