His hand, still bearing the four vicious scratches her nails had made,
reached toward her.
"No!" she cried. Despite her lassitude, she grabbed his wrist."Let go."
"What are you going to do? Don't hurt me."
"Let go," he repeated.
She dropped her hand, because she didn't have the strength to fight him.
Her eyes fearfully followed his hand as it moved to the side of her
head. His fingers touched her hair.
Then he pulled his hand back and she saw it, being twirled between his
thumb and finger, a feather white, downy, curling upon itself, an
escapee from Dredd' wmusty-smelling pillow.
"Are you frightened of me?"
Her eyes were fixed on the slowly swirling feather as though it were a
hypnotic talisman. Slowly, she looked away from it and up at him.
"Yes."
He assimilated that, but didn't hasten to assure her that she had no
reason to fear him."Are you in pain?"
As though reminded that she'd been sedated, her eyes closed."No."
"Anywhere?"
"No."
"Does your mouth hurt where you bit your lip?"
"Did I?"
"It was bleeding last night."
"Oh. I remember now. No, it doesn't hurt."
"Did Dredd' wmedicine make you sick to your stomach?"
"Not at all."
"I've been thinking that maybe you shouldn't be drinking that stuff It
might not be good for ... What I mean is, should I tell him about the
baby you lost?"
"If I was still pregnant, maybe, but ..." She was jolted into sudden
awareness, but her eyes were slow to open, and even then it was a
struggle to bring Burke Basile into focus.
He was still standing at the bedside, unmovable except for his right
hand, which was flexing, his stare unflinching and seemingly able to
read her mind and see into her soul.
"How did you know about my baby?"
When Doug Pat returned to his office, he wasn't surprised to see Pinkie
Duvall waiting for him. Before he was completely inside, Duvall launched
his offense."Where have you been all day?"
Pat, reading his guest's mood and knowing the reason for it, dispensed
with customary pleasantries. He shrugged off his coat and hung it up,
then sat down behind his desk."Jefferson Parish.
Curiously enough, it's become a hot spot during the last twenty-four
hours.
As I understand it, you were over that way yourself last evening."
'"So you know."
"Yeah, I know. What I don't know is why you put on that dog and-pony show
for the sheriff. Why didn't you let the authorities take over while the
trail was still hot?"
"I handle my problems my way."
"This is significantly more than a problem, Duvall."
"You were out of your jurisdiction, Pat. Where did you leave it with
those hicks?"
"The same place you left it, but I spent a couple hours in the sheriff's
office. Out of professional courtesy, they let me read the statements of
the eyewitnesses. I talked to the deputies who were first on the scene.
Although you convinced them that the incident was nothing more than a
bizarre sequence of misinterpreted events, it appears to me that your
wife has been kidnapped." He finished by asking testily, "Don't you
think the FBI should know about it?"
"No. Because when I catch Burke Basile, I'm going to kill him myself."
His arrogance appalled and angered Doug Pat."You've got your goddamn
nerve, coming into my office and announcing that." He yanked open his
bottom drawer and took out a bottle of Jack Daniel's. He poured the oily
dregs of his forgotten morning coffee into the plastic liner of his
trash can, then refilled the cup with whiskey."There's an extra cup
around here somewhere."
"No thanks. I don't drink with cops."
"Arrogance and insults." Pat raised his cup to Duvall, fortified himself
with a shot of whiskey, poured another, drank it, then addressed himself
to the most powerful attorney in the city who had just boldly declared
that he was going to kill a cop former cop for kidnapping his wife.
I "How'd Mrs. Duvall become involved with these so-called priests?"
Duvall told him everything he knew about the Jenny's House scam, and
admitted to his own detective work earlier that day, which had led him
to the flophouse. When Pat heard about the cemetery, he smiled wryly.
"That sounds like Basile. That also explains his motive for doing this."
Shaking his head with remorse, he muttered, "Jesus, he must be crazy."
"No, he isn't crazy," Duvall said."If he were crazy, I might feel sorry
for him and kill him quickly. But since he's a devious bastard who knows
precisely what he's doing, I'm going to tear out his fucking heart while
it's still beating."
"I advise you to watch yourself, Duvall. Remember where you are."
"I know where I am, and I don't care. Nothing I say will go beyond this
desk. You don't want that lame-brained sheriff or the feds in on this
any more than I do, because you want to protect the reputation of the
N.O.P.D and your friend Basile."
"Who quit. He's no longer affiliated with the department, and therefore,
no longer my responsibility."
"No, not officially. But if he's gone this far round the bend so soon
after his resignation, people are going to start wondering how come
somebody didn't read the signs before he cracked. Why wasn't
psychological counseling mandated after he shot Stuart? Why wasn't the
head of his division aware of his emotional decline? You see what I'm
getting at, Pat? If I don't get to Basile before the authorities do,
you'll end up with a pile of shit on your head."
"Stop shouting threats at me, Duvall."
"I'm just telling you like it is."
"If Burke has broken the law, he'll be punished accordingly."
"You're damn right he will be."
Doug wished Burke were here. He would enjoy seeing Pinkie Duvall reduced
to a common man's temper tantrum. It sure as hell was gratifying to Doug
to see Duvall this unhinged. Mentally, he saluted his friend for
bringing it about.
"Killing Basile might not be as easy as you think," he said."Do you
realize the kind of individual you're up against? He's got integrity
coming out the kazoo. Honor is his middle name."
"Really?" Duvall snorted with contempt."Apparently you don't know him as
well as you think you do."
"Maybe not," Pat admitted."I never thought he'd go for broke and do
something this dramatic, but he has, which makes the situation even more
perilous for you. Basile doesn't expect this to end peaceably.
He won't harm your wife. I'm not afraid for her safety. But I am for
yours."
"I'm not scared of this burnout who goes around masquerading as a
priest, for chrissake."
"You should be. Basile is smart. A whole lot smarter than me, and maybe
even smarter than you, Duvall, although I know you don't believe that's
possible. And he's motivated by revenge. That's strong stuff.
You'd be a fool not to fear him."
Duvall glared at him, but he didn't challenge either the insult or the
character reference he'd given Basile."Who's this other fellow?"
"The second priest? I don't know."
"Where do I start looking for Basile?"
"I don't know that either. But he won't get far in that van. From the
description, it can't be hard to spot."
"The van has been found."
That news startled Pat."Where? Who found it?"
"I had some people looking. It was found two hours ago, abandoned and
half-submerged in six feet of water in a bayou between here and Houma."
"Where is it now?"
"You'll never know."
"Duvall, I insist that it be turned over to the authorities as
evidence."
"You insist?" he taunted."Forget it, Pat. Even if you insist, the van's
history by now."
Pat gaped at Duvall, shaking his head in bafflement."You're as nuts as
Burke is. I can't let this unravel any further." He reached for his
telephone, but Duvall knocked the receiver from his hand.
Pat shot to his feet and angrily confronted the lawyer."This has already
gone too far, Duvall, even for you. You've got to notify the FBI."
"Pinkie Duvall doesn't need the FBI."
"Doesn't need, or doesn't want?" Pat poked Duvall in the chest with his
index finger."You don't want the FBI involved because you've got too
much to hide. If they started investigating your affairs, they might
forget all about the kidnapping of your wife and go after something
really big."
Although Pat realized that he was gazing into the eyes of a monster
without a conscience, the monster was grinning. Duvall's voice was cool,
silky, and sinister."Careful, Pat. You don't want me to get upset, do
you?"
He pushed aside Pat's hand."I know how well you like your present
position with the N.O.P.D. I also know you have your heart set on a
deputy superintendent's position. Therefore, I suggest that you start
looking for your boy Basile immediately, and that you not stop looking
until he's found, or your career prospects end here."
Pat's world revolved around his career. He'd decided early on that his
aspirations were incompatible with a successful home life, so he had
sacrificed having a marriage and children to living singly and devoting
himself wholeheartedly to his work. With no regrets, he'd made his
career the center of his life. He sure as hell didn't want to lose it.
Knowing how well connected Duvall was, he couldn't laugh off his
threats. He also knew that for every threat Duvall uttered, there were a
dozen more implied, and it was those unspoken warnings that worried him
most."If I can find them," Pat said slowly, "and if Basile agrees to end
this insane vendetta here and now, you've got to give me your word that
you won't touch him."
Duvall thought about it for a moment, then reached across the desk and
shook Pat's hand, as though they had struck a bargain. But he said, "No
fucking way, Pat. The bastard took my wife. He dies."
"Everything's
ready," Burke said, ignoring the silent reproach of his two companions.
Remy Duvall was sitting in a rusty metal lawn chair on the galerie. The
exterior wall behind her was armored with ancient license plates.
Dredd was baiting a fishing pole, a cigarette anchored in the corner of
his mouth. The smoke curling from it mingled with the mist rising off
the surface of the swamp."If you go through with this, you're a damn
fool," he mumbled as he skewered a live crawfish onto his fishhook.
"So you've told me about a thousand times." Burke motioned Remy out onto
the pier and toward the small boat, which he had loaded with supplies
from Dredd' wstore.
"Can't you see she's weak as a kitten?" Dredd dropped his fishing
apparatus and went over to her, placing his knotty hand beneath her arm
and assisting her to her feet. He guided her around the white porcelain
commode that served as a planter in the summertime but which now was
used as a receptacle for trash and cigarette butts. Together they made
their way along the pier to the piling where the boat was tied up.
Burke got into the boat first and offered his hand up to her. He noticed
that she hesitated before placing her hand in his, but she did, and
gingerly stepped into the wobbly craft. Burke steadied her as she
lowered herself onto the rough plank that spanned the shallow metal hull
to form a crude, uncomfortable seat. She placed her hands on either side
of her hips and gripped the board hard while staring into the swirling
"In a day or two, I'll come around for more supplies," Burke said as he
unwound the line from the short piling.
"You're sure you won't get lost?"
"I'm sure."
"If you do "
"I won't!"
"Okay, okay." Looking down at Remy, Dredd said, "See that he takes care
of you, cher'. If he doesn't, he'll have me to answer to."
"You've been very kind, Dredd. Thank you."
The softness of her voice made Burke feel like he was the fifth wheel in
a very tender tableau.
Dredd said to him, "If any of her wounds open up "
"You already told me what to do," he interrupted impatiently.
The older man muttered something beneath his breath that Burke didn't
catch, and he figured it was just as well that he hadn't. He'd heard it
all, chapter and verse, until he could recite Dredd' wsermon by memory.
Dredd was practically a recluse. He didn't form attachments to anyone.
But he had developed a dim-witted devotion to Remy Duvall that Burke
would have considered amusing if it wasn't so damned irritating.
She seemed to have an effect on every man she met, a different effect
for each man, but an effect that was similar in degree.
However, not wanting to leave Dredd on bad terms, he called up to him,
"Thanks for everything, Dredd."
The old man spat into the water, missing Burke by mere inches.
"Keep your hands inside the boat. It's a little early for em yet, but
they'll be good and hungry in a week or two."
Burke had heard of the two old alligators that Dredd was too fond of to
kill and which he in fact treated like pets. Whether it was fact or
fiction created by Dredd to keep intruders away, Burke wasn't sure, but
he waved acknowledgment of the warning as he shoved off.
Giving the trolling motor more gas, he angled the rudder and the craft
cut through the fog. Just before rounding a bend in the bayou, he
glanced back. Dredd was seated on the edge of the pier, fishing, his
gray braid reposing in the groove of his spine, bare feet dangling above
the water invisible in the fog, the mist swirling around his calves.
"Doesn't he get cold?" Remy Duvall was also looking back at the old man.
"His skin's too tough. Since he moved out here, that's all the clothes
I've seen him in. Are you cold?"
"No."
'"Let me know. I'll get you a blanket." Swaddled as she was in some of
Dredd's castoffs and draped in a vinyl poncho, he didn't see how she
could be cold, but something was wrong with her. She sat as rigid as a
post, gripping the board beneath her as though her life
depended on it.
"You'll get splinters."
"Pardon?"
"If you keep holding onto that board like that, you might get splinters
in your hands. You can relax. We've reached top speed. You don't need a
high-performance boat to navigate these bayous."
"I wouldn't know the difference. This is the first time I've ever been
in one."
"In a swamp?"
"In a boat."
He laughed with misapprehension."You live in a city that practically
floats and you've never been in a boat?"
"No," she shot back."I've never been in a boat. How much clearer can I
say it?"
Her sharp retort caused a pelican to take flight. It left its roost with
a great, noisy flapping of wings that caused Mrs. Duvall to start.
"Steady," Burke said.
The large bird skimmed the surface of the water only yards from them but
apparently decided there might be better hunting elsewhere. He rose up