Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 02 - River Mourn (5 page)

“Stress issues. Is that what they’re calling insanity
these days?”

“Not insanity.” Ollie canted his head as if he couldn’t
say the words directly to Rosswell’s face. “Combat trauma.”

“There’s no such thing as an unwounded soldier.”

Rosswell needed no further mention of the horrors he’d
witnessed in the Middle East, especially the one he created for himself when he
stumbled upon a little girl dressed up as if she were carrying a bomb. He fell
for the bait. Sensing it was the only thing he could do to save twenty of his people,
he shot the girl without thinking. Later, the bomb squad told Rosswell that the
explosive device was a fake. The trauma, an ugly amoral critter drooling bile
and cackling endlessly, danced in his gut, never leaving him, sometimes punching
alternately at his heart, then his brain, but mostly attacking both at the same
time. The only escape from pain lay in Tina’s arms.

Karyn and Jill landed at the table simultaneously and each
plopped a glass of water in front of Rosswell.

“Thank you both.”

“Anything else?” Karyn blinked several times.

Rosswell hated it when a beautiful woman irritated
him. Now there were two beautiful women ganging up on his sensitive side, a
place that wasn’t all that big. “Are your allergies bothering you?” There had
to be some way he could run these women off without insulting them too badly.

“No, why?”

Jill spoke to Karyn. “Quit with the eye flapping. It’s
blatant.” Then to Rosswell, she said, “We’re only trying to provide good
service here.”

Rosswell spoke slowly. “Sometimes—like now—good
service means NO service.”

Karyn jabbed Jill with her elbow. “You and your big
mouth. Now you’ve gone and pissed him off.”

Jill grabbed Karyn’s arm. “Let’s hit it, sister.”

Karyn peered at Rosswell over her shoulder. “Don’t
forget the tip.”

When the two waitresses had pranced away, Rosswell
leaned toward Ollie. “You have weird waitresses.”

“We call them wait staff.”

“Wait staff? I call them weird.”

“They’re sisters. Karyn Byler and Jill Mabli. They
liven it up here.”

“When and why did they start working here?”

Ollie’s tone of voice told Rosswell something obvious
was being revealed. “Yesterday. The tourists will love them. You don’t see wait
staff like that everywhere.”

The answer didn’t satisfy Rosswell. “Why do they have
different last names if they’re sisters?”

“Each of them married and divorced and they each live
alone. They’re always together, always fighting. But they’re cute.”

“Yeah. Lovely.”

“I hired them because I like looking at them. They’re
assets.”

“You enjoy looking at their assets. I hope you pay
good.” Rosswell spoke around a mouthful of food. After he swallowed, he said, “I
came here to look for Tina. Why are you in Sainte Gen? What are you looking
for?”

“Mabel came here to get away from all the gossip
hounds in Marble Hill. She needed to make a living. I needed to make a living. There
are lots of people depending on me for computer work. And I bought Mabel this
restaurant, which is doing great.”

“Where did you get the money to start this place?”

“That’s none of your damned business. I didn’t steal
it.”

“I never said you did.”

“You implied that I was a thief. I am not a thief. I’ve
never stolen a thing in my life. All I’ve done is drink to excess and cause
problems. Like you, Judge Carew. Of course, I never got to put you in jail like
you did to me. In fact, nobody ever put you in jail.”

Not yet anyway. But what’s that got to do with
anything?

“That’s irrelevant. I’m asking you to work for me. Ollie,
if I didn’t trust you with my life, I wouldn’t hire you. I don’t care if you
think I’m nuts.”

“I don’t care if you
are
nuts. What I care
about is what happened to Tina.”

Rosswell scraped at the gravy on his plate with a
fork. “Then work for me.”

Ollie fetched a paper napkin, snatched a ballpoint pen
from his shirt pocket, and wrote a dollar amount on the napkin. Then he showed his
work to Rosswell. “I’ve got money that I earned legally. I want you to deposit that
amount in a trust fund for Mabel’s kid. Then I’ll work for you.”

Rosswell weighed the figure on the napkin for half a
second. “Done.”

Ollie stood.

Had Rosswell missed the end of the conversation? “Wait.
Where are you going?”

“To find out who was on that boat yesterday morning.
One of the five men may be a murderer.”

“Or, maybe all of them are. I’ve got more to tell you.”
He told Ollie what Theodore and Philbert had told him, including the part about
Gustave assaulting a woman who might have been Tina, whom he then carried off
to Number Four.

Ollie’s eyes grabbed a look of hatred more quickly
than Rosswell had ever seen. “I can smell cops. And I can smell bad cops. The
sheriff is bent.” Ollie put his head in his hands. “Bent and twisted. Tina. My
God.”

“Slow it down. I don’t know if Gustave had anything to
do with Tina although I’m going to find out. Tomorrow, I’m taking a trip to Number
Four.”

Rosswell was in Ste.
Genevieve
because he’d finagled his way into being appointed to hear
cases there. It was amazing how grateful the Missouri Supreme Court became when
a judge volunteered to help out in other counties. There’d be less griping
among the voters of Bollinger County (his home county) when and if anyone
realized that he was spending a lot of time away from home. Rosswell would make
sure that the voters knew he had the stamp of approval from the highest court
in the state. And, since the docket in Ste. Genevieve wasn’t usually that heavy,
he’d have time to snoop. Tina was priority one.

After court recessed at midday, Rosswell crossed the
street to Mabel’s, which was stuffed with people. A line had formed on the
sidewalk. Rosswell assumed his place, vowing to wait patiently in the heat of
the cloudless day. If it hadn’t been Daylight Saving Time, his noon shadow
would’ve been invisible. The smell of roast beef, the special of the day, made
his mouth water even as he began sweating. He removed his suit coat and tie.

Ollie appeared. “Let’s take a stroll.”

“And lose my place in line?” The people behind Rosswell
cheered when they heard Ollie’s invitation to traipse around the downtown.

Ollie pulled a tube from his pocket and slathered a
dab of Vaseline on his head, wiping the excess petroleum jelly with a Kleenex. He
waved his slim reporter’s spiral notebook. “My notes.” A slinky brunette in
front of Rosswell craned her neck a bit too obviously. Ollie said to her, “It’s
about a venomous snake breeding program. You interested?” She pivoted away.

Rosswell followed Ollie.

When they were out of earshot of anyone, Ollie said, “I
talked to the ferry driver.”

“Ferry
driver
?
Don’t you mean captain? Or pilot? Not driver.”

Ollie’s face reddened. “Yeah, okay. Captain.” Rosswell
loved it whenever Ollie was wrong, since the snitch otherwise seemed to know
every fact in existence.

They reached Rosswell’s truck. He took out his key,
unlocked the door, and grabbed the handle. “Damn.” He opened the door, threw
his suit coat and tie inside, then locked the door. “This truck is freaking hot.”

“It’s a black truck. It absorbs heat. More properly,
black paint in sunshine promotes the process of equilibrium—”

“Enough with the smart ass.” Rosswell inspected his
hand for burns. “What about the ferry driver?” A chuckle escaped before he
could shut it down.

Ollie rubbed his head and coughed before a massive
frown spread across his face. “I caught the
captain
between turnarounds. He and I had a little chat.”

“And?” When they reached the shade of a building,
Rosswell slowed, savoring the less hot air, even though only for a moment.

Ollie scanned his notes. “The ferry can carry nine
regular-sized vehicles. There were three on the run you saw yesterday morning.
A white van, a white pickup truck, and a white SUV.”

Rosswell ran a quick mental calculation. “Each of
those vehicles could carry four people. There could’ve been twelve people on
the ferry. I assumed four people minimum, besides the captain. How many people
were actually there?”

“Four or five. The captain wasn’t clear.”

“How can he not know how many passengers he had? Don’t
you have to sign something when you board?”

“Nope.” Ollie read more of his notes. “You walk or
drive on. If the ferry is on the other side, you punch a button on a pole that
sends out a radio signal. That calls the ferry. When the boat gets to your
side, you pays your money, you takes your ride.”

“There’s no way of tracing the vehicles?”

“Correct.”

Rosswell wiped the sweat from his face with a
handkerchief he’d drawn from his back pocket. “Did the captain know any of the
passengers?”

“Elbert LaFaire—that’s the captain’s name—said he’d never
seen any of them before that he could remember.”

“How long has the guy worked on the ferry?”

“He said he knew Mark Twain personally.”

“No wonder his memory is bad.”

Rosswell and Ollie reached the sidewalk in front of the
Southern Hotel. Tina had dubbed the inn
our
special place
after she and Rosswell spent several romantic weekends
there the previous year. Rosswell, in fact, believed that Tina became pregnant in
the Southern Hotel during one of their many lovemaking bouts. While he might be
able to pin down the location—he was in the room when she conceived—the date
still wasn’t certain.

Rosswell’s memory wandered back to the time he first made love with Tina.
He’d dragged himself from the doctor’s office to the sheriff’s station in
Marble Hill, searching for Sheriff Frizz Dodson. He needed to talk to someone.
Rosswell had no family and no close friends. Frizz wasn’t there. Tina, the only
deputy on duty, was dispatching.

She gazed at him for an instant. “What’s wrong?”

Until that moment, Rosswell and Tina had dealt with each other in a strict
business way. That changed when Rosswell said, “I got some bad news,” and Tina
said, “Tell me.” Rosswell told her about the leukemia diagnosis.

Later that night she invited herself to share his bed.

Now, when asked, his doctor mouthed assurances that the disease was “in
remission,” which Rosswell took as meaning, “Hiding in your body, fixing to
kill your ass.”

The memory of their first night led to another
recollection, this one of Tina on the porch of the Southern Hotel in Sainte
Genevieve last Christmas. Earlier Rosswell had suggested they drive there from
Marble Hill for an early steak supper.

After the meal, her skin glowed in the cold sunset as
they sat on the porch. Only the slightest breeze disturbed the still air. Her
delicate hand pressed against his face while she captured his eyes with her
beauty. He knew then that living with her the rest of his life was necessary.

As Melville wrote about another time and place, “The
pensive air was transparently pure and soft, with a woman’s look.”

Rosswell drew out of his pocket a necklace he’d bought
for her and draped it around her neck. “It’s a Celtic cross. Pure gold. Look on
the back. ‘A single soul dwelling in two bodies.’ Aristotle said that.”

“I’ll never take it off. This moment should last
forever. I hereby wave my magic wand and make this an eternal instant of time
in this golden country.” Full winter’s dark had fallen early. A flurry of
shooting stars graced the clear sky. “Each of those meteors is an angel,
drifting to earth to give us a blessing.”

Tiny red, white, and blue lights strung over the
building blinked in slow rhythm. Skyrockets took flight, bursting in crazy
geometric patterns. Small children dressed in traditional French Canadian
costumes wandered the dark streets holding candles and singing carols. The
girls wore white bonnets and blouses, black skirts, and white aprons. The boys
sported white shirts, black vests, floppy berets, and knee-length black pants.
All the children wore white stockings and black shoes.

Tina rested her head against Rosswell’s shoulder. “Today
is forever.”

“I…” Rosswell felt the same way as when Ollie
checkmated him in a chess game. “I…uh…love you.”

“I love you, Judge Rosswell Carew.” Tina laughed and
tilted her head, staring at him as if she were expecting him to say something
else.

“What?”

“Men recognize only obvious subtleties.”

Rosswell’s brain hurt after that statement. Damn it,
what was he supposed to say next?

Tina whispered, “Ask the desk clerk if they have a
room.”

Once inside their own world, Tina took a long time
undressing in front of him. When he encircled her, she said, “Don’t ever let me
go.”

“Tina, I need you. Forever.”

Afterward they spent a long time making love. When
dawn came, they’d never slept a moment.

Now, Rosswell stared at the three-story red brick
building, recalling every detail of that spectacular night. The memory would
never leave him, no matter how his search for Tina played itself out.

Rosswell ran his hands along the white wood of the
railings, carved in the shape of ribbon candy. “I wonder if they paint these
railings every year.”

“Use the correct term. Balustrade. The old building
deserves respect.”

Rosswell closed his eyes a moment and prayed for
patience. If Goddess wouldn’t give him patience, maybe his own brain would pitch
in. Ollie was a great snitch, but his anal personality grated on Rosswell’s
nerves like a bumpy dental drill on aching teeth. The fact that Ollie was
indispensable to him, however, never left Rosswell’s mind.

“Thank you, Ollie.” He opened his eyes. “I wonder if
Tina came here?” Did she spend time in the hotel without him? He didn’t like
that possibility.

“The FBI searched the place top to bottom, side to
side.”

“How do you know this?”

“I…uh…read a report somewhere.” Ollie scratched his
chin. “It was—”

“Never mind.” Rosswell had no need to ask. He already
knew. Ollie had hacked a computer, maybe a federal one. “Don’t confess any
federal crimes to me, okay? Or, for that matter, any crime of any kind. I’d be
duty bound to blow the whistle on you. Forget I asked.”

“Forget what?”

They twined their way through the old streets without
speaking until they reached the Church of Ste. Genevieve on Dubourg Place, next
to the courthouse.

“Ollie, now can we talk about the passengers?”

“Only one stood out to the captain. The guy who was
a passenger in the white van was slender. Red bandana. Blue jeans and a blue
work shirt. Long black hair in a ponytail. Dark skin.”

Rosswell jerked to a halt. “Native American?”

“A good guess. You didn’t see the guy’s ponytail?
The captain said it was a beaut.”

Rosswell thought a moment. “A coat. The guy had on a
light jacket or covering of some kind. The ponytail could’ve been stuck down
the jacket.”

“A jacket in this weather?”

“I guess I couldn’t see his hair. What can I say?”

“Start with you’re a lousy eyewitness.”

“I’m a great eyewitness. But eyewitness testimony
isn’t worth crap. Circumstantial evidence is the best. They taught me in law
school that the circumstantial evidence of dog tracks in the mud outweighs the sworn
testimony of ten thousand angels vowing that no dog passed this way.”

“I read that on the back of a cereal box.”

Rosswell avoided the sparring. “You know who that Indian
sounds like?”

“Ribs Freshwater. And a hundred other guys in this
area.”

To the best of the judge’s knowledge, no one had
seen Ribs since Rosswell shot Johnny Dan. The Cherokee was possibly connected
to Nathaniel Dahlbert, a tall man with incredibly white skin and orange hair.
Nathaniel had been standing by Rosswell when he shot the bad guy but had
disappeared before Johnny Dan hit the ground.

“Makes sense though,” Rosswell said. “Nathaniel ran
a dope pushing ring. Ribs worked for him, and after I killed one of their main
connections, I cooked Nathaniel’s golden goose. Now Ribs threw a woman in the
river and I’ll bet Nathaniel ordered it.”

“That makes no sense at all. Ribs is goofier than a
happy puppy, but Nathaniel is sharp. If—and that’s a big if—those jokers are
working together, then they’ve taken off for Los Angeles or New York or Miami.
They wouldn’t stick around a place sixty miles from where you shot their man in
Bollinger County.”

“Nathaniel hates me.” Rosswell continued around the
side of the church where he stopped by the memorial to children who would never
be born. “Never eliminate suspects until you have proof.” He prayed silently
for the safety of Tina and their baby. He’d hardly finished his
amen
when
he wondered what kind of deity would lead him around a corner, forcing him into
the choice of shooting a little girl in the heart or risking his men being
blown apart by the thing she wore that looked like a bomb. Maybe Rosswell’s kid
had already been killed to even that score. Maybe some kind of universal scale needed
balancing.

In his chase of Moby-Dick, however badly Captain Ahab
thumped Ishmael, the seaman wrote about the satisfaction of knowing that
everybody else was treated the same way. “The universal thump is passed round,
and all hands should rub each other’s shoulder-blades, and be content.” Now it
came time for Rosswell’s turn at the universal thump. Except he wasn’t content.

Ollie made the sign of the cross.

Rosswell asked, “Are you Catholic now? I thought you
followed some kind of pagan religion. Norse gods or something.”

“Never hurts to cover all your bases.” Ollie slanted
his head sideways, examining the memorial. “I’m partial to Loki. He’s going to
destroy the universe one of these days.”

“Herman Melville said, ‘Better sleep with a sober
cannibal than a drunken Christian.’ ”

“Loki is not a cannibal. Or a Christian.”

Rosswell avoided further discussion of religion. “Besides
Ribs Freshwater, what about the other people on the ferry?”

“I told you. The captain didn’t know them. He thinks
they were tourists.” Ollie poked Rosswell in the chest. “And you do not know
that Ribs Freshwater was on that ferry.”

Rosswell batted the offending finger away from his
body. “Isn’t the ferry used by people working in Illinois? Or people coming
from over there to work in Missouri?”

“I’m guessing it was too early for commuters or
tourists. And Sundays are light traffic days.” Ollie consulted his notes. “The
captain thought the other guys were average build, medium height, brown hair,
no facial hair, no glasses, no distinguishing characteristics. Vanilla.”