Fat Tuesday (27 page)

"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 mist and the murky water beneath it.

"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 out of the mist like the symbolic specter from a myth and disappeared above the treetops.

Depending on one's point of view, the swamp could be either a temple or a terror. Burke was respectful of its dangers, but he loved it.