Flight of the Stone Angel (29 page)

Charles nodded. “Yes, you finally got it right.”

There was still more work to do. Riker knew this night would be uncommonly long. He lifted one hand in a farewell to Charles, and then he followed after the women and their captive.

He turned back once and saw Charles putting his shoulder to an angel, tipping and jogging her on the pedestal until she was facing south again. Henry moved along the path, rolling the pallet of a lesser angel, a copy of the little girl Riker had known as Kathy Mallory.

The small group ahead of him was leaving the wide oak lane, crossing open ground toward the house. Riker walked through water, soaking his shoes before he learned to follow Augusta’s zigzagging example and avoid the puddles.

The suspect fell, and the two women knelt down to help him up again. Augusta stroked Jimmy’s head as if he were a dog.

Riker gave them lead time going into the house, and then he opened the door slowly, minding the possibility of a creak.

He reached the end of the hallway and peered into the kitchen. Aw,
Mallory, no
–
not this way.
This was all wrong. It sickened him.

The two of them were seated at the table, where a tape recorder was glowing with a green ready light. Mallory had one hand on the suspect’s shoulder; it was almost a caress. And she was trying to show the man how much she really liked him.

It would have been easier on Riker if he had found her crying. Mallory’s strange attempt at a smile was hurting him so much more.

Riker cleared his throat. She looked up, and he gestured for her to join him outside the kitchen – right now.

When she stood before him near the front door, her arms were folded. Though it was dark at this end of the hallway, he could see that she was angry.

“Stay out of my way, Riker. Get out of here.”

“I’ll do it myself,” he said. “I’m better at this than you are.”

“Get out!”

“I should be the one to do it, Mallory. You know I’m right.”

She turned her back on him and would have walked away, but he came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders to keep her with him. “Just hear me out, kid. You’ve got to turn this perp around. There won’t be another chance. If you blow it, the rest of them will scatter.”

He felt her go rigid under his hands, yet she stayed. When he spoke again, it was in a soft tone of voice he could never use if she were facing him. “In every homicide case, you learn too much about the victim. Some strange woman is lying dead on a slab, and you’re using her name fifty times a day, talking to people who knew her, learning intimate details her own family doesn’t know.”

He bowed his head close to her ear and said, very gently, “Then comes that moment when you realize you’re calling a dead woman by her first name – like she was an old friend of yours. And then it gets a little harder, doesn’t it? It’s more personal. But this time, Mallory, you call the dead woman
Mommy.
It’s the only name a little kid has for her mother, the only name you ever called her by.”

He held her closer, and every word he breathed disturbed the strands of her hair. “You know why you can’t do this, kid.” He didn’t want her to hear his voice break. He slowly measured out his next words, pausing in the places where they strained and cracked. “I’m going to turn him around for you…. I’ll hold his hand, and rub his back… and tell him it was perfectly natural… to break your mother’s body with rocks, to knock out her teeth… to leave her lying in the dirt, bleeding to death.”

Mallory nodded.

The deal was done.

His hands dropped away from her shoulders, but she would not turn around. Though Mallory made no sound to give away any emotion, he was careful not to look at her face as he moved around her and walked back down the long dark hallway toward the light of the kitchen.

“This is the last of it.” Augusta moved a stack of papers to one side and set a mug of hot coffee on the kitchen table. “I’ll have a fresh pot in a few minutes.”

Riker sat semi-upright, elbows propped on the table, hands covering his ears to block out the constant torture of cheerful twittering and chirps. The birdcalls had penetrated the kitchen with the first light of morning through the bank of tall windows. He missed his New York lullaby of car alarms and fire engines, screams and gunshots.

Different country – different songs.

“Don’t those damn birds ever shut up?”

“No. They sing all day long.” Augusta switched on the coffee maker and cocked her head toward the hallway, listening. “That’s Charles at the door. He’s got a soft way of knocking.”

When Augusta had quit the room, Jimmy Simms stirred in the chair next to Riker’s. The young man was snoring lightly, head pillowed on his arms. His sleeping face was unlined, so innocent.

Well, what’s in a face?

Riker rubbed his red eyes, and then rushed the caffeine into his bloodstream, hardly pausing to taste the coffee. He knew he was too old for these all-nighters, but he had even better reasons to quit his job. He wondered if he would ever feel clean again, for he had recently made himself at home inside the younger man’s head, and lain back among the creepy crawlies. Jimmy Simms’s mind stank, and Riker wanted to take a hundred showers.

“Morning, Riker.” Charles Butler had a way of filling up a room. He seemed to understand this and sat down immediately, almost apologetically, to meet Riker at a more egalitarian eye level. “Mallory’s not up yet?”

Riker swallowed his envy of the well-rested man. He looked at his watch. It was just past eight o’clock. “Well, the kid had a busy day.”

“And I spiked her supper with passionflower and valerian,” said Augusta, staring at the coffee machine, as though watching it would make the carafe fill up faster. “The girl wasn’t getting enough rest. She’ll be out for the rest of the day.”

“Nice work,” said Riker, grinning. “Can I have the recipe?”

Charles surveyed the spread of paperwork in front of Riker. “Is this all of it?”

“The whole case.” Riker picked up a small stack of blue papers, each bearing the letterhead of the hospital laboratory. “One of these has to be a copy of Alma’s blue letter.” They were all addressed to Dr. Cass Shelley in her adjunctive role as the St. Jude Parish health officer. “Along with Jimmy’s confession and everything Mallory got from the computers, it’s enough for a grand jury to indict the whole pack.”

Riker bundled all the paperwork together in one pile. “I’d say it’s a wrap.” He looked down at the sleeping Jimmy Simms, and then to Charles. “Did you ever have one of those days when you just didn’t know where to put your hate?” Now he realized he was talking to the wrong person. He turned back to the stove where Augusta was stirring her pots, and she said, “Amen to that.”

He ran one hand through his graying hair. So tired. “Charles, why don’t you go back to Henry’s and get the car out of hiding? I’ll walk Jimmy over in a few minutes. I don’t want anybody to see the state’s star witness until he’s in lockup.”

“Now don’t you run him off yet.” Augusta put a mug of coffee in front of Charles. It was followed by plate after plate of foods, cooked and cold.

Riker, a coffee-and-toast man, was horrified. But eventually he was seduced by Augusta. She coaxed him with the aroma of hash browns, and she spoon-fed him tastes of batter cakes running with cane syrup.

Then, when he was stuffed and couldn’t eat another bite – just for fun she buttered a warm biscuit under his nose, and he was letting out his belt and reaching for another.

Throughout the meal – the damn orgy of breakfast – Riker could see that Charles wanted to say something, but the man was silent until Augusta had finished her coffee and left the room with a sack of birdseed for the feeders. He was not accustomed to seeing suspicion in Charles Butler, but there it was. Charles was listening to Augusta’s footsteps in the hall and the close of the front door. Now what could the old lady have done to deserve this?

“Do you have to turn Jimmy over to the sheriff?” Charles’s voice was low and conspiratorial.

Another odd note.

Riker lit a cigarette and paused a moment, waiting for the nicotine to kick in. “You got a problem with that? Is there something I should know?”

“Well, Mallory put this case together very quickly, didn’t she? And the sheriff had seventeen years.”

Oh, great. Everybody wants to be a detective.

“Okay, Charles. You figure the sheriff had something to hide?”

“It’s a reasonable conclusion, given that – ”

“This is Mallory’s work.” Riker stretched and yawned. “You’ve got acolyte fever – I know the signs.”

So Mallory had finally infected Charles. This was serious damage. He preferred the old Charles Butler, a very nice man, who genuinely liked people and suspected the best of them. Not the makings of a good cop, but a first-rate human being.

Damn Mallory.

“I’m using straightforward logic,” said Charles, somewhat defensively. “She has nothing to do with this.”

Riker rested one hand on the thick pile of paperwork. “The kid didn’t do all of this in a day. She’s been hacking into classified computers for months, chasing down leads without warrants, circumventing the Constitution of the United States, and lying like a maniac.”

He pulled out the blue sheets. “These reports on the lab work? She
stole
them during illegal trespass and destruction of state property. Oh, and she was there the day her mother went down. I’d say she had an edge, a little bit more to work with than the sheriff had.”

“But Jessop actually knew who some of those people were.”

“He
suspected
them. Big difference. He couldn’t have sweated a confession from one of those bastards – not the way I did it. He could never suck up to vermin. The man just wasn’t made that way. And you’ve gotta be real convincing to make the scum love you.”

“He could have gone after them and – ”

“He wore them down the best way he could. Without evidence, he couldn’t make one solid arrest. If he’d brought in a suspect, the rest of them would’ve scattered. It’s a toy town, Charles. Jessop doesn’t have the resources to track down out-of-state runners.”

God, are you listening? Save me from the amateurs.

“He tracked down Babe Laurie’s widow,” said Charles. “He had her extradited from another state.”

“Yeah, but he got no help, zero cooperation. I saw the paperwork. Those Georgia politicos jerked him around six ways from Sunday. If Sally Laurie hadn’t waived her rights, it could’ve taken another six months.”

“Other police officers do it. They cooperate with – ”

“The feds? According to my source, Tom Jessop won’t play nice with the FBI – flat out refuses to spy on his neighbors. Can you imagine that? I got twenty bucks says the feds leaned on the Georgia boys to slow the man down.”

Now Charles seemed a little off balance. “But what about Babe Laurie? Everyone assumes he was lying in wait for Mallory. Don’t you find it – ”

“And you think the sheriff had a hand in that? Screw Babe Laurie.”

And now, time for a little therapy, my old friend.

“If you’re on Mallory’s side, everyone else is the enemy. I know you bought into that, and look what it’s done to you. You can’t recognize an honest man anymore.” Riker stubbed out his cigarette. “You’re a
blind
man now. That’s what it cost you to stand by Mallory.”

He was lying of course. The truth was less flattering. The blinding of Charles Butler was the damage just for getting in Mallory’s way. She had succeeded where Riker had failed in his own attempt to maim this man.

“The only criminal thing about Jessop is that he never got over Cass Shelley’s death. He just couldn’t get past it.” Riker watched his cigarette smoke curl up to the ceiling. “Poor bastard. And you thought he could’ve been part of a murder? Maybe a cover-up? You suspect Augusta of something, too, don’t you? Who’s next? Henry?”

Charles’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Mallory had rendered him sightless, and Riker had struck the man dumb. But he was not done yet.

“Here’s the real kicker, Charles. Even Mallory – who trusts nobody – Mallory would tell you this idea of yours is bullshit. How do I know that?” He leaned forward for the last shot. “It might take her more time than most, but even that amoral brat can recognize an honest man, and God knows she’s no Diogenes.”

Charles sank down in the chair, deflated and defeated.

And now Riker believed there might be a future in the miracle business, for lo and behold, the blind man could see once more.

Praise the Lord.

Ah, but wait – there was a downside to this healing trade. The sad giant was seeing too clearly now.

“It worked out for the best, Charles. You stood by her, and now the kid finally gets a little justice for her mother. That must be some consolation.”

But the big man was unconsoled.

“What do you want, Charles? You want absolution? Well, you got it.” Riker waved his cigarette to make the sign of the cross in the air.

Jane was standing at the cafe window when the silver Mercedes pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office. The two men from New York City were helping somebody out of the backseat. Was it a man or a boy? He had a jacket pulled up over his head – just like the celebrity murderers on the evening news.

The cashier, Charmaine, joined her at the window in a cloud of cheap knockoff perfume. “Well, who is that?”

Jane shook her head, wishing Charmaine would go away. She turned to the empty porch of the bed and breakfast. Betty would probably be in the cemetery with her little troop of tourists by now. So this event belonged to Jane alone.

The man in the middle of the trio was slender and small – that narrowed it down some. And now that he had cleared the body of the car, she could see the red shirt below the hem of his pulled-up jacket. Oh, and now she had a clear view of the trademark red socks. Now,
don’t that beat all. Who would’ve thought
– “Well, that’s the idiot,” said Charmaine, stretching her neck and seconding her employer’s unvoiced opinion. “Is he under arrest?”

“Looks that way, don’t it?” said Jane. “The man with the bad suit is a New York City detective.”

“I wonder what that idiot’s done. That mother of his – letting him roam around town at will, bringing him in here for lunch every day like he was normal. Didn’t I tell you he was dangerous, didn’t I, Jane?”

“Yes, Charmaine, I believe you did mention that.”
Twenty times or more, you slovenly, bleach-blond bitch.
“What do you suppose he’s done?”

“It wouldn’t be Christian to speculate. Poor Ira. And my heart just goes out to his mother.” Jane’s smile conveyed no such charitable sentiment as she walked over to the buffet line and began to load up a tray. “I think the new prisoner will be needing his lunch.”

“But it’s not even eleven o’clock.” Charmaine was looking at her watch, which she swore was gold, but it wasn’t. “Kind of early for lunch, isn’t it?”

Well, Charmaine always had been a bit slow.

The sheriff followed his deputy into the reception area to greet Charles Butler and Detective Riker. Another man was sitting on the bench behind them. A denim jacket covered his head.
Well, aren’t you the shy one.

Tom Jessop decided to let the man sit for a while, let the fear ripen a bit. And he did not mind dragging this out a little longer. For the past seventeen years, anticipation had been everything to him.

“Me and my deputy was wondering when you were gonna bring in the witness.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” said Riker. “You’re takin‘ all the fun outta this.”

“You can blame Lilith for that. She was in the cemetery last night – saw the whole show. Is Kathy coming in?”

“Well, technically,” said Riker, “she’s still a fugitive from justice.”

“I guess she’s better off at Augusta’s.”

Charles Butler smiled. “Sheriff, is there anything you don’t know?”

“I don’t know how you made that statue fly.” He lightened up on the sarcasm for his deputy’s benefit.

Lilith Beaudare turned on him. “I know you don’t believe me, but I’m telling you, I saw it.”

It was a hard story to swallow, even given his past history with her father. Guy Beaudare had never conjured anything so imaginative as an avenging angel rising off the ground, stone wings flapping to beat the devil, and attacking a man with the wrath of God. But it was a good story, and Guy would be proud of his daughter.

But Charles Butler seemed stunned, and now Jessop had to wonder if there might be something to the story.

Lilith gave Charles a pleading look. “The sheriff says the trick can’t be done, not even with wires. Please tell him how you did it. He thinks I’m crazy.”

Charles and Riker exchanged glances, as if debating this question of Lilith’s sanity. The detective shrugged, deferring to the larger man in all things magical.

“I do it with mirrors,” said Charles, as if bringing stone to life were an everyday thing with him, and not worth a bit of Lilith’s wonder.

“Right,” said the sheriff, turning to his new prisoner. “Well, let’s see what we got here.” In the spirit of opening a long-awaited present, he pulled the jacket away from the man’s head and stepped back. It took a moment to see past the disguise of different clothes, the barbered hair and beardless face. Jimmy Simms was all dressed up like a normal person on the verge of rejoining the world.

Tom Jessop felt suddenly very tired. This was the last thing he had expected. “You were right, Lilith, he’s got the Laurie family resemblance all right. This is Babe’s nephew.”