House of Blues (42 page)

And she got caught only ten minutes away.

Skip's fingertips felt cold.

There were still things that didn't fit—the
apparent irrationality of taking Sally, of burning the
house—contrasted with the coldness of Plan B, making Sally her
hostage. But the Dragon was emerging as a very intelligent woman,
someone who planned for contingencies.

Still. She was a wreck when she came in that room.

That could be good or bad, Skip knew. It might mean
she was vulnerable; it might signal instability.

She said to Dietrich, "Did they call the hostage
negotiators?"
 
"Hell, I
think they called everybody but the governor. But the hostage guys
aren't here yet."

A semicircle of police with drawn guns separated
mother from child, Anna from Skip.

A man on the sidelines approached. "Johnson,
Jefferson. I'm in charge of this operation."

"Skip Langdon. And this is Sally's mother, Reed
Foucher. I thought she might be able to help. May we talk to the
suspect?"

"I'd rather wait till the negotiators come."
He was a redhead with freckles over very white skin. Skip wondered if
he was always so pale. He was twitching from nervousness.

"I wouldn't," said Reed, and hollered,
"Sally! Mommy's here."

A snake of fury raced up Skip's spine. Damn her!

There was an intake of breath, and a tremor went
through the semicircle. Peering through, Skip could see Anna holding
Sally and Sally struggling, pushing futilely against Anna's confining
arm.

"Mama! Mama!"

Reed said, "Oh, God. Ohgodohgod. Sally!"

Skip whispered to Johnson, "Let Anna see us, at
least."

He nodded, deep lines between his eyes.

Two men stepped aside, clearing a path for Skip and
Reed. Skip pushed the wheelchair very slowly, as nonthreatening as
possible. Anna said, "Stop or I'll blow her head off."

Skip stopped. "Anna, you wouldn't do that."

"Don't push me."

Sally was struggling so hard Anna had to hold her way
too tight. Her screams were the forlorn howls of babies in hell,
noises that took Skip back to childhood, to pediatricians' offices,
emergency rooms, places where a child howled in the distance and you
knew it was undergoing unspeakable torture.

Sally's torture was psychic, but it was torture
nonetheless. Each policeman's face was a discrete, personal study in
tension and misery.

Skip knew what was in all their heads: I twitch my
little finger wrong and the buby's dead.

She whispered to Johnson, "I'm going to talk to
her a minute, and then I'm going to walk toward her."

He started to shake his head, but didn't. Indecision
played on his features.

Skip turned back to Anna, knowing that for the moment
she was in charge. "Anna, you wouldn't hurt Sally."

"I'll kill her, and then I'll kill myself."

Skip could feel sweat flowing at her hairline. She
hadn't gotten that far yet—hadn't thought of that one. "Life
seems hard right now because you're going through something. I don't
know what, but I know you are. That's why you left your home in a
hurry. That's why you feel so desperate. But you're a strong woman,
Anna. You've been through a lot and you can get through this one too.
You're not going to kill yourself."

She was making it up as she went along, going on the
way Anna looked and on Reed's description of her—if she'd been a
dragon, she had to be a strong woman.

Skip took a step forward. "I knew you wouldn't
kill Sally. You know, before I came to your house, when I was trying
to find you, I called your brother's house."

"
My brother?"

Skip took another step. "Yeah, John Garibaldi."

"My husbands brother. My late husband."

"I talked to his little girl. What a sweet
child!"

I can't believe the stuff I'm saying. I sound like
I'm at a tea party.

But it was working. Anna was quiet; something seemed
different about her. And she was sufficiently distracted to discuss
her relatives.

Skip took two more steps, keeping her eyes on Anna's
face. She couldn't see Johnson, but that was just as well. He had no
choice now except to let her handle it.

Anna was looking at her, not Sally. But Sally lurched
in her arms, squealing, and Anna's attention turned back to the
child.

"
Little Kathy. Isn't that her name?" It had
to be something ending in a Y.

Anna didn't answer.

"She told me how you take her to get ice cream
cones. Did you know you're her favorite aunt? She told me that. Did
she ever tell you that?

"Do you know how disappointed that little girl
would be if she never saw you again?"

"You're just trying to manipulate me."
Anna's voice was thick; full of tears.

"Look, we can work this out. Whatever trouble
you're in, it can't be as bad as leaving Kathy alone. Really think
about that. Weigh it. What's the shock going to be like for that
little girl?" Skip came closer and held out her hand, slowly, as
if trying to make friends with a dog. "Why don't you give me the
gun?"

"Leave me alone, goddamn it!" It came out
as half a sob, half a scream. Sally lurched again, and the Dragon
cooed, "Oh, baby, did I hurt your ears? Poor little Sally-wally.
Nonna didn't mean to."

Skip saw what Dietrich meant about dual
personalities. She said, "You love Sally, don"t you? You
love her very much." She paused. "Let her go to her mama."

Hearing a familiar word, Sally screamed, "Mama!
Mama!"

"Anna. You know you're not going to kill her. A
beautiful, sweet child like that. You love her. You just can't do it.
Go ahead. Let her go."

Anna stared straight at Skip. She began to bend from
the knees. Omigod, she's going to do it.

Skip started to panic, realizing that the minute
Sally was on the ground, Anna would turn the gun on herself.

She ran the last few steps, knowing Anna's decision
was made. No way was she going to shoot Sally. She grabbed the other
woman's gun hand and twisted till she felt the fingers relax, heard
the gun drop.

After that, it was a blur. Other officers piled on
and separated the three of them—Sally, Anna, and Skip. Then Sally
was running, shouting, "Mama! Mama! Mama!"

Skip was sorry that Reed
couldn't run as well.

* * *

It was hell getting out of the airport. Once Skip had
fought her way through the thicket of reporters that now bristled
through the corridors, she had to give her report to the Jefferson
Parish guys. By the time that was done, some of the arguing was over
about who got Anna, and the news wasn't too bad from Skip's point of
view: the FBI claimed her for the federal crime of taking a gun into
the airport.

The good part was, since
the airport was the city's property, she'd be in federal custody in
Orleans Parish prison—not Jefferson.

* * *

Cappello met her at her desk. "Great job. I'd
say go home, but there's news."

"I couldn't anyway. I've got to figure a way to
sit in when the feds question Anna." As one of Anna's victims,
she couldn't be involved in the questioning, but it was one show she
didn't want to miss.

"
Who is she, anyway?"

"
Damned if I know. Piece of work, though. What's
the news?"

"O'Rourke identified his attacker."

"Yeah?"

Skip could barely comprehend, her head was so full of
Anna.

"
From mug shots. Look at this." She tossed
a snapshot on Skip's desk.

"
Jesus."

"
Not exactly."

It was the same picture Skip had picked after Jim's
murder, the one of the man she'd failed to identify in the lineup.

"Augustine Melancon. We meet again."

"
He's coming in for a lineup in an hour."

Skip sighed. "I guess I'd better go." She
was exhausted.

She went home, took a shower, and thought about
calling Jimmy Dee to tell him about her narrow escape. But that was a
longer talk than she had time for.

She grabbed a Diet Coke, found her spare .38, and
returned to an interesting message on her desk—from a Turner
Shellmire at the FBI. But no time to call him—she barely had time
to get to the lineup.

One man stuck out—all but hooked her with a finger
and begged to be arrested. It was the same one O'Rourke had picked.
Augustine Melancon.

I wonder what I was thinking before?

This time the pressure was off; days had passed; she
was clearer-headed. Or so she told herself.

Melancon, of course, didn't know why he'd been picked
up. Skip, O'Rourke, and Cappello tackled him together, the better to
scare the bejesus out of him.

"Remember me?" said O'Rourke. "You
have fun beating me up?"

He didn't answer.

His lawyer, public defender Alfonso Green, advised
him to zip his lip and keep it that way.

Skip said, "Look, Augustine, that's your right,
but you have other rights that aren't covered by Miranda. You have
the right to explain what happened if you Want to. Nobody's saying
you have only one option."

Melancon looked hopefully at Green, but got no help.
Finally he said, "Asshole set me up. I think I want to tell
her."

Green shrugged. ''You can always waive."

"Shit." Melancon turned to Skip. "I'm
gon' talk to you. I want to keep my lawyer here, but I'm gon' waive
that silence shit. Why the fuck should I go down alone?"

"No reason," said Skip. "No reason at
all. You work for Delavon, don't you?"

Melancon said nothing.

"I was out in Gentilly Thursday, seeing Delavon.
The night before, I was in the Conti Breezeway, at Delavon's
suggestion. You were there both times. Therefore, you work for
Delavon."

"I don't know no shit 'bout no Conti Breezeway."

"Come on. Delavon set you up—you just said so.
I saw you there, and you know it, 'cause you saw me. Sergeant
O'Rourke saw you beating him up. That's one police officer you killed
and one you assaulted. You really think we're gonna let you get away
with any of that? You think Mr. Green can just make you a deal, get
you out of this after two, three years—five-ten years maybe? You
think it's that easy? You killed a cop, didn't you?

"
Didn't you, Augustine?"

Melancon glowered, but Skip was pretty sure she saw
fear below the beetling brows.

"
You killed my partner, didn't you?"

"Shit, no."

"Well, I think you did. You know what, though?
I'm gonna cut you some slack. Because I don't think it'd be very easy
working for Delavon. I bet he threatens you sometimes. I bet he
threatens your wife and your—"

"
Ain't got no wife."

"He kill her already? That Delavon, he's one
dangerous dude."

Melancon didn't answer.

"Maybe you got a girlfriend. Maybe he threatened
her. Maybe there's a reason you did what you did."

Did she see hope on his face?

"
I didn't do nothin'!"

"
You killed my partner."

"That shithead Delavon, he tol' me if I didn't
go over there, watch Jermaine's back, he gon' kill me. See, I owe
Delavon a bunch of money—"

"
How much?"

"
Bunch."

"
How much?"

" 'Bout ten thousand dollars. Deal went wrong
once; and then there's the interest. Mr. Green, I got to tell 'em.
Cain't I tell 'em what I tol' you?"

Slowly, Green nodded.

"I didn't kill nobody. I swear I didn't. But I
know who did."

"Who did, Augustine?"

Green pointed a finger. "You answer that one and
I kill you, boy. " He turned to the three officers and smiled:
"Deal time."

In another twenty minutes they had it hammered out:
Melancon would testify against one Jermaine St. jacques and one
Desmond Lavon Bourgeois, in return for which he'd be permitted to
plead guilty to battery.

The best part was, he gave them Delavon's address.
 

27

It was Cappello's job, as Jim's sergeant, to
investigate his death. Skip was beside herself, desperate to get to
Delavon, yet dying to know what was happening with Anna.

"Sylvia, one thing you should know. I've got to
go with you when you pick him up."

Cappello was preoccupied. She brushed at the hair in
her eyes and glanced at her watch. "No way. You're too tired.
Anyway, I don't even know if I'm going—Joe asked me to sit in when
the feds question Anna, and my babysitter's got to go home sometime.
I was going to see if Abasolo would do it."