Polly Iyer - Diana Racine 03 - Backlash (27 page)

L
ucier
spent another fitful night. He’d insisted Diana sleep in a different room, knowing she wouldn’t get any sleep either, but in the morning, she slipped silently into his bed. He wanted to tell her to go, to leave him be, but as sick as he was, feeling her warm body pressed against him eased the contracting muscles and the aches in his joints. Fevered and shivering at the same time, he’d lay as long as he could, absorbing her comfort without getting up to make another trip to the bathroom. It was a wonder he had anything left inside him to purge.

He was glad she didn’t talk, because he didn’t feel like responding, only dying.

She’d slipped one arm under his neck and the other over and around his middle. He found her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back.

He wanted to know about the investigation, about the murders, about the safety of his team. He wanted to ask about a lot of things, but in that moment he could only think of the craving for the drug that caused the pain and how one more shot would make him feel normal, if only for a matter of hours.

His obscene desire for drugs was promptly forgotten when twisting contractions of his leg muscles forced him to his feet with a smothered moan. He stomped around the room, stretching and doing leg crunches to work out the excruciating pain.

Diana jumped up and ran to him, putting both palms on his cheeks. Her strength surprised him.

“What can I do? I’ll do anything, just tell me what.”

He tried not to look at her, but through watery eyes he saw her concern. “Nothing. Cramps. They have to work themselves out.”

“I’ll massage them for you. Let me.”

“No, no.” He almost yelled. He was about to apologize when he sneezed, once, twice, five times, and bolted into the bathroom to be sick all over again for the hundredth, no thousandth, time.

After the past few days, or was it weeks or months? he’d lost any pretense of dignity. He rinsed his face and ran a bath. The warm water relaxed him.

Walt knocked on the bathroom door. “You all right?”

“No, but I’m still alive.” He opened the door. “Barely. How’d you do it? How did you survive this nightmare?”

“You’ll learn you’re stronger than you ever imagined. Yours is a particularly ugly case because you didn’t do this to yourself willingly.” Looking at the filling tub, he said, “The bath will help.” He handed Lucier a couple of pills. “Take these.”

“Thanks. What happened to make Rickett bring Diana here?”

“I’m not sure. Ask him when he comes back. All he said was she’d be safer here.”

“Tell her I’ll be out soon.” Walt left, and Lucier slipped into the water until he was submerged. He came up for air. He’d fight this, and he’d win. He had to.

Diana had been in trouble. That’s why Rickett brought her here. Lucier needed to get over the worst of this hell to protect her, but right now he couldn’t protect himself. He’d take the pills, do what he had to do, and when he got well again, he was going to find the evil bastard, and fucking kill him.

He slipped under the water again.

* * * * *

D
iana
waited in the living room. Seeing Lucier in such a state clarified why Rickett and Walt didn’t want her to see him. Worse, she knew Lucier didn’t want her to see him so incapacitated. They’d all underestimated her.

Lucier had experienced too much pain in his life to go through this misery, but if he thought she couldn’t handle seeing him, he was dead wrong. She’d seen plenty, experienced the pain of others through her psychic curse.

Walt sat down beside her.

“He’s taking a bath. I found the water therapeutic when I was going through this.”

“How long did withdrawal take you?”

“Longer than it’ll take Ernie. I was hooked good and couldn’t kick my habit. I bounced in and out of rehab. Every time I got clean, I’d find my way to a pusher. After three years, and with more help than I deserved, I kicked the monkey. Getting clean was the hardest thing I’ve ever done or will ever do.”

“What happened?”

“I was so deep undercover that I had only one contact, and he’d lost me.” Walt snickered. “Or I’d lost him. When the cartel began to suspect me, they made me use to prove I was one of them. Either I shot up or they’d put a bullet in the back of my head. I figured I could handle the drugs.” He stared squarely into Diana’s eyes. “I was wrong.”

Diana could see the pain in Walt’s expression. Talking about this was still hard on him. “How’d you break cover?”

“I found out about a huge drug shipment coming into the country and the upstanding citizen behind the deal. I mean a rich, powerful politician who preached helping people. Damn hypocrite was getting rich off the backs of poor junkies, dot-com millionaires, and dumb college kids looking for the next high.

“By then, I’d hit rock bottom, a certifiable addict. This was a shipment of heroin not marijuana, with a street value in the tens of millions.” He looked off into space. “I thought of all the people who’d wind up like me. There must have been something left of the agent in me, so I did what I had to do.

“Breaking up this ring meant I’d be without my next fix and on a hit list that wouldn’t stop until I was dead. In spite of that, I got hold of my contact, and he pulled me out. The politician was busted, and the shipment seized, but some of the top people got away.”

“I remember that. You’re still alive. How did you manage that?”

“The Bureau created a death scenario for me as one of the bad guys, and now I’m someone else. Again. I look different. Gained weight ―” he patted his ample belly ― “grew a beard, and turned gray, and I’m nowhere near where I lived back then. Most of the ones who got away have been rounded up. Hopefully, I won’t run across the few still out there.”

Diana knew about multiple identities in the dangerous world of undercover work. “Is your family with you?”

Walt’s expression changed. “No. Undercover work isn’t for married people. My wife knew I was an agent for the DEA before we married, but you never really know the extent of the next job. She thought she could deal with my work, but after the last assignment and my third failed attempt at getting clean, she’d had enough and filed for divorce. I didn’t blame her. She deserved better than a life of worry with a husband who disappeared months at a time without her knowing if he was dead or alive.”

“Do you ever see her?”

“We have a good relationship. She’s since remarried. I see my kids when it’s safe. They don’t know what I did or what I do, but they know I love them. Maybe someday I’ll tell them, but not now.”

“I’m sorry, Walt,” Diana said. “I hate what you went through, but you’re making a difference. You are with Ernie and I’m sure with others. That’s what counts.”

He almost smiled. “Kohl is coming over to stay with you when he gets off work. I have an appointment to see a cop who’s about to lose his family if he doesn’t stop drinking.”

She reached for his arm. “You can’t save them all, you know.”

“No, but I can try.”

When Walt went back into his office, Diana did what everyone would have told her not to do had she asked. She opened the bathroom door and slipped soundlessly inside the steamy room. Lucier lay still, his head rested against the back of the tub. He opened his eyes and watched Diana strip, then step into the tub to lay atop him. He put his arms around her and held her tighter than ever before.

B
eecher
hadn’t
heard anything about Michel from Rickett, but he had to follow the captain’s orders. “C
all
Halloran to pick up Michel and bring him to interrogation, then we’ll make a show of
requesting
Rickett to come in for questioning.”

“I know who you mean, Sam, but remember he’s Rickett so we don’t blow his cover. That would be a fatal mistake. For him.” Cash slid into the passenger seat, tapped a number on his phone and relayed the message to Halloran. “We’ll take Rickett.” He snickered. “Yeah, I know. We were just saying the same thing.”

“What’d he say?”

“That this is getting complicated.”

“An understatement,” Beecher said. “Michel is the only one left we know of.”

“Hodge used Denise Garcia as an alibi. She and Tommy could be involved, and who knows how many others.”

“After we sweat Michel, we might have a better idea.”

Cash punched in Rickett’s number. “Craven ordered us to pull Michel and you in and sweat you until you’re a puddle on the ground.” Cash listened, said, “Jesus.”

“What?” Beecher asked impatiently.

“Rickett said Craven will have to wait to meet Michel in the afterlife. A homicide call came in over the wire on his way to Michel’s, at Michel’s address. He’s getting the hell out of there.”

“Shee-it,” Beecher said as his phone buzzed. Halloran. “Yeah,” Beecher answered. “We know. We’re on our way. See if you can track down Denise Garcia and verify Hodge’s alibi, not that it much matters unless she’s involved in this plot. If you think she is, put her in protective custody. She’s not safe.” To Cash: “Tell Rickett to be careful.”

Cash did as asked, hung up, and said, “Why worry about Rickett? Obviously the boss is killing off the avengers to protect himself, and Rickett isn’t one of them.”

“I’ve been on the force twenty-two years, and I’ve never seen anything like this. Graft, bribes, even drugs, but not systematic murder. This was someone’s idea of righting injustice that’s gone terribly wrong.”

“I agree.”

The scene at Michel’s apartment looked much like that at Hodge’s place. Cothran’s assistant, Dr. Naill Patel, had just arrived. Two techs were dusting the room for prints. Beecher and Cash donned booties and gloves and stepped inside. Michel sat at the kitchen table. What was left of his head rested in his bowl of cereal.

“Two people called in that they heard a shot. Front door was locked from the inside. Shooter went out through the sliding glass door in back. He must have parked in the back lot or on an adjoining street. No one saw anything.”

“How can this guy keep shooting people and getting away clean,” Beecher said. “He must be a phantom.”

“No forced entry either,” the crime tech said. “Michel knew his killer if he felt comfortable enough to sit down to finish his breakfast.”

“Cereal killer,” Beecher said.

Everyone stopped to stare at him.

With a shocked expression, Patel said, “Detective. Have some empathy. A cop’s dead. This isn’t the time for jokes.”

Beecher summoned his most apologetic tone. “Sorry. Bad cop humor.”

Patel frowned. “Indeed.”

Beecher glanced at Cash, who shook his head, then turned to survey the room. “What time did the neighbor call in the shot?” Beecher asked.

“Breakfast time,” Patel said, his face flushing.

Beecher snickered. “Touché.”

“Could it be the same shooter?” Cash whispered.

“If so, he got Michel first, wouldn’t you say?”

“Or we could have two shooters. I wish the lieutenant was around. He’d be able to figure this out.”

Beecher led Cash away so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Maybe he’s better today and we can see him. I’ll ask Rickett when I talk to him next.” He turned back to Patel. “Send the report to Lieutenant Lucier’s office, Doc.”

“He back?” Patel said.

“Soon.”

“Hell of a time to take a vacation.”

“He’s recuperating,” Beecher said, annoyed. “He was shot, you know.” As much as he wanted to set Patel straight, he bit his tongue. He didn’t want Lucier’s situation known throughout New Orleans. His boss had enough problems.

“Who said the lieutenant was on vacation?” Cash asked.

“Craven. Guess he couldn’t think of anything else to explain where Lucier was. Let’s go back to the district and see what we’ve got.”

“Yeah, because there’s something I want to check that’s been eating at me all morning.”

“What?”

“I’d rather not say right now. I could be wrong.”

Cash was a smart kid, Beecher thought, often picking up on things the rest of the team missed. He was careful in his judgments too. A break in the case is what they needed.

Beecher’s thoughts flashed to Lucier and to what he must be going through. He’d seen drug withdrawal firsthand when his brother got hooked on painkillers after an industrial accident. Heroin was much worse. If any person in the world didn’t deserve that hell, it was Ernie Lucier.

* * * * *

H
e studied
Dave Rickett’s file on the computer’s NOPD’s database and saw nothing about him completing the usual requirements to work in a different state. No retraining or certification listed either. In fact, there wasn’t much about him at all. How the hell ―?

The way Rickett had insinuated himself into the card-playing group, cozying up to Chenault, had piqued his curiosity at the time. But with more important matters on his mind, he’d forgotten about him.

He slammed his hand down on his desk. How could he have taken so long to figure this out? His file said Rickett came here from Virginia. Yeah, right. More like Quantico. Someone had to know. Who? Authorization could come only from the superintendent or someone higher up. The state’s attorney general, perhaps.

Rickett had transferred in months before. Why? Had they discovered something fishy about the murders or was there another reason? Were they onto him? One of the others? If so, what had tipped them off? The deaths of two judges? One judge okay, but murdering two was dumb.

Was he off base, jumping to conclusions? He didn’t think so.

Rickett had to be the one who rescued Lucier.

Who did he follow? Michel? Hodge? Didn’t matter now. Neither one would talk.

He massaged his temples and thought about his life here, his family. The feds and Lucier’s team hadn’t found him out yet or he’d be behind bars. The walls were closing in every day, every minute.

He’d developed two escape plans, never believing he’d need either. He could chance disappearing, leaving everything, or get caught and spend the rest of his life in prison. Either way, his family would be destroyed, humiliated. His kids scarred forever. He’d written it all down for them to understand why he’d done what he’d done. Maybe they’d understand. The second plan fulfills a promise.

He reached into his back waistband to retrieve the burner phone and hit number one.

“Can’t talk now,” the voice said. “I’m really busy.”

“Tough. Get unbusy.” He explained about Rickett.

“Rickett? That racist asshole? Are you sure?”

“Almost positive. If Lucier cleans up, he could be trouble. He’s a bulldog, and he has reason now to dig in. He won’t quit until he has me.”

“With the blend of dope those boys shot into him, he’s lucky if he remembers his name, never mind anyone he could identify. Hodge said he was in la-la land the whole time, barely put up resistance. The woman, though. I don’t trust her. Do you know where Lucier is?”

“No, but I will. Two can play the same game. That’s where you come in.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need you to follow Rickett. I thought I’d be able to, but I can’t leave here without churning up suspicion. I’ve been gone too much already, and time is crucial. I don’t want to take Rickett out, I just want to know where he goes. He’s hiding Lucier and Racine, and they have to be stopped.”

“You’re not the only one who’s been in and out.”

“Yeah, but no one’s looking at you. Every cop in New Orleans is under suspicion now.”

“Make sure no one’s looking at me, understand?”

“Just follow Rickett and our problems will be over.”

“Or our problems will be just beginning. Where can I find him?”

“He’s at his district. He should be getting off in an hour.”

“If Rickett isn’t the babysitter, who’s watching Lucier?”

“Don’t know.”

“Okay, but if Rickett’s a fed he’ll be watching for a tail.”

“Then don’t let him see you. Let me know where. I’ll take care of the rest.” He hung up and pulled his collar away from his neck. He could almost feel the noose tightening. He didn’t care about Rickett other than as a source to Lucier and Diana Racine. He sure didn’t need the death of a fed on his head. They’d never stop then.

He hated to kill Lucier. An anonymous note to Jake Griffin, and everyone would know Lucier had been hooked on drugs. Jake would make sure. No cop kept his job after that. But Diana Racine would always be a threat.
One touch could put me in prison for life.
Taking her out meant taking out Lucier. They were a package deal.

No matter how long he lived, he could never finish the task. Injustice was an everyday event. They’d done the best they could. If not for the Racine woman, they would have continued their mission to speak for the victims. Evildoers couldn’t destroy lives and walk away scot-free. Where was the justice for those left behind? Where was the justice for his little girl?