Polly Iyer - Diana Racine 03 - Backlash (32 page)

When he started to get up, Diana said, “Don’t move. Just don’t.”

“I can’t do anything. In fact I can’t get up, so don’t worry.”

“Why’d you kill all those people? And don’t say they deserved to die. Sometimes life isn’t fair; we all know that.”

“Do you have children, Ms. Racine? No, of course not. How could you understand the love a father has for his child? MaryAnn was the most beautiful, smartest four-year old you’d ever want to meet. I loved her to the moon and back.”

His words stuttered, breathing shallow.

Diana didn’t think she hit anything vital. She hoped not anyway.

Craven continued. “She loved me the same way. What we had was magical. That ended nineteen years ago when a drunk driving with a revoked license slammed into my wife’s car, and MaryAnn went flying out of her car seat.”

Tears trickled down Craven’s cheeks. Diana felt his anguish. Nineteen years hadn’t erased the picture of his injured daughter, nor had the years erased his rage.

“She’s twenty-three now, still beautiful, but with the mind of a two-year-old child. The driver got off because he was rich and bribed the judge. How would you feel if that happened to you? If you saw this piece of shit walk while your daughter had to be tended to for the rest of her life? How? I’ll tell you how. You’d want to make the bastard pay, and the judge along with him.”

The worst part of Craven’s story was Diana would have felt the same way. But that’s when it would have stopped. “And then you sought out other guilty parties and exacted revenge. Who made you God to render those judgments?”

“Me. I made them. Others agreed.”

“Your accomplices? And you killed them to save yourself. Not so noble after all, are you?”

Craven coughed. A pool of blood covered the floor. “I wasn’t finished, and I’m still not. You don’t even have to leave New Orleans and vicinity to find lowlifes who’ve killed by wantonly disregarding the lives of others.”

“You just described yourself, Captain.” She heard sounds coming from her phone. “Ernie?”

“We’ve zeroed in near to where you are, and your description of the house has helped to pinpoint you further. You still have everything under control?”

“Yes.”

“I heard the whole conversation. We’re on our way. Ambulance too. See you as fast as we can get there. Don’t lose focus, and for God’s sake, don’t feel sorry for him.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t. Been there, done that.”

“I’m keeping the phone line open.”

“Okay.”

C
raven
was semiconscious when Lucier and Beecher arrived at the house. Beecher checked the captain to make sure he didn’t have a weapon, and Lucier removed the gun from Diana’s death grip. He put his arm around her shoulder. “You okay?”

She shook her arm. “Yeah, but my arm’s asleep. That thing is heavy.”

“I’d say the gun’s too big for a tiny gal like you,” Beecher said, “but you’d probably call me sexist and smack me into the next room.”

She smiled. “I’ll give you this one, Sam. I shot him, Ernie. He didn’t think I could, but I did.”

“You did the right thing, sweetheart. He would have killed you without a second thought.”

“She may be tiny,” Craven said, rousing, “but she got the better of an old cop, though I wasn’t at my best.” He coughed and laughed at the same time. “She’s got guts. I’ll give her that. I’d keep her, Ernie.”

“I don’t understand, Jack. All those people.”

“Victims. Who speaks … for them? The system let them down. I just picked up the slack.”

“Did I leave a victim in my wake for you to justify shooting me full of drugs? What victims did Moran or the two at the safe house leave behind? Or Diana? Where was the rationale for killing us?” He got down closer to Craven’s face. “When did meting out justice become vigilante revenge?”

Looking off into space, Craven wheezed, then said, “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“No, those things never are. Did you think of the victims
you
left? Those three cops who beat the old man in the nursing home had families with children who’ll grow up without fathers. Did you think about the wife who has to take care of her paralyzed husband? No, you didn’t, because you thought you were on a moral high ground. The system isn’t perfect; we all know that.”

“They got off.”

“So murder is the answer?”

Craven slumped silently against an overturned chair on the floor. Looking down at him, Lucier felt nothing but disdain for his boss, ex-boss. This was a man he’d admired and respected. What he’d done left Lucier questioning his judgment of character, because he never saw the rot from within.

Surveying the scene, Lucier saw the instruments and empty overturned pot, signs that Craven had planned for Diana to remove the bullet. He debated stuffing the towels onto his to wound to staunch the bleeding, but a siren sounded in the distance, whirring closer. He’d wait until the paramedics arrived. Neither bullet hit anything vital. Craven would live to face his own judgment.

Lucier turned away, then turned back. “You were one of my heroes, but you’re no different than the men you judged unworthy of living.”

They sat there in silence until the paramedics arrived. They worked on Craven, then loaded him into the ambulance. Lucier didn’t know them, since he was out of his jurisdiction, but he identified himself. They knew Diana though. Everyone did.

When a deputy from the sheriff’s department pulled into the driveway, he took down Diana’s statement, along with information Lucier supplied. The deputy had followed the investigation; He left shaking his head after learning that the leader of the vigilantes had been a captain in the NOPD.

“Come on,” Lucier said to Diana. “I’ll take you home. Then I have to fill out the report and contact the superintendent. This will be a big story. Huge.”

Beecher shook his head. “Jeez, I feel sorry for his wife and kids. Talk about victims. What was he thinking, Ernie?”

“Damned if I know.”

“Jake Griffin will have a field day,” Diana said. “I’m going into hiding before he latches on to me to get the
real story
.”

“You don’t have to tell him anything.”

“Ernie’s right,” Beecher said. ”Remember that. Griffin has nothing on you, you’ve promised him nothing. He’ll get the facts like everyone else.”

Lucier ushered Diana out of the house. “Maybe we can make a trade ― a story for the names of his snitches. People in the department leaked confidential information that could have resulted in serious injury, maybe death. They need to be dealt with.”

“That’s not fair,” Diana said. “Jake pays them money they probably need; he gets a pass, and they get fired, maybe even arrested?”

“It comes down to the job description,” Beecher said. “Griffin’s job is to get the news any way he can as long as it’s legal, though his method may not always be kosher. On the other hand, working for the police department comes with rules, and disclosing information is interfering with an investigation. Whoever leaked knew that.”

“Still doesn’t seem fair.”

“Craven didn’t think things were fair either,” Lucier said, “and he’ll spend the rest of his life in prison.”

Lucier opened the car door for Diana. He looked around. “This is a nice place on a prime lot. If it doesn’t belong to Craven, I wonder who owns the house and the pickup outside.”

“I think the house belongs to him,” Diana said.

“I’ll take down the vin number and run a check,” Beecher said.

“Before I go back the district, I want to stop at the hospital and see about Walt.”

“Me too,” Diana said.

“Yeah,” Beecher said, “so do I.”

L
ucier
waited his turn, flashed his badge, and asked the desk nurse about Walter Starr. She called the doctor in charge. Lucier waited until he arrived.

“Are you a relative?” the doctor asked when he appeared at the desk.

“No, but Mr. Starr and I were working together on a case. How is he? Any permanent damage?”

“He just got out of surgery. The bullet shattered a couple of ribs but went straight through. Amazingly no organs or arteries were affected. I spoke to one of the surgeons, and he said fragments of bone lodged in the surrounding muscle. He’ll hurt, but he’ll be okay.”

“That’s good news. What about the boy who was brought in with him?”

“Shoulder surgery. We called in an orthopedic specialist for that one. The kid’s still in surgery. He’ll need rehab, but he should be fine. They’re both lucky to be alive, considering the shots were fired at close range.”

“You’re right about that.” A part of Lucier wondered how Craven was doing, but he was in another hospital. He shouldn’t care, but he couldn’t ignore that at one time he called the man a friend.

“Any idea when I can talk to Walt? If it’ll be a while, I can come back.”

“We got to him pretty quick. Let me check.”

The doctor disappeared for a few minutes. When he came back, he said, “He’s groggy but awake. You can see him for a few minutes, but your friends will have to wait here.”

Lucier let Diana and Beecher know the situation. “I’ll be back,” he said, mimicking the Terminator.

“Give him my love,” Diana said. “And tell him to get well fast so we can take him out on the town.”

“Give him my best too,” Beecher said.

Lucier followed directions to Walt’s room and stepped inside.

His former counselor eked out a weak smile. “Thought I’d seen the last of you.”

“Glad I haven’t seen the last of you, old man,” Lucier said.

“Getting past a bullet is a lot easier than withdrawal. I told the doc that I was a recovering addict and not to give me anything. He looked at me kind of funny, but he said he’d keep to acetaminophen.”

“You in pain?”

“Ribs hurt, but nothing I can’t handle. How’s the delivery boy?”

“Shoulder surgery. Never fun, but he’ll be fine in time.”

“Did you get Craven? He didn’t hurt Diana, did he?”

“
She
got him, not us.” Lucier explained Diana’s under-the-table maneuver and how she got the drop on a twenty-five-year veteran cop. “I had to pry the gun out of her hand.”

Walt laughed. “Good girl. I thought he was going to finish me off. If Diana hadn’t pushed his hand away, he would have.”

Lucier noticed Walt’s dry mouth and poured water into the glass on the bedside table, held it to Walt’s lips. He sipped, then nodded he was finished. “Craven had that crazy look in his eyes I’ve seen too many times. Shot wildly when I pulled my gun, which is why I’m still alive.”

“I worked under him for years and never saw anything but a professional.” Lucier snorted. “What does that say about me?”

“Men like Craven lead two lives. I doubt his wife or kids knew his other side. No different than being undercover in a way.”

“Well, it’s over. There are some loose ends that I hope he’ll help us tie up.”

“Don’t bet the farm.”

Lucier got up to leave. “You going back to the house when you’re released?”

“For a few days. My things are there, and I have other patients in the area who need me right now. The agency might have others who need my help. I have to keep doing this work. It’s important, but I’m also a marked man. Do your best to keep me out of the story, will you, Ernie?”

“Unless Craven talks, we’re going to try to keep the whole drug scene out of the story. Do you really think you have a price on your head?”

“I know I do. My testimony sent some big guys away. They tried to discredit me because of the drugs, but that didn’t work. I had names, dates, recordings. The works. A few years have passed, add a few pounds, more gray hair, but they’d come after me if they got a bead on my whereabouts.”

“We’ve got a reporter here who’d turn in his own mother for a headline. He’s been paying off informants in the NOPD. Some heads are going to roll, and some people are going to lose their jobs. We’ve kept my problem tight: my team, Rickett, Diana, and you. Even the superintendent didn’t know. Craven knew, of course. I doubt he knows who you are or what your story is. Just a watchdog over an addicted cop.”

Walt nodded. “Let’s hope that’s all he knows. If he goes to trial, news about you is bound to come out.”

“We’ll do everything we can to make a deal so he avoids a trial. Right now you’re safe.”

“I hope so, because I like New Orleans, and I’m tired of changing my life every year or two.”

“We’ll do our bestt. Gotta go. Diana sends her regards as does Beecher. We’ll get together soon. Meanwhile, if there’s anything you need, let me know.”

“Will do. Oh, and Ernie, how are you feeling?”

“Still a little queasy, but better than I have in a while. Thanks for asking.”

* * * * *

L
ucier
took Diana home, promising to return for some mutual tender loving care, and headed for the district. Though late, Beecher came with him. Cash and Halloran were still there.

“Some loose ends to tie up,” Cash said. “Timing’s close, but the same person could have taken out Michel first, then Hodge.”

“I plan to see Craven tomorrow,” Lucier said. “Maybe the cop in him will tie up those loose ends.”

Cash shook his head. “There’s still something that doesn’t jive.”

“What?” Beecher asked.

“I don’t know, just something,” Cash said. “Denise Garcia’s been cleared of everything other than fooling around with Hodge. She reneged on his alibi as soon as she found out she’d be covering up a murder and kidnapping.”

“And Tommy Garcia didn’t know what we were talking about,” Beecher said. “I didn’t think he was that good a liar. So Craven’s our guy. All the others are dead.”

Lucier tapped his pencil on the pad in front of him. He’d been jotting down notes, but they went nowhere. “Knowing Jack the way I do, I’m not sure we’ll get anything out of him other than what he told Diana and me. He’s always been a tight-lipped guy.”

“That’s for sure,” Cash said. “Who knew he had a daughter and a first marriage?”

“With him out of the picture, who’s going to pay for the daughter’s care?” Lucier thought for a while. “I’ll see his wife tomorrow. I’m sure she’s in shock.”

“And his kids,” Beecher said. “Terrible, just terrible.”

Lucier checked his email. Appointment with the superintendent tomorrow at two. That would give him time to talk to Jane Craven, followed by the interview he least wanted to conduct: Captain Jack Craven.

The one thing he did look forward to was spending the night with Diana.

“Meet you guys here sharp at eight. Now go home and get some rest.”

* * * * *

D
iana
showered, made turkey sandwiches, and waited for Lucier. Between his being shot and drugged, they’d spent one night curled together at the safe house when Lucier was still going through withdrawal. She was there, and he knew it. That was all that mattered.

The night was a mini-repeat of the night in the hotel not long after she’d been rescued from the serial killer who’d taken out his rage in every way but ending her life. Lucier, patient and understanding, lay beside her, comforting her while suppressing his physical desires at the same time. She believed she’d had fallen desperately and hopelessly in love that night for the first and only time.

He buzzed his code ring on the bell and used his key to enter. He looked tired and disheveled, something she’d not seen often. He’d pushed getting back to work too fast, and he wasn’t yet fully recovered.

“I made something to eat, then I want you to shower and get into bed. I’m going to give you a good massage.”

“Sounds great.”

He ate half his sandwich before saying, “I can’t eat anymore. Sorry. The shower and massage sound great though.”

She cleaned up while Lucier showered. He came out with a towel wrapped around him. She yanked it off, noticing his weight loss. “I’ll have to feed you some good food to put back the pounds you lost.”

“Not ready for the big meals yet.”

He got onto the bed and pulled her down to kiss her. His lips were warm and dry, and they tasted like the sweetest aphrodisiac one could savor. “I’ve missed you.”