“Of course. Thanks.”
“Then we’re square, right?”
She answered correctly. “Right.”
“And that address book—we can’t just do nothing.”
She looked confused. “I guess not.”
The rain banged on the roof, drumrolls piled on drumrolls. Lee Ann had tried so hard to tell him the name of her killer: first actually naming him, and then—how horrified she must have been at his
Goddamn right, we’ll get the bastard
—even then, with just a few more breaths to go, she’d tried again, telling him to bring the address book. Why? So he could see that name, Kirk Bastien, on Johnny
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Blanton’s calendar; see that name and take vengeance. Why else? He would never have another partner like Lee Ann. Vengeance was his: Who had a better right?
Pirate pulled the car over a little, angling the headlights on the gatehouse. Dark inside, unoccupied, but he saw a small sign: when guard off duty buzz for admission. Pirate swung the car around, bringing the buzzer in reach from Norah’s side.
“Buzz,” he said.
“Me?”
“You know him, right?”
“Who?”
He wanted to smack her. And what’s more, Pirate realized at that moment how in some way Norah’s beauty had gotten in the way of Lee Ann and him being what they could have been. But that was for later. He took a deep breath. “Kirk Bastien, who we’ve been talking about.”
“Not really,” Norah said. “I know his brother better, but I haven’t seen him either in a few years. There are no kids up here and—”
“How about we just buzz and see what happens?”
Norah laughed, her mood changing quickly. “Sounds like a plan.”
She slid down her window. Rain pelted in. “What do I say?”
“Who you are.” And if that didn’t work? Pirate had no idea.
“That’s easy,” said Norah. She buzzed.
A woman came on the speaker, almost right away. “Yes?” she said.
“Hi, this is Norah Jarreau.”
There was a little pause. “Oh, hi. Not sure, but I don’t think your father’s here right now.”
“Huh?” said Norah.
“Were you expecting him, or—” the woman began. “Anyway, I’ll buzz you in. I’m Mindy, Duke’s, um, fiancée.”
“Nice to meet you,” Norah said.
Both women laughed. The buzzer buzzed. The gate swung open.
Pirate, who’d had trouble following the back-and-forth, drove through.
The driveway curved toward the lake. There were lots of buildings,
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but two real big ones. One had a tower at the top, the other did not. It was raining so hard Pirate couldn’t make out more than that.
“Where?” he said.
“Not exactly sure,” said Norah.
“But you’ve been here.” Uh-oh. Too loud?
Norah’s eyes were wide, like she was scared or something. “I told you—it’s been a long time. But he’s the younger brother.”
“So?”
“So wouldn’t the older one get the tower?” Norah said.
“Yeah.” Norah was smart enough, when she was straight.
“Weed has some negative effects,” Pirate said. That came without a thought, proving that he would have been a pretty good uncle after all—maybe still could be.
“Thanks for the advice.”
He didn’t like her tone, but a question arose in his mind, more important. “Uncles,” he said.
“What about them?”
“Need a brother or sister for that, correct?”
“I guess so.”
Pirate did have a sister, much older, unheard from in years. She lived in New Mexico, or possibly Alaska. He’d never liked her.
Pirate drove into the parking area near the house with no tower.
All at once it stopped raining, just like that.
“Wow,” Norah.
Had to be a good sign. They got out of the car. Pirate went around to the trunk, opened up.
“What are you looking for?” Norah said.
“Flashlight.”
“I don’t think there is one.”
“No problem,” Pirate said, closing the trunk; but not before, real quick, he grabbed the tire iron and stuck it down his pant leg.
They walked up a seashell path to the front door. Sounds of rushing water came from everywhere. Pirate got distracted by them, was barely aware of Norah, a step or two behind him, dialing her cell phone.
“Hello?” she said.
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Hello? She’d reached someone? How was that possible?
“I’m calling for Joe Don Yeller,” she said. “Who’s this?” She listened for a few seconds and spoke again. “You’re a nurse at Mercy Hospital? I don’t—”
The next moment, Norah was lying facedown on the seashell path, the cell phone a few feet away. Pirate stamped on the cell phone, but not on Norah. On the other hand, what to do with her? This wasn’t fair.
Norah rolled over, sat up. She groaned in pain, but didn’t look worse for wear to Pirate; she did look scared, though, maybe even terrified.
“Why’d you do that?” she said, her voice rising. Pirate had no experience handling hysteria, knew he’d be useless.
He knelt down, took her by the hair, not too hard. “Have to be partners now,” he said. “Don’t fuck up.”
But she did fuck up, big-time, screaming the loudest scream he’d ever heard. He jerked her upright and raised his free hand high. At that moment, the door of the house with no tower opened. A man stood in the doorway, lit mostly from the back, but Pirate recognized him, this blond rich guy, from that brief meeting at Vito’s—the fanciest restaurant he’d ever been in. Maybe he’d lost some weight, but Pirate knew his enemy: Kirk Bastien, mayor of Belle Ville.
“What’s going on out there?” he said, shielding his eyes. “Norah?
Is that you?” He stepped outside.
No time for more questions, nothing left but action. Pirate let go of Norah, charged forward, reaching for the tire iron. “This is for Lee Ann,” he cried out at the top of his lungs. Bastien took a step back, raising his hands. Behind him, a tall tanned woman appeared. By that time, Pirate was in range. He swung the gleaming wet tire iron with all his might—the great rain of his strength!—and just as he did, the tall woman shouted, “Duke!”
Duke, not Kirk? Did that mean this was the brother, and therefore the wrong guy? Why was he finding this out now, too late? Meaning too late to stop the tire iron, although Pirate was able to slow it down and alter the path a little, bringing it lower, keeping the hard steel from connecting with his forehead. Instead, it caught him
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somewhere in the middle of the face. Christ, what a mess. Norah had fucked up the whole tower analysis, her logic all wrong. Pirate almost threw up.
And Norah? She was standing there with this look on her face, like he was a monster. He grabbed her, dragged her out to the car. That was when the Rick came in handy. Pirate ripped out the D and A strings, used them to bind Norah’s hands and feet. She struggled a bit, tried screaming again, this time screaming something about Joe Don. He tore a strip off his soaking shirt and put a stop to that, then threw her over his shoulder. This was all taking too much time. He had to face the fact that Norah was nothing but a burden to him now.
The gates at
the Bastien compound on Lake Versailles hung open. The rain had stopped a few minutes before, but as Timmy drove through, there was a boom of thunder, deep and rolling, followed by a sizzling sound from the sky, and rain came pounding down. Nell saw two cars in front of Duke’s house: a cruiser with the chief’s star on the side, and the Miata. Timmy parked beside them. Nell jumped out, was soaked to the skin in an instant.
“Maybe you should stay in—” Timmy began.
The front door was wide open. Nell ran in. Duke lay on the floor, face bloody, jaw at a strange angle. The new girlfriend—the name wouldn’t come—knelt beside him, rocking back and forth, a bloody towel in her hands.
“The ambulance is coming,” she said. “The ambulance is coming.”
“What happened?” said Timmy. “Where’s the chief?”
“And Norah?” Nell said. “Was she with Alvin DuPree?”
“The ambulance is coming.”
Nell raised her voice. “Answer me,” she said. “Was she with DuPree? A man with a patch?”
“Oh, God,” said the girlfriend. She looked terrified.
Duke stirred, looked right at Nell. His lips moved and he spoke one toothless word, his voice so weak she almost missed it. “Sorry,”
he said.
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“Shh,” said the girlfriend, “shh. The ambulance is coming.”
Nell ran outside, headed for Kirk’s house at the end of the driveway.
Timmy caught up. He’d lost his hat. His hair was plastered down flat; he looked like a little kid. “Maybe it would be better if you—”
She cut him off. “Have you got your gun?”
“Of course.”
They ran. A lightning bolt streaked across the sky, from one horizon to the other. Then came thunder, so loud it deafened her.
Nell’s hearing didn’t recover till they’d reached the house. She heard running water everywhere.
They stepped up to Kirk’s wraparound porch. Timmy knocked on the door. It opened. Clay stood in the doorway, a gun in his hand.
Kirk was beside him, wearing shorts and flip-flops. He had a thick bloodstained bandage wound around one of his thighs and his hands were cuffed in front of him with zip-strips. Clay lowered the gun.
“Officer,” he said, speaking to Timmy but watching Nell, his voice not his own, more like a machine talking, “Mr. Bastien is under arrest for the murder of Lee Ann Bonner. I read him his rights.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve called in backup.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Bastien has a bullet in his leg that we need to match with Ms.
Bonner’s revolver,” Clay said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Where’s Norah?” Nell said.
“Norah?”
“For God’s sake—DuPree might have her.”
Clay stopped meeting her gaze. He looked sick.
“And is that the only murder you’re arresting him for?” Nell looked right at Kirk. “What about Johnny? And Nappy Ferris?” Kirk’s face showed nothing.
“Timmy,” Clay said. “Draw your weapon and guard him. I need a moment with my wife.” By the time he got to that last word, the mechanical edge in his voice was gone. Sirens sounded, cutting through the noise of the storm. Clay took Nell’s hand, drew her down the hall.
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“Before you say a word,” she said, “I know everything.” Even how actually destroying the tape must have been unbearable for him, a step too far, leading to the Dumpster, Bobby Rice’s locker, the long wait for Bernardine and exposure. “With the exception of why,” Nell added, withdrawing her hand.
Clay closed his eyes, actually shuddered, the vein in his neck throbbing.
“Did Duke pay you off?” she said. “Was that it?”
He shook his head.
“He just simply asked you? You framed DuPree out of friend-ship?”
Clay nodded. He opened his eyes, looked deep into hers, a look totally honest, as far as she could tell. “You mean everything to me,”
he said. “Does it ruin our life together? No possible recovery?”
Kirk had tried to bury her, out on the reef. Did Clay have any suspicion of that, even the slightest? He was the one who’d brought in the broken anchor. Nell took a step back. “I don’t know,” she said.
He winced, as though struck by some inner pain. “And this isn’t the time. Norah’s out there somewhere.”
Clay’s face turned businesslike; Nell could feel the effort that took.
“I’ll find her,” he said. “I promise.”
“Just do it,” Nell said.
He nodded, showing no emotion at all, like an obedient soldier.
They went back to the door. Timmy faced Kirk, gun pointed at his chest.
“That’s not necessary,” Clay said. “Lock him in the back of your patrol car. Then we search the grounds.” Timmy lowered the gun.
Nell could see patrol cars driving up, high-intensity lights already moving near the gatehouse. “He won’t get far on foot,” Clay said.
“And if he does have Norah, keeping her safe is his only play.”
That made sense, but Nell felt no better.
They walked out on the porch, Timmy beside Kirk, Clay and Nell behind. Lightning flashed again but less intense, and the thunder that followed seemed farther away. A premonition came to Nell: that somehow everything was going to be all right. The next moment she heard a strange rush of air, like a breeze that had gained force blow-D E LU S I O N
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ing through the wraparound porch, and Alvin DuPree came bursting out of the shadows.
“Clay!” Nell said.
But not fast enough. DuPree had a metal bar of some kind in his hand. He brought it down with crushing force on the back of Kirk’s head. Kirk was still slumping to the floor when Timmy’s gun went off. DuPree grabbed his chest, toppled over—the metal bar pinwheeling away—rolled down the stairs and came to rest on his back, blood spreading on his shirt, lots and lots.
Clay leaped down to the ground, gun in one hand, held it at DuPree’s head. “Cuffs, Timmy.”
Timmy ran down the steps, pulling a zip-strip from his pocket.
“Hands out front,” Clay said.
DuPree put his hands out front, or one of them; with the other, his right, he seemed to be adjusting his eye patch. What was he . . . ? Nell remembered:
My power lives in this secret place.
“Clay!”
DuPree’s right hand was moving, very fast, darting toward Clay’s neck and that prominent, throbbing vein. Nell dove. She saw a tiny flash of steel. Then came a slicing pain down her left side, from just under her armpit all the way to her waist. She knocked Clay over, landed on wet grass, her wound on fire.
Timmy gazed down at her. “Oh my God,” he said. He glanced around wildly, then pointed his gun at DuPree’s head and pulled the trigger.
Clay knelt beside
her. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.”
His eyes were very dark. “That was wrong,” he said. “You shouldn’t have saved me.”
Police and rescue
came, by the dozen. They found Norah down at the boathouse, bound and gagged and with a possible concussion, but alive. They took Nell and Norah to the hospital. The best plastic
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