by Robert Crais
After the bodies were cleaned up and the statements taken, Jo-el removed his badge and told the young cop, Berry, to place him under arrest on a charge of obstruction of justice for failing to act against Milt Rossier.
Berry looked at the badge as if it were radioactive and said, “Like hell I will!”
One of the prosecutors from New Orleans shouldered his way in and said he’d be happy to accept the badge. He was a guy in his forties with tight skin and short hair, and he had spent a lot of time walking the area and shaking his head. When he tried to get the badge, Berry knocked him on his ass. A state cop from Baton Rouge tried to put Berry in a restraint hold, but Joe Pike moved between them and whispered something in the state cop’s ear and the state cop walked away. After that, the prosecutor spent a lot of time sitting in his car.
Lucy spoke quietly to Jo-el for over an hour, pleading with him not to do or say anything until he spoke with Merhlie Comeaux. Edith said, “Listen to her, Jo-el. You must please listen to her.”
Jo-el finally agreed, though he didn’t seem to like it much. He sat in the front seat of his highway car with his face in his hands and wept. Jo-el Boudreaux was in pain, and ashamed, and I think he wanted to suffer for his sins. Men of conscience often do.
Joe Pike returned to Los Angeles the following day.
I stayed in Louisiana for a week after the events at Milt Rossier’s crawfish farm, and much of that time I spent with Lucy. She spoke on a daily basis with Edith, and twice we went to visit.
With Milt and LeRoy Bennett out of the picture, the Boudreauxs could have kept their secret, but that wasn’t the way they played it. They phoned their three children, saying that it was important that they see them, and the three daughters dutifully returned home. Jo-el and Edith sat them down in the living room and told them about Leon Williams and Edith’s pregnancy and the murder that had happened thirty-six years ago. Much to the Boudreauxs’ surprise, their children were not shocked or scandalized, but instead expressed relief that they had not been summoned home to be informed that one or both of their parents had an incurable disease. All three adult children thought the fact of the murder ugly and sad, but had to admit that they found the story adventurous. After all, these things had happened thirty-six years ago.
Edith’s youngest daughter, Barbara, the one who was attending LSU, grinned a lot, and the grinning made Edith angry. Sissy, the oldest daughter, the one with two children, was fascinated with the idea that she had a half-sister and asked many questions. Neither Edith nor Jo-el revealed that the child she’d had was now the actress known as Jodi Taylor. Edith no longer wanted to keep secrets about herself, but other people’s secrets were a different matter.
Truths were coming out, and the world was making its adjustments.
On the fourth day after the events at Milt Rossier’s crawfish farm, I was waiting for Lucy in the Riverfront Ho-Jo’s lobby when the day clerk gave me an envelope. He said that it had been left at the front desk, but he didn’t know by whom. It was a plain white envelope, the kind you could buy in any drugstore, and “Mr. E. Cole” was typed on the front.
I sat in one of the lobby chairs and opened it. Inside was a typed note:
Mr. Cole,
I regret that I am unable to return the photograph as promised. An associate identified the gentleman, and, as you know, we have acted accordingly. I hope you do not think me small for exceeding the parameters of our association. As I told Mr. Pike, the man with the rifle is always there. Regrettably, the child remains unknown, but perhaps now there will be fewer such children.
There was no signature, but there didn’t need to be.
I folded the letter and put it away as Lucy crossed the lobby. The Ho-Jo door was flooded with a noonday light so bright that Lucy seemed to emerge from a liquid sun. She said, “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You ready?”
“Always.”
We went out to her Lexus and drove to the airport. It was hot, but the sky was a deep blue and vividly clear except for a single puff of white to the east. Lucy held my hand. She released me to steer through a turn, then immediately took my hand again. I said, “I’m going to miss you, Lucy.”
“Oh, me, too, Studly.”
“Ben, too.”
She glanced at me and smiled. “Please let’s not talk about the leaving. We still have time.”
I kissed her hand.
We turned into airport parking and went into the terminal, still holding hands, walking as close as two people can walk, as if the most important thing in the world was to occupy the same space and share the same moment. We checked the flight information. I said, “The plane’s here.”
We walked to the concourse, and I didn’t like it much. In a few days we’d make this drive and walk again, only then I would be leaving. I tried not to think about it.
We met Jodi Taylor as she came off the plane. She was wearing jeans and a satin vest over a red top, and she was clearly Jodi Taylor. Not hiding now. The pilot was falling all over himself to walk with her, and a guy in a charcoal suit was trying to cut in on the pilot. She looked nervous.
I said, “Pardon us, gentlemen,” and led her away from them.
Lucy said, “How’re you doing?”
Jodi nodded. “I’m okay.” She didn’t look okay. She looked the way you might look if you’d spent the past couple of days with an upset stomach.
A little girl in a Brownie uniform approached. She was holding what looked like a napkin and a ballpoint pen. Her mother had encouraged her. The little girl said, “Miss Taylor, may I have your autograph?”
“Sure, honey.” Jodi signed the napkin and tried to smile, but the smile looked weak. Nervous, all right.
When the little girl was gone, I took Jodi’s hand. “You sure you want this?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“What about Sid and Beldon?”
Jodi’s face grew hard. “I know what I want.”
Lucy took Jodi’s other hand, and we walked out of the airport.
We brought Jodi to pick up Edith, and then the four of us went to visit Chantel Michot. I had called in advance and Chantel was waiting. There was a lot they wanted to talk about.
OTHER WORKS BY ROBERT CRAIS
The Monkey’s Raincoat
Stalking the Angel
Lullaby Town
Free Fall
Sunset Express
Indigo Slam
L.A. Requiem
Demolition Angel
Hostage
The Last Detective
The Forgotten Man
The Two Minute Rule
The Watchman
Chasing Darkness
The First Rule
The Sentry
Taken
Suspect
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robert Crais is the author of many New York Times bestsellers, most recently The First Rule, The Sentry, the number one bestseller Taken, and Suspect. He lives in Los Angeles.
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 1995 Robert Crais
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. For information address Hyperion, 1500 Broadway, New York, New York 10036.
eBook Edition ISBN: 978-1-4013-0611-3
First eBook Edition
Original hardcover edition printed in the United States of America.
www.HyperionBooks.com
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