by Susan Fleet
Interesting. Darin had it all planned. Get out of the country to escape a murder charge and get Mom a new liver. “Where would he get the money to do that?”
“That's what I ask him, but Darin say not to worry. He'll get it.” Smiling at him like a proud mother, her dark eyes bright with hope.
He showed her the photograph. “Is this Darin's father?”
Her smile faded. “Long time ago, that picture. Where you get it?”
“You remember the man in the picture? Hunter Gates?”
Expressionless, she said, “I remember him. I forget his name.”
“Do you have a set of rosary beads and a silver cross with your name engraved on it?”
“Yes.” Her expression softened and her eyes got a faraway look in them. “Rose 1975, the year I escape from Saigon with my mother. You know where it is? I asked Darin to bring it to me, but he say he can't find it.”
“A little boy had it. The boy Darin kidnapped to get the money for your liver transplant.”
“Kidnapped? Darin would never do that. He's a good boy.”
Frank tapped the photograph. “Darin kidnapped this man's wife and two children, a five-year-old girl and a ten-year-old boy. When I found the rosary in the boy's pocket, he was dead.”
She stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Darin killed him.”
The bright light of hope went out of her eyes.
In the silence, the monitor beside her bed beeped faster and faster. Rose turned her head away and started humming. Frank recognized the tune. Mack the Knife. Strange. Why was she humming it?
He turned and headed for the door. Why visit the sins of the son upon the mother?
Rose had nothing to do with the kidnapping or Robbie's murder.
She'd been here in the hospital for the past ten days. Dying.
CHAPTER 45
SATURDAY – 10:15 PM
Already on edge, Donna felt a chill when a breaking news graphic flashed on the screen. The stations only cut into regular programming when something dire happened. An hour ago when René came home, she had searched his face, fearing he'd shot the kidnapper, but his expression revealed nothing. He took off his windbreaker, went in the kitchen, put the gun in a drawer and took a beer out of the refrigerator. “I'm tired,” he'd said. “Let's watch TV.”
Now he seemed strangely subdued. Slumped beside her on the futon, he sipped his beer, unconcerned about the news bulletin. A vague premonition filled her with dread. Something bad had happened, she was certain of it. She focused on the screen and realized she knew the reporter. Raven Woodson.
Standing outside Hunter Firearms, Woodson said, “New Orleans City Councilman Hunter Gates was shot and killed in his office tonight.” Gesturing at police vehicles with flashing lights, she said, “Police are still processing the scene. An NOPD homicide detective captured his assailant, who was taken by ambulance to a hospital. Police did not identify him, but he is believed to be the man who allegedly kidnapped Councilman Gates's family. We'll bring you more details as soon as they are available. Reporting live from the scene, I'm Raven Woodson.”
Donna wanted to jump for joy. Hunter was dead. Now she could go home to Emily! She gripped René's arm. “It's finally over!”
He looked at her, his eyes full of fury. “No it isn't.”
But his words barely registered. “I have to go home to be with Emily. Can you drive me?”
Conflicting emotions swept over his face, anger, grief and despair. Finally, he said, “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
Fifteen minutes later they arrived at her house. A dark-haired woman in black slacks and a blue turtleneck jersey stood at the end of the driveway, waving away a TV news van and a reporter. When René started to turn into the driveway, the woman signaled for him to stop.
Donna jumped out of the Tahoe. “This is my house! I'm Emily's mother!”
The woman seemed to recognize her. Flashing her badge, she said, “Special Agent Claudia Cohen, FBI. Who's he?” Nodding at René, sitting in the car.
Without thinking, Donna said, “Robbie's father.”
The woman blinked in surprise, but recovered quickly and waved René into the driveway. When he got out of the Tahoe, Agent Cohen said, “Nice to see you again.”
Mystified, Donna looked at René, but he said nothing.
Eager to see her daughter, she ran up the walk and rang the bell. It felt weird, having to ring the doorbell to get into her own house, but the kidnappers had her keys.
When Juanita opened the door, her eyes widened. “Miz Donna!” she exclaimed, her face wreathed in a smile.
Behind her, Emily squealed, “Mommy!”
She rushed inside, swept Emily into her arms and kissed her. “I'm so glad to see you, Emily!”
“And I'm glad to see you!” Emily said, squirming to get down. “Where's Daddy?”
The question unnerved her. She was glad Emily hadn't seen the news on TV, but her question wasn't going to go away. What should she tell her?
She glanced at René, standing beside the FBI agent in front of the door. No answers there. Sooner or later, she would have to tell Emily her father was dead, but not tonight. She needed time to think, time to find the right words.
“Daddy had to go somewhere,” she said.
Agent Cohen looked at her, sending a message with her eyes. Emily might not know her father was dead, but the FBI agent did. “I'm glad you're home safe, Donna,” Agent Cohen said. “I better go out and fend off the media.”
“Thank you,” she said automatically. Her mind was racing, her thoughts jumbled, rejoicing that she was home with Emily, grappling with the idea that Hunter was dead, knowing she couldn't stonewall Emily about that forever.
After Agent Cohen left, René shut the door and leaned against it, silently watching her.
“I'm so happy you're home,” Juanita said. “These last few days have been … difficult. Emily and I missed you a lot.”
Clearly, Juanita didn't know Hunter was dead either. “Is the TV on upstairs?” Donna asked.
“No, ma'am,” Juanita said. “I was just putting Emily to bed.”
“I'll do that,” she said. “Emily, go up to your room and pick out a story for us to read.”
“Can we read two stories?” Emily said eagerly. “You haven't read to me for a long time.”
“Of course. Go pick them out. I'll be up in a minute.”
After Emily went upstairs, she said to Juanita. “Do you need a ride home? No need for you to stay the night. René and I will be here.” She took his hand and drew him closer. His hand was cold and clammy. He was as nervous as she was. Squeezing his hand, she said, “René, this is Juanita Gonzales, my wonderful housekeeper. Juanita, this is Robbie's father. René Picou.”
Juanita's dark eyes widened and her smile faded. “I'm happy to meet you, sir. Robbie was a beautiful child. I'm very sorry for your loss.”
René nodded his thanks and rolled his lips together, his eyes melancholy.
Donna whispered to Juanita, “I know this will come as a shock, but Hunter is dead. Someone shot him tonight.”
Juanita gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. Donna gripped her shoulder and whispered, “That's why I don't want Emily watching TV. The local stations are running bulletins about it.”
“Lord-a-mercy, Miz Donna, I don't know what this world is coming to.”
“If you need a ride home,” René said, “I can drive you.”
“Thank you. That will save me calling my husband,” Juanita said. Her brow furrowed in a frown. “You sure you don't need me to stay the night, Miz Donna?”
“Positive. I'm not going to tell Emily tonight. I'll tell her tomorrow after we take her trick or treating. By then, maybe I'll have figured out how to break the news that her father is dead.”
_____
10:45 PM
Sam gulped some beer and opened the car window. It was hot and muggy tonight, not a breath of air stirring even near the riv
er, the sky overcast, thick clouds obscuring the moon.
A half hour ago when the bulletin flashed on the TV, he almost had a heart attack.
City Councilman Hunter Gates Dead. Kidnapper Captured.
Seated beside him on the couch, Abby had said, “Good for them! They got the kidnapper.”
Too shocked to speak, he went in the kitchen and grabbed his car keys.
But Abby followed him, her face scrunched in a frown. “Sam, what's wrong?”
A confession rose up inside him. I'm the other kidnapper.
But the words stuck in his throat like a chicken bone.
“I gotta go get something. Be right back.” But when he backed out of the driveway, he had seen Abby standing at the door, watching him, looking worried.
He tipped back the bottle, drained the contents, put the empty in the carton on the passenger seat and took out another one, his third in a half hour. He'd stopped at a convenience store to pick up a six-pack of cold ones.
The sound of a fog horn drifted through the car window, as mournful as a dirge. A fitting accompaniment to his thoughts.
He put the beer bottle between his knees and thumbed his eyes, unable to rid his mind of the thoughts that tortured him.
What the hell was he going to do? The cops had and sooner or later Darin would talk. Put all the blame on him, probably. Tell the cops it was his idea. Either way, his life was over.
Shame and self-loathing seethed inside him like maggots in garbage pail swarming rotted meat.
How could he face his fellow officers, Kenyon especially? Kenyon had been his best friend for years, and Tanya and Abby were friends, too.
And what about his neighbors? When they found out he was one of the kidnappers, they'd think he was a sleazeball with no morals out to grab some bucks, might never speak to him again.
But that wasn't the worst part. Abby would despise him. Her mother was right. Abby never should have married him.
What kind of father was he? What would S.J. think? He drank some beer, picturing S.J., with his cute little Abby-nose, his eyes bright with intelligence, full of admiration for his police-officer Dad. But not anymore.
Acid roiled his gut, a nagging pain that wouldn't quit. His nerves were shot to hell. He never should have gotten mixed up in this. Right from the start he'd known Darin was a hothead, but he'd never figured him for a killer.
Darin had no conscience, had murdered an innocent ten-year-old boy for no reason. From the little he’d seen of him, Robbie had seemed like a nice kid, polite and respectful. Now he was dead.
Darin had beaten him to death. But he was just as guilty.
He finished the beer, put the empty bottle in the carton and took the Glock out of his pocket.
Abby and S.J. would be better off without him.
He opened the car door, planted his feet on the gravel and got out. No sense splattering blood and brains over the car.
Ten yards away, a mound of trash bags and stacks of newspapers sat beside a smelly green dumpster. He'd parked in the gravel lot around the corner from Decatur Street where folks who worked in the French Quarter left their cars. Nobody'd notice one more.
Marching to the tune of the mournful fog horn, he walked down to the riverbank and stared at the murky water, inhaling the funky scent. Wisps of fog rose from the surface. Off in the distance, a dog barked, and lights twinkled on the Crescent City Connection, the bridge that arched over the Mississippi River, connecting the east and west banks of the city.
His skin felt damp and clammy, his hand sweaty on the Glock.
He tried not to think about S.J. and Abby. Impossible.
A lump clogged his throat and tears filmed his eyes.
“I love you, Abby,” he whispered. “Please forgive me.”
CHAPTER 46
SUNDAY October 31 – Halloween
By the time they got home from trick-or-treating at eight-thirty, Donna was exhausted. For two hours she’d been traipsing around Lakeview, waiting on the sidewalk with René while Emily collected her treats. This afternoon René had gone to a costume shop to buy her disguise.
The Lucille Ball outfit was perfect, a navy dress with white polka dots, a white apron and, best of all, a wig with long, wavy red hair. René had gone as Lucy's husband, bandleader Desi Arnaz. He already had a black gig suit and a bow tie, but he'd bought a straw hat and a black wig with a wavy pompadour to complete the Desi look.
Emily seemed happy. Her orange-plastic pumpkin was full of candy, and her Princess Leia dress was smeared with chocolate. Now she was pawing through the candy in her pumpkin, yawning. It made Donna yawn, too. She wanted to take off the Lucy costume, crawl into bed and sleep for a week. But she had to tell Emily about her father.
“Can I have another Reese's Peanut Butter Cup?” Emily said.
“No more candy tonight,” Donna said. “You can have some tomorrow.”
“But I want one now!” Emily said, pouting, her glitter speckled eyebrows forming a frown.
Donna knew what was coming: a full-blown tantrum. She knelt down and looked Emily in the eye. “Settle down, Emily. No tantrums. Next week you'll be six years old. We'll invite some of your friends over for a birthday party. Right now I want you to go upstairs and take off your costume and put on your pajamas so I can wash off your makeup.”
Emily's bottom lip trembled. “Trick or treating wasn't as much fun without Daddy.”
She glanced at René, standing by the door in his Desi outfit, holding the straw hat. “Go upstairs, Emily,” he said. “Your mom will be up in a minute.”
Emily's eyes filled with tears. “Why can't I talk to Daddy?”
“Go upstairs,” Donna said firmly. “I'll be up in a minute and we'll talk about your birthday party and then we'll talk about Daddy.”
“Okay,” Emily said, her voice subdued, and started up the stairs.
Donna breathed a sigh of relief and massaged her temples.
René came closer and embraced her. “I’m sure you're dreading it,” he said, “but you'll feel better after you tell her.”
“I know. Thanks for being a good sport and coming with us.”
“No problem. It was fun being Desi, but I want to go home and take off my costume.”
“Home?” she said. Aren't you going to live here with me?
“I need to talk to Lenny and the guys in the band. I'll be back tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she said uncertainly.
He kissed her cheek. “Don't worry, Donna. This time I'm going to be there for you. And the baby.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I can hardly wait. He'll look just like you.”
René laughed. “How do you know it's a boy?”
She smiled at him. “I just know. Go talk to Lenny.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow,” he said, and left the house.
Dreading her next task, Donna climbed the stairs, each step an ordeal. Emily was in the bathroom dabbing at her face with a washcloth. She had put on her favorite pajamas, pink pants and a pink top arrayed tiny gray elephants.
“Let's get that makeup off,” Donna said. “You look much prettier without it.”
“But I like wearing makeup. You wear it all the time. How come I can't?”
She doused the washcloth with liquid soap and washed rouge off Emily's cheeks. “When you get old and creaky like me you can wear it.”
Emily laughed. “You're not old and creaky, Mom.”
“Close your eyes so I can clean off the makeup.” Emily shut her eyes, and Donna scrubbed off the eye shadow and mascara. “Who would you like to invite to your birthday party?”
“Will Daddy be home for the party?”
The dreaded words made her stomach cramp. She couldn't avoid this any longer. She put down the washcloth and dried Emily's face. “Get in bed and I'll tell you about Daddy.”
Emily dashed out the door barefoot and ran down the hall to her room. When Donna got there, she was snuggled in bed with her favorite stuffed animals. Clutc
hing her purple Barney, Emily said, “I missed Barney when we were at that other house.”
“I don't blame you, but now we're home.”
“But Daddy isn't,” Emily said, gazing at her with her big blue eyes. “Where did he go?”
The moment of truth. Working hard to keep her voice steady, she said, “Someplace far away. But it's a beautiful place and he's happy there. Daddy's not coming home, but he loves you very much.”
Emily's eyes brimmed with tears. “Why won't he come home then?”
“Sometimes we don't get to do what we want to do. But you have so many wonderful memories, Emily. Think of all the good times you had with Daddy.”
Emily gazed at her silently, her chest rising and falling.
Her desolate expression broke Donna's heart.
“Maybe he's mad at me. Because of those tantrums.”
“No, no, no,” she said. “It's not your fault, Emily. Daddy thought you were the best daughter in the whole world. You're his princess, remember?”
Emily sniffled and tears spilled down her cheeks.
Feeling helpless, Donna said, “Every night when he came home from work he'd say in his big loud voice, 'Where's my Princess?' I can still hear him saying it, can't you?”
“Yes, but I want him to come home, don't you?”
No, no, a thousand times no!
She couldn't say that to Emily, but she wasn't going to lie about it. Better to change the subject. Time for her trump card. She wiped the tears off Emily's cheeks. “Don't cry, sweetheart. I've got a big surprise for you, but it's a secret. Will you promise not to tell anybody?”
“I promise,” Emily said, gazing at her solemnly. “What's the secret?”
“You're going to have a baby brother. Or maybe a baby sister, I'm not sure which.”
“Yeaaa!” Emily exclaimed, all smiles now. “I want a baby sister.”
“We'll see. Time for you to go to sleep, young lady. It's really late.”
Emily yawned. “Okay. Maybe when I wake up, Daddy will be here.”
