Polly Iyer - Diana Racine 03 - Backlash

by Polly Iyer

  “The captain knew.”

  “The captain didn’t leave the district. Neither did our team, and Jake Griffin doesn’t seem to be involved this time.”

  “That’s because they knew they were going to shoot us.”

  “Possibly. Ernie was a target. So were you.”

  “Then they’d have to kill your whole team. You all know too much.”

  Beecher hummed in his throat. “But you could nail the killer with a touch.”

  Diana didn’t like Beecher’s conclusion at all, mainly because it could be true.

  “What happened next?”

  “Ernie opened my car door and walked me up the drive. I heard a pop, and he pushed me down and covered me with his body.” Her breath caught. “He put himself in harm’s way to save me, Beecher.” Her chin quivered. “Oh, damn.”

  “That’s because you’re more important to him than his own life. Damned if I know why, though.” He socked her in the arm and offered her the tissue box on the bedside table. She took one and wiped her eyes.

  A laugh escaped amid Diana’s tears, relieved to rid some of the guilt. If Lucier died, she’d never get over his loss. Beecher helped lighten the situation; otherwise, she’d burst into tears.

  “Wasn’t there anything at the scene? A broken branch that caught his monogrammed handkerchief or something?”

  Beecher grinned. “No such luck. Clean as the proverbial whistle. He even raked over the ground where he stood.”

  “Who else but a cop would know to do that?”

  “Anyone who watches enough cop shows on TV. Everyone’s a forensic expert these days.”

  Diana was about to agree when a commotion exploded in the hall.

  A voice over the P.A. system called, “Code blue, code blue. ICU. Room 320.”

  Beecher paled.

  “What?”

  “That’s the lieutenant’s room.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Conflicted

  Rudy Hodge sat in his cubicle triangulating a position from a cell tower, but all he could think of was spending the rest of his life in prison. As a cop, he’d be a target. The warden would probably take him out of the main prison population so he’d be less likely to get a shiv in his back.

  He’d become so wrapped up in the group, so immersed in their mission, that he’d changed. Really changed. The change drove his wife to take the kids and go to her mother’s for a “much needed break.” If things came crashing down, better if the kids were away to avoid being ridiculed and bullied.

  Shit.

  In the beginning, Chenault approached him to feel him out. What made Chenault think he was a candidate to join a group that took the law into their own hands? What vibes did he give off? Chenault had said they’d right the wrongs of bad judgments, light sentences, and political payoffs.

  Had they known about Hodge’s sister? His father had filed a police report, but that was two decades ago, and because she was underage, they’d kept her name out of the papers to protect her. Still, everyone at home knew who she was. The boy’s father hired a top-notch lawyer, and the judge dropped the charges for lack of evidence. The kid went on to Yale and later clerked for a Supreme Court justice. Hodge’s sister was fucked up from that time on.

  When Chenault brought that up and asked how he would have felt if the boy had received the justice he deserved, Hodge didn’t have to think. He wanted that rich college-bound prick’s life ruined at the time, like he had ruined his sister’s. Chenault was slick, getting him all wound up. He even offered retribution to the grown abuser, but Hodge refused, unwilling to churn up his sister’s memories. Still, he couldn’t deny that the idea had tempted him.

  Within an hour, Hodge was in all the way without giving a thought to the morality or the consequences of what they were doing. A little late to have second thoughts, isn’t it, Rudy? Then he wondered if he’d refused to join, would he be long forgotten in some shallow grave or gator food in one of the bayous?

  Chenault had assured him no one would get hurt who didn’t deserve the punishment. Punishment the perpetrators should have received when they beat an old man to death or committed vehicular homicide, wiping out an entire family. Or a gangbanger who raped a young girl, just like the asshole jock who thought his sister asked to be raped and beaten.

  Their plan was bold, inflict justice commensurate with the crime, and he let emotions rule over judgment. When reality hit, he was in too deep, but he didn’t regret one retribution. Not one.

  Nor did he think twice when he trussed up the pervert who’d sodomized a young girl while Hodge pictured his sister and eleven-year-old daughter as victims. When Alba put a bullet into the pervert’s head, Hodge thought back to the day they took out the judge whose insane verdict had allowed Soulé to walk. All in good time, he remembered thinking. Maybe someone would tie the two events together, but they’d been two years apart, so no one had. Even though Hodge had seen Alba photograph Soulé ― the boss always wanted a photo ― he couldn’t imagine the jerk sending the photo to Chenault.

  Hodge had crossed the line from defender to avenger long before that day, but avenging his sister’s rape wasn’t the only reason they’d wanted him on their team. He could manipulate forensic evidence in case any of them left something incriminating at a crime scene. The noose tightened when Chenault told him about the photo. No way to explain the picture of a dead man to Keys Moran, and no way to convince Chenault not to incriminate everyone else if he were cornered. Hodge had sold his soul to protect his ass.

  To make matters worse, he’d buried evidence. Now two cops were dead because one couldn’t keep his pecker in his pants, and the other sent a picture of a dead man over the airwaves, jeopardizing everyone.

  Adding to the mounting problems, Ernie Lucier was in the hospital, fighting for his life. Along with Chenault and Alba, if Lucier died, there’d be no stopping the manhunt for the killer of three cops. He sunk in deeper every day.

  The superintendent made Lucier lead on the case for good reason. What did Chenault call him? A bulldog? An understatement. Hodge knew enough about the man to be afraid. Then he thought of Lucier’s girlfriend, the psychic. Her vision led them to Chenault and Alba’s grave. What else did she see? Did she see who pulled the trigger?

  Given Racine’s reputation, she’d zero in on him eventually. His test of shaking her hand came out in his favor, but it might not the next time.

  Lucier knew he’d erased evidence. He had to. That alone was enough to get him a prison sentence, but murder and complicity in more murders would get him the needle. He felt physically ill.

  His only regret was that he would probably get caught. He harbored not one shred of sympathy for Soulé, Winstead, or the three cops who beat an old man in the nursing home, causing his death. Too bad the third cop was still alive, but barely. Someone would have to wipe his ass and feed him for the rest of his life. Maybe that was worse than death. It would be for him.

  He’d go to the meeting tomorrow night and keep his mouth shut. He didn’t know any other way to stay alive.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Bad Girl

  “Exactly what are you doing?”

  The stern voice of the duty nurse stopped Diana in her tracks. No point fudging when you’re caught in the act. “Looking for the ICU.”

  “There’s a reason the ICU is off limits, Ms. Racine. To protect the patients from germs and unwanted guests.”

  “I won’t be unwanted.”

  “The doctor will let you know when you can see the lieutenant. Right now is not a good time. I suggest you get a good night’s sleep and see what tomorrow morning brings.”

  Nurse Cintero put her arm around Diana’s shoulder, leading her back to her room. “If you love your lieutenant, don’t go against orders. He’s fragile now. You’d never forgive yourself if you caused his heart rate to accelerate and put him into cardiac arrest.” The nurse met Diana’s eyes and spoke in a lowered voice. “It’s not all about you, Ms. Racine.”


  The nurse’s last words made her own heart stop. How could she be so selfish? “You’re right. It isn’t all about me. It’s just ―”

  “I know. Believe me. I’m sure you’ll be cleared to see him tomorrow. Why don’t you go back to bed? You’re not in the best shape yourself. Can I get you anything? A book? Magazine?”

  “Thanks, a magazine would be perfect. Something light and fluffy.”

  Cintero laughed. “I’ll round up a few Peoples or Ladies Home Journals. How’s that?”

  “Thanks.”

  Diana went back to her room like a scolded child and got into bed. She’d better call her parents before they heard what happened on television and hotfooted down to New Orleans to look after their little girl. That’s all she needed.

  Not.

  * * * * *

  Lucier opened his eyes to a dim light inside, total darkness outside. Though groggy, his mind cleared almost immediately, and he knew where he was.

  Diana. He started to rise but couldn’t. Had she been hit too? He’d fallen over her to protect her, but that’s all he remembered. Had he succeeded? A fast beeping noise started. A few seconds passed before a nurse barreled into the room to check him.

  “You’re awake,” she said, checking the readouts on the machine. “Now what caused the beeping? You didn’t try to get up, did you?”

  “Diana Racine.” His voice came out in a soft croak. “Is she ―”

  “She’s fine, thanks to you. You saved her life.”

  His deep breath hurt his chest. “Is she here?”

  “She’s in the main hospital wing. You’ll see her soon enough.”

  “Why is she in the hospital?”

  “She hit her head hard when she fell, but she’ll be fine. You’re both lucky a neighbor scared off whoever shot you.”

  She’s alive, he thought, and relaxed. “I don’t suppose anyone saw the shooter.”

  “Don’t think so. TV didn’t say.”

  He saw the machines and wires hooked to him like something out of a science fiction movie, and he knew his injury was serious. “What happened to me?”

  “The doctor will give you all the information. Like I said, you’re a lucky man. Just don’t try to get up. You’re not that lucky.”

  The nurse poured water from a bedside pitcher, stuck in an accordion straw, and put it to his lips. He drank greedily. She monitored the machine, reset some knobs, and checked his intravenous bag. He really did feel like shit, but he kept that to himself.

  “Heard you were awake,” the doctor said, entering his room. “I’m Doctor Golden.” He checked the readouts on the machines and seemed to be satisfied. “Another quarter inch to the left, and we wouldn’t be talking to each other right now.”

  “I’m glad the guy wasn’t a crack shot.” Talking hurt, but Lucier didn’t want to tell. He wanted out of the hospital, the sooner the better. “When can I leave here?”

  The doctor laughed. “You’re kidding, right? You had a serious drop in blood pressure from the loss of blood, which is why I want you here at least a couple of days. When you leave, you’re to rest until your wound heals. No exertion. But I’ve dealt with cops before. You guys never listen to doctor’s orders. Makes me think I should hold you here longer.”

  “I promise I’ll take care. Can I see Ms. Racine?”

  “I’ll tell the nurse. I’ll also get word to your lady friend that she should keep you in bed, and not for the usual reasons. Rest only.”

  “She will. You have no idea how bossy she can be.”

  “She’s a woman,” the doctor said and left.

  Lucier was glad Diana didn’t hear that comment. After ten minutes, Diana cautiously slipped through the door. She was wearing a hospital gown, no makeup, and Lucier thought she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

  “There’s nothing more I’d rather do than hop in bed with you and smother you with kisses, but the doctor warned me to be gentle and not get you excited.”

  “I’m all taped up, but you can kiss me.”

  She bent down, brushed her lips to his. “Oh, Ernie. I almost lost it when I woke up. If anything happened to ―”

  “Shh. I’ll be as good as new in a few days. I was more worried about you.”

  “I inherited my father’s hard head.” She kissed his cheek. “Who wants us dead?”

  He’d been asking himself the same question. “I don’t know for sure, but we’ve obviously gotten some people scared.” Talking was becoming harder. He coughed and almost catapulted out of bed from the pain.

  “Stop talking. I’ll just sit here with you.”

  “Diana, I want you to go to your parents’ house. It’s too dangerous here. They know what you’ve done, what you’re capable of doing. Staying in New Orleans isn’t safe.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. You need a nurse for the next week or so. I’m at your service, milord.”

  “The doc won’t let me go until he’s sure I won’t have any residual problems. Until then, I’ll conduct the investigation from here. I’ll be safe, but you’ll be alone and in danger.”

  “I’ll be careful, lock all my doors and windows, so don’t try to get rid of me.”

  Lucier physically couldn’t argue. He knew convincing Diana to leave was a lost cause before he started but thought it was worth a try. He’d make sure one of his men kept an eye on her. Maybe he’d ask Adele Beecher if Diana could stay with them until he got out of the hospital. Even if Adele agreed, Diana probably wouldn’t. She had the hard head of her father, all right.

  Lucier didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until the nurse entered and woke him. Diana had moved from the chair to his bed and had fallen asleep too.

  “What are you doing in the lieutenant’s bed, Ms. Racine?”

  Yawning, she said, “Keeping him company.”

  The nurse shot over and waved Diana from the bed. “You’re a bad girl. Good thing the doctor didn’t see this. He’d have kicked you out of the hospital.”

  “Really? Let’s get him in here then.”

  “You’re worse than bad,” the nurse said. “Now, visiting hours are over. Time for you to go back to your room and your own bed.”

  Diana moved toward Lucier, now awake and with a smirk on his lips. “I’d better scoot. How are you?”

  “Sleepy.”

  She kissed him on the lips and whispered in his ear. “I love you.” Then out loud, “Be back tomorrow.” She headed toward the door, and when the nurse wasn’t looking, she flashed him. She wore panties, but she made him smile.

  I love you too.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Planning a Plan

  The next morning, Beecher and Cash entered Lucier’s room.

  “Hey, boss,” Cash said.

  “You’re looking better,” Beecher said, dropping a paper bag onto the bed.

  Lucier took the bag and stuffed it under his pillow. “I’m ready to blow this place, but the doc doesn’t agree.”

  “Halloran stayed at the district to take care of any calls that came in,” Cash said. “If he needs us, we’ll skedaddle.”

  “I’m surprised the captain agreed,” Lucier said.

  “He said we’re to fill you in and get back as soon as we can,” Cash said.

  “He also sends his regards,” Beecher said. “Said he’d try to get over this evening.”

  “That’s nice of him,” Lucier said. “The doctor wasn’t happy about this. Setting up an office in his patient’s room wasn’t conducive to resting, but I promised I wouldn’t get excited.”

  Beecher snorted. “He obviously doesn’t know you rarely do.”

  “Never accomplishes anything. I tried to talk him into letting me leave tomorrow. He said maybe. If he does, we can work for a couple of hours at either my house or Diana’s for a day or two. Now, what do you guys have for me?”

  Diana popped in, dressed in street clothes. She looked around the room. “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.” She skirted around the bed,
pecked Lucier on the cheek, and hoisted herself up to sit next to him.

  Lucier was happy to see her. “They release you?”

  “Yup, I’m free as a bird.”

  Beecher winked at Diana. “You asked us to dig into the histories of the poker players, Ernie. We didn’t find much. Only Chenault avenging his father, if he did, and they’re both dead. Maybe if we knew who killed the old man we’d be sure.”

  “What about Rickett?” Lucier asked.

  “Nothing we can find. ’Course he hasn’t been here long. He’s surly sometimes, and a cop I know said he makes racist comments occasionally, even to the blacks in his district, but most of the time he’s joking. No one’s complained. Go figure.”

  Lucier snorted. “Right. I’ve heard those jokes. He doesn’t like gays either from what he said to me.”

  “That’s not enough to kill one,” Cash said. “Lots of people feel the same way.”

  They all looked at him.

  “Hey, not me. I don’t have a problem. Just saying.”

  “You’re right, Willy,” Diana said. “Donny, I mean Keys, may have acted a little over the top during his performances, but off stage he was reserved and classy, not obviously gay, though he didn’t try to hide the fact.”

  “Doesn’t matter now,” Lucier said. “I doubt being gay caused his death other than he chose the wrong person to have a relationship with. His problem was seeing that photo.”

  “There’s something in Rudy Hodge’s background,” Beecher said. He went on to explain about Hodge’s sister being raped. “The kid got off. Rich daddy again. But nothing’s happened to him. He’s a D.A. up in Connecticut. A real hard nose, I found out.”

  “That might be enough reason for Hodge to join the group,” Cash said.

  Lucier wrote down each point on a pad sitting on his bedside table. “Someone is digging up this information. Someone with the ability to ferret out our cops’ backgrounds almost as if he has access to their records.”