Kidd and LuEllen: Novels 1-4

by John Sandford

  “Got it,” she breathed at me. “Jesus, stealing is better than fucking, you know?”

  “Thanks,” I said dryly.

  “You know what I mean.…” Her voice sounded full, awash with adrenaline or some kind of special burglar hormone. We listened for another minute, heard nothing but LuEllen’s breathing. Then she retrieved the rope; we recrossed the ladder and took it back into the store, hooking the hatch behind us.

  “This is the worst,” she said when we were at the front of the store. “This is where we really could get caught again.”

  “I haven’t seen any cocaine,” I said. The thought had just popped into my head, from nowhere.

  “I thought I’d try it this way, doesn’t feel too bad.”

  “So…”

  “I still want it.”

  “That’s the way it is, I guess.” I slipped two fingers under her belt buckle and pulled her up against me. “You’re more interesting without the coke.”

  She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed me on the lips, and it went on for a bit.

  “This is goofy,” she said, pulling away. “This is how you get caught. You forget for a minute.…”

  We’d be going back out into the street blind. A car rolled by. We were ready to go when the lights from a second one showed. It passed, and we went. Outside, she used the pry bar to slip the lock in place, dropped the bar in her shoulder sack, and we were on the sidewalk.

  I put my arms around her, and she pressed her head against my shoulder. Lovers, again, walking in the moonlight. We stopped once on the street before we turned down toward the car, to kiss and, incidentally, to drop the latex gloves in a brand-new Longstreet storm sewer.

  JOHN WAS waiting for the call.

  “You going?” he asked.

  “Just got back,” I said. I looked at LuEllen, who was stacking packets of twenty-dollar bills on the kitchen table. “It was smooth as silk.”

  “Jesus Christ, I’m starting to think Bobby was right about you guys,” John said. “I’ll call Marvel. I’ll send her in.”

  “I’ll call her,” I said. “There’ve been some changes. I think I’ve figured out how it’ll go, all the way to the end.”

  WE HAD TAKEN out one hundred thousand dollars in cash. After counting it, we put it back in the bag and stuck the bag in the Fanny’s engine compartment, where it would be safe from accidental discovery. The boat was now a floating time bomb; on board we had LuEllen’s burglary tools, the books from the Longstreet machine, a hundred thousand dollars in stolen city cash, and the murder photos.

  DESSUSDELIT ARRIVED PROMPTLY at ten o’clock, and we cold-decked her. I almost, but not quite, felt sorry for her. She was as nervous as a hen, settling into the querant’s chair with a series of twitches and unconscious starts. She’d been up all night, rolling the crystal ball in her hands. The ball had been dead, she said as she handed it back to LuEllen, except for a few moments around three in the morning. For a few seconds then she thought she saw her mother again.

  “She seemed to be welcoming me,” Dessusdelit said bleakly.

  “Maybe that means you’re going to visit her,” LuEllen suggested ingenuously.

  “She’s dead,” Dessusdelit snapped. “I thought I told you.”

  “Oh… I’m sorry,” LuEllen said, covering her mouth in embarrassment.

  We shuffled the cards, and Dessusdelit cut them. LuEllen reached out and touched her arm and said, “You can keep the ball for a while if that will help you reestablish a channel.…”

  When Dessusdelit turned her head to reply, I switched the decks and started laying down the Celtic Cross. Out came the Tower or, as some tarots have it, the Tower of Destruction, symbolic of the wrath of God. The card shows a medieval tower struck by a lightning bolt, with two people tumbling out of it.

  “Things seem to be stirred up,” I said as Dessusdelit turned back. I tried to put the best face on it but let enough sickly kindness ooze into my voice that she had to know what I was doing.

  Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, and finally she blurted, “I’ve had some personal difficulties.”

  “That’s what we’re seeing then. But remember, the Tower doesn’t always mean disaster,” I continued with a patently false heartiness. “Remember when I told you that sometimes it’s as simple as looking at the picture? One time I had an opening scheduled for a Chicago gallery. For me it was a big deal. I don’t usually do the magical kind of tarot spreads, but I was worried about this opening; my career was in the balance. So I said, what the heck and did a spread—”

  “And the Tower came up?” she asked eagerly. She was looking for reassurance, and since I had obviously survived the Tower…

  “Exactly. Well, you can imagine how I felt. I even considered canceling the opening. But that was ridiculous. I couldn’t do it. Food had been ordered, and wine. There were dozens of invitations out, including to the newspaper critics. Besides, I kept telling myself, it was just superstition—”

  “What happened at the opening?” she asked, cutting me short.

  “At the opening? Nothing. It went wonderfully.” She allowed herself a small smile. “But before the opening… well, the question I had asked the cards was, ‘How will my day go tomorrow?’ Thinking, of course, about the opening. And I got the Tower. The next day I was eating breakfast, English muffins with orange marmalade. I was using a toaster to toast the muffins, and one got stuck and started to burn. When I thought about it later, I knew I’d been blindly stupid, but I wasn’t thinking at the time. What I did was, I used a table knife to try to pry the muffin out. I got a terrific shock. Threw me across the room. My arm and hand spasmed for days.”

  Dessusdelit’s smile slowly died.

  “Everything was fine with the opening. The Tower was simply a picture that portrayed something that would happen to me. The card shows a lightning bolt, like the electricity in the toaster. I damn near electrocuted myself.”

  As I said that, the blood drained from her face. The state had the electric chair, and after Harold and Sherrie, it must have been on her mind.

  “Could I look at your ball again?” she stuttered at LuEllen.

  “Sure.” LuEllen got it from its bag, and Dessusdelit rolled it through her hands. Nothing.

  “No color,” Dessusdelit said.

  “Maybe things just aren’t right,” LuEllen said. “You’ve got to be able to focus. If you can’t focus your mind, the ball won’t have anything to react to.”

  “Goddamn,” Dessusdelit muttered. I nearly dropped the cards, and LuEllen sat back, surprised. Dessusdelit’s bony hands clenched on the table in front of her. Her mouth was running as though she were speaking in tongues. “We’ve got these goddamn niggers in town, goddamn nigger bitch, ruining it for ever’one, ruinin’ ever’thing. Started happening when that shitheel dickhead cop shot that nigger kid trash fuckin’ coon down on the tracks.…”

  She rambled on insanely for a moment, then seemed to run down. She sat for another few seconds, staring blindly at her hands, then suddenly stood and walked out.

  LuEllen followed her to the door, said, quietly, “Take care of yourself, Chenille,” and watched her go up the levee wall. Over her shoulder she said, “The fuckin’ mayor’s cracked, Kidd. We cracked her open like a fuckin’ egg. And it’s amazing what leaked out, was it not?”

  “First-degree murder ain’t shoplifting,” I said.

  DESSUSDELIT LEFT around ten-thirty. At noon the state attorney general’s auditors hit the town like the great flood of ’27. They came in a convoy, six plain brown government cars and three state police cruisers. LuEllen and I were eating cheeseburgers at Humdinger’s when they went by.

  “The cavalry,” LuEllen muttered over her chicken noodle soup.

  “Too late for Harold,” I said. “C’mon, let’s go.”

  “Where to?”

  “That hardware store we hit last night. I saw some really big magnets in there.”

  JOHN HAD TAKEN the BMW back to Memphis
the night before and dropped it at the dealership where he’d rented it. After catching a couple of hours of sleep, he drove back to Longstreet in his own car. He was hiding out at Marvel’s, a non-person, cleanly shaved, what little hair he had cropped to a stubble, carefully wearing faded jeans, old T-shirts, and ragged tennis shoes. He looked nothing like the slick Mr. Johnson from Memphis. If anybody made that connection, we were sunk.

  JUST AFTER NIGHTFALL LuEllen and I turned a corner downtown, John’s Chevy stopped beside us, and we climbed in back.

  “Is Marvel back?”

  “No, but she should be anytime now. She’s stopping at a friend’s place—the cleaning lady at the City Hall, Becka Clay. Becka was there this afternoon when the state police came in.”

  “What happened with the governor? Marvel took a long time.”

  “The usual bullshit. He wouldn’t deal directly, but he had to approve every little detail, so his hatchet man was running back and forth like a trolley car. By the way, when I talked to her on the phone, she said you wanted Hill and Ballem appointed to the city council, along with our man?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why the change?”

  “We figure if Harold is dead, Hill did it,” I said. “If Hill and Ballem are appointed along with our guy, then we tip the state cops to the computer out at animal control. They’ll go in, grab the computer, find the books, and this time they’ll include Ballem and Hill. Marvel can supply the state people with the code words I fixed in the machine.… And as soon as the state guys go in, Hill and Ballem both get anonymous calls. A woman, I think. Somebody who can do a white-southern-lady accent. She calls them up, says she knows Hill killed Harold and says she doesn’t want to turn in a white man for killing a colored, but she doesn’t want killers running the city either. So they have a choice: Quit or burn. They’ll know that the cops have the books, so their council seats are probably gone anyway. When the woman calls… why would they fight it? They’ll go.”

  John grinned. He liked it. “A little racist judo,” he said. Then he frowned. “’Course, if Hill didn’t do it, he’s gonna freak out.”

  “He did,” I said shortly. John gave me an odd look, and I shrugged. “The tarot says so.”

  Marvel came in twenty minutes after we got to her house. She looked exhausted but determined.

  “Harold?” she asked John. John shook his head, took her by the elbow, and led her to the couch.

  “How’d it go?” I asked.

  “The deal’s done,” she said. “The governor will appoint Hill, Ballem, and Brooking Davis just as soon as Dessusdelit, St. Thomas, and Rebeck quit.”

  “What if they don’t quit?” John asked.

  Marvel shrugged. “I don’t see how they can avoid it. Becka fixed it so she was cleaning the second-floor toilets when the state people arrived. Wells and Dessusdelit were there. She said they went straight to the safe, opened it, and didn’t find any money. She said Wells sat down right in the middle of the floor and started to bawl. Dessusdelit was talking about a lawyer.”

  “Did you talk to the newspaper?”

  “Yeah. I called the managing editor, anonymously, and told him what happened—the missing money from the bank. I told him the TV was on to it, too. I told him I was with the state and wanted the word to get out before it could be covered up. He freaked out. He said he’d talk to the head auditor and confirm it. Then I called the TV and told them the same thing.”

  We sat and looked at each other for a moment. Then she said, “That should do it; I don’t know what else we can do.”

  THE TELEVISION RESPONSE was disappointing. The local station’s ten o’clock news mentioned that state officials were doing an audit of the city’s books. “There are unconfirmed rumors circulating that some funds have been improperly transferred between accounts,” the anchorman said with a fairly puzzled air. A reporter talked to St. Thomas outside his house, but St. Thomas, standing in a pool of TV light, claimed he’d been on the river, fishing, and knew nothing about it. Dessusdelit refused to comment.

  At one o’clock John called.

  “Drive up to the E-Z Way and get yourself a newspaper,” he said. “Better hurry before they’re gone.”

  There were four left when we got there. Elvis, the counterman, shook his head and allowed how the papers were selling like rubbers at an AIDS convention.

  The paper led with the story, reporting virtually word for word what Marvel had told them. A hundred thousand dollars were missing from the bank. The state people wouldn’t confirm it but didn’t deny it, either, given several chances.

  I called Bobby on a voice line.

  “This has got to be between you and me and LuEllen,” I said. “John’s not to know, or Marvel. If you can’t handle that, I’ll go some other way.”

  He thought for a moment and then said, “Will it hurt them?”

  “No,” I said. “Their feelings would be hurt not to know, but they don’t really need to know. In fact, if they did, they might do something that would hurt all of us. Especially Marvel—and John’s in bed with her now.”

  “All right,” he said after another minute. “You and me.”

  “You know Harold’s gone missing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hill killed him. And the Sherrie woman.”

  Bobby whistled. “For sure?”

  “For sure. Put their bodies in the river. I need you to do two things. First of all, I need you to call Dessusdelit. You should tell her that you know Harold was at her house and you know what he was doing there. Tell her that you know that Hill took him away in the van and that Hill killed Harold and Sherrie. Tell her you know that she was in on it. Tell her she ought to quit the city council anyway, but if she doesn’t, along with St. Thomas and Carl Rebeck, you’re gonna turn her in. Mention the electric chair. Tell her you want her to quit Monday morning with the others.”

  “You want me to call her right now?”

  “Right now. Shake her out of bed.”

  “All right. What’s the other thing you need?”

  “The Army Corps of Engineers runs computer models of the Mississippi on all kinds of things.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want you to get into their data base in St. Louis, or maybe it’s down at Vicksburg, whatever, and run a model on a body dumped into the river just below Longstreet. See where it’d get in a week.”

  SUNDAY.

  I had the feeling that mobs should be in the street with torches, storming the castle gates. But Dessusdelit didn’t live in a castle; she lived in a rambler. And instead of mobs in the street, we got church bells from three different directions. I sat on the upper deck and sketched, while LuEllen would pace the cabin, come up and sunbathe for a while, then go below and pace some more. Halfway through the afternoon we both started drinking gin and tonics and got mostly in the bag, something we rarely do.

  With our blood alcohol levels about as high as they get, we had a wonderful idea. We talked about it for a few minutes. Then we went below and called Rebeck’s house. His wife answered.

  “I gotta talk to Carl,” I said urgently.

  “Can I ask what this concerns?” The voice of a politician’s wife.

  “Well, uh, I just been talking to one of them state boys,” I bumbled. “You better tell Carl to get his ass on this telephone, this is important.”

  Rebeck picked up an extension a minute later. “Yes?”

  “Carl, I don’t want to say who this is ’cause I could get in trouble myself. But you know me, and I know you, and I’m here to tell you, those state boys have got more than some money shuffled around. Somebody’s got themself hurt. I don’t know who, but they got homicide investigators comin’ in. If I was you, I’d go have a talk with them state folks. Maybe you can get out while the gettin’ is good.…”

  “What—” he started, but I hung up.

  “There,” I said drunkenly, “that’ll fix things.”

  “You need another gin and tonic,” LuEllen said, and
we fell around the inside of the cabin, laughing about Rebeck.

  AT FOUR O’CLOCK Bobby dumped to the computer and tapped the alarm. By that time we were sobering up, and the call to Rebeck no longer seemed like such a good idea.

  “What the fuck were we doing?” LuEllen moaned.

  “Shit, it’ll be OK,” I said, grimacing. I hadn’t gotten loaded in two years.

  When I brought up Bobby’s file, I found a series of calculations based on current, channel shape, and flow that suggested that the bodies would be anywhere from three to twenty-five miles downstream. He listed a series of probabilities for each location but warned that “the bodies could have gotten hung up on something two minutes after they went in the water and maybe went nowhere.”

  On the other thing, he said, “I did Dessusdelit.”

  “Fuck it,” I said to LuEllen as I crawled back up the ladder. “Let’s go out on the water.”

  The marina operator was reseating planks at the end of the dock, working with a power drill, a couple of crescent wrenches, and a stack of two-by-sixes. LuEllen waved to him, glass in hand, as we went out, and he waved back with his own beer bottle.

  We headed south past the warehouses, elevators, and the tank field, past animal control. There was nobody in sight at the complex, and at the revetment, where Hill and St. Thomas had dumped the bodies in the water, I put LuEllen ashore. She jogged up the levee path, watching the weeds for snakes, and peeked at animal control. Nobody home.

  She came back, and we examined the last of the murder photos, the shot of Hill throwing the pistol into the river. I had no idea how much the lazy current would deflect something as heavy as a pistol, so we anchored ten feet above where it had gone in the water and began working with the magnet. LuEllen didn’t have a great deal of faith in the possibility of finding it. I thought it was mostly a matter of patience.

  I was using a muskie rod to cast with, with the magnet tied on instead of a lure. The magnet was heavy, but if I got my shoulders into it, I could toss it twenty-five or thirty feet downstream and then crank it back upstream to the boat.