House of Blues

by Julie Smith

  She jumped.

  She landed hard, her system shocked. She'd been taught how to fall, but it hadn't worked quite right. And no one had told her her teeth were going to bang together with a crash that rattled her skull.

  Reed was still trying to maneuver on her elbows, but at least she'd thought to start screaming.

  "Help! Fire! Help!"

  The window looked out on a huge backyard, and beyond it, on the bayou itself. From inside, Skip hadn't seen the houses on either side. But now she saw that they weren't far away. The Dragons house simply seemed isolated because of its wall and the soundprooflng.

  Someone leaned out the window of a huge Tudor on the left.

  "Are you all right?"

  "The house is on fire. Call 91 l."

  There was still apparently no smoke outside. The peeker, a white-haired woman, craned to see some.

  Skip hollered, "Police! Its an emergency." She got up and made sure nothing was broken. Every muscle in her body shook; she was a human chihuahua.

  But she forced herself to move, to try to find a way back in. She found a garden hose and wet herself down. From Reed, who was now lying crumpled, moaning her daughters name, she demanded her shirt.

  Reed was clutching her ankle, as if to keep it attached. "My shirt?"

  "Goddammit, give it to me. I'm going in to get Sally."

  Reed didn't question the sense of that. She simply took off her shirt and handed it over. Skip wet it and draped it around her neck, to be used to cover her face.

  She could see thick, curling smoke through the kitchen window, but at least she didn't see flames. She held onto the porch rail and kicked the door as hard as she could. It didn't budge, but the pain in her ankle was so excruciating she had to sit a moment while it subsided. She'd once sprained an ankle that way, but this time she recovered fast: it wasn't a sprain.

  She could no longer use the TV as a bludgeon, but found a heavy flower pot, containing several colors of impatiens. She285 heaved it through the Window, unwittingly feeding the blaze a giant meal of fresh oxygen. Fierce, scorching, almost yellow-white flames leapt to the trough, a savage fireball that made her suck in her breath, searing her throat. But suddenly she was cooler, and she realized she'd jerked back reflexively and fallen to the ground, under the flames, which had begun to retreat after their first ravenous surge.

  She rolled out of the way and sat up. The shriek of sirens mixed with the roar.

  "Omigod," said Reed, "your eyebrows."

  Skip touched a hand to her forehead and felt the crumbling of singed hair.

  26

  Reed had struggled to her feet, and now turned the garden hose on the blaze, which produced only a pathetic sputtering under its thunder. The sight and sound seemed to Skip unbearably sad.

  "Come on. Let's get out of here." Gently, she put an arm around Reed's waist and helped her to the front of the house. Reed's ankle didn't seem broken, hadn't started swelling much, but it had gotten a nasty twist.

  The white-haired woman from next door offered ice. While they waited for that and the firemen, Skip looked for her car. She found it in a garage on the right side of the house, and as the firemen arrived, she radioed headquarters, saying only that she was okay and would call back from a land line.

  Then, mind racing, she asked the white-haired woman if she could use her phone.

  Anna Garibaldi had taken her money, credit cards, and driver's license. Then she had probably pulled on a designer dress, stepped into a pair of Italian shoes, and set the house on fire, endangering the lives of one police officer and at least one citizen, probably two.

  Skip could not bring herself to think about Sally, to consider the kind of woman who'd burn a baby alive.

  Since there was no bridge to bum, the house was the next best thing. Surely no one who did such a thing, or series of things, intended to stick around. Anna had to be smart enough to know the cards and license were good for one day only, if that. But if she was desperate, she could use them once, at least the cards. To buy an airline ticket, for instance.

  She had to be leaving town.

  Skip didn't know how much time had elapsed, but maybe not that much—maybe there was a good chance of catching her at the airport.

  How could she be anywhere else?

  She thought it through again, trying to make any other sense out of what Anna had done, or, assuming it was true, imagine how she'd travel if not by plane.

  But nothing else added up.

  She called the airport police before she called Cappello. "This is Detective Skip Langdon, NOPD. I need help on an attempted murder."

  She gave them Anna's description, had a bad moment explaining that the suspect might claim to be Detective Skip Langdon, and said she'd call back soon.

  Looking out the window, she saw that firemen were hacking apart the house next door and drowning it. Two climbed ladders at the back, apparently trying to find signs of life.

  She called Cappello.

  More bad moments. No police officer wants to admit being surprised, overpowered, and imprisoned.

  But Cappello was so glad to get her back alive she didn't make any remarks, just listened, alert as always.

  "Okay, fine," she said, as if this were a routine report. Skip could see her nodding. "You need to come in and give me your statement. "

  God, shes unflappable. "I hope that isn't an order. I've got to go to the airport."

  Cappello sighed, and for a moment there was silence on the line. Finally she said, "I'll see you when you get here."

  Skip let out her breath; she hadn't realized she'd been holding it. "Can you call Jefferson Parish?"

  "Sure."

  Though the city owned the airport, it was technically out of her jurisdiction—she needed sheriff's deputies to meet her there. Outside again, she saw firemen working to resuscitate someone. Evie.

  Reed was nearly hysterical. "They didn't find Sally. They went through every single room. Not a sign of her."

  The hard thoughts that Skip had put off, about the kind of woman who'd try to burn up a baby, took a ninety-degree turn.

  "She must have taken Sally with her."

  "But why?"

  The answer wasn't pretty. "Reed, I need you for something. Are you up to going to the airport? We could probably get you a wheelchair once we get there."

  "You think that's where they are?"

  "Maybe. I think you need to be there for Sally—if Anna sees her crying for you, it might do something." She shrugged. "It's a shot in the dark, but it's all we've got to work with. But here's the thing—you have to agree in advance: You take orders from me. Don't do anything unless I tell you to; don't interfere with me or any other officer in any way. Understood?"

  Reed nodded. "Of course."

  They got in the car, put the light in place, turned on the siren and burned rubber.

  Skip radioed the airport police, saying she was en route—and that the description had changed. They were now looking for a woman with an eighteen-month-old child.

  They were nearly there when the airport police radioed back: They had found Anna and Sally. Anna was holding a gun to Sally's head, demanding a plane to New York.

  Skip made a fist and slammed the steering wheel.

  "Shit! I knew it!" Horrified at herself for losing it, she sneaked a glance at Reed, whose head lolled back against the seat, whose eyes closed briefly, then opened again.

  At least she's still conscious.

  "Reed, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

  She'd been through a lot, but there was a lot more to get through. If her mind stayed clear, she'd be fine. She was worried her control was slipping.

  "It's okay," said Reed. "The Dragon won't hurt her."

  Skip said nothing, wishing she believed it, marveling at the relentless power of the human mind to detour around disaster.

  "Evie told me she loves Sally. I've been thinking about it. She said the Dragon was like some grandmother who'd finally found someone to
love."

  Skip remembered the child to whom she'd talked on the phone, the one who must have been the Dragons niece, who had spoken so lovingly of her Auntie Anna. But she didn't dare to hope. They were talking about a woman who was holding a gun to a baby's head.

  The airport was closed to all except emergency traffic, of which there seemed enough to control a prison riot, and more was converging. Sirens and red lights were coming out of nowhere. It didn't seem to Skip the best way to handle a hostage situation with a woman who'd seemed unstable and shaky before she even went into action.

  She radioed again: "Langdon here. Arriving with the child's mother. Could someone meet us with a wheelchair?"

  A female officer met them, apparently pissed at missing out on the action. "Dietrich, Jefferson. We gals do the fetchin' and carryin' here."

  Skip raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for your help," she said coldly, thinking Reed didn't need Dietrich's problems.

  She was itching to get there herself, but she took her time helping Reed get settled, making sure she was comfortable. As she opened the footrest on the folding chair, helped Reed balance her injured leg, she noticed for the first time that her feet and legs were horribly scarred.

  Dietrich's cheeks were pink, with embarrassment perhaps, for her faux pas. "Come, I'll take you there. It's not far. Apparently she didn't want to go through the metal detector till the last minute, because then she'd have had to dump her gun. At least that's what we think. She bought a ticket on the next plane to New York and waited for her flight outside the search area even though she only had ten minutes before it took off. She was playing with the little girl when we found her." Dietrich shook her head. "She looked up and saw us, and that was that. It's like she's a multiple personality, you know? All of a sudden everything changed. Like she became a different person.

  "Just put her hand in her purse, came out with the gun, and stuck it to the kid's head. Must have gone to Plan B is what we figure."

  What was she thinking of? Is she nuts?

  Maybe not, but something. Under pressure, maybe.

  Not maybe—certainly. She had three prisoners that she didn't know what to do with.

  So why'd she try to bum us up? It doesn't make sense.

  It does if she was desperate.

  Which she must be, but I wonder why. What's up with her? Where'd she get off thinking she could just kidnap a child and get away with it?

  There's the human mind, doing it again.

  Don't you remember you and Reed nearly burned to death? If we hadn't escaped, she would have been in fat city. Once on that plane, no problems. Nobody would have known where she'd gone, and by the time some bright person figured it out, she'd have been engulfed by the city.

  And she got caught only ten minutes away.

  Skip's fingertips felt cold.

  There were still things that didn't fit—the apparent irrationality of taking Sally, of burning the house—contrasted with the coldness of Plan B, making Sally her hostage. But the Dragon was emerging as a very intelligent woman, someone who planned for contingencies.

  Still. She was a wreck when she came in that room.

  That could be good or bad, Skip knew. It might mean she was vulnerable; it might signal instability.

  She said to Dietrich, "Did they call the hostage negotiators?"

  "Hell, I think they called everybody but the governor. But the hostage guys aren't here yet."

  A semicircle of police with drawn guns separated mother from child, Anna from Skip.

  A man on the sidelines approached. "Johnson, Jefferson. I'm in charge of this operation."

  "Skip Langdon. And this is Sally's mother, Reed Foucher. I thought she might be able to help. May we talk to the suspect?"

  "I'd rather wait till the negotiators come." He was a redhead with freckles over very white skin. Skip wondered if he was always so pale. He was twitching from nervousness.

  "I wouldn't," said Reed, and hollered, "Sally! Mommy's here."

  A snake of fury raced up Skip's spine. Damn her!

  There was an intake of breath, and a tremor went through the semicircle. Peering through, Skip could see Anna holding Sally and Sally struggling, pushing futilely against Anna's confining arm.

  "Mama! Mama!"

  Reed said, "Oh, God. Ohgodohgod. Sally!"

  Skip whispered to Johnson, "Let Anna see us, at least."

  He nodded, deep lines between his eyes.

  Two men stepped aside, clearing a path for Skip and Reed. Skip pushed the wheelchair very slowly, as nonthreatening as possible. Anna said, "Stop or I'll blow her head off."

  Skip stopped. "Anna, you wouldn't do that."

  "Don't push me."

  Sally was struggling so hard Anna had to hold her way too tight. Her screams were the forlorn howls of babies in hell, noises that took Skip back to childhood, to pediatricians' offices, emergency rooms, places where a child howled in the distance and you knew it was undergoing unspeakable torture.

  Sally's torture was psychic, but it was torture nonetheless. Each policeman's face was a discrete, personal study in tension and misery.

  Skip knew what was in all their heads: I twitch my little finger wrong and the buby's dead.

  She whispered to Johnson, "I'm going to talk to her a minute, and then I'm going to walk toward her."

  He started to shake his head, but didn't. Indecision played on his features.

  Skip turned back to Anna, knowing that for the moment she was in charge. "Anna, you wouldn't hurt Sally."

  "I'll kill her, and then I'll kill myself."

  Skip could feel sweat flowing at her hairline. She hadn't gotten that far yet—hadn't thought of that one. "Life seems hard right now because you're going through something. I don't know what, but I know you are. That's why you left your home in a hurry. That's why you feel so desperate. But you're a strong woman, Anna. You've been through a lot and you can get through this one too. You're not going to kill yourself."

  She was making it up as she went along, going on the way Anna looked and on Reed's description of her—if she'd been a dragon, she had to be a strong woman.

  Skip took a step forward. "I knew you wouldn't kill Sally. You know, before I came to your house, when I was trying to find you, I called your brother's house."

  "My brother?"

  Skip took another step. "Yeah, John Garibaldi."

  "My husbands brother. My late husband."

  "I talked to his little girl. What a sweet child!"

  I can't believe the stuff I'm saying. I sound like I'm at a tea party.

  But it was working. Anna was quiet; something seemed different about her. And she was sufficiently distracted to discuss her relatives.

  Skip took two more steps, keeping her eyes on Anna's face. She couldn't see Johnson, but that was just as well. He had no choice now except to let her handle it.

  Anna was looking at her, not Sally. But Sally lurched in her arms, squealing, and Anna's attention turned back to the child.

  "Little Kathy. Isn't that her name?" It had to be something ending in a Y.

  Anna didn't answer.

  "She told me how you take her to get ice cream cones. Did you know you're her favorite aunt? She told me that. Did she ever tell you that?

  "Do you know how disappointed that little girl would be if she never saw you again?"

  "You're just trying to manipulate me." Anna's voice was thick; full of tears.

  "Look, we can work this out. Whatever trouble you're in, it can't be as bad as leaving Kathy alone. Really think about that. Weigh it. What's the shock going to be like for that little girl?" Skip came closer and held out her hand, slowly, as if trying to make friends with a dog. "Why don't you give me the gun?"

  "Leave me alone, goddamn it!" It came out as half a sob, half a scream. Sally lurched again, and the Dragon cooed, "Oh, baby, did I hurt your ears? Poor little Sally-wally. Nonna didn't mean to."

  Skip saw what Dietrich meant about dual personalities. She said, "You love
Sally, don"t you? You love her very much." She paused. "Let her go to her mama."

  Hearing a familiar word, Sally screamed, "Mama! Mama!"

  "Anna. You know you're not going to kill her. A beautiful, sweet child like that. You love her. You just can't do it. Go ahead. Let her go."

  Anna stared straight at Skip. She began to bend from the knees. Omigod, she's going to do it.

  Skip started to panic, realizing that the minute Sally was on the ground, Anna would turn the gun on herself.

  She ran the last few steps, knowing Anna's decision was made. No way was she going to shoot Sally. She grabbed the other woman's gun hand and twisted till she felt the fingers relax, heard the gun drop.

  After that, it was a blur. Other officers piled on and separated the three of them—Sally, Anna, and Skip. Then Sally was running, shouting, "Mama! Mama! Mama!"

  Skip was sorry that Reed couldn't run as well.

  * * *

  It was hell getting out of the airport. Once Skip had fought her way through the thicket of reporters that now bristled through the corridors, she had to give her report to the Jefferson Parish guys. By the time that was done, some of the arguing was over about who got Anna, and the news wasn't too bad from Skip's point of view: the FBI claimed her for the federal crime of taking a gun into the airport.

  The good part was, since the airport was the city's property, she'd be in federal custody in Orleans Parish prison—not Jefferson.

  * * *

  Cappello met her at her desk. "Great job. I'd say go home, but there's news."

  "I couldn't anyway. I've got to figure a way to sit in when the feds question Anna." As one of Anna's victims, she couldn't be involved in the questioning, but it was one show she didn't want to miss.

  "Who is she, anyway?"

  "Damned if I know. Piece of work, though. What's the news?"

  "O'Rourke identified his attacker."

  "Yeah?"

  Skip could barely comprehend, her head was so full of Anna.

  "From mug shots. Look at this." She tossed a snapshot on Skip's desk.

  "Jesus."

  "Not exactly."

  It was the same picture Skip had picked after Jim's murder, the one of the man she'd failed to identify in the lineup.