by Rhodi Hawk
Her lips pulled back to bare her teeth. “Just between you and me? Are you my buddy now, Joe?”
Joe’s hands went up. “I had no choice in the courtroom today.” He waved a hand and took a drag from his cigarette. “Doesn’t matter. You have a sight, just like Daddy Blank.”
Madeleine’s gaze flickered over Joe’s face.
“Your father been a pain in my ass for many a year. Had a way of knowing things. Every time I think I might do a little something on the side, make a little money under the table, there go Daddy Blank, ringin my bell. And I’d think, there’s no way he could know about this. Over the years, I figured it out: He had a sight.”
She listened intently, unable to say a word. My father’s enemy knew him better than I did.
Joe went on. “Even when we were at school together, he was already on my ass. I had a buddy who had a talent for getting his hands on exams before the actual test date come around. My buddy’d get the tests and I’d sell’m. Your daddy somehow knew every detail of our game. Made me split some of the profits with him to keep his mouth shut.”
Madeleine had to smile. That did sound like her father.
“He was already a little whacko by then, and I thought maybe no one would believe him, but I couldn’t take any chances. Over the years, whatever I got into, he’d either call me out publicly just to piss me off, or he’d come by in private if he wanted a cut.” Joe took a final drag from his cigarette and crushed it out.
“Then his mind really started slipping, and I was safe from him a while. Big Brother was off duty.” Joe regarded Madeleine for a moment. “God forbid you should start to slip that way.”
Her back stiffened. God forbid.
Suddenly Joe’s eyes grew shiny. “Miss Madeleine, I have to tell you something.”
A stillness settled over her. He was about to make a confession. “I know, Joe.”
He spoke as if he had not heard her. “I was there. The night he died. I was with him.”
JOE’S LOWER LIP BEGAN to tremble as he spoke. “Your daddy was harassing me. Of course he was. I harassed him back some. And then, we went on and took a little drink together. We was talking and remembering old times. He was down. He was really down.”
Joe looked at Madeleine through moist eyes. “Your daddy and me, I know it looked like we always warrin with each other, but we’re friends too. Were friends.”
He paused, eyes glimmering with the same light as the whiskey.
“Then it was time to go on home, and your daddy asked me to drop him off.” Joe’s breath hitched, and he gestured in the general direction of Iberville. “Out there. I want to tell you that I didn’t know what he was about to do there.”
Joe caught his breath and blinked wet lashes. “But I can’t say that to you, honey. Because I did know. I knew what he was after. I thought of taking him to your place instead, even though I know he wouldn’t have stayed, but I didn’t do that. And I even thought of calling you after I’d dropped him off, letting you know where he was.”
Madeleine’s hands trembled, and she felt her eyes fill.
“But I didn’t do that either. I didn’t do that either.” He swallowed. “Because,” he said, and the word emerged like a choke. “Because, I thought maybe it’d keep him quiet a little longer. Keep the heat off of me. I wanted him to keep his mouth shut about that goddamned mega-mart until the thing blew over some.”
Tears finally spilled over and tumbled freely down his face, and they streamed for Madeleine as well.
“So I let him go on over there,” he whispered. “And I didn’t call you. And that was the last time I saw him.”
“I see,” she murmured. “But that didn’t stop you from representing Zenon.”
Joe wiped his eyes. “I swear to you honey, I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into until it was too late. I didn’t know he was your half brother. All I knew was that you were a witness and I didn’t really think nothing of it. Later, I quietly asked to be removed from the case. Twice. Both times the judge refused.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m asking of you, Miss Madeleine. I can’t ask you to forgive me. How could I?”
She was indeed angry. This was not a good man. But as much as she wanted to, she could not hold Joe responsible for her father’s actions. Nor could she provide whatever absolution he sought—she felt it was not hers to give. And so she said nothing.
Joe sat motionless, his lips parted, eyes downcast, his shoulders lifting with each drawn breath. Then he looked up.
“But you knew, didn’t you?” he said. “You knew I was there. Already knew it.”
The bartender appeared again with a third round of drinks, though Madeleine hadn’t touched the second one. The first had left her blessedly numb. But as for Joe, she could see that he was getting swept away.
He lit another cigarette and took a long, deep pull. “Your brother got the sight too, you know.” He gave her a sidelong look. “Not your brother Marc, God rest his soul. I’m talking about your half brother.”
Madeleine bristled.
Joe watched her, continuing. “After they pulled that evidence out of the pigeon house—and it didn’t take them long, by the way. Your sheriff friend made some calls and that place was crawling with badges. Had a boon truck out there within an hour.”
God bless Sheriff Cavanaugh and his tireless troupe.
“Anyway,” Joe said. “I’d had a long talk with my client. Seems he got himself a special friend who feeds him information.”
Madeleine’s face remained expressionless, knowing Joe was watching her, but inside she was spinning. He was confirming what she’d suspected.
“Joe, isn’t there some rule about attorney-client privilege? I’d hate to have to bear witness against you in front of some kind of ethics committee.”
Joe made a grumbling noise into his glass, and otherwise chose to ignore the comment. “I must say, defending someone like Zenon Lansky, makes me rethink my chosen profession.”
“Oh, there’s always hope. The judge could declare a mistrial and Zenon could go free, and then your work here would be done.”
He shrugged, missing the sarcasm. “A mistrial would just buy some time, that’s all. U.S. attorney would have Lansky’s ass back in jail awaiting a new trial before sundown. She can’t afford to let this one go. It’s a real high-profile case, thanks to you. The biggest one this city’s seen in a long time.”
“If this weren’t such a high-profile case, you wouldn’t have taken it.”
Joe laughed with genuine mirth as he shook his head. “Just like your daddy. I have to say, I do miss him, your father.” He regarded her. “We were always at odds, but we loved each other too. Well, I loved him, anyway. When my wife was in the hospital with lung cancer, he was there the whole time. And he didn’t just make appearances. He was really there. He held her hand. Hell, he held my hand through it all. He was a good man. You just never knew what to expect.”
She softened. “I am sorry about your wife, Joe.”
Joe nodded. “I didn’t deserve her. Since she’s been gone, I’ve turned into some silly old fool, making passes at women half my age.”
He sighed, holding his drink with both hands and staring into the amber liquid. “Well, I’d better get back to my client. You take care of yourself.”
She watched him gather himself from his chair. As much as it would have pained her to admit it, she was grateful to him for telling her what he knew about Zenon and the police discovery. Certainly the bureau detectives and Ms. Jameson would have preferred to watch her sweat a while.
Joe paused at the bar and dug out his wallet to pay the bartender. Madeleine remembered the moment in court earlier that day, when she was able to silence Joe with sheer concentration. The bartender glanced at Madeleine, and she focused her thoughts: On the house.
As Joe handed the bartender some folded bills, the bartender put up his hands.
“No charge today, Joe.”
Joe looked surprised. “No cha
rge?”
“Nah, it’s on the house.”
Madeleine’s pulse quickened.
Joe stood for a moment, then tucked the money back into his wallet, more confused than grateful.
“Thanks,” he muttered, then shuffled toward the door.
As he left, Madeleine saw a little girl’s silhouette in the door, framed by the late evening sun.
“Madeleine works the little trick, yes,” Severin said.
Madeleine stood and retrieved her wallet from her purse, and offered a wad of bills to the bartender.
“On the house today, Miss,” the bartender said, waving off the money.
“No, not today,” she said, and dropped the bills on the bar in front of him.
As she left with Severin, she heard another customer ask if his drinks were on the house too.
“Hell no, you pay up,” the bartender said.
Madeleine smiled. She blinked at the sunlight, leaned against the brick wall, and waited for Ethan.
seventy-three
NEW ORLEANS, 2010
IN THE CASE OF The People vs. Zenon Lansky, the good judge had declared a mistrial. Though not as a direct result of Madeleine’s courtroom outburst. In that, he had ruled that the trial should continue. Later, however, it had come to light that some members of the jury were discussing what the newspapers had said about Madeleine.
The judge interviewed the jurors individually, and found several who had ignored his orders to stay away from news media, and were therefore “tainted.” One juror had said that she read in the papers that Dr. Madeleine LeBlanc was a “seer,” and that if the doc said Lansky’d done it, then he done it.
Just as Whitney had predicted, Zenon’s freedom had been shortlived, and the U.S. attorney did indeed have his ass back in a federal holding facility before sundown.
Letters to Madeleine rolled in. People from all over the U.S., and then all over the world, had something to say. Mrs. Salazar had even sent a note of support.
Eventually detectives had released the results of the DNA tests from the remains at Terrefleurs, and the frenzy reached a crescendo. The lab had determined that the pigeon house remains belonged to Angel Frey, and matched the tissue scrapings underneath the fingernail to Zenon Lansky. This of course exonerated Madeleine in the eyes of the public.
And, false reports abounded, especially in the less-than-reputable publications. Some even stated that Madeleine was holding séances to determine winning lottery numbers.
MADELEINE MET WITH ETHAN at the PJ’s Coffee at the uptown campus. She smoothed out the crumpled steno paper, light greenish-beige with a line down the center, with cramped script covering two sides in thick black ink that bled through.
“It came in the mail?” Ethan asked.
Madeleine shook her head. “No. Someone slipped it under the door.”
“At your place?”
She nodded, handing it over to him.
Dear Madeleine,
I think about you every moment since arriving here. I can’t imagine why you haven’t come to visit me yet, you being my sister and all. I guess you probably blame yourself for getting me locked up. The guilt must be a lot for you to handle. You don’t have to feel too bad, though. I’m pretty sure I’ll be out soon. Seems if I concentrate real hard, things happen the way I want them to. Family trait, I guess. I know it must be hard for you to come to this place to see me. I’m really trying to understand that. I wish I could make it easier on you and come visit you instead. But of course that ain’t going to happen just now. The next best thing is if one of my buddies came to see you. There’s an old boy in here who’s going to be let out soon. I showed him your picture on the TV, and he already thinks very highly of you. He says you looked real pretty on the TV. He’s a nasty son of a bitch but he’s been rehabilitated. Anyhow, don’t be surprised if someone pays you a visit. The burden to make social calls shouldn’t just be on you. Fair’s fair.
Your brother,
Zenon
Madeleine waited while Ethan read the letter. She understood Zenon’s meaning: He was not willing to go quietly to prison, and would get at her in the only way he could. Already he had somehow gotten someone to deliver this letter to her door. She wondered who could have done that. Someone on parole? A guard? She wondered if whoever it was might still be out there, watching.
Ethan looked up from the letter and pressed his lips together in a tight line. “That son of a bitch.”
He looked at her and took her hand in his. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone get near you.”
She squeezed.
He said, “Have you shown it to the police?”
“No, but I will. Can’t imagine it’ll do much good.”
“You get yourself a handgun and keep it with you.”
She arched her brow.
He said, “I don’t like this one bit.”
“I can’t exactly pick off released prisoners like ducks in a shooting range.”
Ethan balled his fist and slammed the table. Madeleine’s empty paper coffee cup fell sideways. She watched it, let it rock back and forth. His left hand was still clasped in hers.
Ethan said, “You’re going to see him.”
“I can’t think of a better idea.”
“Tell the police, carry a gun.”
“That’s just reacting. It won’t solve the problem.”
He was staring at their joined hands, his thumb moving over her knuckle. “I’ll go with you.”
“I think he’d just shut down if you were there.”
“Damn it! You drop this bomb on me and I’m just supposed to sit here and do nothing?”
Madeleine said, “Quite frankly, my instinct was to not tell you at all.”
“That would have pissed me off worse.”
“And so here I am.”
“Well. At least you’re not shutting me out.” He breathed out through his nose. “I’ll drive you there. I guess it’s the only thing I can do.”
“You don’t have to—” But she saw the flicker of intent in his face and she stopped herself.
Instead she said, “Thank you.”
He put his other hand over the one that already gripped hers and held on. Students wandered in through the glass doors, carrying on conversations with unseen people through microphones clipped over their ears.
“All right,” he said as if accepting and moving on. “But I still don’t think you should go alone.”
“There’s no one else he’d respond to.”
“Yes there is.”
She looked at him inquisitively. His dark eyes held steady.
He said, “Chloe.”
“Oh, God no.”
“Think about it, Madeleine. Who else on the planet knows more about all of this than she does? She’s probably the only person who can help you.”
“I don’t trust her!”
“So don’t trust her. But bring her along.”
seventy-four
HAHNVILLE, 1927
PATRICE WALKED ALONGSIDE THE twins as Chloe led them through the woods. Guy and Gilbert were almost as tall as Patrice now though they were two years younger. Marie-Rose was not present. She was back in the nursery where she’d been ailing since the day Maman had sent her into the bramble to find out what happened to Papa. Patrice had done what she could but she hadn’t been able to bring Marie-Rose back. Her sister would have to find her own way. It could take days. Or longer. In the meantime, Marie-Rose lay strapped to her bed, lest her physical body try to wander the way Papa used to.
Papa, at least, would not be wandering anymore. Patrice felt her throat tighten.
She looked over her shoulder. Behind the children, two field workers took up the rear of the small procession. One of them, a hunter from Terrefleurs named Ramsey, carried a shotgun with the barrel resting on his shoulder. He’d been born deaf and could read lips if you spoke very slowly. You didn’t even have to make a sound, so long as you didn’t say anything too complex: come to supper, time for
work. But Ramsey couldn’t really carry a whole conversation. Mostly, he was a loner and spent his time hunting along the bayou, bringing back his catch to share at the kitchen house. No wife, no children. He accompanied Maman for many secret tasks.
The other worker was someone Patrice did not know very well. He had once lived at Locoul, but had been working for Chloe in the bayous. Fishing, Patrice supposed. He made her very uneasy. Perhaps because of his appearance. He had an ugly scar; an X crisscrossing his throat. And one of his eyes was red as though half-covered in a splotch of blood that never dried, and never blinked away.
Patrice slowed and mouthed to Ramsey, Where are you going?
She had actually wanted to ask him “do you know where we are going,” and whether he knew why Chloe was leading them into the woods, but she didn’t think she could communicate all of that.
As it was, Ramsey just shrugged. He cast his gaze away so that if Patrice tried to say anything to him again, he wouldn’t even see it. The twins kept stride ahead with their long, gangly legs snapping through the woodland. She could see the outline of Gilbert’s slingshot through his shirt. He wouldn’t have dared to tote it along openly, but Patrice knew he was loath to go anywhere without it.
The worker with the blood eye leaned toward Patrice and whispered, “We are going to the bayou.”
Patrice shot him a look. She hadn’t wanted her mother to hear. But her curiosity was now piqued.
“I can tell that much on my own, thank you,” she whispered, and then: “You can read lips?”
“No. It was easy to guess what you asked. I am Ferrar.”
“Patrice.”
She neither curtseyed nor offered her hand. Maman was now a fair distance ahead.
Patrice asked, her voice low, “How is it that you know Maman?”
To her surprise, Ferrar grinned at her with genuine warmth. “We go way back, your maman and me. I work for her now. Carry the hooch from the pirates. Least I used to.”
