She focused back on her legal pad. “Where were you on the night of the murders?”
“Alone in the swamp.”
Looking back at him, she frowned. “Nobody saw you?”
He shook his head. “No alibi, nobody to corroborate my whereabouts.”
“You aren’t making this easy for us,” Shelby replied.
He smiled tightly. “Nothing has ever been easy in my life.” Staring down at the knife scars on the table, he continued, “The way I have it figured, the only way to get me out of this mess is to find the real killer. God knows, the sheriff isn’t even looking for anyone else.”
“Billy, I wouldn’t even know how to find a killer. My job is to come up with a legal defense that will get you out of this mess.”
“I’m changing your job description.” He reached out and tore off a piece of her legal pad. “There’s somebody you need to talk to, work with.” He scribbled a name then handed it to her.
“Gator Revenau?”
Billy nodded. “Don’t let his exterior scare you off. Gator is something of a character, but he’d know if Fayrene was close to anyone. Gator knows a lot of things about everyone.”
“What’s his connection to Fayrene?” she asked curiously, tucking the slip of paper into her purse.
“None, other than the fact that for the last couple of months I’ve been paying him to follow her.”
“Why?” Shelby’s heart sank. More damning information.
His gaze was dark, enigmatic. He pushed away from the table and stood. “That’s my personal business.”
“Billy, you have no personal business,” Shelby objected vehemently. She stood as well, frustration gnawing at her nerves. “I’m your lawyer and you have to tell me everything. We can’t afford to have secrets between us.”
He walked over to where she stood, standing close…too close, invading her space with his blatant masculinity. “No secrets?” He touched a length of her hair that had fallen over her shoulder, his fingers precariously close to the swell of her breast. “Then I guess I should tell you right now I intend to have you again, except this time in a bed, not on a plank wood floor.”
Shelby fought against her rapidly racing heart, her palm itching to slap the arrogant smirk off his face. Despite her aversion, her head swam with a sudden vision of him in bed, his bronzed body erotically bared against pristine sheets. Making love with Billy the boy had been a remarkable experience, but she knew making love with Billy the man would be devastating.
She stepped back from him, leveling on him a look of cool control. “Too bad for you we don’t always get what we want in this life.” He smiled. “Too bad for you, I always do.”
Chapter Six
“I want to know why that scum who killed my boy hasn’t been arrested.” Jonathon LaJune filled the sheriff’s office with his anger and the sweet scent of the Swisher cigars he smoked. “Billy Royce has always been a loose cannon. I tried again and again to warn my Tyler that Billy was like a mad dog who’d bite him when his back was turned. If only that boy had listened to me. If only he’d listened.”
He ran out of steam and collapsed into the chair, his grief a clawing torment inside him. He drew in on the cigar, squinting slightly as smoke burned his eyes. “I want Billy Royce arrested. What the hell are you waiting for, boy?”
“Evidence.” Bob looked at him impatiently. “Jonathon, right now all the evidence we have on Billy is circumstantial, not enough for an arrest. Besides, in case you haven’t heard, there’s been another person murdered in the swamp.”
“What the hell do I care?” Again the grief was back, rich and thick in his chest.
“Jonathon, we have a legal responsibility…”
Jonathon jumped up, felt the pounding of his blood pressure like a hammer in the back of his head. “Legal responsibility?” he roared, the ashes of his cigar flaming like a volcano about to erupt. He yanked the cigar from his mouth, dropped it to the floor and smashed it out with the heel of his boot, then looked back at Bob. “And I have a responsibility to avenge Tyler’s death. I’ve half a mind to get my gun and splatter that sewer rat’s brains to kingdom come.”
Bob stood, a frown pulling his pale brows together over the bridge of his nose. “Here, now, I can’t allow that kind of talk.”
Jonathon snorted derisively. “You don’t do something about Billy Royce, won’t take long and I’ll be through talking.” Without waiting for a reply, Jonathon strode from the office and out into the afternoon sunshine. Bob stared after him, a bad feeling pressing tightly against his chest.
THE TRAILER SAT at the edge of the swamp. It was impossible to guess what color it might have originally been, for age had weathered it to a mottled gray. It looked as if the structure had been plopped down in the middle of a junkyard. The skeletons of several old cars were nearly hidden in the overgrown weeds, rusting in the heavy humidity.
A huge satellite dish filled one side of the yard, the gleaming piece of technology incongruous with the squalor and primitive conditions.
However, it wasn’t the dismal appearance of the place that kept Shelby in her car. It was the appearance of two huge black dogs. They took positions about a yard from her car door, not barking but eyeing her with cunning intelligence and baleful suspicion.
Where in the hell was Gator Revenau? And why hadn’t Billy mentioned the dogs? Shelby rolled down her window halfway. “Hello?” she yelled, then paused. One of the dogs growled, a throaty, menacing warning.
The door opened and a thin, short man stepped out on the sagging porch. He stood, not speaking, reminding her of a little blond banty rooster. Short and wiry, he nevertheless exuded belligerence with his puffed chest and wide stance. “You lost, girlie?”
“Are you Gator Revenau?”
“I am.”
“Then I’m not lost.” Shelby waited for him to say something more, and when he didn’t, she sighed impatiently. “Mr. Revenau, would you call off your dogs? I need to talk to you.”
He hesitated a moment, then muttered something and the dogs immediately joined him on the porch, lying down at his feet as he sat in an old recliner the sun had bleached to a pale pink.
Shelby opened her car door and stepped out, eyeing the two dogs anxiously. Although they remained at Revenau’s feet, they stared at her malevolently.
“They won’t hurt you none…not unless I tell them to.” Gator grinned at her, displaying a gap where one of his front teeth used to be. His smile faded and his gaze suddenly mirrored those of his dogs. “If this is about them taxes, you’d better get back in that car and drive outta here. I’m done talking about them and nobody is gonna move me off my land.”
“Mr. Revenau, I’m not a tax collector. My name is Shelby Longsford. I’m…I’m a friend of Billy Royce. He suggested I talk to you.”
“Well, why in the hell didn’t you say so? Come on up here and have a seat.” He motioned to a wicker chair next to his recliner. At that moment Shelby noticed Gator Revenau was missing a hand.
She made her way gingerly up the stairs, onto the wooden porch that creaked and groaned beneath her weight. Whatever Billy Royce was paying her, it wasn’t enough, she thought irritably as she eased into the rickety wicker chair next to Gator Revenau.
He grinned and gestured to a large cooler that sat next to him. “How about a cold one?” She shook her head and he opened the cooler to reveal chunks of ice and can upon can of grape soda. Billy had described Gator as something of a character. She’d forgotten how Billy was master of the understatement.
Gator popped the tab, raised the can and swallowed, his protruding Adam’s apple bobbing as he quickly drained the can. He crushed the can, simultaneously emitting a rolling belch, then grinned at her expectantly. “You wanted to talk…so talk.”
She pulled a small notebook from her purse. “Do you mind if I take some notes?”
“You sure you aren’t one of those infernal revenue people?”
Shelby smiled. “I promise. I’m a lawy
er.”
Gator snorted and rubbed the stump where his hand had once been. “One’s as bad as the other.” He cocked his head, the sun stroking the grizzled gray strands she’d initially mistaken for blond. His skin was tanned the color of bark and weathered to the texture of leather. She realized he was considerably older than she’d initially thought. And if she was to guess, nothing had ever come easily for Gator Revenau.
“How long have you known Billy?” she asked, trying not to fixate on the missing hand, which he continued to rub.
“Oh, about fifteen years.” Gator reached into the cooler and grabbed another soda. He popped open the tab and leaned back. “Billy saved my life.”
“How so?” Although Shelby knew this couldn’t help Billy’s case, she was intrigued. Besides, she could tell by the look on Gator’s face that it was a story he relished telling as often as possible.
“It was a crazy moon night in the swamp,” he began in a melodic, almost singsong patter. He set his soda can down and began rubbing his stump once again, as if seeking to scratch the palm of the missing hand. “You know, one of them nights when the moon shines down on the water and you can’t tell which is the real one—the one up in the sky or the shimmery one dancing on the surface of the water. Anyway, I was doing a little gator gigging.” He grinned mischievously at Shelby’s perplexity. “Poaching,” he explained. “Course, it’s illegal, but at the time I didn’t care much as long as it paid enough to keep me in gin.” He shook his head, his grin widening. “Saints alive, but I used to love that gin. This particular night I’d been nipping a little at the bottle.” He laughed, a pleasant, oddly musical sound. “Hell, I was so drunk I couldn’t see straight. I decided I was going to go after Maybelline.”
“Maybelline?”
He flashed his toothless grin again, then picked up his soda and took a long slug. “The biggest, meanest gator I’ve ever seen.” He set the can next to him and rubbed his stump, his gaze drifting from hers to the distant past. “Oh, she was a beauty. When she bellowed, I swear she could be heard clear to Texas. I’d tried to get her before but never tried real hard. I hated her…but I loved her, too. I respected her.” He paused a moment, his fingers caressing the blunt end of his wrist. “But this night was different. This night I was senseless drunk and vowed to get her.”
Shelby knew the end of the story, could easily guess how Gator had lost his hand, but she also understood that his retelling of the tale was important to him, and so sat patiently as he gazed off in the distance, reliving the night in his mind. Besides, there was something bewitching about his storytelling ability, one that Mama Royce had possessed, also. How often Shelby had sat listening to Mama Royce magically spinning tales and legends of the swamp.
He picked up his soda and drained it, crushed it then threw it aside. “I found her in a deep pool, where the moon shone so bright on the water it was like the swamp had swallowed it whole. Maybelline flipped her tail and stared at me. She knew that night was different. She could smell the booze on me, smell my bloodlust.”
A drop of sweat left Shelby’s hairline and trickled slowly down the side of her face. Despite the heat, a shiver worked its way up her spine as she waited for Gator Revenau to finish his story. His body had tensed, his eyes darkened, haunted with visions of his personal demons from the past. One of the dogs stirred and whimpered, as if sensing Gator’s disquiet.
Shelby swiped the sweat, her movement pulling Gator’s gaze back to her. “We fought, her and me. Like two lovers bent on destroying each other. Finally, I thought I had her, thought she was dead. I went to tie her to the side of the boat and she took my hand clean off with one snap of her jaws.” A grin once again danced at the corners of his mouth. “I know they heard me bellow clear to Texas.” His smile faded and he swiped his hand down the length of his face, then batted at an irksome fly. “If I wasn’t crazy before, I was insane then, I yanked off my shirt and wrapped it around my wrist. It was pumping blood like a derrick spewing oil. I got the pirogue over to the bank and was contemplating jumping back in the water to find my hand when Billy Royce appeared. He tried to convince me if I didn’t get some help I was gonna bleed to death. But I was damned and determined I needed to go back in and get my hand.” He laughed, again the musical tones oddly pleasing to the ear. “That Billy Royce, even then he didn’t take nothing from nobody. He gave me a shot in the jaw and knocked me cold. I come to at his gramma’s place—my stump had been cauterized and was wrapped in clean bandages. I stayed there a week. Most of that time I was pretty out of it. Billy and Mama Royce took turns sitting with me, wiping the sweat off me, spoon-feeding me. When I got well, I decided no more booze.” Once again his eyes twinkled with a boyish gleam. “Ask me what happened to Maybelline.”
“What happened to Maybelline?” she asked dutifully.
He stretched out his feet, displaying a pair of alligator skin boots. “She got my hand…but I got her hide.” He looked back at her soberly. “Nowadays I don’t do much poaching anymore.” His gaze went to the swamp. “Not safe anymore to be in the swamp after dark, and I’m not about to git killed by no swamp serpent.” He shifted positions in the chair and looked back at her. “Billy’s in trouble, ain’t he?”
She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “It looks that way.”
“I told him years ago not to get involved with that Fayrene, but you can’t tell Billy anything. He was a hardheaded, stubborn boy and he’s become a stubborn, hardheaded man. He thought he was in love with her, thought he could change her wild ways. Can’t change the direction of the wind, no matter how hard you try. Now, what can I do to help him?”
“You can start by telling me why he hired you to follow Fayrene.”
Gator shrugged. “Hell, I didn’t ask him why, but I suppose ’cause he wanted to see who she was with, what she was doing.”
“How long did you follow her?”
“I started tailing her right after her and Billy separated, stopped a week before she was killed.”
“What was she like?” Shelby tried to tell herself the question was important to Billy’s defense, but she couldn’t help but acknowledge her personal interest in the woman who’d managed to snare Billy into matrimony.
Gator whistled softly beneath his breath. “Fayrene Whitney was some piece of work. She was pretty, I’ll grant you that. Had a kind of innocence about her that would fool a person…till she opened her mouth. She was the kind of woman who thrived on misery, her own and other people’s. She wasn’t really happy unless she was stirring things up, and there was nothing she liked more than baiting Billy.” His gaze hardened.
“During the time you were following her, did you see her with any other men?”
Gator snorted. “Fayrene liked to party. She liked her drinks strong and her men plentiful.”
“Anyone in particular?”
Again he batted at a fly, frowning thoughtfully. “Nah. She spent a lot of time with lots of men, but most nights she ended up at her apartment alone.”
“Any women she seemed particularly close to?” Shelby asked as she scribbled notes on her pad.
Gator frowned. “Not really, although there was one waitress she seemed pretty friendly with at The Edge. They’d huddle up and talk every time Fayrene was there.”
“You know the waitress’s name?”
“Winnie. Winnie Mae Ralston.” His face flushed slightly and he grinned. “She’s a mighty fine woman, Ms. Winnie is.”
Shelby smiled, wondering what kind of woman Gator Revenau would consider mighty fine. He stirred restlessly against the faded cushion of the chair and Shelby realized his interest in her questions was waning. “Just a few more questions, Mr. Revenau,” she promised. “Do you know of anyone other than Billy who might have wanted Fayrene dead?”
He frowned thoughtfully. “I dunno. Fayrene was always sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. Tyler’s daddy might have wanted her dead if he thought Tyler was getting involved with her.” He shook his head ruefully. “But i
t don’t make no sense that he’d kill Tyler, too. I just don’t know. Fayrene managed to make a lot of people mad when she was alive.” He held out his good hand in a gesture of helplessness. “I wish I could help. I’d do anything for Billy Royce. Hell, if he’d wanted Fayrene dead, I would have done it for him. All he had to do was ask me.”
“The sheriff thinks Billy killed them both in a passionate fit of jealousy. What do you think?”
Gator frowned once again and kneaded his stump. “Billy didn’t kill ’em. Billy didn’t love Fayrene anymore. Hell, he didn’t even hate her. He just plain didn’t care about her anymore. But he did love Tyler like a brother. He couldn’t have cut Tyler up no matter how mad he got.”
Shelby shoved away a sense of helplessness, realizing that Gator had told her nothing new, nothing useful in Billy’s defense that she hadn’t already known. “One more question. Why did you stop following Fayrene when you did?”
“Billy told me to. I suppose he had all the information he needed to fight Fayrene for Parker.”
“Parker?” Shelby’s heart began beating a dull dread.
“Billy and Fayrene’s little boy. Fayrene had threatened to get custody, but there was no way Billy was going to let that happen. That’s why he hired me.”
Shelby mentally reeled. Billy had a son. A little boy. Why hadn’t he told her? Dear God, didn’t he know that this more than anything was the strongest motive for Fayrene’s murder?
Chapter Seven
Billy knew Shelby was angry the moment her car roared down Main Street and pulled into the space next to his pickup in front of Martha’s Café. She threw the car into Park before it had completely stopped its forward motion. The grinding gears made him wince.
“Damn you, Billy,” she exclaimed as she got out of the car and slammed the door with more force than necessary.
He remained leaning against the side of his pickup, watching as she approached, blue eyes flashing fire as short, clipped footsteps brought her within inches of him.
Passion In The First Degree Page 6
