Ferris hadn’t known Hannah long enough to know if her abstracted compliance was typical or not. Alex wasn’t looking at her. He looked for threats and was probably already thinking about the crime scene.
Weekday in the Quarter, so the crowds were light. Still too many people about. She was too exposed for his liking. Couldn’t even enjoy the way the sun ignited the gold in her hair or watch her walk, because he had to look around, assess for possible threats.
It had been an unusually silent ride, with only necessary exchanges of information among the three of them. He could feel Hannah’s wheels turning and see that thinking look in her eyes when he’d looked back. He’d seen it, as if she’d said it out loud, that she thought he regretted hugging her. He didn’t. He was too worried about what might happen next to regret anything except that he wished he’d hugged her longer.
She’d talked about that clock ticking down to something bad? Well, it was like a hammer inside his head, ticking down to what? Why had she been targeted at all? Who was after her? His gaze caught the edge of Alex’s grim scowl. What if it wasn’t about her? Dunstead had been bailed out by someone. He could be going for some payback, using Hannah to sideswipe Alex. If it was that, well, it was a well-aimed low blow. Alex pretended his siblings annoyed him, but he was a fierce and protective big brother.
A rueful smile edged his mouth. He had a feeling that when things settled down he’d find out just how protective.
Hannah stumbled over an uneven edge, and he caught her elbow. He had questions for her, too. What had she been doing with her dad? Had she seen Charlie? If she had, what had she learned? He needed time alone with the woman, time for information exchanging and time for kissing and holding. Nothing like almost losing a woman to focus your attention.
Interesting he could pick up on her relationships signals, but had no clue what she thought about everything else. In that sense she was an enigma wrapped in a long, cool drink of water.
Alex turned and studied the layout, then said, “Sit in the meat wagon, out of sight.”
Hannah made a face at him, but complied, though not with any speed. Partially hidden by the open rear doors, she stopped by her sister, Ingrid, in her CSU tech uniform.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Ferris heard her say, before he had to follow Alex up the slope to the body slumped on the bench just above them.
* * *
It hadn’t been easy to find a spot with decent sight lines. The area was a mess of flashing lights, milling people, and Baker’s crime scene up on the levee. He’d hoped for something better when he’d begun shadowing Ingrid Baker’s CSU van earlier this morning. Lots of interesting radio traffic today. She’d been on another scene when the call came through on Leblanc’s murder. A pity about that one. Based on the address, it would have been ideal.
Dunstead had thought about just going for the oldest Baker, but that would be too quick. He wanted him to suffer. He wanted him to know that actions had consequences for the people you cared about. He wanted him locked in the only jail Dunstead had the power to send him, one of guilt, grief and remorse. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do. For now. After he served his time, maybe he’d put him out of his misery.
His vantage point wasn’t great. He might not make it out. That made the shot all that much more important. He’d almost taken it when she was by the body, but then he heard Baker get the call. He wanted him there. Wanted him to see it. Even if it cost him his way out, he wanted to see Baker’s face when his sister went down instead of him.
So he watched and waited. Followed her with his sight, but without the targeting turned on.
No one could say he didn’t learn from his mistakes.
* * *
“Alex seems to have calmed down some,” Ingrid observed, working on labels for a series of small evidence bags. She propped a hip against the edge of the CSU van and slanted a look over her shoulder at Hannah. “At least he hasn’t killed the boy toy. Yet.”
“Thanks a lot.” Hannah’s legs hung over the edge of rear, swinging slightly. It was muggy hot, but it could be worse. She could be stuck in the back of the car while they worked the scene. Since she did see dead people most every day, this was a decent change of pace. This side of the crime was also new to her, which made it interesting. And the fact that Ferris was part of the view, well, that was a bonus. And he’d managed to squeeze her hand during the walk without Alex noticing, so triple that bonus.
There were always people who hung around, unable to leave scenes of bad things until the scenes left them, but the crowd was thin. It was a week day, not a weekend. The van was parked down by the tracks, cut off from the river by the levee, so not a lot of air movement, and the air that did move past was heavy with the smell of car exhaust. Every now and again she caught a whiff of something sweet from Café du Monde, reminding her they had yet to get lunch. She supposed she’d have to go Dutch with the guys, which meant a light lunch here at the end of the pay period.
Too bad she didn’t have the temperament to be a girl toy. She’d have liked all the benefits from the girl toy part. Except the hanging with the bad boys.
“Is he as tasty as he looks?”
“If we could get time alone, I might find out,” Hannah said, feeling that scrupulous honesty was not required when the subject was possible romantic entanglements, even with a sister who wouldn’t tell the brothers but would totally tell the sisters. There should be such a thing as privacy, or so she’d heard. And time to change the subject. “Anything interesting in that?” She nodded toward the vic who was currently being fitted for a body bag.
Ingrid shook her head, accepting the change of topic, though not without shooting her sister a sister-ish look. “Bullet through the heart.”
“Not the head?”
“I’d guess the perp was sitting next to him on the bench.”
The other two wise geezers had been shot by someone standing behind or over them, Hannah recalled, hence the head shots.
“Boring. Glad I’m on leave. Tired of digging through wise geezer brains. Don’t imagine a wise geezer heart would be interesting. Except for the surprise he had one.”
Ingrid chuckled. “Empty coffins weren’t enough of a distraction?”
Hannah laughed. “Nope. Witnesses?” More to keep the chat on the scene and off her than a real desire to know.
“Not really. Not sure how long he was here before anyone noticed he was dead.”
“What?” Hannah mimicked shocked. “You don’t have an exact time of death already? I’m so embarrassed for you.”
“I always was a slacker—who could seriously use some lunch. Or least a beignet.” She cast longing look toward Café du Monde.
“You can take my place for lunch and a disapproving silence with Alex.”
Ingrid stowed her stuff and then turned to grin at Hannah. “I feel your pain.”
Hannah saw something, like a bug dance around, then settle into a red spot on Ingrid’s chest. Hannah was leaping at her, even before her brain fully processed that it was a targeting dot. The shot cut through the racket. They hit the pavement hard enough to knock the breath out of Hannah as two more shots hit the van.
She was distantly aware of shouts, some returned fire. Still trying to cover her sister, she groped for her neck, feeling for a pulse…
* * *
Dunstead tossed the gun aside and scrambled for the edge of the building, dropping down to the ground. Almost he’d aimed at the doc, but the sister gave him a clearer shot. His last look, though, he might just have gotten a twofer. They both looked like they went down. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath after the drop. Rubbed his face and straightened his clothing, then gave himself a shake and headed for the corner. Time to exit this scene—
She came round the corner before he could. Her gun was ready. It spat twice. He sagged against the wall. Shocked, but not…
She stood looking down at him for several seconds. Then she sighed and from a swiftly growing
distance, he heard, “I told you I don’t like failures. Or those who betray me.”
With neat movements, she stowed the handgun in her capacious purse and retreated. Glancing around, she saw some uniforms running toward her and made a moue of frustration. In the books, there was always time for a speedy retreat. She sighed and adjusted her face to shock and fear. Waved at them and called, “There’s a man here. Looks like he’s been shot!”
It’s not like they’d think she did it. She glanced around. And scripted her dialog while she waited.
Yes, officer, I saw a man running that way. And no, I didn’t get a good look at him. I was so shocked. I’ve never seen anyone die, well, except my dear Harold, but he had a heart attack. But she’d never seen anyone who had been shot before….
Speaking of Harold, she hoped this didn’t take too long. His funeral was set for five, and it’s not like she could tell them that. It would look very odd that she’d come to the French Quarter. Though if she had to, she could come up with something clever. Something about since he’d donated his body to science, she’d come here to his favorite spot to say goodbye….
They’d believe her. She was a middle-aged woman. They’d barely remember what she looked like after she walked away.
Sixteen
Dimitri Afoniki found the note before he got the call that Aleksi was dead.
The ring is safe. Don’t look for it.
He’d known and still he went. Had to admire the old goat.
He’d even planned his own exit. Dimitri frowned, wondering who had the ring? He would have to ask some questions. As far as he knew, no one but his personal bodyguard had visited his uncle in days. He’d visited him just long enough for Aleksi to suggest the meeting with Guido. Interesting timing? The old man must plot to the very end.
And really, it didn’t matter, since neither Guido or Claude had a ring. It was an old symbol, as dead as the three men who’d worn them. Would he have worn it? Only out of respect, he decided. Hideous thing that would always have reminded him of the twisted old hand every time he looked at it.
He paced to the window of the office he’d coveted for so very long and looked out on the garden that was now his, too. All his. Unlike his uncle, he did not think he would live here alone. Aleksi’s matrimonial maneuvering had annoyed him, but now that all choices were his alone, he found the idea of a wife—and an heir—appealing. For a few seconds, the face of Hannah Baker came into his mind. That was odd, since she wasn’t his type. Now, Sarah Burland, Nell’s friend and roommate, was very much his type, but she might as well be a Baker. He doubted very much she’d be open to an extramarital offer. A pity.
But he would not replicate the mistakes of Phineas or Bettino. He would not marry an iceberg or outside his…class. He did not have to settle for Cinzia or Mirabelle, but as his uncle had believed, he could see that there was merit in a local, dynastic marriage.
Mirabelle would give him an in with the St. Cyrs. He doubted Claude would or could marry, so if he couldn’t eliminate the clod, well, he’d need an heir. What woman would have him, even one of their kind? Mirabelle, unlike Helenne, was not cold. She was a blonde, his personal preference and she’d been raised to know her place. The problem? He was not sure he’d dare turn his back on her. It would not make for the most comfortable home life.
And Cinzia? Not his type, but she was dark, passionate, generously endowed. There was intelligence in her eyes, but she didn’t push it in his face like Mirabelle did. She would know her place. It was possible that Guido would marry, have an heir, but if one were close…friendly…there were ways to slowly bring the two empires together. Particularly when they shared the same goal.
They both had a deep desire to crush Claude into tiny bits of dust.
He would wait a decent interval, then let Cinzia know he’d picked her. Mirabelle would be disappointed, but one could also come to a…separate arrangement with her.
* * *
“You’re bleeding.” Ferris’s voice was low, anxious, his touch light on her arm.
“Am I?” Distantly she wondered how he could tell. Her hands were covered with her sister’s blood. She’d been a doctor before she became a cutter. Still a bit surprised it had come back to her. She’d worked on her sister, done it automatically, her focus on stopping the bleeding and saving her sister’s life. She’d only stepped back when they were ready to lift Ingrid into the ambulance. One of the paramedics who’d worked with her looked back to say, “She’ll be okay.”
Hannah had nodded. The bullet hadn’t found her heart. Hannah didn’t know if Ingrid had moved at the last minute. Or it was her knocking her sister down that saved her. She would live. She would be okay. She knew this with her mind. But her heart was still thumping like she’d just run a marathon. Her heart was sending “might-have-beens” to her brain. Running the “not all right” scenario over and over.
She looked down at her arm, trying to stop the reel or at least change it. “It’s a scratch.” And then as the first shudder rattled her teeth, “I’m getting shocky.”
Ferris cast a worried look around. It was a scene of chaos. He sat beside her and pulled her close. He smelled of hot sun and comfort. She burrowed her hands in between their bodies to get them warm, too. And because the tremble was betraying. He seemed to understand she wasn’t pushing him away and rubbed her back with brisk comfort.
Over his shoulder, she saw Alex talking to a woman. Hannah blinked. She must be really shocked. Kind of looked like Miz Cookie. She closed her eyes, but the reel started to play again, so she gave up. The woman tipped her head to the side, her chin angling in a familiar way….
Hannah wanted to rub her eyes. Rub away the grit and the fear and the shock and see and think. Figure out what her brain was trying to tell her. So much noise. She missed the morgue, which was not just crazy. It was bat crap crazy.
“Do they…know who…?”
“Looks like it was Roger Dunstead.” Ferris kept rubbing her back, and her shudders began to ease some. “We should get that looked at.”
“You looked at it. So did I. Did they catch him?”
Ferris hesitated, so Hannah looked up.
“What?”
“He’s dead. They found the gun on the roof of that building. But someone shot him. Woman saw someone running away but was too shocked to notice much. I suspect it was one of the wise boys who were tired of the heat he was bringing down on them and took him out. Not sure I mind if they did do it.”
Dunstead had caused their family a lot of trouble, one way or another. “Do you think he planted the bomb in my car?”
Ferris hesitated. “It’s not his MO, but he might have tried to get clever.”
Or someone had given him the idea. Had he worked alone? That was what she wanted to believe. It fit most of the facts, even if her gut was uneasy. And that stupid clock was still ticking inside her head. She’d been making some thinking headway until all this. Now it felt like the bullet had shattered her thoughts, too….
“With Aleksi Afoniki dead,” she lowered her voice, “does that mean Charlie and Ellie can come out of the shadows?”
Ferris stiffened. “So you did find them.”
Hannah nodded, only the occasional shudder shaking her now.
“How did you end up with Zach?”
“He was there when I got there.”
Ferris whistled softly. “That must have been an interesting meeting. I’m kind of glad I missed it.”
She managed something that resembled a chuckle. “Oh yeah.”
She watched Alex shake the woman’s hand, then turn away with his usual impatience. His face looked lined, older, and his eyes were hard. She opened her mouth to say something about him needing better closure, but the words got lost when her gaze met that woman’s. It was Miz Cookie. She stared across the gap, seeing the sweetness stripped from her like veil pulled back, then she turned and disappeared in the crowd.
Something had just happened, and she had no clue if it was im
portant or just weird. As if it had been waiting for just the right moment for maximum effect, the pain from the graze hit, taking her breath away.
“I probably need to get that looked at,” she said, easing reluctantly out of Ferris’s hold to study her arm.
“Now why didn’t I think of that?”
His smile was so normal, so ordinary and so not any of those things that it took her breath away. Luckily she was still too shell-shocked—literally—to embrace the elephant-sized realization waiting for her to get a clue.
“Hannah?” The smile faded to concern.
“I’m okay.” Probably. Maybe. Or not. But probably. Eventually.
* * *
When she went, she wanted a jazz funeral, Gladys decided. Not that she planned to die anytime soon. But it had been so emotionally satisfying. She’d truly, finally gotten closure for Harold. So much, she hadn’t minded Belinda showing up. In fact, she was glad Belinda came. Gladys had enjoyed seeing her pain, now that it was certain Belinda would never get Harold.
She sighed. She’d have to do something about the business. Hopefully there would be no more unpleasant surprises when his lawyer went over Harold’s will with her later.
Part of her still feared that somehow one of those donated organs would cause a heart attack, but really, bodies rejected organs, didn’t they? Sometimes? It was so like Harold not to tell her something so key, so really it was his fault if one of them died.
And she could be thankful she’d had so much on her mind, she hadn’t had time to worry about it too much. It was one of those things that came to her when she woke in the night. And now she had a new one. That morgue doctor had been a shock again. Did the way she’d looked at Gladys mean something? It was too late to wish she’d stayed away from the morgue, hadn’t tried to get control of Harold’s body. If she could have, she’d have buried him or cremated him.
Dead Spaces: The Big Uneasy 2.0 Page 19
