Sucker Punch

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Probably?”

  The truck finally left, and we were able to park at last. Edward reached for his door handle. “I’ll just be sorry when we have to kill him, and I’ll be sorrier if he kills us first.”

  With that, he got out of the SUV, and I was left hurrying to catch up. We were in the crowd on the porch of waiting customers by the time I caught up, so I couldn’t say any of the things I wanted to say. But then, neither could he.

  76

  WE ENDED UP in the manager’s office, Pamela’s office. She’d brought in extra chairs so she could sit beside Hazel instead of at her desk. Hazel’s shoulders hunched forward, her arms holding her stomach as if someone had hit her there and doubled her over, but it wasn’t a physical blow that had hit her. Pamela sat beside her, one hand making small circles on the other woman’s back, the way you’d soothe a baby to sleep. Hazel didn’t react to the touch, but she didn’t tell Pamela to stop either. Either it made her feel better or she wasn’t even aware the other woman was touching her. Carmichael hadn’t been dead two hours yet, so it wasn’t so much grief yet as pure shock. The hard-core grieving—where you missed them forever and had to accept that it was forever and nothing you could do would change it, or bring them back, or let you feel their warm hand in yours ever again on this side of the grave—that was still to come.

  I sat facing the women in one of the other chairs clustered in front of the desk. Edward and Olaf were standing farther down the wall as far away as the room allowed. They’d be able to hear, but we were trying not to spook her. Livingston had drawn a chair to one side of all of us girls, so he was leaning back against the wall. Hazel knew him, trusted him through Pamela, so he was more a big comforting presence to them both, I think.

  Hazel’s voice was low, thick with crying already, though the tears stopped as she talked as if talking steadied her, gave her something else to do besides cry. “They killed him. I know they did.”

  “Who’s they?” I asked.

  She looked up at me. Her eyes held some of that harsh distrust I remembered from the restaurant. “Rico and Jocelyn.”

  I gave her the long blink, the one I’d learned over the years when I couldn’t afford to show shock or act like I didn’t know what the hell was going on. “Tell me what you know,” I said, keeping my voice even and neutral.

  “Mike showed up to work high a couple of times, and Mr. Marchand put him on notice that if it happened again, he’d have to let him go. I begged Mike to not screw it up, but it was like he couldn’t help himself. If there was something good in his life, he had to fuck with it, you know?” She looked up at me as if willing me to understand that the man she loved hadn’t been bad, just flawed.

  I gave her my best sympathetic face, nodding. “I know people like that, too,” I said.

  That seemed to be enough for Hazel to smile and sit up a little straighter. “Mr. Marchand was a good man, but his sister is a bitch. She heard what had happened and she asked Mike to take small things from the house. She told him she’d give him some of the money when they sold, and he could start saving for when he had to find another job. Mike didn’t tell me what he was doing. I thought he was cheating on me when he was handing stuff over to them to sell.” She made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I wish he’d been cheating on me. He’d still be alive.”

  Pamela made sympathetic noises, and I resisted the urge to ask Hazel what any of this had to do with Rico and Jocelyn. She had more color in her face than when we’d first come into the room. The more she talked, the stronger she seemed, and that meant eventually we could ask more questions, but she had to get there first. I’d learned a little patience over the years. Besides, there was no reason to rush. Bobby was safe. No one else’s head was on the chopping block. We had time to let Hazel tell her story.

  “Jocelyn found out he was stealing and threatened to tell Mr. Marchand unless Mike did what she wanted.”

  “What did she want Mike to do?” I asked, because Hazel seemed to want me to ask.

  “To keep quiet about what she and Bobby were doing. Mike saw them doing things that brothers and sisters shouldn’t be doing, but she told him if he told on them, she’d tell about the stealing.”

  Hazel shook her head. “Mike said that Bobby should have known what was happening, but Jocelyn had him so pussy-whipped, he couldn’t see anything but what she wanted him to see. She thought she could have anything, or most anything, that she wanted, but there were a few that said no to her. She doesn’t like anyone that tells her no.”

  “Did Mike tell her no?” I asked.

  “No, he just kept quiet and started stealing bigger stuff for that bitch Muriel and her stupid husband. I’ve never seen such a useless man, and I’ve seen some useless men in my day. I’ve dated enough of them.” Hazel sniffed and started to cry again. “Mike was saving up for us to go away together. We were going to go to Europe and see all those places you plan on seeing and never see, you know?”

  “I know,” I said, and tried to keep my voice soft, because I was beginning to run out of patience. My supply was never endless.

  “Then Mike heard Jocelyn talking to one of the other people that worked at the Marchand place. She was talking like Bobby was stalking her, trying to rape her or something, but he knew that wasn’t true.” Hazel looked up at me, eyes suddenly direct. “We couldn’t figure out why she was lying to people about her and Bobby. I mean, they weren’t really brother and sister, not by blood. Mike said that she was chasing Bobby hard when no one else could see. Then Mike saw Jocelyn kissing Rico Vargas. I mean, most women in town have kissed him at one time or another, but Bobby was talking marriage. You don’t mess with Rico when you’ve got someone serious about you, because Rico isn’t serious about anyone.”

  There was a tone in her voice that made me want to ask if she knew from personal experience, but I let it go. If it mattered, I’d find out later.

  “Rico does seem to think he’s God’s gift to everyone,” Pamela said.

  Hazel smiled at her, and there was a moment of normalcy, and then she remembered, and she hunched in the chair again as if the blow was fresh. When grief is new, you forget for seconds, and then it crushes you all the more because for a second you felt normal, thought that no one had died, that it hadn’t happened.

  “I told Mike he should tell Jocelyn that he saw her with Rico. Blackmail for blackmail, you know? But he said not yet. He wanted to wait until he needed something on her, and besides, if she was telling people that Bobby was trying to stalk her, then maybe she wouldn’t care if he knew about Rico, you know?”

  “Makes sense,” I said.

  “Then Jocelyn told Mike to find a reason to give them the house the night that Mr. Marchand died. He asked her why, but she told him to do what he was told, or she’d tell Mr. Marchand and he’d lose his job. He would have, too, but you can’t blame someone for firing you if you steal from them, right?”

  “Right,” I said.

  “He told Jocelyn that he’d seen her and Rico together, and she called him a liar. It was his word against hers, and he was stealing, but when Mike heard about what happened to Mr. Marchand, he blamed himself for leaving them alone. I told him that he’d have just died, too. We believed the police story about it being the wereleopard.”

  “We all did at first,” Pamela said.

  “Why did Mike hide after the murder?” Livingston asked.

  “He thought when they did an inventory of the things in the house that they’d find out he stole things. He didn’t want to go to jail. He’d planned on us being out of the country when Mr. Marchand figured out the things were missing, you know?”

  I almost said that last you know? with her, but stopped myself in time. “That makes sense up to a point, I guess.”

  “Then Win Newman didn’t think that Bobby did it, and then Mike heard that
Jocelyn was telling more people that Bobby had been trying to rape her or something when he knew that was a lie. He felt like she was setting Bobby up. He just couldn’t figure out how.”

  “Then he remembered the bagh nakha,” Livingston said.

  Hazel nodded. “He thought if he went to Marshal Newman and told him about it, then maybe he could work a deal about the stealing part.”

  “Why didn’t he talk to Newman?” I asked.

  “Rico found him. Mike had to climb out a window to get away from him.”

  “Why didn’t he contact Newman after that?” I asked.

  “Mike got scared. He wasn’t sure who he could trust. I mean, it was his word against one of the local deputies. Mike was an addict and a thief. Why would they believe him against one of their own? Plus Jocelyn.”

  “After you get hassled enough by the cops, you don’t trust any of them,” Edward said.

  Hazel looked at him. “Yeah,” she said.

  “What makes you think that Jocelyn and Rico had anything to do with Mike’s suicide?” I asked.

  “Mike was back on drugs. They made him think wrong things, but he always got high when he was stressed and”—she started to cry softly again—“he tried to blackmail Jocelyn. He wouldn’t tell me where he was, but in his last call, he said he was going to get enough money from her for us to go out of the country where no one could find us. I begged him not to do it, to come in and talk to Pamela’s boyfriend. If there was a cop we knew that was trustworthy, it would be him, but Mike was high. He wasn’t thinking right.”

  Hazel started crying harder now, rolling forward in her chair. I think if Pamela hadn’t put a hand on Hazel’s shoulder, she’d have fallen to the floor. Pamela held her while she had hysterics. The interview was over for now.

  Livingston motioned us out of the room to the hallway. “Do you believe her?” Edward asked.

  “Pamela does, but it’s all hearsay. Carmichael is dead, so we can’t even get him as a witness to any of it.”

  “Can we prove any of it?” I asked.

  “Not right now,” Livingston said.

  “Do you believe that Rico is capable of this kind of violence?” Edward asked.

  “I don’t know him that well, but I’d have said no.”

  “We thought Rico was stupid, letting the Babingtons into the crime scene when he was supposed to be guarding it, but he was already planning to frame them,” I said.

  “Framing them doesn’t make Jocelyn a billionaire,” Edward said.

  “They need Bobby dead for that,” I said.

  “And Jocelyn not implicated in Ray’s murder,” Livingston added.

  “We have a confession that clears her and whatever accomplice she had. Shit, we played right into their hands,” I said.

  “Rico found the murder weapon in the shed. It was the only stolen object in the house that wasn’t in the safe,” Livingston said.

  “Did Rico plant it?” I asked, and we all looked at one another. “Did one of them help Carmichael with his suicide and his note?”

  “Rico was with us,” Livingston said.

  “The woman made sure we would see her at the aunt and uncle’s house,” Olaf said.

  “She did make a scene,” I said.

  “If she had just finished giving Carmichael an overdose and faking his suicide note, then she’s one of the coldest customers I’ve ever met,” Livingston said.

  “If she planned the murder and the frame-up, then she was absolutely cold-blooded,” I said.

  “Her alibi is perfect for the night of the first murder,” Edward said.

  “Did anyone check Rico’s alibi for that night?” I said.

  “Why would we?” Livingston asked.

  “We have her voice on the video,” I said.

  “You have a woman’s voice on the video that most people won’t even be able to hear without special equipment. Once they find out that a wereanimal—sorry, Therianthrope—heard it first and then told the human cops, it’ll probably get thrown out as evidence.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because judges don’t like supernatural witnesses or evidence that only exists because of something supernatural. It doesn’t play well in court.”

  “I’ve been the zombie expert on more than one case. Evidence from supernatural witnesses can be presented in such a way that a judge will let it in.”

  “That’s after the case is strong enough to go to court. We don’t have a case against either Jocelyn or Rico,” Livingston said.

  “Damn it,” I said.

  “I know a judge that might be willing to hear the video, but I’ll have to call in some serious favors,” he said.

  “If you can get us a warrant to search the Marchand house and Rico’s house, I’m betting we’ll find something,” Edward said.

  “I don’t know if I can swing a warrant for both just on Hazel’s story—it’s hearsay—but I think you’re right. If they are in it together, then there’ll be something to find. I’m betting at his house, because why would we ever search there?” Livingston started punching buttons on his phone. We got his promise to call if he found a way to get us a search warrant.

  Edward, Olaf, and I went out to the porch and stood among all the families and couples waiting for the best breakfast in three counties, which is, I guess, why they served it all day long. Some of the locals glanced at us, but then turned away if we looked back. We were all still wearing our badges out where people would see, because we were still wearing too many guns to hide. At least Edward and I were wearing our windbreakers with MARSHAL in big letters on them.

  “I want to check on Bobby,” I said.

  Edward led us down the steps and out toward our car. I wasn’t sure where Olaf had parked.

  “Do you think Duke is in on it?” Olaf asked when we had some privacy.

  “No, but it’s a small force,” I said. “I don’t like the idea of Rico being on jail duty.”

  “They still need Bobby dead,” Edward said.

  “Or they killed Ray Marchand for nothing,” I said.

  Edward hit the button to unlock his rental SUV. Olaf started to go for his car, but I said, “Ride with us. We’ll come back for your car.”

  “You’re afraid for him,” Olaf said.

  “Yeah, my pulse is fast, and my heart rate’s up. Now, get in the car so we can put eyes on Bobby.”

  I expected Olaf to argue, but he didn’t. He just got in the backseat. I road shotgun, and Edward peeled out of the parking spot so fast, he almost hit the car vulturing behind us. Maybe it was the big truck. Maybe it was the parking spot.

  77

  EDWARD PARKED THE SUV in front of the sheriff’s station without any conversation from us.

  Olaf asked, “What’s she doing here?”

  I couldn’t see whom he meant until I was halfway out the door of the SUV with my foot on the running board. Then I could see Jocelyn on the porch. She was still all in white, leaning against the railing of the little porch as if a photographer would be strolling by at any second. It wasn’t just beauty or the outfit with its strappy sandals, but a theatrical quality to her. No, that wasn’t quite it. She was dramatic, in that unnecessary-drama-in-your-life kind of way, not that I’m-going-to-be-an-actress kind of way. She gave off drama llama the way Olaf gave off violence. Neither of them had to do a thing except exist, and in their own ways, they would both fuck up your life.

  She came toward us crying and talking a little too loud. “Marshals, I tried to talk to Bobby, tried to explain how I felt, but he’s so angry at me.”

  “And you’re surprised by that?” I asked as we got closer.

  “His eyes changed. He told me to get out because I was upsetting him.” She started to cry harder, covering her face with her hands.

  A gunshot or maybe two rapid ones sounded. Hadn’t
I been through this before? We ran for the building with our guns out, pointed at the ground, but ready to shoot. Only training kept me from rushing through the office door without looking. But we were all trained. Olaf got to the door first, but he waited for us to catch up. He took high, I took low, and Edward followed us. As we moved through the door, we cut the pie, dividing the room up and staying out of one another’s way. The office looked empty, but the desks were big enough for cover.

  We made sure that nothing was hiding behind the desks, and then we separated. Edward pointed for Olaf to check the small hallway that held the interrogation room and bathroom. Edward went for the closed door to the cells, and I stayed at his six. It doesn’t do any good to rush to the rescue if you get jumped before you get there. We got to the door leading into the short hallway and the cells beyond, and we were done with stealth or training.

  The wereleopard was trying to pull Rico through the bars by his arm. I saw bone glistening white in among all the blood. Rico was firing the gun between the bars, but his angle was bad. I couldn’t figure out why he didn’t turn more toward the shot, but it didn’t matter, because the three of us had the shot. We had to move up to aim through the bars so we didn’t miss. The leopard gave a growling scream and tore the lower half of Rico’s arm free in a spurt of blood. I heard the sound of tearing meat and bone, like the sound a raw chicken wing makes when you tear it away from the body except louder, bigger, and meatier. Rico screamed and fired a shot that hit the bars and ricocheted back at us. Olaf disarmed him while Edward and I moved up and shot between the bars. The leopard threw itself at us in a snarling, claws-out leap. Our bullets hit it, but its body hit the bars hard enough to shake them. I shoved Edward out of the way as a clawed leg reached through the bars. I shot into the wereleopard’s body as the claws raked at me. Olaf shot it in the head, and blood and bone sprayed out the bottom of its jaw. That took some of the fight out of it, and it backed away from the bars. Edward fired from the knee he’d taken. The leopard coughed blood and then launched itself at the bars again. We fired in unison, and the big cat fell over on its side and stopped moving. All three of us popped our cartridges out and reloaded without trying to count shots. If it got up again, we’d need more ammo. If it didn’t, we could retrieve our dropped magazines and save any unused bullets.