Bonnie

by Iris Johansen

  Joe started to nod, then shook his head. “Is there somewhere around here that someone could get his hands on scuba equipment or underwater apparatus?”

  Julian frowned. “Around here?”

  “Maybe on the road from New Orleans to the house I rented. It would have to be fairly close to the house.” Catherine and Gallo had been followed to the house, then Jacobs’s murderer would have had to backtrack a relatively short distance to pick up that wet suit and equipment and get back in time to commit the murder. “Fifteen or twenty minutes?”

  Julian shook his head. “No scuba-rental places. No call for it around here.” He grinned. “No one wants to go into the swamps and swim with the alligators. The tourists want to see them, not play with them.”

  “I can understand that,” Joe said. “Okay, no rental places. What about a place that would need that kind of equipment for maintenance of their facility? Is there a fishing sanctuary or a pelican—”

  Julian snapped his fingers. “An alligator farm. There’s an alligator tourist attraction about fifteen miles back. I guess they’d have to use that kind of scuba stuff every now and then. Is that what you’re looking for?”

  “It could be,” Joe said. “Can we go there and ask some questions?”

  “Sure. Should I send the team back to the city?”

  “No, have them come with us.” He wasn’t optimistic about the chance of getting evidence from the truck, but it might be a different matter at the alligator farm. The bastard would have been in a hurry if he was trying to steal equipment and get back to the house. He was beginning to feel a tingle of hope as he turned toward the sheriff’s car. “What’s the name of this place?”

  “Bubba’s Alligator Farm.”

  “Bubba?”

  Julian shrugged. “The tourists probably like it. They’re always looking for flavor. We give it to them.” He got into the driver’s seat. “You guys in Atlanta give them plantations and ladies with hoop skirts. We give them Bubba’s alligators. But only from a decent distance.…”

  * * *

  THE SIGN ABOVE THE WOODEN arch of the gates around the huge dirty brown pond was inscribed with bold, red letters.

  BUBBA’S ALLIGATOR FARM

  BRING THE KIDS

  COME FEED THE PREHISTORIC MONSTERS

  “You can’t say that Bubba isn’t appealing to the basest instincts,” Joe murmured, as they drove under the arch. “And he should be a little clearer. Does he want to bring the kids to feed the alligators?”

  “Good point. But you’re not being fair,” Detective Julian said. “Alligators are throwbacks to prehistoric times. Maybe he’s trying to educate the kids.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Joe was glancing around the grounds. All of the alligators appeared to be clustered at the far end of the brown-green pond. Other than a long pier jutting out over the pond, Bubba’s farm appeared to consist of three refreshment stands, a gift shop, and a butcher shop sporting the sign with a beefsteak. Fresh alligator meat. “And would you let your kids go out on that pier and throw beefsteaks to the alligators?”

  “I don’t have any kids.” He looked at the pier, which had only a slender cord on one side. “Nah, not a good idea. Maybe we’d better have a talk with Bubba.”

  “After we talk to him about the scuba equipment. Where the hell is he? The place is deserted.”

  “What are you cops doing here?” A truck had been driven through the gates behind them, and a bald man had stuck his head out the window. “I’ve got a license. You’ve got nothing on me. Has the Department of Environmental Quality been complaining? I treat my gators good.”

  “No one’s been complaining,” Julian said. “Though I’m beginning to wonder why not. Are you the proprietor of this business?”

  “I’m Bubba Grant.” The bald man got out of the truck. “Yeah, I own the farm. I’m just trying to make a living like everyone else. A man tries to get ahead, and all of a sudden the cops are down on him.”

  “I’m Detective Julian. This is Detective Quinn. We have a few questions to ask you.”

  “I treat my gators good. They’re better off than they would be in the swamp.”

  “Do you use any underwater scuba equipment?” Joe asked.

  “Are you crazy? I don’t let anyone in the water with the gators. Do you know what that would do to my insurance?”

  “Do you have any underwater equipment you use for maintenance? What about when you have an injured alligator or you need to remove harmful debris from your pond?”

  “Naturally, I keep my gators safe.”

  “So you do have underwater equipment.”

  “A suit, a speargun and some spears.” He added quickly, “But I’d never use them on the gators if I could help it. Only self-defense. Maybe to save a kid who fell off the pier in the water or something like that.”

  “I’m impressed by your humanity,” Joe said ironically. “May I see the equipment?”

  “Sure. It’s in the storeroom behind the gift shop. I’ve got nothing to hide.” He moved toward the shops. “Is this some new rule the DEQ has come up with? Do you want to talk to any of my people? You’ll have to wait for a couple hours. We don’t open until noon, and no one shows up until the last minute. You can’t get good help these days.”

  “Why noon?” Julian asked.

  “The gators have got to be hungry, or they don’t put on a good show. They won’t come near the pier. People like a little thrill, you know?” They had reached the gift shop, and he pulled out his key, then stopped. “What the hell?”

  The jamb of the door was splintered, and the door was slightly ajar.

  Bubba was cursing as he pushed the door open. “I’ve been robbed!” He ran to the cash register and checked it. “The son of a bitches thought I’d leave money in here? I’m no dope.” He glanced around the shop and frowned. “I don’t see anything missing.”

  “The underwater equipment,” Joe prodded.

  “Oh, yeah.” Bubba ran to a door and threw it open. “It’s gone. Who told you that I’d been robbed? Have you got the stuff? Do I have to identify it?”

  “Not until we find it.” Joe was kneeling on the floor, examining a stain. “Get the forensic team in here, Julian.”

  “Blood?” Julian nodded as he checked out the stain. “Our man could have done it on one of the spears.”

  “If it’s his blood.” Joe glanced around the room. “Overturned stool a few yards away. Could have been a struggle.” He turned to Bubba. “You said no employees were on the premises last night or early this morning?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said no one was here now. Gil Weber is caretaker and leaves about eight in the morning.” He was looking at the blood. “Gil’s an ex-Marine. I wouldn’t have hired him to guard the place if he couldn’t take care of himself.” Bubba took out his phone. “I’ll call and see if he saw anything.” He hung up a few minutes later. “No answer. But maybe he’s asleep. He works all night. That blood can’t be his. If he was hurt, there would be a trail of it, wouldn’t there? Just a couple drops, then he’s gone?”

  “Maybe.” Joe turned and left the shop. He stood there and stared thoughtfully out at the muddy pond. He glanced at Bubba, who had scurried after him. “Tell me, is it common for your prehistoric friends to cluster all together like that?”

  “No, they generally like their own space. They have to have a reason. Why are you—” Bubba’s eyes widened in his suddenly pale face. “Oh, shit.”

  * * *

  “JOE’S BACK.” EVE LAID DOWN her pencil and went to the window to watch Joe get out of the sheriff’s car and bend forward to talk to the dark-haired young man in the driver’s seat. “It’s been a couple hours. I thought that he’d be here sooner.”

  “He might as well have been here,” Catherine said ruefully. “We haven’t gotten far in this sketch.”

  “We’ve determined shape of the face and the nose,” Eve said. “That’s important. That scuba hood is messing things up. It’s very tight and complet
ely hides the hair. Even the hairline would be helpful. Whether it’s receding or full. He could even have a widow’s peak. You couldn’t tell anything about that part of his face.”

  “I thought I’d be more helpful,” Catherine said with frustration.

  “You will be,” Eve said. “You’re distracted. You want it too much.”

  “Yes, I do. I want it now.” Catherine looked at Joe as he came into the house, and she asked, “What’s the word? Do they think they’re going to get prints?”

  “They have prints, but they probably belong to the eighteen-year-old kid he stole the truck from in New Orleans.”

  “Damn,” Eve said.

  “But we may still have his fingerprints,” Joe said grimly. “He grabbed that motorboat, a wet suit, and a tank from an alligator farm about fifteen miles from here. The equipment was in the equipment room in the back of the gift shop. He broke in and stole a few knives, a speargun, and the suit.” He paused. “Evidently the caretaker, Gil Weber, surprised him at it and they struggled, and he apparently knocked him out, then tossed him in the alligator pond.”

  Eve shuddered. “Dead?”

  “He didn’t have a chance. I hope he drowned before the gators got to him.”

  “So he’d already killed before he even tried to get Jacobs,” Catherine said.

  “Probably unintentional,” Joe said. “But he didn’t hesitate when he was discovered.” He frowned thoughtfully. “He thinks very fast and follows through. When he found out where his target was going to be, he examined his surroundings and pulled together a plan that would allow him to kill Jacobs and give him his best chance to survive and escape. He must have caught a glimpse of that alligator farm on the way here, and everything clicked in his mind.”

  “I didn’t even notice the alligator farm,” Catherine said.

  “But you were looking for the house and nothing else. The fog was heavy and drifting in and out.” Joe looked at Eve. “Eve and I didn’t pay any attention to it when we came here either. We were … distracted. The man who killed Jacobs wasn’t distracted. He had a purpose and was looking for a way to accomplish it.”

  “Formidable,” Catherine said slowly.

  “Yes,” Joe said, gazing at Catherine. “And with all the signs of a professional.”

  “I agree,” Catherine said. “But that doesn’t mean he was hired by Gallo.”

  “It doesn’t mean he wasn’t.” Joe glanced at the notebook on the table. “Any luck?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m trying, Joe,” Catherine said between her teeth. “I’ll get there.”

  “I’m sure you will. But I don’t want to wait for it.” He turned back to Eve. “Julian is going to take me into New Orleans. I’m going to see if I can push them to get the results from forensics. Do you want to go with me?”

  “No, I want to finish the sketch first. I’ll follow you when I’m done.” She nodded at Catherine. “And Venable is supposed to be here anytime with a crew to take care of Jacobs. Catherine is going to have to see Venable. She said he’s been very insistent.”

  “Whatever you say.” Joe brushed a kiss across Eve’s forehead. “Call me when you’re on your way. I’ll let you know if I can accelerate the processing of that forensic report.” He headed for the door. “And, if you hear from Gallo, I want to know about it.”

  Eve waited until the door closed behind him before she turned back to Catherine. “Let’s get back to it.” She picked up the notebook and dropped down in a chair beside the window. “What about the lips?”

  “Wide.” Catherine thought about it. “No, a full bottom lip, but his upper lip was thinner. And the left side was a little crooked.”

  “Crooked?”

  “Not really crooked. Just not the same shape as the right. Is that strange?”

  “No, few people are born with perfectly balanced features. Some differences are more noticeable than others.” She sketched in a mouth and turned the notebook around. “Like this?”

  Catherine shook her head. “Fuller lower lip.” She sat back and watched Eve make the change. “This is a painstaking business, isn’t it? It’s a lot different than those computer age progressions you did for me when I was searching for Luke.” Memories flooded back to Catherine of sitting beside Eve in front of the computer at her lake house and seeing the photo of her two-year-old son slowly become transformed into the picture of the eleven-year-old he was today. It had been a painful yet poignantly rewarding journey they’d taken together. And the journey to rescue him from his kidnapper had been equally rewarding. She had gotten back her son, and she had found a friendship with Eve that was beyond price. “How accurate is this sketching business?”

  “You tell me. You have as much say in it as I do. More.”

  “Have you done much of this?”

  She shook her head. “When I was in college, I did sketching for a photographer, and after I became a forensic sculptor, I occasionally did sketches for the police department. I’m okay at it, but I’m not as good as the usual police artists. You have to know just what questions to ask and take it from A to Z.” She smiled at Catherine. “So stop blaming yourself. It’s my fault, too, that this isn’t going as quickly as it might.”

  “Joe thought I was stalling.”

  “Joe doesn’t know what to think,” Eve said. “It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.”

  “Yeah? He doesn’t trust Gallo, and he’s tossing me into the same camp.”

  Eve couldn’t deny it. “You have to admit that the strength of your support of Gallo is a little strange. He thinks Gallo has managed to exert an influence on you that isn’t logical … or professional.”

  Catherine made a face. “He thinks Gallo is some kind of Rasputin?” She stared Eve in the eye. “And what do you think, Eve?”

  “I’m the wrong person to ask.” She looked back down at the sketch. “I know that some people have a magnetism that is a virtual knockout punch. I believe Gallo is one of them. Why else would I have jumped into bed with him when I was only sixteen? I wasn’t stupid or careless, and yet I was both with him. For God’s sake, I was in such a fever that I risked getting pregnant.”

  “And that’s one of the reasons Joe has problems with Gallo,” Catherine said. “He still sees him as a threat.”

  “He shouldn’t. Gallo was in my past. He doesn’t exist in my future.” She looked up at Catherine. “Joe is everything to me. You know that.”

  “But Gallo was the father of your child. There has to be some kind of bond.”

  Eve nodded. “I can’t deny that there is. That’s why I wanted desperately for him not to have been Bonnie’s killer.” How could she explain it? She moistened her lips. “It’s as if Bonnie … She’s part of both of us. I think she loves both of us. Even though Gallo and I will never be together, I don’t believe she’d want us to— She’d want that bond to be there.” She smiled crookedly. “It’s complicated, isn’t it?”

  “Particularly since you’re still not sure that Gallo isn’t involved with Bonnie’s killing.”

  “I’m trying to think positive. Gallo isn’t making it easy,” she said. “Is he a victim or the Rasputin Joe thinks him? I’ve been going back and forth like a weather vane for the past weeks.”

  “So have I.”

  “But now you’re defending him. You’re in his camp. You’ve been willing to fight Joe and me and the whole damn world for him. Why?”

  “He didn’t do it, Eve.”

  “Proof?”

  “Dammit, he didn’t do it.”

  “I want proof. I need proof, Catherine.”

  “I’ll get it for you.”

  “You almost died because Gallo didn’t throw his knife when he should have. Are you going to risk being put in that position again?”

  “He didn’t want me to be hurt.”

  “How can you be sure?” She gazed at Catherine’s expression, then slowly nodded. “Poor Catherine. He’s got you, hasn’t he? Have yo
u slept with him yet?”

  Catherine’s face flushed. “No, I have not. I wouldn’t do that.”

  Eve smiled faintly. “That’s what I said when I was sixteen. I had everything to lose and nothing to gain, but it didn’t matter. I did it anyway.”

  “I’m not sixteen. You’re my friend, and I got into this to help you. I’m a professional, and I’ll do my job.”

  “I know you will. Look, I’m not angry or resentful because you’re feeling the same attraction I felt for Gallo. I don’t have the right to be. I’ve moved on, and so has Gallo.”

  “I know that,” Catherine said. “But you could resent my not doing my job in trying to find your daughter’s killer.” She paused and then burst out, “Okay, Gallo does— He makes me feel—” She tried again. “He does have an unusual effect on me.” She finally said bluntly, “He turns me on. Maybe you’re right, and he does have that kind of knockout effect on most women. But I’d never let that interfere. In spite of what Joe said, I wouldn’t be emotional about it.”

  Eve suddenly smiled. “You’re being emotional right now. If it wasn’t about Gallo, I’d think it was healthy for you. You’re usually too tough and cool. A little disturbance isn’t that bad. Now let’s get this sketch finished. Then I can tell Joe what an unemotional and crystal-clear professional you’ve been.” She turned the notebook around. “Is this his mouth?”

  Catherine nodded. “Very close. But his mouth appeared more taut. It was drawn back from his teeth.”

  “Like an attacking animal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. That would change the contour of the face. It would make the cheekbones more prominent. We’ll have to take that into account.” She was sketching quickly. “Nose, mouth, eyebrows. We’re getting there…”

  * * *

  “CHIN.”

  “I told you, slightly pointed.”

  “But when I showed you pointed, you said it wasn’t right. Think.”

  “It looked pointed.”

  “Then we must have the contour of the face wrong. Since his lips were drawn away from his teeth, maybe it caused the jaw to shift. Why don’t we try a modified square?”