by Polly Iyer
“Then go on in, but I warn you, he’s in bad shape.”
Diana braced herself and went to the bedroom where Lucier was lying, his back to her. She got in beside him in spoon position and wrapped her arms around his shivering body.
“I love you,” she said.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Who Knew?
Beecher took the call from the superintendent notifying him about the shooting at Hodge’s house and Rickett’s suggestion that he send someone to investigate Michel. Zamora agreed and said that in order to keep things quiet, he’d send Rickett.
So much of this operation was on the QT, Beecher held the meeting in Lucier’s office rather than in the squad room where something could be overheard.
“Hodge’s neighbor called in gunshots,” Halloran said. “It just came over the wire.”
“Better make sure the captain knows about this one,” Cash said. “We’d do that ordinarily.”
“He probably heard it just like we did,” Beecher said. “I’ll go see what he wants us to do. He’ll ask if we have any leads about the lieutenant. Better put on my dumb face.” He turned swiftly. “And no remarks, okay?”
Cash chuckled.
Beecher hurried to Craven’s office. “He in?” he asked Craven’s secretary, Lissie Howard.
“Nope, Detective. The captain isn’t in yet. He got a call that another police officer was shot and said he was on the way to the site.”
“That’s what I was just going to tell him. I’m on the way there myself. He’s one of our police techs.”
“Tragic. Another police shooting. How many does this make?”
Beecher sighed. “Too many.”
“Strange time for Lieutenant Lucier to go on vacation, and without Ms Racine. Hope he’s having a good time. Where’d he go?”
“He’s not on vacation. He went to visit an old friend to recuperate from his gunshot.”
“Laying low for a few days, away from New Orleans, I guess.”
Beecher nodded to the woman, glad the captain hadn’t told her anything about Lucier, but he thought it strange Craven said Lucier was on vacation. He hustled back to the squad room. Halloran was on the phone, and Cash was clicking through something on the computer. “Captain’s out of the office, but he knows about Hodge. He’s probably at the scene. I’m going there myself.”
“Just got a call,” Halloran said, grabbing his jacket. “Shooting in the Quarter. I’m on my way.”
“I’ll go with you, Sam,” Cash said.
“Let’s go.”
“You think Rickett’s cover is still solid?” Cash said on the way to the car.
“Dunno, but I won’t be the one to out him. If the superintendent wants anyone to know what’s going down, he’s the one who’ll make it public, not us.”
“That means we shouldn’t tell the captain about the lieutenant, right?”
Beecher hesitated. “Right. Jeez, I hate this. We’re keeping something from our commanding officer. Craven will not be happy when he finds out.”
“We’re taking orders from the super, Sam. He’s our commanding officer right now.”
“You’re right. I’ll keep telling myself that. He sent Rickett to check on Michel.”
“That’ll be interesting if it gets out.”
Within twenty minutes, Cash parked in front of Hodge’s house. An ambulance and three squad cars were parked on the street, and a couple of uniforms were talking to the man next door. Captain Craven’s car was parked in the driveway. He was at the door examining the frame. He turned to them, looking grim.
“I was on this side of town,” Craven said. “Looks like Lucier might’ve been right. All the card-playing buddies are dead, except for Rickett and Michel. Haul them both into interrogation and sweat them until they’re a puddle on the floor.”
“Nothing says suspect more than being the last ones standing,” Cash said. He took out his notebook and wrote down the words Rickett, Michel, and interrogation.
“Good point, Cash,” Craven said.
Beecher marveled at Cash’s cool. Didn’t even glance at him. Beecher pointed to the neighbor. “That the guy who called in the shots?”
“Yeah. We’ll find out more when the patrol officers report back.” Craven moved to the door, brow furrowed, and pointed to the badly splintered door frame but didn’t touch it. “See this? Looks like someone took a shot at Hodge and missed.”
“Doesn’t make sense,” Cash said. “Why would someone take a shot at Hodge outside his house, then shoot off the door lock?”
“Hodge ran inside, and the killer came after him,” Craven said.
Cash moved closer to examine the door. “Nah, don’t think so. Betcha these two bullets came from different guns.”
Craven studied the doorframe. “Hmm, maybe. We’ll see what forensics has to say.”
They entered the living room. A small table was overturned behind Hodge, toppling a couple of magazines and a glass of something. Hodge lay sprawled on the carpet, a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. Shades of Soulé flitted through Beecher’s mind until another thought stopped him. Rickett said Diana was on the phone with Hodge when he was shot. Beecher looked around. So where’s the phone? He started to say something, then caught himself along with Cash’s glare to keep silent. He’d noticed too.
“Hey, Doc,” Craven said to Charlie Cothran, who was examining Hodge’s body, “What’cha got?”
“One bullet to the head,” Cothran said. “Looks like a .45. Probably died instantly.”
“Get me the report ASAP,” Craven said.
“Will do.”
Beecher checked the bedroom. Bed unmade. Figured. Something caught his eye on the bedside table as he turned to leave the room.
“Look what we have here,” he called to the others.
Cash and Craven saw what he was talking about. A titanium wedding band. He remembered Diana mentioned his wife had left him. Either that or he knew to take off the ring.
“Means he shot the two at the cemetery,” Craven said.
“That murder solved,” said Beecher. “We’ll check his gun, though, if we find it.”
When the crime scene techs arrived, Beecher, Cash, and Craven went outside to talk to the uniforms who’d taken down the statement from the neighbor. Cash pulled out his notebook again.
“What did he say?” Beecher asked the older cop.
“He heard a muffled pop while he was watching the morning news. Thought a car backfired up in the road behind the hill. Half an hour later, he heard the second shot. This one sounded louder, he said, so he went outside to check. Hodge’s door was closed, and it was still dark, but he saw the shredded doorframe and called 911.”
“Did he see anyone, a car?” Craven asked.
“No. We’ll canvass the neighborhood. Maybe someone saw something.”
“Good work.” Craven checked his watch. “I’m gonna finish my errands and head to work. Haul in both Rickett and Michel and sweat them until we get answers.” He turned and said over his shoulder, “Take it easy, guys.” He acknowledged Cothran coming out of the house and strolled to his car.
“Yeah, you too, Captain,” Beecher said.
“Guess we’ve got to haul in the fed,” Cash whispered, “or something’ll look fishy.”
“Wonder what Craven was doing over this side of town,” Beecher said. “There’s not much here.”
Cothran joined them. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard what you said. Craven has a daughter in a hospital over this way. She has a brain injury from what I understand. Don’t know if she was born that way, just that he visits.”
“I didn’t know that,” Cash said.
“Hunh,” Beecher said. “I’ve worked under him for years and didn’t know either, but then he never talks about his personal life. Craven’s a fair boss, but he’s all cop, all the time.”
“The daughter’s from his first marriage,” Cothran said. “The only reason I know is my brother’s a physiotherapist there. He’s the
one told me.”
“Must be hard on the captain,” Cash said.
Beecher rubbed his chin. “Yeah.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Deep Cover
Lucier spent another fitful night. He’d insisted Diana sleep in a different room, knowing she wouldn’t get any sleep either, but in the morning, she slipped silently into his bed. He wanted to tell her to go, to leave him be, but as sick as he was, feeling her warm body pressed against him eased the contracting muscles and the aches in his joints. Fevered and shivering at the same time, he’d lay as long as he could, absorbing her comfort without getting up to make another trip to the bathroom. It was a wonder he had anything left inside him to purge.
He was glad she didn’t talk, because he didn’t feel like responding, only dying.
She’d slipped one arm under his neck and the other over and around his middle. He found her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back.
He wanted to know about the investigation, about the murders, about the safety of his team. He wanted to ask about a lot of things, but in that moment he could only think of the craving for the drug that caused the pain and how one more shot would make him feel normal, if only for a matter of hours.
His obscene desire for drugs was promptly forgotten when twisting contractions of his leg muscles forced him to his feet with a smothered moan. He stomped around the room, stretching and doing leg crunches to work out the excruciating pain.
Diana jumped up and ran to him, putting both palms on his cheeks. Her strength surprised him.
“What can I do? I’ll do anything, just tell me what.”
He tried not to look at her, but through watery eyes he saw her concern. “Nothing. Cramps. They have to work themselves out.”
“I’ll massage them for you. Let me.”
“No, no.” He almost yelled. He was about to apologize when he sneezed, once, twice, five times, and bolted into the bathroom to be sick all over again for the hundredth, no thousandth, time.
After the past few days, or was it weeks or months? he’d lost any pretense of dignity. He rinsed his face and ran a bath. The warm water relaxed him.
Walt knocked on the bathroom door. “You all right?”
“No, but I’m still alive.” He opened the door. “Barely. How’d you do it? How did you survive this nightmare?”
“You’ll learn you’re stronger than you ever imagined. Yours is a particularly ugly case because you didn’t do this to yourself willingly.” Looking at the filling tub, he said, “The bath will help.” He handed Lucier a couple of pills. “Take these.”
“Thanks. What happened to make Rickett bring Diana here?”
“I’m not sure. Ask him when he comes back. All he said was she’d be safer here.”
“Tell her I’ll be out soon.” Walt left, and Lucier slipped into the water until he was submerged. He came up for air. He’d fight this, and he’d win. He had to.
Diana had been in trouble. That’s why Rickett brought her here. Lucier needed to get over the worst of this hell to protect her, but right now he couldn’t protect himself. He’d take the pills, do what he had to do, and when he got well again, he was going to find the evil bastard, and fucking kill him.
He slipped under the water again.
* * * * *
Diana waited in the living room. Seeing Lucier in such a state clarified why Rickett and Walt didn’t want her to see him. Worse, she knew Lucier didn’t want her to see him so incapacitated. They’d all underestimated her.
Lucier had experienced too much pain in his life to go through this misery, but if he thought she couldn’t handle seeing him, he was dead wrong. She’d seen plenty, experienced the pain of others through her psychic curse.
Walt sat down beside her.
“He’s taking a bath. I found the water therapeutic when I was going through this.”
“How long did withdrawal take you?”
“Longer than it’ll take Ernie. I was hooked good and couldn’t kick my habit. I bounced in and out of rehab. Every time I got clean, I’d find my way to a pusher. After three years, and with more help than I deserved, I kicked the monkey. Getting clean was the hardest thing I’ve ever done or will ever do.”
“What happened?”
“I was so deep undercover that I had only one contact, and he’d lost me.” Walt snickered. “Or I’d lost him. When the cartel began to suspect me, they made me use to prove I was one of them. Either I shot up or they’d put a bullet in the back of my head. I figured I could handle the drugs.” He stared squarely into Diana’s eyes. “I was wrong.”
Diana could see the pain in Walt’s expression. Talking about this was still hard on him. “How’d you break cover?”
“I found out about a huge drug shipment coming into the country and the upstanding citizen behind the deal. I mean a rich, powerful politician who preached helping people. Damn hypocrite was getting rich off the backs of poor junkies, dot-com millionaires, and dumb college kids looking for the next high.
“By then, I’d hit rock bottom, a certifiable addict. This was a shipment of heroin not marijuana, with a street value in the tens of millions.” He looked off into space. “I thought of all the people who’d wind up like me. There must have been something left of the agent in me, so I did what I had to do.
“Breaking up this ring meant I’d be without my next fix and on a hit list that wouldn’t stop until I was dead. In spite of that, I got hold of my contact, and he pulled me out. The politician was busted, and the shipment seized, but some of the top people got away.”
“I remember that. You’re still alive. How did you manage that?”
“The Bureau created a death scenario for me as one of the bad guys, and now I’m someone else. Again. I look different. Gained weight ―” he patted his ample belly ― “grew a beard, and turned gray, and I’m nowhere near where I lived back then. Most of the ones who got away have been rounded up. Hopefully, I won’t run across the few still out there.”
Diana knew about multiple identities in the dangerous world of undercover work. “Is your family with you?”
Walt’s expression changed. “No. Undercover work isn’t for married people. My wife knew I was an agent for the DEA before we married, but you never really know the extent of the next job. She thought she could deal with my work, but after the last assignment and my third failed attempt at getting clean, she’d had enough and filed for divorce. I didn’t blame her. She deserved better than a life of worry with a husband who disappeared months at a time without her knowing if he was dead or alive.”
“Do you ever see her?”
“We have a good relationship. She’s since remarried. I see my kids when it’s safe. They don’t know what I did or what I do, but they know I love them. Maybe someday I’ll tell them, but not now.”
“I’m sorry, Walt,” Diana said. “I hate what you went through, but you’re making a difference. You are with Ernie and I’m sure with others. That’s what counts.”
He almost smiled. “Kohl is coming over to stay with you when he gets off work. I have an appointment to see a cop who’s about to lose his family if he doesn’t stop drinking.”
She reached for his arm. “You can’t save them all, you know.”
“No, but I can try.”
When Walt went back into his office, Diana did what everyone would have told her not to do had she asked. She opened the bathroom door and slipped soundlessly inside the steamy room. Lucier lay still, his head rested against the back of the tub. He opened his eyes and watched Diana strip, then step into the tub to lay atop him. He put his arms around her and held her tighter than ever before.
Chapter Fifty-Five
And Then There Were None
Beecher hadn’t heard anything about Michel from Rickett, but he had to follow the captain’s orders. “Call Halloran to pick up Michel and bring him to interrogation, then we’ll make a show of requesting Rickett to come in for questioning.”
“I know who you
mean, Sam, but remember he’s Rickett so we don’t blow his cover. That would be a fatal mistake. For him.” Cash slid into the passenger seat, tapped a number on his phone and relayed the message to Halloran. “We’ll take Rickett.” He snickered. “Yeah, I know. We were just saying the same thing.”
“What’d he say?”
“That this is getting complicated.”
“An understatement,” Beecher said. “Michel is the only one left we know of.”
“Hodge used Denise Garcia as an alibi. She and Tommy could be involved, and who knows how many others.”
“After we sweat Michel, we might have a better idea.”
Cash punched in Rickett’s number. “Craven ordered us to pull Michel and you in and sweat you until you’re a puddle on the ground.” Cash listened, said, “Jesus.”
“What?” Beecher asked impatiently.
“Rickett said Craven will have to wait to meet Michel in the afterlife. A homicide call came in over the wire on his way to Michel’s, at Michel’s address. He’s getting the hell out of there.”
“Shee-it,” Beecher said as his phone buzzed. Halloran. “Yeah,” Beecher answered. “We know. We’re on our way. See if you can track down Denise Garcia and verify Hodge’s alibi, not that it much matters unless she’s involved in this plot. If you think she is, put her in protective custody. She’s not safe.” To Cash: “Tell Rickett to be careful.”
Cash did as asked, hung up, and said, “Why worry about Rickett? Obviously the boss is killing off the avengers to protect himself, and Rickett isn’t one of them.”
“I’ve been on the force twenty-two years, and I’ve never seen anything like this. Graft, bribes, even drugs, but not systematic murder. This was someone’s idea of righting injustice that’s gone terribly wrong.”
“I agree.”
The scene at Michel’s apartment looked much like that at Hodge’s place. Cothran’s assistant, Dr. Naill Patel, had just arrived. Two techs were dusting the room for prints. Beecher and Cash donned booties and gloves and stepped inside. Michel sat at the kitchen table. What was left of his head rested in his bowl of cereal.