by Rhodi Hawk
Patrice retrieved a short length of sugarcane from the cupboard and slipped the cool stalk into Rose’s hands, clasping them together.
“You don’t want to be somebody else’s food, yanh? Better to be an alligator, with sharp teeth. You’ve got to be strong. And mean.”
She basked in the sudden attention of her older sister. But Patrice was already leaving. She opened the outside door, filling the pantry with a fresh breeze.
Marie-Rose blurted, “I hide so nobody sees me. Maman hates me. She says I turned out her room.”
Patrice paused and looked back. “You mean womb. You turned out Maman’s womb because you came out feet first. You ought not to have done that.”
“I’m sorry. Now she hates me because she wanted to have lots and lots of children and she can’t no more.”
“Any more. It’s all right. She only wanted children for—different reasons.”
“And Papa doesn’t even know I’m here.”
“Papa needs our help. Ask him to make you dolls, like the ones he makes for me.”
Marie-Rose twisted the cane in her hands and stole a glance at her sister. “But I like the painted bisque dolls from the city. They’re so much prettier.”
Patrice rolled her eyes. Her skin was smooth coffee and cream. As she tilted her head, the sun caught in her lashes and the clean knot of hair above her long, graceful neck. Marie-Rose wanted to be like her, or make her angry, or both.
Patrice said, “It’s good for him to make us the dolls. It keeps the river devil away.”
“It does?” Marie-Rose took a step toward her sister, realizing she’d just revealed a secret for her new diary.
Patrice said, “And you shouldn’t ought to show Maman your progress with the pigeons. Let her think you can’t do it. The twins can’t. She might as well believe none of us can.”
Marie-Rose scowled. “You’re just saying that because I’m the best of the four of us. You don’t want Maman to favor me.”
Patrice let out a long, slow breath. She put a hand to her hip and looked toward the garden. Marie-Rose watched her.
A pigeon burst onto the landing behind Patrice in a flutter of wings, causing Marie-Rose to jump. It darted past Patrice in the doorway, right into the pantry, thrusting its neck with each step.
Marie-Rose moved backward. “No!”
It spread its wings and came at her, flapping into the air, darting and pecking. Marie-Rose screamed and tried to beat it away. It kept at her. The stalk of cane tumbled to the floorboards. The bird swooped on it and took it in its feet, and then fluttered past Patrice and out the door.
Marie-Rose balled her fists and shouted, “Darn you Patrice!”
“You watch your mouth, young lady.”
“But earlier, you said the word—”
“Never mind that. It’s high time you think about growing up. You want to be mother’s zombie slave you just keep pitching fits and playing like you’re a bunny.”
Marie-Rose was heaving, furious. But she was also slightly terrified of her older sister, and awed by her calm. Patrice retrieved a knife and a fresh stalk of cane, and peeled back the tough outer green. She handed it over. Marie-Rose accepted it.
Patrice said, “Only way is to try and outsmart Maman. Don’t let her catch on to anything you learn, and keep out of her way. Understand?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Patrice turned and closed the door behind her. A feather swirled among the dust motes from the wind in the door. Marie-Rose stood alone in the pantry. She put the pliable white wood at the heart of the cane between her teeth and gnawed, sucking the sweet juices.
fifty-nine
BAYOU BLACK, 2009
MADELEINE SAT IN THE living room of the flat, Ethan holding her hand and Jasmine dozing at her feet, while federal agent Gorman listened to her story. When she’d made the call, she hadn’t expected him to get up in the middle of the night and come to the flat. Severin was there too, but she seemed uninterested, and most of the bramble had receded from Madeleine’s field of vision. The clock showed half past four in the morning.
Madeleine explained to the agent that Zenon might be hiding in an abandoned industrial plant which sat along the Gulf of Mexico at Beaumont, Texas, near the Louisiana border. She’d provided the name of the plant along with instructions for getting there, and had offered up a lie about how she had been there before with Zenon when they were teenagers.
“There’s a tall cylindrical structure that looks something like a corn silo,” she explained. “You might find him in there.”
Agent Gorman watched her face as she spoke. “Why would he be in there, as opposed to another building?”
“The lock is broken, and there’s usually nobody around.”
“I see.” Agent Gorman paused, still watching her. “And why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“I didn’t think about it until now. I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about Zenon, and then I remembered the old plant. It would be a perfect place for him to hide.” The lies were tumbling more and more easily off her tongue. She shrugged. “I may be wrong, but it’s worth a try.”
Agent Gorman’s gaze burned on her. Madeleine was certain he knew she was lying. Ethan listened, sleepy-eyed.
Gorman said, “Why would he go to a place you know about? Knowing you might tell us?”
“Like I said, I may be wrong. I’m sorry to have gotten you up in the middle of the night.”
This was true; Madeleine could be wrong. She almost hoped she was wrong. She was placing a tremendous amount of credibility on something that was either a phenomenon or madness. But she knew better. Severin and her briar patch had revealed the truth.
Gorman continued to stare, expressionless. Madeleine did her best not to squirm.
“All right. We’re checking it out. Anything else I should know?”
She flinched, remembering one other thing: In the vision Severin had showed her, Zenon had not been alone. She’d seen another male figure within the darkness of the industrial plant, about Zenon’s height, broad-shouldered, chewing on a toothpick or something and wearing a porkpie hat. But how could she possibly tell Gorman that Zenon had an accomplice in such a way that Gorman would trust the information? Already he seemed to sense she was lying about how she knew about the plant.
“I can’t think of anything else,” Madeleine said.
“I trust you’ll be available if we need you?”
She shrugged. “I’ll be here.”
HOURS LATER, AFTER MADELEINE had given up entirely on sleep and had made coffee while Ethan showered, she called Agent Gorman to find out whether they’d made any progress. He informed her that they’d picked Zenon up early that morning, and he was now in custody. Madeleine felt such relief that tears coursed down her face. Perhaps now she could stop focusing on the horrible murder and figure out what was going on with herself. Perhaps. Once she was sure they had a strong case against him. Then she’d be able to relax.
Gorman had, however, refused to divulge where they had found Zenon, citing case confidentiality. Madeleine suspected that he was just being obnoxious, though; no reason why he couldn’t tell her whether they found Zenon at the industrial plant in Beaumont. She suspected he was playing mind games because he had guessed that she’d lied about how she knew the place.
Her stomach churned. She wanted so very badly to know whether what Severin had showed her was real. It would be one more piece of evidence to support the argument that she was not crazy. That something else was going on.
She caught a glance of herself in the mirror, already dressed for work in navy blue slacks and a white button-down. Even the bruises were faded. Almost normal-looking. The sound of Ethan’s shower was soothing.
She switched on the TV and surfed until she found the news. They showed images of an armed robbery caught on a security camera. Madeleine chewed her lip, watching. And then came the next headline, “Manhunt Ends,” and Zenon’s face flashed. The reporter divulged that he’d
been picked up early that morning at an industrial plant near Beaumont, Texas.
Confidentiality, my butt.
Madeleine listened carefully to every word, but no mention of a second man. She was worried, but what could she do about it? She sank onto the couch.
“Severin.”
“Yes?”
“What about my father? Can you tell me where he is?”
“Another little look?”
“I’d rather you just told me.”
“Ah! Would you just? Why would that be pleasing to me?”
“What is it that you want?”
Severin smiled, a slow, malicious expression that made Madeleine’s blood grow cold. “A little sport. A game or such.”
Madeleine didn’t want to think what she meant by that. She recalled the way Severin had been toying with the rat in Bayou Black—her version of a game.
Severin pouted. “If we wish to see the father we must go have a look in the dark caves.”
“I have to go to work in a few minutes. I’d better not.”
“Yes, the ward. The people touched in the head. They love to listen to the whispers.”
Madeleine stared at her. “You realize you can’t come with me, don’t you?”
Severin gave her a nasty look. “I come when I like!”
“Who are you talking to?”
Madeleine looked up, surprised, and saw Ethan dressed and ready for work.
Madeleine gestured a little unsteadily at the television. “They got him.”
Severin was saying, “Touched in the head. We whisper to one to bite the other. A fun game, yes . . .”
The room grew darker as the bramble advanced.
“I . . . I think I’m going to stay home today after all,” Madeleine said.
Ethan was looking at her with concern. The television rambled and Severin kept going with her nasty words. Madeleine couldn’t make out what Ethan was saying. She wanted so badly to talk to her father about all of this. All her years of education and research seemed suddenly irrelevant. She needed to hear him speak about his experiences, and she would be listening with a new set of ears.
Madeleine said, “I have a headache. Can’t concentrate.”
She was barely aware when Ethan kissed her good-bye.
AGENT GORMAN SUMMONED HER to the FBI’s Louisiana headquarters on Leon C. Simon Boulevard. Usually, he would come to her place or call her if he had questions, so the request to come to their offices was an unusual one. She wondered if he asked her there as a means to intimidate her.
She was dismayed to discover that the topic of the interview was Zenon’s hideout in Beaumont. Gorman and another agent asked her to go over what happened in the swamp and how she came to know about the industrial plant. They stood over her, and asked her the same questions over and over again. Hours passed, and she began to feel like a broken record, repeating herself in that closed-in room.
Apparently Zenon had denied ever taking her there as teenagers, which is something she had expected. But, the agents had learned that the plant had not been abandoned until six years ago, when she was already in her twenties.
Oops.
Madeleine cleared her throat. “Their offices might have been active. But that silo-looking thing was abandoned. The lock has been broken for years.”
A decent lie, she thought. She had no idea what else to tell them. Absolutely no way was she going to tell them about Severin.
Gorman exchanged looks with the other agent. “Why would Mr. Lansky deny having accompanied you there?”
She shrugged. “Zenon Lansky is out to get me. He’d probably say anything to discredit me.”
“That’s true.” Gorman settled himself in a chair opposite her. “Except I don’t believe you either.”
She swallowed. “I can’t help that.”
Silence crushed in around her. She felt the urge to say something else. To prattle on in some wild explanation. But she guessed that’s exactly what they wanted. The more she spoke, the more likely she was to expose her secrets.
She pulled back her chair and stood. “Look, we’ve gone over and over this, and I’ve helped you all I can. Now I’m going home.”
“We’re not finished yet.” Gorman placed a hand on her arm to detain her.
She felt the temperature rise in her blood.
Lie or no lie, you’d think I was the murderer!
“I’m finished.” She removed his hand from her arm. “And unless you’re going to arrest me, I’m going home.”
The door opened and a woman appeared.
“Please wait a moment, Dr. LeBlanc.”
She had obviously been observing them somehow. She introduced herself as U.S. Attorney Kristen Jameson. Her strawberry blond hair held a tinge of gray, and she wore an expensive suit and very little makeup.
“I know you’re tired, and it seems like you’re repeating yourself,” Ms. Jameson said. “I’ve asked the agents to be very thorough with this investigation.”
She gestured for Madeleine to sit. Madeleine looked at the agents with suspicion, then sighed, and sank to the chair.
Jameson sat next to Madeleine. “We’re trying to build a strong case against Mr. Lansky. But there is a serious lack of evidence. We have tested the blood found in the plantation house in Hahnville, and we have been able to match it to blood samples taken from Angel Frey. She’s been missing for some time, but we still don’t have a body for her yet.”
“Angel Frey?” Madeleine’s heart began to race. “I heard about her. My God. That was her blood in the plantation house?”
“The police are working very hard to come up with something concrete to connect him.”
“Her blood in that house? That sounds like pretty strong evidence to me.”
“It’s a good start,” Jameson agreed. “But Mr. Lansky asserts that he hasn’t been to the plantation property in years.”
“But I saw him there. And my father did too.”
“We are anxious to talk to your father. If he can be located.”
Madeleine bit her lip.
Mrs. Jameson said, “But even so, it’s my understanding that your father has mental issues. Not the best candidate for a witness.”
Madeleine swallowed, cheeks burning, and managed to nod.
“But either way, Dr. LeBlanc, right now it’s just you. We can’t prove Mr. Lansky was there. Anyone could have gotten into that old abandoned house. And,” she said, watching Madeleine’s face, “it does seem odd that you’re the only witness we have, and you can put him both at the plantation and at the swamp. And you located him in Beaumont. You have to admit, it’s quite a coincidence.”
Madeleine’s hands were going numb. “I guess that does seem strange.”
The U.S. Attorney stared at Madeleine’s face. Madeleine refused to move. Didn’t dare flinch. She felt that if she so much as batted an eye, she would lose whatever reserve of calm was left to her and the bramble would take over.
“All right,” Jameson finally said. “I will tell you this: It’s beginning to look like the bulk of our case against Mr. Lansky will hinge on your testimony, and we want to make absolutely sure that you are a credible witness. That’s why we have to ask so many questions.”
“There’s no other connection between Zenon and Anita Salazar?”
Jameson shrugged. “We do have witnesses that can put the two of them together. We were hoping to pull evidence from the victim herself, but due to the extreme conditions her body was subjected to postmortem, anything that might have been there is contaminated. We were hoping for something stronger.”
“And you’ve searched Zenon’s fishing cabin in Bayou Black, and his house in Plaquemine too?”
She nodded. “We found a stun gun and pepper spray at the fishing cabin, but he sells those at his store. It’s looking like we’ve recovered as much evidence as we’re going to get. You will be our key witness, Dr. LeBlanc.”
Ms. Jameson drew a deep, tired breath. “I hope you’re ready.”
sixty
NEW ORLEANS, 2009
SHEILA PRICE PACED THE street, muttering to herself and wringing her hands. There had been a cold snap, and nobody was buying. She tugged at the lacy sheer black dress that barely covered her butt. Despite the brisk temperature, Sheila started to sweat. She needed a fix.
She walked back to the heart of Iberville as quickly as her high heels could carry her, and found Carlo working the corner. He wore a blue knit cap and a denim jacket lined with fleece.
“Carlo, set me up, baby,” she said.
Carlo looked at her. “Mm hmm. You know the deal.”
“Look, I ain’t got jack right now. I’ll bring it to you later.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Come on, baby, I ain’t goin nowhere. I’ll pay you as soon as I get it.”
Carlo spat. “You won’t be bringin in nothing you stand round here tryin to work me. Get on out there and find yourself a friend, then you come see me.”
Sheila cursed and hustled away. She wrapped her arms around her thin body, more from agitation than from the cold. She joined Bea, who was already working the walk.
“How you doin?” Sheila said.
Bea shook her head. “Not too good, baby. Ain’t nobody need a date on a night like this.”
Sheila paced. “Bea, you got any money? I need to get a hamburger for my baby.”
Bea laughed. “I heard that one before. Listen honey, if I had any cash, I wouldn’t be standin out here on no street corner tonight. And if anyone gonna get a fix with my money, it’s me.”
“It really is for my baby,” Sheila said.
“Your kid’s stayin over at my mama’s house, and she already feed him.”
Sheila snorted.
FOR CARLO, BUSINESS WAS not so bad. The usual folks had been coming by his corner. Around ten o’clock, Avery came down from his perch atop the stairwell.
“What up?”