OUTSIDE, ON TOULOUSE STREET, Teddy LaBiche, Kit’s alligator farmer boyfriend, who’d just driven the two hours from Bayou Coteau to have dinner with her, stepped up to the big cypress door and paused, key in hand.
What was that? Did he just hear a muffled scream from inside?
Teddy thrust his key in the lock and opened it. He pushed the big door out of his way.
It took a moment for him to understand what he was seeing, but then it sank in... a figure on the ground another kneeling beside the first. Then he saw the plastic bag.
Kit...
Screaming in rage, he began running.
The kneeling figure leapt to his feet and took off, heading for the left side of the courtyard.
By the time Teddy reached Kit’s limp body, her assailant was running up the outside stairs leading to the second floor of the rear wing where Kit’s apartment was located. Teddy wanted desperately to run after him, get hold of him, and beat him senseless, but he couldn’t. He thought about reaching for the chrome .22 he always carried so he wouldn’t be without it in the alligator pits. But there was no time for that either. His first priority was Kit.
He dropped to his knees where she was lying on her side, facing away from him. Cursing, he yanked off the plastic bag and gently let her head return to the ground. He ripped off his shirt and crumpled it into a cushion that he placed beside her head. Then he gently rolled her over so her head was supported by the shirt.
No...
In the harsh mercury light, her skin had the pallor of death. And she didn’t seem to be breathing. The hairs on the back of Teddy’s neck stiffened. Trying to be calm, he put two fingers against the side of her neck.
No pulse.
At the top of Teddy’s visual field, he caught a glimpse of the fleeing assailant as he went up the ladder on the second floor walkway to the roof.
Rage against her attacker and fear for Kit’s life battled for control of Teddy’s mind. Knowing if he gave in to either, he would be of no use to her, he focused on bringing her back.
What was it you were supposed to do first if a person wasn’t breathing... chest compression? Breathe for them? Damn it, which was first?
Four first...
The phrase came to him in a rush. Four what?
Breaths... it was breaths.
Supporting himself with his elbows on the ground, he pinched her nostrils shut with one hand and pulled down on her lower jaw to open her mouth with the other. He bent down and placed his lips over hers. He exhaled into her. Her chest rose. He drew back and her chest fell.
Without waiting to see what effect that might have produced, he did the same thing again. “Breathe for me, baby.” He waited a moment to see if she would. But she remained still. He thought her color looked better, but in the harsh light, it was hard to tell.
He made another transfer from his lungs to hers. As he drew back, she suddenly sucked in a huge lungful of air on her own and bucked upward at the waist. Her eyes opened and she coughed.
“Kit... baby, it’s me, Teddy.”
She dropped her shoulders back to the ground and Teddy scrambled to make sure his shirt was under her head. Eyes closed, she drew two more gasping breaths, then began to breathe more normally. Teddy squirmed around so he was sitting beside her. He reached out to stroke her hair, but as he made contact, she screamed and swung wildly at him with her right hand.
He caught her gently by the wrist. “I’m Teddy. He’s gone. You’re in no danger now. It’s okay.”
Her eyes opened and she stared at him for a moment. “Teddy...?”
“I’m here. He can’t hurt you now.”
“I want to sit up.”
Teddy leaned forward and took her by the shoulders. She came up and fell forward into his embrace all in one motion. Her arms went around him and they sat there on the ground, clinging to each other.
Chapter 17
Kit sat on her sofa, feet drawn up, arms hugging her knees, trying to become as small as she could manage. On the end table next to her was a cup of hot Chai Teddy had made, but which she had so far not touched. Her mouth was sore and her right arm ached from the awkward way she’d bent it trying to spray Mace in her attacker’s face. She also had a headache. None of those pains was as bad as they had been thirty minutes ago, so the two aspirins she’d taken were helping. But her feelings of anger and stupidity showed no signs of diminishing.
Attacked just yards from her apartment... inside the courtyard she had believed was safe. How could she have been so naive? And she’d been able to do nothing to save herself. If Teddy hadn’t come when he did...
She shivered at the thought that she could now be lying on the ground outside, her corneas already clouding over, her body growing cold, possibly lying in her own excrement.
And it might not be over, because whoever had attacked her, had escaped. Teddy got a quick glimpse of him and he’d seen that the creep was dressed all in black and was wearing a ski mask. Beyond those few details all Teddy could tell Gatlin was that he was of average height and build. Big deal. The handful of cops Gatlin had assembled and who were now combing the Quarter looking for him were too few and too late. Gatlin knew that as well as she did.
“Okay, keep looking,” Gatlin said into his two-way radio to the cop in charge of the search. He shoved the radio into his pocket and looked at Kit, who had heard the negative report as clearly as he. “It’s still early in the search.”
She responded with a small nod. At least he hadn’t insulted her intelligence by promising something he couldn’t deliver.
Gatlin resumed pacing.
Broussard had been sitting quietly in the armchair across from the sofa. Now he spoke. “We all know who did this.”
Gatlin turned and looked at him skeptically. “We do?”
“The same person who killed those three women. Look at her...” he gestured to Kit. “Those bruises around her mouth from the bag... same as what I saw on the three bodies. Except on them, it was worse because he carried the act to completion.”
“You don’t mind if I bring up a few problems with that idea, do you, just so we see the whole landscape?” Gatlin said.
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
“All the evidence points to Jude Marshall as the killer of those women. But he’s dead. If this guy tonight was the real killer, why the hell would he advertise the fact he’s still alive by using the same method on Kit he used on them? Why not just let us believe Marshall’s our guy?”
“There’s obviously a twist to this thing that so far eludes us,” Broussard replied. “And by the way, all that evidence you referred to is actually not much evidence, more a hunch,” he added.
“Let’s say this was the real killer, Gatlin said. “Why’d he choose to come after Kit? How’d he know she was working on the case?”
“Maybe it was someone she interviewed about it,” Teddy suggested.
“Okay, let’s follow that thought,” Gatlin said, taking no offense a civilian untrained in police work had made the suggestion. “I’m sure we can all agree that Jennifer Hendrin’s father can be ruled out right off the top.” He looked at Kit. “From the questions you asked Quentin Marshall about the building on LeDoux Street, if he knew about the bodies being stored there, he’d have concluded you believed Jude put them there. But suppose Quentin actually did it. The best thing he could do under those circumstances would be nothing. He’d have no reason to attack you. That leaves only this realtor in Morgan City, this Delcambre character...”
Sitting there listening to him, Kit was impressed with his grasp of the case.
“Let’s say Delcambre was watching the surrogacy clinic, saw the three victims going in and out, and decided to do them harm. Wait a minute, he walks with a cane, I believe you said...,” He looked at Kit, who nodded. “Kind of hard for a man with an infirmity to overpower three women, kill them, and exhibit the mobility this guy tonight showed. But maybe the cane is just a ploy to make people think he’s gi
mpy.” He pretended to think a moment. “Oh yeah, he’s also very much overweight.” Gatlin looked at Broussard. “Not that I think folks of girth are immobile, but Teddy said our guy tonight had an average build.” His eyes still on Broussard, Gatlin turned his palms upward inviting a response.
“I think you’re right. It isn’t any of them,” Broussard said.
“Then who?”
Before Broussard could speak, Kit said, “Someone who doesn’t live in the real world... who thinks that if I were dead, the investigation would stop.”
Gatlin looked back at Broussard to see what he thought of her comment.
Broussard raised his right hand, fingers lightly curled into a fist until it touched the side of his nose. He uncurled his index finger and wiggled it at Kit. “She’s got it.”
“So it’s someone who’s nuts,” Gatlin said.
“Depends on your definition of nuts,” Broussard said. “He’s functional enough to have figured out where Kit lives and he knows how to plan.”
“We’ve just eliminated every person we know of that’s connected to the case,” Gatlin said. “How’d he even find out an investigation was underway and who was involved? Hold on... the reports we filed... who knows how many people have seen them?”
“It’s a possibility,” Broussard said.
“Let me see if I can get a list together.” Gatlin shook his head. “I don’t like the idea that somebody in law enforcement may be behind this. But I’ll admit I’ve known more than a few captains who should have been committed.”
“We also need to find out who owns the building where the bodies were stored,” Broussard said. “With that name, everything might fall into place. If only we knew a good detective...”
“You just never let up, do you?” Gatlin said. “I’ll take care of that, too.”
“How?”
“I’ll detect. Meanwhile, until this whole thing is wrapped up, Kit shouldn’t be left alone.”
Kit bristled at the assumption she couldn’t take care of herself. Then, considering what had just happened, his suggestion didn’t seem like a bad idea.
“Don’t be concerned about that,” Teddy said. “I’m not letting her out of my sight until we know it’s safe.” He looked at Kit. “If that’s all right with you.”
“Did you bring your gun?”
“I’ve got it.”
“Then you can stay.”
“I’ll put a cop down in the courtyard, too,” Gatlin said.
“You should take some time off,” Broussard said to Kit. “However long it takes until you feel like workin’ again. And don’t worry, we’ll find this guy.”
WHEN BROUSSARD AND GATLIN were gone, Teddy turned to Kit, who was standing behind him.
“What do you say we get in my truck and get the hell out of here. Come and stay with me until this is over. I think you’ll feel better with a hundred miles between you and this place.”
Kit shook her head. “Far too risky. We’d be on the road where we can’t control things. With a cop downstairs and you with me, I’m safer right here.”
Teddy nodded. “You’re probably right. In any event, it’s your call, whatever will make you feel safe. With all that’s happened, I’m sure not hungry. What about you?”
“Me neither.” She looked into his brown eyes. “You saved my life.”
He took her into his arms and pulled her to him. Against her ear, he whispered, “If you had died, my life would have been over, too.”
She drew back and looked hard at him, trying to see deeper into him than she ever had.
“What?” Teddy asked.
There was nothing about Teddy she didn’t adore... His fine features, his straight black hair, his lithe, slim body, his gentle good humor, the way he could find all the places on her body that made sex with him a transcendent experience. She adored it all. For most of their relationship, she had been content to just enjoy being with him and had not worried about any long-term prospects, mostly because she was still discovering who she was. But tonight, everything had nearly ended. And if it had, she would have left nothing to show she’d once lived. She truly loved Teddy. But she would have never experienced the kind of love the Hendrins had for their daughter and the Munsons for their son. That frightened her. She needed to tell Teddy how she felt, but as she looked at him, waiting for her response to his question, she was reluctant to reveal how she felt. This shouldn’t come from her. He should be the one to initiate that discussion. Otherwise, he’d just be reacting to pressure.
“Nothing,” she said.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
Chapter 18
“When are you gonna get a new car?” Broussard said, looking at the cracked fake wood on the instrument panel of Gatlin’s Pontiac as they drove deeper into the lower Ninth.
“Why you ragging me about that?” Gatlin said. “All your cars are over 50 years old.”
“They’re vintage. This one is just old.”
“It’s barely broken in.”
“It’s got nearly three hundred thousand miles on it.”
“I got more than that on me and I’m still functional.”
“You might want to reconsider that statement. Since you picked me up, you’ve pumped enough methane into the air to raise the temperature of the northern hemisphere three degrees.”
“Sorry, I was hoping you hadn’t noticed,” Gatlin said. “I’m having a little problem this morning.”
They were in the Ninth Ward because Gatlin had managed to obtain the name and address of the owner of the building on LeDoux Street. Knowing that finding anyone there after the flood was a long shot, they decided they still had to try.
Gatlin slowed for a stop sign, looked both ways down the empty cross street, and turned right.
“You didn’t come to a complete stop,” Broussard said.
“I’ll sign myself up for traffic school later today.”
They drove for another half a block with neither of them saying anything, then Gatlin glanced at Broussard. “Were you happy with your behavior last night at Kit’s apartment?”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t seem very upset at what happened to her... even made a little joke about wondering where we could find a good detective.”
“If she’d been killed, I’m not sure I’d ever be the same.”
“You didn’t show it.”
“What did you expect me to do?”
“Show a little emotion for once... let her know you care. Would that be so hard?”
Broussard considered the question for a moment, then said, “I’ll sign myself up for emotion school later today.”
“You should.”
“I guess the bag the guy used on Kit is on its way to the state crime lab?”
“I sent it with a lieutenant who went up there this morning to get a statement from a witness in one of the shootings we’re working. But if Teddy was right about seeing rubber gloves on the guy, it’s not gonna be any help. We talked about that last night.”
“I know. I just want so badly to make some progress on this thing, I’m grabbin’ at any possibility.”
A few minutes later, they pulled to the curb, between two piles of trash nearly as high as the car.
“There it is,” Gatlin said.
He was referring to a narrow shotgun duplex painted pink with blue trim on one side and yellow with green trim on the other. Above the high water mark, the paint on both sides was fresh. Below, it was as grimy as all the other houses in the area. The doors on both sides stood open.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” Gatlin said.
“Let’s take a look.”
They both got out and walked up on the porch. Gatlin knocked on the doorframe. “Hellooo... Anyone there? Visitors here...”
He went inside and Broussard followed.
The place smelled of mold and rot. All the walls were sprouting Rorschach patterns of mold and fungus. The silt was so thick
on the floor nothing could be seen through it. But there were a lot of footprints, so they had hopes the owner might yet be found.
As they moved through the house, something crackled under Broussard’s feet. He looked down and saw he was standing in an area where the floor had a droop in it. When the water receded it had apparently left a temporary puddle there, because the sound had come from a school of tiny minnows that had been caught in it, subsequently drying into fish crispies.
They went through the entire silent, decaying house and found no one. But when they reached the kitchen and looked past the open back door through the dirty haze of a closed screen door, they saw an old black man picking through a heap of debris piled against the side of a rickety garage. The bulldog with him was lifting his leg on a disgustingly filthy mattress propped on a dead tree.
The hinges on the screen door squealed as Gatlin opened it and stepped onto the small porch. The sound caught the old man’s attention. He turned to toward the house. The bulldog looked too, but kept peeing.
“Sorry to bother you,” Gatlin said. “Are you James Bolden?”
“What you want Jimmie for?”
Thinking this guy might be Bolden, Gatlin tried to put him at ease. “He’s not in any trouble.”
“He might disagree.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Go over to the Three Pines nursing home and talk to him. Then you’ll know.”
“Does he work there?”
“Go see him.”
Back in the car, Gatlin said, “Why can’t people ever give you a straight answer? Everything’s gotta be a big puzzle. Got any idea where this nursing home is?”
“I think it’s in Harahan. If my memory is accurate, it’s right on 39.”
“SO WHERE ARE THE pines?” Gatlin said, looking at the low brick building with the wheelchair ramp leading up to a side entrance.
“I remember hearin’ that this is a satellite facility,” Broussard replied. “The main operation is in Baton Rouge. That one probably has the pines.”
Bad Karma In the Big Easy Page 13