[Bayou Gavotte 03.0] Heart of Constantine (39 page)

“Your dad’s a serial killer,” Juma said. “You realize that? Whoa! There he is.”

Zeb huddled on the floor. “Where?”

“Just leaving PJ’s with some woman. Stay cool. He’s not even looking our way. There, we passed him.”

Zeb shot up to look out the window. “He’s with Marguerite! Stop the car.”

“Why?” Juma pulled over.

“She thinks he’s a friend! He could be planning anything. He already tried to kill her once.” He dug in his pocket for the folded drawing and handed it to Zelda. “This changes everything. I need you to take this to Constantine. Tell him everything I told you. Tell him I had to go after my dad and Marguerite.”

Cold fear invaded Constantine’s gut and settled there. “What’s the latest on Marguerite?”

“Last I heard, she was at Tony’s,” Gideon said, “which is pure luck. She won’t come to any harm there.”

Constantine’s phone rang. Every time it rang, his heart leapt a little with hope and then dropped again. Marguerite wasn’t going to call him. She might not even answer if he called, but he had no choice. He had to warn her to stay where she was. With Tony, she would be safe.

It was Leopard. “Zelda’s down here,” he said. “She insists on seeing you and only you. I told her you didn’t have time for kid stuff, but she’s showing fang, bro. She worked her way through the rowdy crowd outside, scared the shit out of several people, and had to fight off a couple of horny customers before she made it to my office.”

Jesus. “Send her up.”

“We’re on our way,” Lep said. “I got ahold of that dude from the concert. Not candy, but cookies. Peanut butter macadamia nut. Who’d refuse one of those? Some chick was handing them out, but she was eating them, too.”

“Maybe only one or two were doctored. He only needed one person to cause a disturbance. What did she look like? Was she white? Black? How old?”

“White chick, pretty, brown hair, he thinks. It was kind of dark in the crowd, but he figured he’d recognize her if he saw her again.”

Constantine exchanged glances with Gideon. It was a long shot, but… “Have someone show him a picture of Janie from the fan club.”

A minute later, Zelda came bursting through the door, followed by Lep and Juma. Zelda’s fangs were still full down. She was way too young to be such a stunner. “What is it, Zelda girl?”

She was out of breath and looked both scared and enraged, but she sucked her fangs into their slots before
pulling a folded paper out of her pocket. “Zeb said to give this to you.”

Constantine opened the paper: Marguerite’s sketch. This was the dream he’d sent her? He would have laughed if he didn’t feel like crying instead. He passed the paper to Gideon. “Where did he get it from?”

“It was planted on the body of that reporter who was murdered.” Zelda glared, daring him not to believe her. Juma’s silent body language said much the same, but that was her habitual stance against the world.

“And Zeb knows this how?” he asked.

“He witnessed the murder. It was his father who did it, and he was trying to frame you.”

“Right,” Constantine said. “He’s tried to frame me for a number of crimes. He must be frustrated at his lack of success.”

Her fangs slotted back down. “You already
knew
? Do you have any
idea
what Zeb’s been through?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I have nothing but admiration for Zeb.”

Zelda advanced on him, her small fists clenched. “Then why didn’t you
do
something about it? Why didn’t you
help
him? I kept calling you, and you did
nothing
!”

Gideon folded the paper and stuck it in his breast pocket. “Calm down, Zelda.”

She rounded on Gideon. “How can I possibly calm down? The cops are after him.
You’re
after him. How
could
you?”

“That wasn’t me, but my boss trying to cover his ass,” Gideon said. “And Constantine only figured all this out a couple of minutes ago. Where’s Zeb now?”

“He’s trying to protect Marguerite,” Juma said. “We saw her leaving PJ’s with his father, heading in the direction of the park. He followed them to make sure she’s safe.”

“He’s afraid his dad will kill Marguerite, too,” Zelda added.

Bloodlust, the kind Constantine seldom felt these days, the kind he thought he was done with, thrust into his gorge. “He won’t until he’s used her as bait. It’s me he really wants. Lep, see if we have anyone in the vicinity of the park, and put everyone on alert.”

“But why?” Zelda cried. “What does he have against you?”

“He’s my father, too,” Constantine said. “Does Zeb have a cell phone on him?”

“No,” Juma said. “His dad confiscated it.” Pause. “Professor Bonnard is your
father
?”

“Whoa, that must be why Zeb reminds me of Constantine,” Zelda said. “So Zeb’s your brother!”

His little brother. His chance of redemption.

“How can he be your father, too?” Zelda asked.

Constantine tuned out as Gideon briefed the girls on his history. Zeb had done his best, but he probably loved his old man. Hoped he would change, be all right in the end.

Constantine had no such illusions, and no qualms about committing murder. A mourning dove landed on the windowsill and paced back and forth.
Kill. Kill. Kill
.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Z
eb couldn’t risk following them directly until full darkness, so he sidled along in the bushes, took the first right and kicked up to a run, making a left at the end of the block. At the next intersection he waited, and just when he began to fear he’d miscalculated and lost them, Dad and Marguerite sauntered across the street a block away. Once they were out of sight, he took off again, looping around to the same street by the park where he’d hovered only the night before. Marguerite’s car was down this end of the block near a van and a couple of other cars.

Maybe the old man was just walking her to her car, but Zeb didn’t think so. He’d have to play it by ear. If Marguerite got into her car and drove off, perfect. If not… He lingered behind the pittosporum hedge that bordered the park, folded his aura tightly against himself, and waited for them to turn the corner.

Marguerite stopped to sip her coffee. Dad nudged her forward again. She elbowed him. Zeb sucked in a breath. Did she have no idea what the man could do? Maybe she knew she was a goner, so she didn’t care anymore. She didn’t look scared, though—just majorly pissed off.

They were arguing by the time they approached the vehicles. “I’m a terrible actress. He’ll know I’m lying.”

“For your sake, I hope he won’t.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me. He may not answer his phone.”

“He’d better.”

“The lines may even be jammed, what with the whole world trying to contact him.”

“Not by his private number,” Dad said. “He keeps one line open for people that matter.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve made it my business to know,” Dad said.

“I have no reason to suppose I matter anymore, if I ever did.” Marguerite was practically spitting.

“If you don’t matter to him, you don’t matter to me either,” Dad said. He placed a hand on the back of her neck, and Zeb braced himself. His old man was strong; he could kill her with the twist of a wrist. Zeb couldn’t risk interfering unless she made a run for it, in which case he’d tackle the old man. But the park was deserted; she wouldn’t run if no help was in sight.

Suddenly, he had an idea. He opened his aura and spread it wide, wide. If she looked at the hedge, she’d see his aura sticking out at the end and above it, too. She might even recognize it as his and know he was there for her.

“As long as he cares whether or not you’re alive, you’re of use to me,” said his dad. “Bear that in mind, and don’t try to warn him, or you’ll be sorry.” He steered her past the vehicles and into the park in the direction of the hedge.

Zeb froze, hardly daring to breathe. Marguerite’s eyes flickered. She came to a halt and got out her phone.

“What a pity you lost your head over that dirtbag rock star,” Dad said. “Don’t lose it again now. Make that call and pray he answers.”

Finally, for the first time since his childhood, Constantine and his guide were entirely in accord. Zeb needed to live. So did Marguerite. Bonnard had to die. Whether or not Gideon got the proof he needed, there was no other way.

“I understand now,” Zelda said. “Zeb isn’t suicidal. He talked about dying because he’s afraid his dad will kill him.”

Constantine’s cell rang.
Honey and Eyes.

His blood ran hot, then cold. He had to maintain his cool and play it right.

He let it ring until it went to message, then waited a good two minutes, his blood congealing to ice, before he said, “That was Marguerite. If she doesn’t call again, I’ll call her back. I need absolute silence, even if I say something that pisses you off.” He grimaced at Zelda. “If you can’t control your fangs, consider it a good sign.”

The phone rang again, and this time he answered. “What do you want now?”

Both Zelda and Juma stiffened at this.

Play along with me
, he telepathed, focusing hard on Marguerite.
Don’t be afraid. Everything will be fine
.

There was a pause, then Marguerite’s trembling, furious voice. “I want nothing from you, Constantine. This call wasn’t my idea.”

He forced a laugh. “So whose was it?” Judging by the echo, he was on speakerphone at the other end. The dove
had gone to roost, but a nighthawk called outside, and a great horned owl was perched outside the window.

“Zeb is with me,” she said. “He says he’s sorry he didn’t come clean with you earlier. He says he knows something about the murder last night. He wants to talk to you, but with no one else around.”

The truth or a lie? Had Zeb fucked up already and they were both at Bon-Bon’s mercy? “If he knows something,” Constantine stalled, “he should call the cops.”

“He can’t do that. Aren’t you listening to the news? The cops are after him. They won’t believe him.”

“And he thinks I will?” Silence at the other end. “He’s taking a big chance, babe. If he tells me the truth and I don’t want what he says spread around, I might have to kill him. If he’s lying, I might get pissed off and kill him. You know I don’t like liars.” He paused, eyeing the owl through the window. “I have a feeling you’re lying to me right now, babe.”

“Don’t call me
babe
! You don’t have any feelings at all, you two-timing jerk.”

Whatever reasons she might find to hate him, two-timing wasn’t one of them. She must have heard what he’d telepathed.
Good girl
.

Constantine managed a whoop of laughter. “I’m a rock star, babe. What do you expect?”

Zelda’s fangs slotted down, and Juma’s eyes narrowed. Gideon gave him a thumbs-up. Juma rolled her eyes, and Zelda reddened and sucked her fangs back inside her gums. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you would never, ever be a two-timer.”

“I expect
nothing
from you,” Marguerite ranted.

“Wise of you, babe,” Constantine said and directed his focus to his spirit guide.
Where?
he asked the bird.
We get it right the first time, or we’re screwed.
“Put the kid on the phone. I’ll talk to him right now.”

More silence; no, there was the sound of a passing car in the background. They must be outdoors. Lep left the room in a hurry. A second later Constantine saw him on the roof making a call.

You’re doing great,
he telepathed to Marguerite.
I’ll come get you. I promise.
He had never, ever cared so much about a message reaching its destination.
Just keep playing along
.

“He says no.” Marguerite sounded breathless. Afraid. Didn’t she believe him? “He says he can’t take the risk that you’re recording him.”

“Bring him to the Cat, then. I’ll have him escorted in.”

“Right past the cops? That’s impossible.”

Where?
Constantine asked his spirit guide again.
This could well be Dufray’s last stand. Let’s choose someplace memorable, in case we screw up
.

The mounds.

He and the bird seemed unusually in sync today. He telepathed it as a suggestion, focusing on Marguerite but letting a little slip sideways. Would Bon-Bon recognize a thought that wasn’t his own? He’d never shown an aptitude for anything but cruelty way back when.