Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 02 - River Mourn (6 page)

“All of the passengers were male?”

“That’s what the captain said.”

When they reached the restaurant, Rosswell said, “I’m
free until tomorrow morning.”

“Are you thinking what you saw is connected to Tina?”

“I hope not. Something bad happened, and Gustave isn’t
too concerned about it because he has a lousy witness.”

“That would be you.”

“Correct.”

Ollie stepped closer. “If I’m your researcher, then I
have to tell you what I think about Tina.”

“Have at it.”

“She’s dead.”

Rosswell choked, but Ollie continued. “If she’s not
dead, then someone’s holding her against her will. She’s pregnant. The people
holding her may not know she’s pregnant.”

“They know by now. And my baby could be in danger.”

“Not only that, but why do they want Tina in the
first place? Is she wealthy? No. Are you wealthy? No. Tina doesn’t have money
and she doesn’t have any deadly secrets.” Ollie stopped, appearing to think
about what he’d said. “Does she, Rosswell? Does Tina have some kind of
information that could be dangerous to her?”

Rosswell rocked back and forth on his heels, one of
his thinking postures, ranking second only to pacing. He guessed that Ollie had
been hacking something, or how else could he know that Tina wasn’t rich?
Comfortable. That
described Rosswell. But
not rich.

“Have Mabel pack us a picnic lunch.”

Ollie ignored Rosswell’s attempt to divert the questions. “How about Tina’s
parents? Do you know anything about them?”

“Tina moved to Marble Hill when she was a freshman in high school. I
never really got to know her parents. They were both…I don’t know…bland.
Uninteresting.”

Ollie took another step closer. “Were?”

“They’re both gone now. Let’s get that picnic lunch.”

“Any particular reason we need to get food to go?”

“We’re headed for the scene of the crime.”

Ollie’s eyes widened. “Which scene and which crime?”

At the edge of the
Mississippi River, Rosswell concentrated on the ferry approaching the landing
where he and Ollie stood. The apple pi
e
Mabel had packed in the lunch disappeared before he said to Ollie, “How many
scenes and how many crimes do you think there are?”

“The payphone is one scene. Somebody grabbed her there.
How Tina got from Marble Hill to Sainte Gen is a puzzle we need to solve. That
will tell us who has her.”

“This is the latest scene. It’s a lot fresher than the
payphone.” Rosswell studied the ground. “The payphone and the ferry landing
could be unrelated.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Ollie hunched over and cruised
around the site, inspecting the tracks in the sandy dirt of the riverbank. “There
are a lot of tire tracks here but they look worthless to me.”

“That’s a painful position to stay in for more than a
few seconds. Your back will go out for sure.” Ollie ignored him.
If the
snitch had worn a deerstalker cap, smoked a calabash pipe, and waved a huge
magnifying glass around, Rosswell would’ve told him he was doing a bad
imitation of the old Sherlock Holmes movies.

Ollie kneeled, staring at the earth. After several
minutes, he stood. “Worthless.”

Together, they combed the area, inspecting the ground
for any kind of clue. Nothing.

“There’s only one way to get here.” Rosswell pointed
south, down the street leading into the town. “And then the road stops there.” He
pointed north, to the end of the road.

Ollie brushed dirt off his pants. “You know how many
white vans, pickup trucks, and SUVs there are around here?”

“No, but you do.”

“All told, nine hundred and thirty-six in this county
alone. I didn’t check the surrounding counties.”

“That narrows it down. Unless they were out-of-state
tourists.”

“Yet all of the vehicles had to drive on this road.”
Ollie waved his arm, pointing out the road. “There’s no other way to get here.”

Rosswell stared down the road until the ferry bumped
into the landing. He watched the single vehicle—a new yellow Camaro driven by a
teenage girl—drive off and head into Ste. Genevieve. The name of the ferry—
Grande Dame
—
struck
Rosswell as a snazzy name for a ferry. A deck hand, dressed in canvas overalls
and a sock cap, tied the ferry to the dock.

“You said the captain was the only crew aboard.” Rosswell
pointed to the dock. “How did you miss the deck hand?”

“He wasn’t on the boat when I was talking to the
captain.”

Ollie waved to the captain, who came ashore. “Mr. LaFaire,
meet Rosswell Carew.”

The old man’s frizzled gray hair, complemented by a three-day
old beard of the same color, was pasted to his head with sweat. “Pleasure.” His
tone Rosswell took to mean,
I’m
busy
.
Captain
LaFaire grasped Rosswell’s hand, squeezing it with a working man’s grip.

“Captain LaFaire,” Rosswell said, “I’ve got some questions
if you have a little time.”

Captain LaFaire laughed. “I got a
little
time.”

“Ollie here asked you about the vehicles you carried
across first thing Sunday morning.”

“Yes, sir, he did. But it was the second crossing. Something
wrong?”

Rosswell then understood that Gustave hadn’t yet
bothered to interview the man. A decision would have to be made whether to tell
Captain LaFaire that Rosswell had reported the incident to the cops. Fairness
should prevail.

“I wanted to clear up some things. I worry about
little things. Insignificant things.” Rosswell was sure that’s what Columbo
used to say.

“What’s worrying you?”

“Have you remembered anything else about those four passengers?”

“Not a thing. It’s been a day and a half. I carried a
lot more loads since then. Besides, I don’t have time to watch passengers. I
watch the currents and feel the wind and taste the air.”

“How long does it take to cross?”

“Depends on the wind, how high the river is, things
like that. Eight or ten minutes usually. Sometimes fifteen or twenty, depending
on a thousand different things you can’t predict.”

“Did you know any of the passengers?”

“Not a one.”

“What do you do before you start the crossing?”

“Before I set out, I read the river, cataloging every
wave and bobble. Home is where I’m headed every time I cross and if I cross and
do it wrong, then I’m drowned and I don’t go home.”

“Did you hear a thump on that run?”

Captain LaFaire tapped each of his ears with a
forefinger. “I hear thumps and groans and bumps every time I set out on that
bitch.”

“Bitch?”

“The river’s a heartless bitch, waiting to drag you
down to her watery bosom.”

“Captain, do you write poetry?”

“I’m French-Canadian. I don’t write it. I talk it.”

Rosswell shook Captain LaFaire’s hand. “Thank you so
much for your time. Sorry if we bothered you.”

“Not at all, Ross.”

Rosswell rubbed a thumb on either side of his forehead.
People who shortened his first name—which was actually his family name—gave
Rosswell a headache.  

Captain LaFaire’s interest focused on Ollie. “I was
telling my daughter what a nice guy you was, Albert—”

“Ollie.”

“—and all about what you wanted to know. I told her
what I could remember about them guys, which was not one sainted thing. She
knows ever one of them.”

“Where’s your daughter?”

“Right there.” Captain LaFaire nodded to the deckhand.
“Come over here.”

“Jasmine LaFaire,” she said when she reached the men and
stuck out her hand.

Rosswell and Ollie shook with her and introduced
themselves. Her broad, flat face showed the marks of the wind and the sun.
Rosswell detected a fragrance of motor oil on her. Not exactly a pleasing
scent, yet not offensive either.

“Ollie,” Rosswell said, “how did you miss the deck
hand? Especially a beautiful young woman like this?”

“You already asked me that.”

“And what was your answer?” Rosswell scowled at Ollie.
“There were six people on the ferry that morning, not five.”

“So sue me. I miscounted.”

Jasmine laughed, displaying the teeth of a toothpaste
model and the voice of a torch song singer. She pointed to a little shack on
the shore. “I was in there catching up with the paper work.” She pulled the
sock cap off, revealing close-cropped black hair, tipped with silver. Rosswell
had never understood beauty shop things but presumed that he was looking at the
aftermath of a visit to one. “You have to fill out a form to get a form to find
out what form you need to file. The government’s driving me crazy.”

Rosswell said, “Do you have some time to talk to us?”

Jasmine glanced at her watch, then observed the ferry landings
on each bank. There were no vehicles waiting on either side. She shrugged,
which Rosswell took as a yes.

Ollie said, “Can you tell us what happened on the second
Sunday run?”

“You’re a big one.” Jasmine eyed Ollie from top to
bottom. He straightened, smiled, and rubbed his head, waiting for her to
continue. “Pops had launched right before I heard a big thump to starboard.”
Her brown eyes cast a long glance at Ollie’s purple tattoo when he leaned
forward, ostensibly to hear her better.

Ollie tapped Rosswell on the shoulder. “She means the
right side.” He seemed rather proud of his grasp of things nautical.

Jasmine pointed to the ferry. “That’s the side where
the tow is, as you can see. The ferry’s basically a barge with a workboat we
call a tow that pulls it across the river. When we reach the other side, the
cars drive off the ramp and then the tow turns about. The bow becomes the stern
and the stern becomes the bow. Port becomes starboard. Starboard becomes port.”

Ollie said, “She means the back becomes—”

“I know what she means.” Rosswell faced Jasmine,
taking over the interrogation. “The barge—where the cars are—never turns?”

“Right.”

“What happened when you heard the thump?”

“Since it was the side where Pops was, it concerned
me. A big thump anywhere worries me, but I wanted to make sure the boat and
Pops were okay. I ran to where Charlie was looking over the side. The other
passengers ran over to see what the excitement was.”

Rosswell realized that was the first name he’d heard. “Who’s
Charlie?”

“Charlie Heckle was the guy driving the van. The other
guy with Charlie stayed inside the van. I guess he wasn’t curious. He’s got a
scar across his face. Charlie, I mean. He told me he got it in a bar fight in
Dallas.”

“What caused the thump?”

“Who knows? A log hit us. A big wave. Some kind of
debris. Happens all the time, but you can’t brush it aside when you hear
something like that. You’d hate to sink in the middle of the Mississippi River.”

“Who were the other passengers besides Charlie and the
guy who stayed in the van?”

“Turk Malone and Frankie Joe Acorn.”

Ollie stopped scribbling notes long enough to ask, “Do
you know where Turk, Charlie, and Frankie Joe live?”

“Not exactly.” Jasmine tilted her head, then ran a
hand through her spiky hair. “Somewhere in Sainte Gen County. I think out in
the country.”

“Can you describe them?”

“They all are built kind of average, about five foot
nine or ten, all three have brown hair.”

“Beards? Mustaches? Glasses? Scars? Anything that
would make them stand out? Besides Charlie Heckle’s knife fight souvenir?”

“Nope.” Jasmine held up a hand. “Wait. Turk’s got what
he calls a beard. More like somebody swept the floor of a barber shop and stuck
the hair in the dustpan on his face in random patterns.”

Rosswell said, “Have you seen any of those guys
before?”

“Oh, sure. Regularly.”

Ollie said, “They do anything suspicious?”

“Suspicious?” Jasmine chewed on her lip for a couple
of seconds. “Not that I recall. Can’t say for sure. Let me think some more on
that.”

Ollie concentrated on Captain LaFaire, who’d stuck his
hands in his pockets, rocked back and forth on his heels, and hummed. “Captain,
you said you’d never seen them before.”

“I ain’t got a knack for faces and names like Jasmine
does.”

Rosswell said to Jasmine, “What did your dad do after
the thump?”

“Pops kept on, like he’s supposed to do. He’s got to
watch the currents, the clouds, check the wind, the traffic, all that stuff. He’s
in charge the whole time. The deck hand makes sure everything’s okay on the
ferry.”

Captain LaFaire said, “You know how hard it is to hit
that dock in the middle of a thunderstorm? The Coast Guard doesn’t give away
them licenses, you know.”

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Jasmine thought for a
few seconds. “Why all this fuss?”

Rosswell ignored her questions. “You’ve got quite a
responsibility running this ferry.” He knew he was
going to feel like
crap when the sheriff finally managed talking to Captain LaFaire and Jasmine. If
Gustave told them then that Rosswell had reported a body thrown off
Grande Dame
, Captain
LaFaire and Jasmine would think Rosswell had deceived them now.

Ollie said, “Did you know the passenger in the van
Charlie Heckle drove?”

“Sure,” Jasmine said. “He’s a regular. First showed up
a couple of weeks ago and been riding once or twice a day. An Indian. Ribs
Freshwater.”

“Holy crap!” escaped
from Rosswell’s
lips before he could stop it. Ribs must’ve been
following him, but why? What was the Cherokee doing here? Rosswell’s heart
thumped against his ribs. Deciding quickly, he said, “Captain, I need to tell
you why we’re asking questions.”

Captain LaFaire clapped
once. “You’re writing an article for
some tourist magazine. I could tell
who you was the minute I seen you.”

“Not quite.” Rosswell pondered how best to break the
bad news to Captain LaFaire and Jasmine. The solution was telling them, simply
and quickly, like pulling a bandage off a wound.
“I’m in Sainte Gen
searching for my fiancée, Tina Parkmore. Sunday morning, I was sitting on my
balcony at The Four Bee. I saw a man throw a woman overboard from your ferry.
That woman looked like Tina.”

Captain LaFaire stomped his foot. “No, sir, not on
Grande Dame
.”
He spoke the name with,
as far as Rosswell could tell, a superb French pronunciation. “No one’s never
done nothing like that on my boat.”

“Pops, let’s listen to what he has to say.” Jasmine stroked
her father’s arm, then put her arm around his waist. “Ollie, how come the cops
haven’t been down here?”

“Good question, the answer to which escaped and is
wandering loose.”

Rosswell spoke up. “The truth is I reported it to Sheriff
Fribeau who doesn’t believe my story.”

Jasmine said, “You’re a judge, yet he doesn’t believe
your story? Why not?”

“Captain,” Rosswell said, hoping Jasmine wouldn’t
press the point, “if someone threw a body overboard on this side of the river,
where would the current take it?”

Before Captain LaFaire could answer, Jasmine asked, “Ollie,
what are you? A private detective or something?”

“Not even in my worst nightmare. I never do anything
that requires regulation by the state, especially the part about carrying a
badge.”

Rosswell said, “Ollie’s my research assistant, helping
me find Tina.”

Jasmine said, “Hope it wasn’t her you saw.”

“Me, too.” Rosswell cleared his throat, determined not
to choke up. “Captain LaFaire, how about the body? Where do you think it could
go?”

Captain LaFaire said, “The river’s up pretty high. Not
flood stage yet but she’s high. Flooding up north, in fact. That body could go
anywhere. It might be laying on the bottom of the river. Or might could be stuck
on a log a hundred feet downstream. Or floating into New Orleans right now.”

Rosswell said, “Maybe we could talk the sheriff into conducting
a search party.”

“Wouldn’t do no good,” Captain LaFaire said. “That
would be like looking for a huckleberry in a hurricane. Especially the first
mile downstream on this side.”

Ollie said, “What’s wrong with the shore down there?”
He indicated southward, along the riverbank.

“Nothing but half-swamp and half-forest. There’s a rock
cut in the bluffs that the railroad track takes and swings west, toward town. Between
the railroad track and the river it’s nothing but bluffs all growed up. Bunch
of caves.” Captain LaFaire appeared to lose interest. A patent ruse. “Except
there might be one person who could tell you if there’s a body.”

Jasmine laid her hand on Captain LaFaire’s shoulder. “Pops,
don’t go spreading nonsense.”

Jasmine and Captain LaFaire stared at each other for a
minute or two. They must’ve been silently rehashing a conversation they’d had
many times before. Rosswell knew enough to keep his mouth shut, and Ollie
followed his lead.

Eventually, Captain LaFaire said, “Won’t hurt nothing.”

Jasmine said, “I don’t want you getting Ross’s hopes
up.”

Ollie elbowed Rosswell in the ribs. “Don’t say it.”

This was the second time this had happened within the
last few minutes. What Rosswell wanted to say was,
It’s Rosswell, a family name, from way back. It’s
not a first name. There’s no abbreviation.
Ollie stopped him in
time. Still, Rosswell knew his Scottish ancestors would be horrified to hear Jasmine
kicking around the sacred surname.

Instead of putting his foot in his mouth, Rosswell
asked, “Jasmine, what is Pops not supposed to tell us?”

Captain LaFaire answered the question. “Maman Fribeau.”

Ollie said, “Fribeau? As in Sheriff Gustave Fribeau?”

Captain LaFaire said, “It’s the sheriff’s auntie.
Maybe great-auntie. No one knows her real age.”

Jasmine groaned. “She’s an old woman who’s more than
half crazy.”

“Pay no never mind to my daughter,” Captain LaFaire
said. “Maman sees everything on the river. She sees things no one else can. She
lives in The Trackless Waste.” He unfolded a forefinger, more bone than flesh,
aiming it and his gaze south.

Jasmine said, “Trackless Waste, my little left foot.
It’s a bunch of trees.”

Ollie said, “How do we find her?”

“You don’t,” Captain LaFaire said. “Unless you go see
Lazar Fribeau. That’s Maman’s brother.”

Rosswell had fallen into a game of twenty questions. “And
how do we find Lazar Fribeau?” Finding someone in this place involved playing
with a system similar to those Russian nesting dolls Rosswell had seen. Take
the lid off a big doll and inside nestled a smaller doll. Take the lid off the
smaller doll and there was another doll even smaller. And so on. The last doll,
most times a newborn baby doll, was the prize.

Captain LaFaire scratched at a scab on his hand, mulling
over the question for a few moments. “Stand on the courthouse square. Stop
someone and ask for Lazar. If the person you stop is a native, after you do
that three or four times, Lazar will find you. Guaranteed.”

“No one knows where he lives?”

Captain LaFaire said, “We sure don’t know where he
lives. And don’t want to.”

Ollie’s eyes widened and he held up a finger in an
aha!
gesture. “The old
six degrees of separation trick.”

Captain LaFaire said, “Never heard of it.”

“Everyone on Earth is about six introductions from getting
to know any other person.”

Captain LaFaire squinted and curled his lip. “Sounds
like a bunch of bullshit to me. I’d like to meet the King of Siberia but I don’t
reckon that’ll happen no matter how many people I ask.”

Jasmine said to Ollie, “Come back and let me know what
you find out. We can talk about your tattoo. I love it.”

Rosswell kept his peace, but couldn’t help noticing
that Jasmine was hitting on Ollie. He ran their names through his mind, the
beginning of an old childhood taunt forming.

Ollie and Jasmine, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.