Hall, Jessica (31 page)

"You'll have to file a statement."

"Terri can do it," J. D. told his brother. "I don't
have time for the paperwork."

"You've got plenty." Cort eyed him in the rearview
mirror.
"You've been suspended from duty, and the only reason you're not in cuffs
is because of me."

J. D. had expected the suspension, and still it pissed him off.
"You want me to thank you?"

"I want you to tell me what the hell you think you're
doing." When he didn't answer, his brother dragged a hand through his
hair. "Jesus Christ, J. D."

J. D. didn't want to think about Sable. The fact that she was out
there alone again scared the shit out of him. "Dad talk to you about
checking the arson files?"

"Yeah. I was pulling them last night when I got word on
you." Cort dragged a hand through his short brown hair. "You're
chasing a dead end; no arsonist waits twenty-five years between fires."

That remained to be seen. "Terri come up with anything?"

"Terri's off the case and bordering on suspension
herself." He thought for a moment. "You used her place down on the
lake to stash the girl, didn't you? Shit."

J. D. stared out the window, watching the buildings go by. When
Cort didn't make the turn for the station, he frowned. "You forget where I
have to turn in my gun and badge?"

"We're going home. The station is crawling with press, and
Mother is frantic."

J. D. didn't want to deal with his mother. "Take me to the
restaurant."

Cort glanced back at him. "Dad can't bail you out of
this."

"Just do it."

When they arrived at the service entrance to his father's
restaurant, J. D. climbed out of Cort's SUV and slammed the door.
"Thanks."

"Hey."

He looked back. "What?"

Cort looked as tired as J. D. felt. "I want to help."

"Then go and check the files." J. D. met his brother's
gaze. "I need proof that the same perp was behind both fires, Cort—find it
for me."

He strode through the back entrance and into the frantic hive of
activity in the huge kitchen. His father was at the far end, sorting through
crates of vegetables and tossing what didn't meet his standards into a discard
bin.

J. D. saw the same lines of strain and exhaustion on his father's
face. This case wasn't just tearing his own life apart; it was ripping his
family to pieces. "Hey, Dad."

Louie looked up and knocked over a crate of peppers, reaching for
his son. "Jean-Del." He took him in a tight embrace, then looked over
his shoulder. "Where is Isabel? Is she all right?"

"She's okay—she's waiting for me. Dad, I need a favor."
He pulled his father into a storeroom, away from the curious eyes and ears of
the staff, and filled him in on what had happened, and then added, "I need
you to find Remy Duchesne and talk to him."

"That the man who raised Isabel?" Louie frowned.
"Why?"

"He's the only person who knows about the fire when she was a
baby. I need to know everything about it, what he remembers, who he thinks
might have paid Bud Gantry to set it." J. D. told his father how to get to
the Martins'. "They should be able to help you find him."

His father sighed. "You really think he'll talk to me instead
of you?"

"You're not sleeping with his daughter."

"Ah. Good point. Here." His father dug out his
wallet,
removed all the bills from it, and put them in J. D.'s hand. "Don't go
home—your mama is on the warpath, and your scalp is number one on her to-skin
list."

After calling her cousin's store and getting no answer, Sable sat
at the table closest to the pay phone outside the Cafe du Monde. While she
waited, she sipped her café au lait and watched a mime pretending to clean an
invisible window. Strings of beads hung from the branches of nearly every tree
in Jackson Square, like strange Christmas decorations. Their colorful glitter
reminded her of the night before.

Jean-Delano.
She clutched her coffee between her cold
hands. Not knowing what was happening to him made her feel sick.

"Keep up the good work." A street cleaner using a
pointed trash stick to pick up napkins, plastic go-cups, and other Mardi Gras
debris left on the sidewalk called out to the mime as he passed by. "We
got to make everything sparkle, son."

Sable went back to the pay phone and tried to call her cousin
again.

This time, Hilaire answered. "Where are you?"

"I'm on my way to you. Are there any police at the store? Has
J. D. called you?"

"No. That woman cop called me yesterday, but I didn't tell
her anything. J. D. isn't with you?"

"We had to split up. Hil, I need to stay there until he can
come and get me, okay?"

"Don't even ask. You want me to come and pick you up?"

"No, I need you to stay there in case J. D. calls. I'm going
to take the bus so it'll be a little while." She
looked
down at herself. "And I really need some clean clothes."

"I'll take care of it. Just be careful."

Sable hung up the phone and threw away her half-empty cup, then stopped
to pitch a dollar into the mime's collection basket. When he offered an
elaborate bow, she pointed to his invisible wall. "You missed a
spot."

With a grin he went back to work with his invisible
rag.

She caught a bus running mostly tour groups out to the Atchafalaya
Basin, and settled in for the long ride. The hum of the bus's engine nearly
made her doze off a few times, but she forced herself to stay awake. As they
left the city, her heart seemed to constrict. She didn't want to leave J. D.
behind; she never wanted to be parted from him again.

I love you,
she mouthed silently as they passed the
city limits sign.
Hurry back to me, J. D.

She had to walk a quarter mile from the stop to Hilaire's store,
but it felt good to stretch her legs. The sun had risen high enough to chase
off the morning dew and make her take off the trucker's jacket, and when she
saw the familiar hand-lettered martin's country store sign she picked up her
pace.

The store wasn't supposed to open for another hour, but the lights
were on and the front door was unlocked. Sable went in, hoping to smell coffee
brewing. "Hilaire?"

There were twenty men standing in various spots around the shop.
All of them looked at her without smiling. Sable backed toward the door, but
before she could run someone seized her from behind. She screamed.

Elizabet approved of the courtesy the reporter from the
Daily
News
showed toward Laure as she interviewed her about Marc's murder. Still,
she hovered nearby, ready to offer support for Laure or chastisement for the
reporter as might be needed.

"Mrs. LeClare, our affiliate, channel seven, would like to
take a statement from you for the noon broadcast. The citizens of New Orleans
held your husband in high regard, and I know they would appreciate any words
you could offer them. We can do it right now, if you like." The reporter
gestured to the photographer, who had also brought in a video camera.

"I never was very good on camera," Laure said slowly,
then looked to Elizabet for direction.

Elizabet was torn—her friend obviously didn't like the idea, and
under other circumstances she wouldn't have permitted it. Yet she needed her to
go on the air in order to condemn Sable Duchesne and her ridiculous claims.

The reporter followed Laure's gaze. "Would Mrs. Gamble like
to make a joint statement with you? I know her son is missing—perhaps if she
gave us some details, we might be able to help?..."

"I would feel better about this, if you're up to it, Elizabet,"
Laure admitted.

She could do it instead of Laure. This solved her problem
perfectly.

"A very brief statement," she said, and came over to sit
by Laure as the reporter told the photographer to set up the video camera.
Elizabet arranged her skirt and brushed a piece of Laure's hair behind her ear
before she gave the reporter a stern look. "There will be
no
questions, you understand. Laure will address the citizens, and then I will
make my statement."

"Yes, ma'am, of course." The reporter, knowing she was
getting an exclusive, would have agreed to anything. She nodded to the
cameraman, then said to Laure, "Just start speaking whenever you're ready,
Mrs. LeClare."

Laure smiled painfully at the camera. "My family and I are
very grateful for the outpouring of sympathy and condolence that we have
received from our friends here in New Orleans. Marc was a wonderful husband and
a great man, and I know you share in our loss. Please keep us in your prayers,
and thank you."

The camera turned slightly as the reporter nodded to Elizabet.

"My friend Laure has lost her husband, and the state of
Louisiana has lost one of our finest citizens. In times such as these, prayer
is our only refuge. My son Lieutenant Jean-Delano Gamble was investigating Marc
LeClare's murder and has since disappeared, pursuing a young woman who has
claimed to be Marc's daughter. This is simply not true. Isabel Duchesne is an
accomplished liar, and this is not the first time she has inflicted herself on
innocent people."

Elizabet felt Laure stiffen next to her, but continued on.
"Ten years ago this young woman wantonly attacked a group of students at
Tulane University, for which she was expelled. You know from the newspapers
that she was the only person found at the scene of Marc's murder. Now she has
lured my son into the bayou, and to be honest, I fear for his life." She
blinked real tears back. "Isabel Duchesne has no respect for others, and
whatever lies she tells when she is caught, I hope that the people of the New
Orleans will not be deceived by this hateful woman. I personally will not
rest
until my son is found, and Isabel Duchesne is prosecuted for the crimes she has
committed." She nodded to the reporter.

"I tried to stop them, J. D., but Caine tied me up in the
back storeroom." Hilaire was sobbing between the words. "I called you
as soon as one of my girls came in and cut me loose."

J. D. looked at the other frightened faces of Hilaire's clerks. He
had gotten the call from Sable's cousin a few minutes after leaving Krewe of
Louis, and had driven directly to the store to find all the women nearly in
hysterics.

"Any of you hear where they were taking her?" No one
spoke, but one of the girls looked down at the floor. He went to her.
"You, what's your name?"

"Lacelle." She shuffled her feet. "I don't know
anything, mister."

"Lacy." Hilaire groaned. "She came in early today—
she must have heard me talking to Sable." She came over and grabbed the
girl by the shoulder. "You told John, didn't you?"

"I didn't, Hilaire, I—" Lacy looked up into the blonde's
furious face and gulped. "But he made me do it. He said they were gonna
help her get away from the cops." She shot an accusing look at J. D.

Sable's cousin shook her hard. "J. D.'s been hiding her from
the cops, you crazy girl!"

"Hilaire." With effort J. D. clamped down on his own
outrage. "Lacy, if Gantry was the one who killed Marc, then he won't help
Sable. If he didn't kill him,
then he knows who did, and they're both
in terrible danger. You have to tell me where they took her."

The girl broke down into tears. "They're not on the bayou,
but I don't know where they went. John said Caine would take care of
everything."

Hilaire pulled Lacy into her arms. "I've already called a few
people I know. Caine's boats are at the dock and he gave all of his men the day
off."

"Shit." J. D. needed someone who knew how Gantry
thought. "Where is Remy?"

"He went into the city this morning, to see your
father."

J. D. called the restaurant and left a message for Louie to meet
him at the police station, and then he did the same on Terri's home answering
machine. When he finished the calls, he checked his watch. "How long has
it been since they left?"

"Three hours." Hilaire released Lacy and touched his
arm. "What can I do?"

"Talk to everyone. I have to find out where Caine took
her."

"You better come see this, Lieutenant Gamble," one of
the girls called from the break room in the back. "Some silver-haired lady
is talking about you on TV."

He went back and watched the broadcast on the small
black-and-white set, then cursed. "I have to get back to the city and stop
this before my mother starts rounding up a lynch mob."