Polly Iyer - Diana Racine 03 - Backlash (28 page)

L
ucier
sat at the kitchen table, more relaxed than he’d been for days, but still unable to eat the soup Walt had prepared. The smell alone made his stomach knot. Diana watched hopefully.

“I can’t eat it,” he said.

Diana slid the bowl away from him. “Then don’t force yourself.

“The nausea will pass, I promise,” Walt said. His phone chirped, and he listened. “Okay. Opening now.” He got up. “Rickett’s at the door. He’ll stay with you for a couple of hours.”

“You really think we need a babysitter here?” Lucier asked. “This is a safe house.”

“A safe house is safe only if no one knows about it. Rickett doesn’t want to take a chance. Not until we have the head honcho locked up. You and especially Diana are still threats.”

He left the room and returned, followed by Rickett carrying a bag reeking of grease. Lucier thought he might lose his cookies right then.

“Sorry I’m late,” Rickett said. “I thought I had a tail.”

Lucier swallowed down the bile and asked, “Are you sure?”

“No, but I drove all over hell and back until I was clear.”

“Did you recognize the car?” Walt asked.

“Dark sedan. Could’ve been a cop, but I’d expect better than a sloppy tail from the NOPD.”

“Be careful,” Walt said. “If they’ve made you, you’re a target. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” He nodded to everyone in the room, settled on Lucier. “You okay?”

Lucier nodded. “Sorry about the soup.”

“Heat the bowl in the microwave when you feel like eating. Or don’t. See you all later.”

Rickett plunked the bag on the table. “I brought me and Diana a burger.”

Diana took the bag. “Sorry if this is insensitive, darling, but I’m starved.”

“Feel free. I’ve cut my bathroom breaks in half since yesterday.”

“Nice to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” Rickett said.

“That was a fact, not humor.”

“I’ll eat later,” Diana said.

“Don’t be silly. You need to eat.” Lucier looked at the sack of food. “I’ll sit in the living room for a while.” Standing, he waved them on. “Never thought I’d turn down onion rings, but this too shall pass. Go on and eat.”

He picked up a magazine, knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. The smell of the food hung in the air like a toxic poison. In the back of his mind, the craving for a hit of heroin still lingered, and he hated that one part of him still wanted the jolt. He remembered the burning up his arm when the hooded man injected him the first time, the explosion of ecstasy when the drug hit the brain. He never had the strength to fight the man off in the beginning. Then he didn’t want to.

How could he ever explain his weakness to Diana? Diana, who was seeing a side of him even he didn’t know existed. Intellectually, he understood the one shot that would ease his pain would also take him down that dark hole again, and he’d be forced to repeat what he was going through now.

No, never again. Never
.

He was almost through this nightmare. A light shone at the end of that dark tunnel, and that was a positive thing, wasn’t it? Still, he couldn’t erase the fact that he wanted the damn shot.

As if some great god of punishment heard his innermost thoughts, a wave of nausea hit like a tsunami, and he shot into the bathroom.

* * * * *

C
ash
took the afternoon off to work at his home computer, aware the networked laptop he used at the district would leave a trail to his research. He never found reasons for the deceased cops to participate in the spate of revenge murders, other than Chenault. This time he’d dig and dig deep.

He wasn’t an expert hacker, but he could crack easier sites. Newspapers weren’t difficult. Most information was there to find. And he did. Baton Rouge, twenty years before. Another case where a drunk driver destroyed a family and got off. But not for long.

How easy it must have been for the cop to lure a drunk to his death. Only fitting, since the drunk had ruined his life. After his marriage failed, he’d moved to New Orleans, remarried, and moved up the ranks quickly ― a man with a mission. As time passed, had he carefully enlisted others? Cash’s head reeled.

No matter how much you think you know someone, you don’t.
How had he kept his former life so secret?

Cash still had no definitive proof. The law said innocent until proven guilty. Time to dig deeper still before he announced what he’d found and what he suspected.

* * * * *

T
he
vibration of his burner cell tingled his back. He glanced at his office door to make sure it was closed, then answered the phone.

“Let me tell you, following a federal agent who doesn’t want to be followed isn’t easy.”

“Did you find the location or didn’t you?”

“Let me phrase this another way. No. Either he made me or he’s the most cautious man on earth, because he dragged me halfway around the city, down side streets, over bridges, into areas where a tail was obvious. I quit before he trapped me. If you want his destination, you’re gonna have to follow him yourself. Believe me, I want Diana Racine dead. She’s the biggest threat we have for long, healthy lives. If we’re about to be exposed, you know what you have to do. I can’t go to prison. I won’t. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I understand.”

“We made a deal.”

The call disconnected.

Yes we did.
He sighed, long and deep and wearily. Life was much simpler when there was just the two of them, correcting one bad judgment at a time. Adding Chenault and Hodge hadn’t been a mistake. They were good at what they did and for all the right reasons. Alba was their downfall. Without him, Chenault would still be alive, and that moron couldn’t have sent the picture of Soulé for Diana Racine to see.

What was the old adage about hindsight being twenty-twenty?

This was the point of no return. Following Rickett was risky. He’d be watching for a tail, especially if he made the first one.

He rested his head in his hands, his well-honed instincts telling him he might not have the time. Or, he could walk out of the office and disappear. His passport was in his desk drawer, go-money in cash. He’d cross the border at Matamoros, an eleven-hour drive, and melt into the mass of humanity before anyone even knew he was gone. Maybe one day he could send for his family, though he doubted they’d want anything to do with him once they learned what he’d done.

A wave of sadness descended on him. He’d never again see his wife or kids or his little girl. She wouldn’t know the difference, but he would. She’d be well cared for. He’d seen to that.

But why should he give up anything? He’d done the world a favor by removing the garbage. All he needed was damage control. He hadn’t risen to his present position by being stupid.

There had to be another way. Then an idea came to him. Lucier’s abduction hadn’t leaked. Hell, he wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t been involved. Rickett and Lucier’s team had kept what was happening as tight an undercover project as he’d ever seen. Even the leaker, whoever the hell he or she was, didn’t know squat or Jake Gibbons would have plastered Lucier’s picture all over the front page of the Picayune, exposing the drug-addicted cop.

So how deep was the FBI’s cover? Had Rickett, or whatever his real name was, consulted with the local field office about his assignment and about Lucier, or would that have been too risky? One way to find out.

He dialed Ralph Stallings, the FBI’s local agent in charge. If anyone knew of a safe house in the area, he’d be the guy. After two secretaries, the Bureau chief came on the line.

“Ralph, Jack Craven here.”

A
fter
eating the delicious burger and brushing her teeth, Diana joined Lucier in the living room. She couldn’t tell if he was resting or sleeping in the recliner. A magazine lay spread open on his lap, his eyes were closed and his breathing steady, but his fingers pressed tensely into the arms of the chair. Before this ordeal, she marveled at how unlined his face was for a man in his early forties and credited his darker complexion for warding off the creases that affected lighter skin types like hers. Not today. Today he appeared to have aged ten years. Lines cut like parentheses around his mouth, and never-before bags puffed under his eyes. Her heart broke for him, and at that moment she loved him even more than she thought she could love anyone.

He opened his eyes and studied her. “I’m awake. Just resting. How was the burger?”

“Terrible. You’d have hated it.”

He laughed and waved her over. “Come here.”

She gingerly climbed onto his lap, needing the comfort of his touch as much as he needed hers. “We’re going to get this bastard, aren’t we?”

His arms tightened around her. “We are. I guaran-damn-tee it.”

* * * * *

C
ash
checked and rechecked his findings. He now believed he’d found the truth. It was all there in black and white, and he was sick to his stomach.

He went back to the district to inform the rest of the team, closing the door of Lucier’s office to show Beecher and Halloran what he’d found. “Remember when the ME said Captain Craven visited a daughter in a hospital somewhere near Hodge’s house?”

“Yeah, I thought it was strange I didn’t know that,” Beecher said. “I’d been so distracted, I’d forgotten.”

“Well, listen. This accident happened in Baton Rouge nineteen years ago,” Cash said, jabbing his finger on the screen of the computer. “This is the original newspaper report of the accident. Craven’s first wife was driving. Apparently, she didn’t secure the latch on the car seat harness properly, and the four-year old was thrown from the seat, resulting in severe brain damage. The wife walked away from the crash, but soon after, she filed for divorce. Craven got sole custody of the daughter.”

“Sounds like she didn’t want to take care of the kid,” Beecher said.

“You don’t know that,” Halloran said. “Don’t make assumptions. Maybe he blamed her and she couldn’t take the accusations anymore. Maybe she blamed herself. Guilt is powerfully destructive.”

“Hmm,” Beecher said. “Maybe.”

“Anyway, Craven moved here and put the girl in St. Catherine’s Living Center, a full-care facility in Metairie, about fifteen minutes from Hodge’s house. Craven’s since remarried, had a couple more kids, and worked his way up the ladder to captain, and that’s where the story ends.”

Beecher bit off a piece of fingernail. “Like I said, I never knew about the daughter, and I doubt anyone else did either. Maybe Ernie.”

“Craven’s private,” Halloran said, “and he doesn’t get involved in the lives of his men. I always respected that about him.”

“Me too,” Beecher said.

Halloran parked himself on the corner of the desk. “I hate to be a naysayer, but what you’ve found is all circumstantial. The only real connection to Craven is the death of the drunk who rammed into his wife’s car. I’m not saying this isn’t the smoking gun, but we’d need more to go to the commander.”

“What about the judge who let the drunk off with a slap on the wrist?” Beecher said. “Says here, the following year he was mugged and dumped into one of the bayous? Come on. That might be circumstantial, but it’s more than coincidental, don’tcha think?”

Halloran nodded.

“If Craven’s our man,” Cash said, “he’ll do anything to kill Diana. If she ever got near enough to touch him, and he passes his evil ― Jeez, we’d better make sure she doesn’t.”

“Which is why Rickett has her safely with the lieutenant under guard,” Halloran said.

Beecher stood up. “I wanna run this by Ernie. He’s got to be feeling better by now. After the ordeal he’s been through, he should be in on the arrest. He won’t believe Craven’s our guy.”

“Me either,” Halloran said. “I’m stunned. My faith in humanity will never be the same.”

“In the meantime, Craven could kill someone else,” Cash said. “We have to move forward with the captain as our chief suspect.”

“What about Denise Garcia?” Halloran asked. “What if she’s involved? And her husband? Craven could have her on his to-do list.”

“I don’t want to bring her in here. Not if Willy’s right about the captain. We’d be signing her death warrant. There’s been enough killing.”

“I’ll track her down,” Cash said. “She might have been Hodge’s alibi for real, or she might be part of the revenge group covering for him.”

“Just be careful not to let anything leak,” Beecher said. “Tell her we’re following up on old leads. Lay on that boyish charm if you have to.”

“Yeah, the kind that doesn’t get me any girlfriends,” Cash said.

“What if the captain asks how we’re doing on the investigation?” Halloran asked.

“Say we’re getting nowhere fast,” Beecher said. “Say anything, just sound like you don’t know what you know. I’m gonna call Rickett. He should know what you found, Willy. The safe house is his, and one of his friends is helping Ernie. He’s the one making sure Diana’s safe too. Plus, I want to see the lieutenant. Maybe he’s feeling better.”

“You think Rickett’ll let you?”

“Dunno. I’m gonna try to convince him.”

“What do you want me to do?” Halloran asked.

“Check with Michel’s neighbors to pinpoint the time they heard the shot. Could a single shooter have taken out both victims? If not, we have two shooters. The superintendent is Rickett’s liaison. When we take this to him, I want all our i’s dotted and our t’s crossed.”

“Right.”

“This is coming to a close,” Beecher said.