In the Blood (36 page)

It was a strange tale that went one step stranger. When the story started coming out, Harry asked, “What’s the little lady’s name?”

Rebecca pulled her child close, smoothed her hair.

“She was born at one twenty-three a.m. last December twenty-fifth,” Rebecca said. “We named her Noél.”

We followed Anak and Rebecca to the hospital. They were in good shape physically and now mentally, having been re-united with their child. The couple were worn to the bone, and we left them to sleep, many questions to come. Harry and I returned to the department to commence paperwork that, when complete, would probably need a forklift to move it from place to place.

“It’s what Ben meant,” I said across our desks. “About recognizing his error in planning. How it was him and him alone, no assistance and all his idea.”

“The people coming in on the boat weren’t attackers,” Harry nodded. “They were rescuers.”

“Told to grab the people in the house and get them safe, no matter what. Unfortunately, they arrived just as Meltzer’s squad arrived.”

“What about the dead guy in the fire? One of Meltzer’s melt-downs?”

I nodded. “I don’t expect anyone is missing him.”

“Like I don’t expect we’ll find out who came in by boat. If we have suspicions…”

“It’s alibis all around, according to Ben. I expect hardcore SLDP operatives are a tight-lipped bunch. Especially after a nighttime gunfight. Or when a sympathizer or two spirited the kid from the hospital to keep her safe from a second attempt by Meltzer’s Aryan brigades. It’s legally kidnapping, but…” I looked Harry in the eyes. “Where do you want to go with this?”

He glanced at his watch and pushed himself to standing. “Let’s wait until tomorrow. See how it looks when we’re writing it up. As for me, I’m going back to the hospital.”

“To see Anak and Rebecca and Noél?”

Harry pulled his orange tie from his pocket, began knotting it around the collar of his lavender shirt. “To confirm a date with Doc Norlin. Tonight’s the Jazz Club meeting. After that, Angela and I are having dinner at that new fish joint on the causeway.”

I grinned. “Then home to…”

He held up a hand. “This ain’t gonna be a bad joke about genetics, is it?”

“Not any more. This your first date with the doc?”

“The third. You haven’t been on your game lately. Where you headed?”

“First off, I got to make a stop and hopefully tend to some business.”

“After that?”

“I got a date with a shrink.”

Harry shot me a thumbs-up and headed to the hospital. For me, it was time for the final loose string to be tied; to see Kavanaugh. First, though, I made a stop and picked up a friend. We climbed in the car and drove to Kavanaugh’s office with the windows down, the air warm on our faces and thick with the smells of azaleas and dogwood. I sipped from a bottle of water as we walked to the door of Kavanaugh’s office.

“Wait here,” I said. “This won’t take long.”

I took a deep breath and walked up to knock on the door. Kavanaugh appeared. She was casual, in a loose purple dress and dark stockings, her feet in black ballet slippers, her white hair hanging loose.

“Good to see you,” the doc said. She was smiling.

I laid on the couch. Again with my feet the wrong way, but some things are sacred. Kavanaugh moved to the chair beside the couch. She crossed her legs beneath her in lotus position and leaned forward. In the purple dress with the white hair flowing loose, she looked like a lady wizard.

“The last time we met I behaved deplorably,” I said. “I apologize.”

“No need. Your partner told me what happened. I consulted with a pharmacologist. No one had any idea that a mood-altering chemical was causing your behavior, least of all you, obviously. Stenebrexin metabolizes in hours, as I expect you’ve discovered. I’m happy to say that you’ll be fine.”

I stared at the ceiling in silence.

“Detective?” she said.

“It goes back further than that,” I said. “My actions.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve been depressed. Not clinically. But for the past few weeks I didn’t believe anything I did meant a tinker’s damn. I lost my faith.”

“You know that for sure?”

“The department had been short-handed all spring, Doc, bodies stacking up like cordwood. Some of the bloodiest murders I’ve ever seen over things like a hand of cards, a quart of beer. It seemed the world had gone insane. I had a case where the child of my first murder investigation eight years ago ended up a murder victim. It was like I’d been beating my head against the wall for nothing. Then the kid floated up.”

“The child was the final straw?”

“Harry kept dragging me over to see Noelle. I didn’t want to look at the kid. All I saw was someone killing a baby by pushing it out into the ocean. It was the most inhuman act I could conceive.”

“So the child came to represent futility? The world was hopeless?”

“As simple as that,” I admitted. “And I expect my unhappiness was enhanced by the crap Fossie was slipping me.”

“But as it turned out, things weren’t as bad as they seemed.”

“Like Harry said, the story had a happy ending.”

Kavanaugh stared into my eyes so long as to make me uncomfortable. When she spoke, her voice was gentle.

“You need happy endings, don’t you, Detective Ryder?”

I slung myself off the couch and walked to the window, staring into the trees. It seemed I could feel the earth turning. I spun back to Kavanaugh.

I said, “Thanks, Doctor. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here.”

I walked outside. The sun felt glorious on my skin. A thousand years to become what we’re supposed to be? Is that what Matthias said? Hell, if we’ve been here a hundred thousand years, we’re in the last one per cent of the journey.

It’s just a kiss away, as the Rolling Stones say.

“Come on, partner,” I said. “Let’s head home and go for a walk.”

I picked up the bowl I’d left on Kavanaugh’s stoop and tossed out the remaining water. Mr Mix-up bounced on his front paws, yipped like a chihuahua, roofed like a basset. He tumbled to the grass, rolled over twice, and stared at me with perfect joy.

The complete mutt.

He was miles ahead of us, but we’d get there.

I thank decades of exposure to high-voltage television preachers for my basic research, making the list too lengthy to attach here. I can, however, name the superb folks at the Aaron Priest Literary Agency and the team at HarperCollins UK: Julia Wisdom and Anne O’Brien. There are many more stars behind the scenes, including the booksellers and librarians who recommend my work. I thank you all for the input and kindnesses.

J.A. Kerley worked in advertising and teaching before becoming a full-time novelist. He lives in Newport, Kentucky, but also spends a good deal of time in Southern Alabama, the setting for his Carson Ryder series, starting with
The Hundredth Man.
He is married with two children.

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