The Little Death (20 page)

“Ah, isn’t that true of straight people?” Swann asked.

Mel glanced at Louis.
“Touché.”

Swann shook his head. “I still say, this just doesn’t sound like Reggie Kent.”

Mel was nodding. “I agree. When I was on the Miami force, I had some experience with this. I was one of the few cops who bothered to take the time to learn the psychology behind it.”

Now Louis was listening intently.

“Reggie told us that he and Mark didn’t really have a sexual relationship, that Mark was really straight,” Mel said. “But Mark Durand was a hustler with the record to prove it. In my experience, these guys are often heterosexuals who agree to gay sex as long as certain rules are obeyed.”

“And if someone breaks the rules?” Swann asked.

“Someone pays,” Mel said.

“But Durand was living with Kent. He didn’t need to hustle for money,” Swann said.

Mel looked at Louis and shrugged. “I didn’t say we had all the answers.”

Swann was quiet, deep in thought. “So, was Labastide gay?”

“We don’t know,” Louis said.

Swann’s eyes went from Louis to Mel. “Well, what the hell do you know?”

“Knowing that you don’t know what you should know is the first step to knowing, grasshopper,” Mel said.

Louis laughed.

Swann just stared at them, but then he smiled.

Louis flipped to a fresh page in his notebook. “Let’s figure out our next steps,” he said.

“Somebody has to go back to Rosa Díaz and ask her point-blank about her brother,” Mel said.

“I’ll do it,” Swann said.

Louis finished writing in his notebook. He looked up and held out his hand to Mel. “Give me the receipt.”

“For what?” Mel asked.

“The doughnuts and coffee. I’m keeping track of our expenses.”

“I threw it away.”

“Well, how much was it?”

“I don’t know. Put down four bucks.”

“You got a whole bag of doughnuts. It has to be more than that.”

Mel rolled his eyes. “You’re trying my patience here, Rocky.”

“Good grief. It’s my treat,” Swann said. He tossed a twenty across the table to Mel. “And I’ve been meaning to ask you, why do you call him Rocky?”

“Rocky King was a TV detective back in the fifties,” Mel said. “It’s my term of affection for my friend here. I thought it sounded better than fuck-face.”

Mel glanced at Louis. “You know, I think it’s time to give our friend here a nickname.”

“Mel—”

Mel gave Swann a smile. “Welcome to the team, Batzarro.”

Swann frowned. “Bat what?”

But before Mel could answer, Swann’s beeper went
off. He checked the number and quickly got up. He flashed his badge to the clerk and picked up the phone behind the cash register.

Swann came back and slid into the booth.

“We’ve got a damsel in distress,” he said. He looked at Louis. “And she wants you to save her.”

Chapter Sixteen
 

Margery was waiting for him in the lobby of the Palm Beach County jail. She was wearing a suit the color of eggplant and a matching wide-brimmed hat. A necklace of purple ice-cube-sized stones caught the light from the fluorescents as she spun to him. In the echoing tile cavern of the lobby—with its wanted posters, metal detectors, and rows of forlorn people sitting on metal benches—she looked like an exotic butterfly trapped in a dog cage.

“Louis! Thank God!” She exhaled a cloud of gin as she floated over to him. “What took you so long?”

“I got here as soon as I could,” Louis said. “What’s wrong?”

“They won’t let me see Reggie,” she said. She waved toward a man behind the Plexiglas. “And that horrible old bull won’t take my check!”

“Check? What check?”

Margery popped open her big purse and pulled out a pink leather checkbook. “I am trying to pay Reggie’s bail so I can take him home,” she said, waving the checkbook
toward the information booth. “And he won’t listen to me.”

The officer behind the Plexiglas wasn’t smiling. Louis knew that the guys who pulled desk detail were usually low on the food chain. Margery had been here at least a half hour giving him shit, and he was probably one more insult away from arresting her for disturbing the peace.

“Margery, you can’t bail Reggie out,” Louis said.

“Of course I can. I don’t care how much—”

“Number one, he hasn’t even been arraigned yet, and number two, people who are charged with murder don’t get bail.”

Margery stared at him like he was lying—or just stupid—he couldn’t tell. Then, to his shock, she burst into tears. Everyone was staring. He took Margery’s elbow and steered her to a bench in the corner.

She dug in her purse for a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. A few long, shuddering breaths later, she was back under control. “I’ve really balled things up,” she said. “I mean, first, I wasn’t even home when Reggie called me. I was lunching with Dixie at the Colony, and it was past three by the time I got home, so I didn’t know he had been arrested! Reggie, my poor, dear Reggie, had been trying to call me all day—Franklin must not have heard the phone—but thank God, I finally picked it up, and I came here, and they have been utterly beastly to me!”

Louis was afraid another outburst was coming. “Margery, you need to get Reggie a lawyer.”

“I know that!” she said. “I called Harvey, but he’s got some big case up in New York and can’t get here until tomorrow.” She grabbed Louis’s hand. “Harvey is the berries, the absolute best money can buy!”

Louis nodded. “Good. That’s what Reggie needs right now, the berries.”

Margery’s eyes drifted to the information booth. “They won’t let me see him. I can’t bear the thought of Reggie in there alone. My poor, dear old bunny. Do you think he’ll be all right?”

Louis didn’t want to tell her what he was thinking, that a man like Reggie Kent was dog meat in a place like this. Over on the island, Swann would have kept Reggie safe and comfortable. Here in a county jail, Reggie was just another animal in the zoo, a zoo where dear old bunnies were routinely dissected and devoured.

Louis glanced up at a sign by the intake window. Visiting hours had ended an hour ago. He told Margery to wait, and he went up to the Plexiglas.

“Yeah?” the beefy uniform said.

“I need a favor,” Louis said.

“For her? No way, partner. That lady’s got an ugly mouth on her.”

Louis leaned in. “She’s not herself. She’s a little—”

“Nuts?”

Louis nodded. “Her son was brought in today. She’s worried about him. Can you get her in for a few minutes?”

The uniform looked around Louis to Margery. “She told me to go iron my shoelaces.”

Louis just nodded.

“You work for her?” the uniform asked.

Louis nodded again.

“Hope she pays you good, man.” He hesitated, then gave a shrug. “Okay, you got ten minutes.”

Louis quickly briefed Margery on what to expect and
made her promise to keep her mouth shut. She was silent and straight-backed as they went back into the jail’s receiving area. The noise was deafening, a constant echoing barrage of banging metal doors as deputies and lawyers came and went. He had left his Glock locked in the Mustang’s glove box, so once he emptied his pockets into a tray, signed the log, and got his visitor badge, he was waved through. But Margery wasn’t about to hand over her purse.

“You can’t take anything back with you,” Louis said to her.

“Louis, this is a Birkin,” she whispered fiercely.

“Margery, please.”

She hesitated, then reached into the bag and pulled out three packs of Gauloises.

“You can’t take those, either,” Louis said.

“But they’re for Reggie.”

“He can’t accept anything from outside,” Louis said. The cop behind the desk was looking impatient. “If you want, you can deposit some money here in his name, and he can buy his own cigarettes.”

With a sigh, she tossed the blue packs into the purse, snapped it closed, and handed the purse over. She accepted the badge the officer gave her, and they were buzzed in. Margery jumped as the heavy door closed behind them.

A uniform led them to a room with a row of standard cubicles divided with heavy Plexiglas stained with hand- prints, spit, and a thousand tearful kisses. Margery stood there, taking it in, her face white, her big red slash of a mouth slack. Louis realized she was as lost in this world as he was in hers.

He gently touched her back and motioned for her to sit in one of the plastic chairs.

A moment later, a door banged, and Reggie was led in, dwarfed by a huge cop in a green PBSO windbreaker. Reggie’s eyes found Margery, and he practically fell into the chair on the other side of the Plexiglas.

His eyes brimmed, and he slowly brought up a hand and pressed it against the Plexiglas. Margery did the same.

“Oh, my dear, my dear old bunny,” Margery whispered.

“I knew you’d come,” Reggie said.

“Are you all right?” Margery asked.

Reggie started to say something, then just bowed his head. His shoulders shook as he cried. Margery started talking to him, her voice gentle but firm. Louis was trying to stand back to be discreet, but he heard her mention a lawyer and that Reggie would be out of there soon. He knew Margery had no right to promise him that, so he stepped forward.

Louis got his first good look at him. The guy had been behind bars for less than five hours, and he already looked like shit. The orange jumpsuit was too big, and the lighting brought out every line and blemish in his pink skin.

“You must be brave, dear, and don’t get too grummy,” Margery said, trying to sound upbeat. “Harvey will be here tomorrow, and Louis is working hard.”

Reggie’s eyes shot up to Louis. “When are you getting me out of here?”

Louis realized no one had told him that he wasn’t getting bail. “It will take some time,” he said. “You need to just hang tough and stay out of everyone’s way.”

“Hang tough,” Reggie said softly.

The guard came up behind Reggie. “Time’s up.”

Reggie quickly pressed his hand against the glass again. The guard put a palm on Reggie’s shoulder.

“You have to go,” Louis said. “Don’t make any trouble, okay?”

Margery put her hand up to the glass again. But the guard already had Reggie out of the chair and back to the door. They disappeared behind a metal door. Margery sat there, staring at the Plexiglas. Then she stood up, adjusted her hat, and walked quickly back out to the sign-in area. She retrieved her purse and, without a word or a look back at Louis, walked briskly back out to the lobby. Louis had no choice but to gather his belongings quickly and run to catch up.

When they were outside, she finally stopped. She closed her eyes and took three deep breaths, one hand against her chest.

Louis heard a car door and looked to the curb, where a black Rolls sat idling. Margery’s beefy driver had gotten out and was starting toward them.

Margery waved him away. When she turned back to Louis, the steel was back in her eyes.

“Do we kiss now or later?” she asked.

“Ma’am?”

She snapped open her purse and pulled out the checkbook. “Do you need cash, or will a check do?”

“Ah,” Louis said. They had never discussed any kind of payment for working Reggie Kent’s case. Back at Ta-boo during their first meeting, Reggie had told Mel that he had money to pay them. But that, Louis now knew, was like much of Reggie’s life: an illusion.

“I don’t care how much it takes, Louis,” Margery said. “I want Reggie out of that place, and I want you to have enough to prove him innocent of all this.” She pulled out a pen and flipped open the checkbook.

“I’ll sign it,” she said. “You and Marvin decide how many zeroes you want.”

Chapter Seventeen
 

The sign was still there above the door.
DE MORTUIS NIL NISI BONUM
. Of the dead, say nothing but good.

Louis and Swann stood in the hall outside the autopsy rooms at the Lee County medical examiner’s office. Mel had stayed back at the hotel, again saying he had a headache.

The medical examiner, Vince Carissimi, was down the hall finishing up an examination of the newly exhumed John Doe. Louis hoped that they would be able to discover some bit of evidence that might tell them more about how John Doe died. But at the very least, he hoped they would be able to identify this fellow as Emilio Labastide.