Black Water Rising

Shoes, ladies’ size 6?. Possibly soiled. High heeled, with a zigzag pattern on the sole.

The detective lays the warrant on the wood veneer ledge in front of him. Charlie has him pick up the inventory next, the list of what the cops actually pulled as evidence from Elise Linsey’s town house during their search.

“If you would, Detective, why don’t you go ahead and read through it.”

“The whole thing?”

“The whole thing.”

Detective Stone looks at the judge, who nods.

The detective clears his throat. “ ‘Ladies’ shoes, white, size six and a half. Two pairs of shoes, brown, size six and a half. Three pairs of shoes, black, size six and a half. Sandals, brown, size six and a half. Boots, burgundy, size six. Sandals, red, size six and a half. Two pairs of boots, black, size six and a half. Shoes, silver, with some kind of rhinestones on them, size six and a half. Shoes, pink, with rubber soles, size six and a half. Two pairs of tan loaf­ ers, ladies’ size six and a half. Three pairs of sneakers.’ ” He looks up from the piece of paper. “ ‘Size six and a half.’ ”

“That’s a lot of shoes,” Charlie says.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me see, did I count . . . ,” Charlie says, making a rather exaggerated show of incredulity. “Was that eighteen pairs of shoes?”

“That’s what I read.”

“And those eighteen pairs of shoes are the only things listed on that inventory sheet, the only pieces of ‘evidence’ that you and Detective Smalls pulled from Ms. Linsey’s town house on Oakwood Glen?”

“Yes.”

“No gun? No bloody clothes?”

“No, sir,” Detective Stone says to Charlie. “It’s just the shoes.”

“Eighteen pairs of shoes.”

“All size six and a half,” the detective says.

“Well, now, that warrant you signed was asking for shoes with blood on ’em and dirt, and, more important, it was talking about high-heeled shoes with a zigzag pattern on the sole. So, which of the shoes on that piece of paper matches that description?”

“None of them.”

“Am I to understand then that you and your colleague did not find any shoes in the defendant’s home that had blood on them or dirt from the crime scene, nor any shoes with a zigzag pattern on the sole? Is that right?”

Detective Stone’s jaw tightens ever so slightly. “That is cor­ rect.”

Jay remembers Elise’s bare feet on the boat the night of the rescue. He thinks of the black bayou water, the bits and pieces of this story it has swallowed whole, the deeds it washed clean. He thinks of the shoes, the gun, the prosecution’s whole case, sunk all the way to the bottom of Buffalo Bayou, hidden in the muddy earth, washed over ten, twenty, a hundred times a day.

But where, then, is his gun?

Elise Linsey, seated before him, holds her head remarkably high, following the action in front of her. Jay clutches his hand­ written note. He scoots to the edge of the bench he’s seated on, not three feet behind the defense table. He coughs lightly, once, then a second time. Elise Linsey never turns around.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jay senses some movement in the gallery. He turns to his right and sees a new face in the courtroom. Among the courthouse lookiloos and beat reporters, there’s a man wearing a tailored charcoal gray suit. He’s taken a seat to the right of Jay, on the bench behind him, positioning himself closely enough that Jay can see the sea green color of his eyes from where he sits. The man keeps his jacket buttoned, his hands in his pockets. Unlike the others in the gallery, he is not watching the lawyers or the defendant or the witness on the stand. He keeps his eyes on Jay.

“Might you explain to the court then, Detective,” Charlie says, “why you saw fit and legally justified to take every shoe in my client’s closet?”

“They were in plain sight.”

“So was the woman’s furniture. Did you pack that up too?”

“The law gives police officers some leeway here. I believed that the shoes were relevant in terms of putting the defendant at the crime scene. The shoes were in plain sight. So, yes, my partner and I picked them up as evidence.”

“And do you still believe the shoes are relevant, Detective?”

“Inasmuch as they establish the defendant as a size six and a half,” the cop says, looking at the judge briefly before eking out another piece of information. “The shoe prints we found around the car at the crime scene were a ladies’ size six and a half.”

“And one more time,” Charlie says. “Did any of the shoes you took from the defendant’s residence match the zigzag shoe print at the crime scene?”

“Objection, Your Honor, asked and answered,” the state’s attorney says.

“Nothing further, Your Honor,” Charlie says.

Jay steals another glance at the man in the charcoal suit.

He is still, at this moment, staring at Jay, who gets the distinct feeling that the man is no casual court