Ascension Day

words, his mind half gone. All he could think of was where he was putting his feet and that drop only inches away.

Nel-M reached deeper behind Truelle’s back as they moved, two steps forward, two steps back, gently swaying. ‘Now, where was it I punched you? There… there, I think.’

Truelle felt the pain rocket through his brain. Nel-M eased off for a second, then dug even harder with two fingers into Truelle’s kidney, heard him groan as the shudder ran through his body, his legs buckling. Nel-M held him upright.

‘Now, don’t you go giving up on me, Leonard. Just as we’re starting to get into the rhythm.’ Nel-M smiled. The only thing missing from making this little scenario a hundred-and-ten per cent perfect, rather than just a hundred per cent: with the hood, Truelle couldn’t see him gloating, his eyes dancing; see how much Nel-M was enjoying it. ‘See what I mean about pain being worse than death, Leonard. Keep that up for a while, and you’d be begging me to kill you. But we’d have to be in a dark basement somewhere for that, where half the neighbourhood couldn’t hear your screams. And I’m a real softy for mood, atmosphere. Much better up here with the city spread below us, dancing.’ Nel-M leant in closer, his mouth only inches from Truelle’s ear, his smile widening as he swore he could all but feel the shudder of revulsion run through Truelle’s body with his next words. ‘Don’t you think, Lenny, baby?’

Nel-M started moving again, more fluidly, dramatically, swaying and leaning Truelle even further over the drop at times.

Truelle exclaimed breathlessly, ‘Please… please don’t do this.’

‘You’re not crapping out on our romantic date already, are you, Lenny? You know, I used to know this chick down at a club on Toulouse Street. Half pure Congo-African, half Spanish Creole… and boy, could she tango.’ Nel-M started moving again. ‘Man, we’d swing up and down so hard and fast we’d clear half the dance floor.’ More elaborate swaying and swinging now, relishing Truelle’s gasps as he hung him over the drop at almost a ninety- degree angle at points. ‘Not like you. All stiff and formal, stumbling on your step. Something worryin’ you, Lenny?’ Nel-M chuckled.

‘Please… I’m begging you.’

‘Wanna die yet, Lenny? Think that’s suddenly more appealing?’ Nel-M chuckled again, lower, more menacing. ‘Or have you worked out yet which you prefer: dancing or pain?’

On the last word, Nel-M dug his fingers again into Truelle’s bruised kidney, felt his body jolt as the pain shot through it.

Truelle spluttered breathlessly, ‘I can’t… I can’t tell you.’

Nel-M wondered whether to give Truelle a few more swaying steps, probably his first taste ever of real rhythm, then just drop him over the edge. Last Tango in New Orleans. But the fall-out might not be containable, and there were other things he wanted to know.

‘Okay. Okay. If we can’t do that — then tell me what happened when McElroy came to see you? He’s making out that he stopped doing anything on the Durrant case soon after he saw you. But I’ve got my doubts. Strong doubts. So, what did he say to you, Lenny?’

‘Not much, really.’

‘I mean, did he tell you that he was going to stop digging? Was going to leave everything just with the Governor’s plea?’

‘No — he didn’t say that. But… but also, there didn’t seem much he knew.’

‘And you didn’t tell him anything, did you, Lenny?’

‘No… no. Of course not.’

They started moving again then, but slowly, less flamboyantly. But Truelle was still petrified, fearful that with the slightest false half-step, he’d fall over the edge.

‘So, what did happen in that meeting, Lenny?’

‘Not that much. Not that I can think of.’

That didn’t seem to please Nel-M. The step increased, the swaying bolder. ‘Think, Lenny. Think. It’s important.’

‘Well, he… he seemed concerned about hearing that Doctor Thallerey, Jessica Roche’s obstetrician, had died in a car accident. And an accident too that he’d had himself… thought they might be linked.’

‘You see… you see. You can do it when you try.’ The swaying subsided a little. ‘What else?’

‘I don’t know… not much else, really.’

The step and swaying picked up again. ‘Think harder, Lenny. Like I say, it’s important.’

‘He… he left in such a rush. That’s why there wasn’t… wasn’t much else.’ Truelle was having trouble talking and concentrating on his step at the same time. ‘He nev… never told me what had troubled him so just before he left.’

The step steadied again. ‘Okay. I buy that. Anything else?’

‘With… with what had happened with himself and Thallerey, almost like… like a warning I might be next.’

‘You might be, Leonard.’ Another quick looping sway with Truelle held dramatically over the drop before quickly righting again. Nel-M’s gloat slid into a brief chuckle. ‘You might be.’

‘And he…’ Truelle suddenly stopped himself, worried that this part might bring back questions about his insurance policies.

‘What else, Lenny?’ The swaying step increased once more. ‘Don’t hold back on me now.’

‘He…’ Truelle’s left foot slipped over the edge then, Nel-M quickly pulling him back up tight. But the pain lanced through him again as Nel-M’s hand pressed harder into his back. Truelle took a second to regain his composure and breath. ‘He… he asked me if my telephones might have been bugged. Said he was worried that his might have been…’

Now it was Nel-M’s turn to hyper-ventilate, and he almost let Truelle loose from his grip with the jolt that went through him — or maybe it was as much shoving him away in anger, taking his frustration out on the nearest thing — as everything hit him in a rush: McElroy saying that he’d dropped the case and then the sudden lack of any meaningful calls on his home phone, except one; the one where he’d followed McElroy and nobody had showed up. Not only had McElroy thrown them a curve ball over his bugged phone-line, he’d also no doubt had yours truly followed the other day. Now knew more about himself and Roche than he dared think about.

But one consolation, he thought: He’d get to play out his plan B with McElroy. Roche would now jump for it quicker than… well, quicker than a ‘Psychiatrist falls off the edge.’ One last pause as he pondered whimsically what a shame it was that he wouldn’t now be reading that headline tomorrow, then with one hand he helped Truelle down from the ledge.

‘And thank you kindly for the dance, Mr Truelle. It’s been most… most enlightening.’

26

Torch- and candle-light outside the prison gates.

If Jac didn’t know that there wasn’t long left now until Durrant’s execution, he’d have become aware from the people holding vigil outside Libreville.

Only a small group now, eight or nine, but in the final few days those numbers would swell — local protesters, and an increasing number of anti-capital punishment supporters, mostly from out of state — to probably a hundred strong by the end.

Jac had received the news that the Board of Pardons hearing would be in only two days’ time. It wasn’t the sort of news he wanted to give Durrant over the phone, it warranted face-to-face, and after the news from Rillet there were a few things he wanted to ask Larry directly.

There was also something he needed to pick up after work before heading out to Libreville, so the last of the dusk light was fast fading as Jac hit the Pontchartrain Causeway, a shiver still running through him each time he crossed it.

Ghosts. Even the corridors at Libreville now held them for Jac. Memories of when