Show of Evil

'I'd like you to turn around and put your hands behind your back, please,' Stenner said formally. 'I have to cuff you.'

'I'm not going anywhere,' Darby said.

'Procedure.'

'Don't do that, please,' he said. His tone had changed suddenly from arrogant to almost solicitous.

'I told you, it's procedure.'

'Not behind my back, okay? Where would I go?'

'Don't give us any guff, son,' St Claire said.

'I'm asking you, please don't tie my hands behind my back,' he begged. 'I… I can't swim.'

St Claire looked at Stenner, who in turn looked at Darby, who was plainly terrified. The dog walked unsteadily back and started to growl again.

'I said, shut up!' Darby bellowed, and smacked the dog in the face. It yelped and curled up on the floor of the skiff. 'Please,' he pleaded.

'Cuff him in front, Harve,' Stenner said in a flat, no-nonsense monotone. St Claire holstered his pistol and moved up beside him.

'Thanks,' Darby said, holding his hands out for St Claire to shackle. Once cuffed, Darby laid on the bottom of the boat with his head barely visible over the side. The abused Rags crawled up beside him and licked his face.

'Dogs'll forgive anything,' St Claire said, shaking his head. He looked down at Darby. 'What were ya doin' out there in the marsh?' he asked.

'Took a dump,' Darby said sullenly.

'Helluva dump. Sounded like the Titanic goin' down.' He swung the bow light around, letting its beam cut through the rising fog. Darby's boat had left a pathway through the water grass. 'Lookee there,' St Claire said with a grin. 'He left us a little trail't'foller.'

He tied Darby's boat to the back of their skiff and headed back through the marsh grass. To the east, the rising sun bloodied the mist and cast long, dim shadows across the marsh. A snake glided past them, unconcerned, looking for breakfast, its head sticking up, perusing the terrain. Off in the still persistent fog, a bird squawked and they could hear its big wings flapping through the grey, awakening morning. Presently the path ended. The grass was folded down in a large circle. At one end, the skeletal fingers of a tree branch reached up out of the water.

'Think this here's the place,' he told Stenner. 'Why don't I tie down here and wait for you to take him back to the lodge and bring the sheriff and a coupla drag lines out here.'

'Fair enough,' Stenner answered, and swung the two boats together. 'I'm coming over there,' he told Darby. 'Keep your dog in tow.'

'He's all noise,' Darby said. 'What's this all about, anyway?'

'Poppy Palmer,' Stenner said, and Darby's face turned the colour of wet cement as Stenner stepped into the skiff.

'What're you talking about?' Darby whined. 'She went to see her sister in Texarkana.'

'She ain't got a sister in Texarkana.'

'That ain't my fault!'

'Now there's a goddamn non sequitur for ya.' St Claire laughed.

'Back as fast as I can, Harve,' Stenner said. 'You'll be okay?'

St Claire looked at him balefully and took a swig of coffee as the other skiff rumbled off through the grass and into the crimson morning.

Sun and wind had sent the fog swirling away and the morning had dawned bright and cold when St Claire saw the thirty-foot powerboat cruising up the creek. He put two fingers in the corners of his mouth and whistled shrilly and waved. They turned into the marsh and slid quietly up to his boat. Stenner was standing beside the sheriff, a tall, bulky man in a dark blue jacket wearing a brown campaign hat with his badge pinned to the crown.

'Mornin' gentlemen,' St Claire said. 'Thanks fer comin' by.'

The sheriff's boat churned to a stop as he walked to the bow and, leaning over, took St Claire's hand.

'Jake Broadstroke,' he said in a voice that sounded like it came from his toes. 'Sorry we took so long, had to round up a couple of divers. Hope you two know what you're talking about.'

'Well, it's a hunch,' St Claire said. 'But I got thirty years a