physical world. Where others saw only an opaque surface, Clete saw layers and layers of meaning beneath it.
“Okay, so Blanchet’s brains go flying into the willow tree, and he falls backward into the stern of the boat, about two hundred and twenty pounds of hard beef,” he said. “So what is our shooter going to do at this point? He’s probably still in the boat with Blanchet. He can put the forty-five in Blanchet’s hand and try to aim it away from him toward the levee. But he’s going to blow gunpowder residue on Blanchet’s clothes, plus deafen himself. Or he can climb out of the boat and stand in the shallows and point the forty-five toward the island, above the houseboat. The bullet should have carried across the bay and into the swamp. Hang on.”
Clete climbed into the rowboat. His weight caused it to rock violently back and forth, then he sat down on one of the seats, stabilizing the hull, and eased himself into the position Layton’s body had been in when we found it. Clete rested his head on the stern and let his right arm flop over the gunwale. He configured his thumb and index finger into the shape of a pistol and sighted as though aiming at a target. The tip of his finger pointed directly at the houseboat.
“Y’all didn’t find anything in there that looked like a bullet hole, did you?” he asked.
“
“What?”
“In the galley there was a paper trash sack with pieces of a broken drinking glass inside it. But there were also some slivers of glass in one corner, under a window. I thought they were from the drinking glass and somebody had overlooked them when he was sweeping up.”
Clete climbed back out of the boat, the water soaking his tennis shoes and the bottoms of his khakis. “Let’s have a look,” he said.
But Emma Poche was not in a cooperative mood. “You guys aren’t going inside that boat,” she said. “Number one, I don’t have a key. Number two, you have to get permission from my boss or the St. Mary sheriff. Number three, I know how y’all think and operate, and I’m not gonna let either of you pick that lock.”
“Do you mind if we look around outside?” I asked.
“Why, for God’s sakes?” she said.
“I don’t know. When we arrived here, I got the feeling you were looking along the bank for something,” I said. “Maybe we’ll find it for you.”
“I just remembered why I don’t go to A.A. anymore,” she said.
“I’ll bite. Why’s that?”
“Because of the sexist male pricks I met there,” she replied.
“We’ll be out of your way in just a minute,” I said.
“Be my guest. Take all the time you want. Like five minutes. And ‘bite’ is the word,” she said. She stiffened an index finger and pointed it at me. Her cheeks were bright with color as she went back to work stringing tape in the trees, jerking it hard through the limbs.
“You’ll never win their hearts and minds,” Clete said to me.
“You wouldn’t pick a lock at a crime scene, would you?”
“Emma might be a little nuts, but she’s one cute, smart little package,” he replied.
“I can’t believe you.”
“Give the devil her due. Look at the ass on her.”
“I give up, Clete.”
He slapped me between the shoulder blades, his face full of play. Clete Purcel would never change. And if he did, I knew the world would be the less for it.
We stepped up on the houseboat and worked our way forward, examining the molding around the windows in the galley. A long chrome-plated bar that a person could use as a handhold was anchored along the roof of the cabin. At the approximate spot where I had seen glass slivers on the other side of the wall, I saw what looked like an empty screw hole in one of the metal fastenings on the bar. Except it was not a screw hole. I stuck my little finger inside and felt the rough edges of torn wood and a sharpness like splintered glass.
I removed my finger and put one hand on Clete’s shoulder and stepped up on the deck rail so I could see across the top of the cabin roof. Eighteen inches from the chrome-plated bar was an exit hole in the roof. The.45 round had punched through the hand bar’s fastening and clipped the top of the glass inset into the window, before surfacing obliquely from the treated plywood that constituted the ceiling to the galley.
“You were dead-on right,” I said.
“You found it?”
“We’ve got the entry and exit holes, but no slug.”
Clete pushed himself up on the deck rail so he could see. Emma Poche was watching us from out in the water. “You think this is going to make any difference with the sheriff in St. Mary?” he asked.
“Like you say, this is still a fiefdom,” I replied.
“What are y’all doing up there?” Emma called.
We both stared at her without replying. The sun had come out, and her hair and face and uniform were netted with light and shadow.
“Did you hear me?” she said.
“Why’d you bring crime-scene tape on a 911 possible break-in?” I said.
“Because it was already in my goddamn boat,” she replied.
I drummed my fingers on the cabin roof. “You ever carry a forty-five auto as a drop, Emma?” I asked.
She began to gather up the strips of crime-scene tape broken by deer or bear, and stuff them into her trouser pockets. “When I turn around again, you two cutie-pies had better be out of here,” she said.
“My flopper just started flipping around,” Clete said.
CHAPTER 15
MOLLY AND I attended four P.M. Mass in Loreauville that Saturday, with plans to go to dinner and a movie afterward in Lafayette. Alafair was at home by herself, working on her novel, when the phone rang. “Miss Alafair?” the voice said.
“Yes?” Alafair said.
“It’s Jewel, Mr. Timothy’s nurse.”
In her mind’s eye, Alafair saw the big, ubiquitous black woman in the starched white uniform who constantly attended Timothy Abelard in his home and took him everywhere he went. What was the rumor about her? That she was Abelard’s illegitimate daughter?
“Mr. Timothy axed if you’d come out to see him,” Jewel said.
“Then ask him to call me, Miss Jewel,” Alafair replied.
“He’s embarrassed.”
“Excuse me?”
“By the way you were treated by Mr. Robert. He knows all about it.”
“Miss Jewel, you’ve called me and done your job, so this isn’t a reflection upon you. But if Mr. Abelard wants to talk with me, he needs to call me personally. You tell him I said that, please.”
“Yes, ma’am. He said to tell you his son and Mr. Robert aren’t there right now.”
“I understand. Thanks for calling, Miss Jewel. Good-bye,” Alafair said. She replaced the receiver and went back to her room and began work on her manuscript again. Through the back window she could see the shadows growing in the trees, the afternoon sun ablaze like a bronze shield on the bayou. The phone rang in the kitchen once more. This time she checked the caller ID. It was blocked. “Hello,” she said, hoping it was not who she thought it was.
“Oh, hello, Miss Robicheaux. It’s Timothy Abelard. I hope I’m not bothering you,” the voice said.
“Miss Jewel gave me your message, Mr. Abelard. I appreciate your courtesy, but no apology is necessary regarding Kermit.”
“That’s very gracious of you. But I feel terrible about what’s occurred. I don’t know your father well, but I was quite an admirer of your grandfather, Big Aldous. He was an extraordinary individual, generous of spirit and always
