A Thin Dark Line

'Wait,' Annie said.

If Marcus Renard's mother had something, anything, that could connect him to the murder, she couldn't put off getting it. It was clear Doll's conscience had won the internal battle to bring her to this point, and just as clear that in a heartbeat she could back away in order to save her son.

'Where are you parked?'

'Down the street. Near Po' Richard's.'

'I'll meet you down there in five minutes. How's that?'

She shook her head a little. Her whole body seemed to be trembling. 'I don't know. I think this is a mistake. I shouldn't have-'

'Mrs. Renard,' Annie said, touching her arm. 'Please don't back down now. If Marcus has done something bad, he needs to be stopped. It can't go on. You can't let it.'

She held her breath as Doll closed her eyes again, looking within herself for an answer that had to be tearing her mother's heart in two.

'No,' she whispered to herself. 'It can't go on. I can't let it go on.'

'I'll meet you at your car,' Annie said. 'We can have a cup of coffee. Talk. We'll sort it all out. What kind of car do you drive?'

Doll sniffed into her handkerchief. 'It's gray,' she said, sounding resigned. 'A Cadillac.'

Annie couldn't find Hooker in the sea of people, which was just as well. She didn't want him to see her going off in the opposite direction of the station. Ducking into a door well on the side street, she called him on the two- way to tell him she'd been stricken ill.

'What the hell's wrong with you, Broussard? You been drinking?'

'No, sir. Must be that stomach flu going around.' She paused to groan for effect. 'It's awful, Sarge. Out.'

Hooker swore his usual blue streak, but let her off. Deputies vomiting in public were bad for the image of the department. 'If I hear you been drinking, I'll suspend your ass! Out.'

Banishing the threat from her mind, she went to the cruiser and dumped the radio, afraid the chatter might frighten or distract Doll. Grabbing her minicassette recorder, she shoved it in a pants pocket and hustled down the dark side street toward Po' Richard's.

Doll Renard drove a gray Cadillac. If the passenger's side was damaged, then Marcus was the one who had terrorized her on the road that night. That would confirm Annie's Jekyll and Hyde theory. The adrenaline rush of finally catching a break was incredible. She felt almost light-headed with it. Renard's own mother was going to give him up. To her. Because of the work she had done on the case. Losing Marcus's trust wouldn't matter.

As she hurried down the sidewalk between closed businesses and parked cars, she tensed at every shadow, bolted past the openings to alleys. Marcus was lurking somewhere, hurt and angry over what he saw as her betrayal.

God only knew what he might do if he saw her with his mother. The relationship there was too twisted to fathom. The mother relying on the support of a son whom she never ceased to criticize and belittle; the grown man staying out of obligation to a woman he resented to the marrow of his bones. The line between their love and hate had to be a hairbreadth. What would it trigger in him to know his mother was about to commit the ultimate betrayal? The rage, the pain, would be incredible.

Annie had seen what his rage had done to Pam Bichon.

The car was parked at the curb, just east of Po' Richard's. Doll Renard paced beside it, one arm banded across her waist as if her stomach hurt, the other hand rubbing her sternum. Even in the poor light that reached over from the restaurant Annie could see the scars along the side of the Cadillac.

'Did you have an accident, Mrs. Renard?'

Doll looked blank, then glanced at the car. 'Oh, that,' she said, moving again. 'Marcus must have done that. I rarely drive. It's such a big car. I can't imagine why he bought me such a big car. So conspicuous. It's vulgar, really. And difficult to park. It preys on my nerves to drive it.

'I've developed a slight palsy from my nerves, you know. You can't imagine the strain it's been. Wondering, wanting to believe… Then last night… I can't stand it anymore.'

'Why don't we sit down and talk about it?' Annie suggested.

'Yes. Yes,' Doll repeated almost to herself, as if to reinforce the decision she had made. 'I took the liberty of getting coffee. It's just over here on this table.'

The cheap picnic tables that sat out in front of the restaurant were deserted and poorly lit. A hand-lettered sign in the front window announced: CLOSED for CARNIVAL. Take Out ORDER'S ONLY.

Doll settled on the bench, fussing with her skirt like a debutante at a cotillion. Annie took her seat, stirred her coffee, and tested it. Dark and bitter, as always; hot but drinkable. She took a long sip, wanting the caffeine to burn off the fatigue of too many late nights. She needed to be sharp now, though it wouldn't do to appear overeager. She left her notebook in her shirt pocket. Under the table, she pressed the record button on the minicassette recorder.

'I'm not proud of this,' Doll began. She rested one hand on the table, her handkerchief clutched at the ready. 'He's my son. My loyalty should be to my family.'

'Letting this go on won't be in the interest of your family, Mrs. Renard. You're doing what's best.'

'That's what I keep telling myself. I have to do what's best.' She paused to sip at her coffee and compose herself.

Annie took a drink and waited, rubbing absently at the cut on her fingertip. She sat with her back to the restaurant and a view of the surrounding area. Without turning her head, she scanned the street, the sidewalk, the vacant lot beyond Po' Richard's property, trying to make out every shadow. No sign of Marcus, but then he was very good at staying just out of reach, just out of sight. She imagined him watching them now, his anger building toward the boiling point.

'It's been very difficult for me,' Doll said, 'raising the two boys on my own. Especially with Victor's difficulties. The state tried to take him away from me once and put him in a home. I wouldn't have it. He'll be with me 'til I die. He's my child, my burden to bear. I brought him into this world the way he is. I blamed myself for his condition, even though the doctors say it's no one's fault. How can we truly know what gets passed along from one generation to the next?'

Annie made no comment, but thought fleetingly of her own mother and the father she'd never known. 'What ever became of Mr. Renard?'

Doll's face hardened. 'Claude betrayed us. Years ago. And now here I sit, about to betray my son.'

'You shouldn't think of it that way, Mrs. Renard. Why don't you tell me what it is you think Marcus has done wrong.'

'I don't know where to begin,' she said, looking down at her crumpled handkerchief.

'You said you had a fight with Marcus last night. What was that about?'

'You, I'm afraid.'

'Me?'

'I'm sure you realize Marcus has become quite taken with you. He does that, you see. He-he gets something in his head and there's no changing it. I can see it happening all over again with you. He's convinced there could be something… personal between the two of you.'

'I've told him that's not possible.'

'It won't matter. It never has.'

'This has happened before?'

'Yes. With the Bichon woman. And before her-when we lived in Baton Rouge-'

'Elaine Ingram?'

'Yes. Love at first sight, he called it. Within a week of meeting her, he was completely preoccupied. He followed her everywhere. Called her day and night. Lavished her with gifts. It was embarrassing.'

'I thought she returned his feelings.'

'For a time, but it became too much for her. He did the same with that Bichon woman. He suddenly decided he had to have her, even though she wanted no part of him. And I can see it starting again, with you. I confronted