26
Annie blew out a sigh and dug through the stacks of paperwork, unearthing a packet of microcassette tapes labeled RENARD in Fourcade's bold caps. Interview tapes, no doubt made in his pocket. The official tapes would never have been allowed out of the sheriff's department, but Fourcade lived by his own set of rules-some of which she condoned, and others…
It made her uneasy thinking about it. Where would she draw the line? And where would he? She was breaking rules by involving herself in this case, but she felt it was justified, that she owed her allegiance to a higher authority. And was that what Fourcade had been thinking when he'd confronted Renard in that parking lot? That justice was a higher power than the law?
Where the hell was he? she wondered as she dug through her purse for her tape recorder. For a man who had been suspended and warned off the case, he certainly got around.
'Maybe he's out planting evidence for you to find, Annie,' she muttered, then chided herself for it.
She didn't believe he had planted the ring just because he'd been accused of doing it before. No one had proven the allegations made during the Parmantel murder investigation. Fourcade had resigned from the NOPD before anyone got the chance. The hoopla had died down and the case had gone away.
That right there made Annie think something was hinky about the charges. The case had gone away and no civil suit had been filed. Anybody with half a beef against the cops these days filed a civil suit. Allan Zander, the man Fourcade had accused of killing the hooker, Candi Parmantel, had just faded back into anonymity.
She told herself none of that mattered as she loaded tape number one into the player. Fourcade wanted to keep his past to himself, and all she wanted was to close this homicide. The rest was just baggage.
She hit the play button and set the machine on the table.
Fourcade tided the interview with Marcus Renard. He stated the date, time, and case number; his own name, rank, and badge number. Stokes stated his name, rank, and badge number. Chairs scraped against the floor, papers were shuffled.
Fourcade: 'What'd you think of that murder, Mr. Renard?'
Renard: 'It's-it's horrible. I can't believe it. Pam… My God…'
Stokes: 'Can't believe what? That you could butcher a woman that way? Surprised yourself, did you?'
Renard: 'What? I don't know what-You can't think I could do that! Pam was-I would never-'
Stokes: 'Come on, Marcus. This is your ol' buddy Chaz you're talking to. I didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday. You and me, we been having this same conversation now for what-six, eight weeks? Only this time you did something more than just look. Am I right? You got sick of looking. You got sick of her turning you down.'
Renard: 'No. It wasn't-'
Stokes: 'Come on, Marcus, get straight with this.'
Fourcade: 'Let's give him the benefit, Chaz. You tell us, Mr. Renard. Where were you last Friday night?'
Renard: 'Am I being charged with something? Should I have a lawyer present?'
Fourcade: 'Me, I dunno, Mr. Renard. Should you have a lawyer present? We just want you to set us straight, that's all.'
Renard: 'You have nothing to tie me to this. I'm an innocent man.'
Stokes: 'You wanted her, Marcus. I been here all along, remember? I know how you followed her around, sent her little notes, little presents. I know that was you calling her up, hanging around her house. I know what you did to that woman, and you might as well confess, Marcus, 'cause you can bet your ass we're gonna prove it, Nicky and me. If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'.'
The rumble of an engine broke Annie's concentration. She clicked the cassette player off and listened for a car door slamming. When the sound didn't come, she rose from her chair, sliding the Sig out of her purse.
The small window on the end of the house afforded a view of nothing. The night was black as pitch. Fourcade's retreat was stuck in the hip pocket of civilization, readily accessible to the animals that prowled the swamp-a fair number on two legs. Poachers and thieves and worse. Society's ragged fringe.
Last night came back to her in a rush. Who would be her enemy here?
No one could have followed her without her knowing it, which eliminated anyone from the department. A random attack by the roving rapist seemed unlikely. That predator knew the lifestyles and habits of his victims. He hadn't chosen them by accident.
Something thumped hard against the floor of the gallery. Leading with the Sig, Annie let herself out onto the landing.
'Nick? That you?'
She waited, debating, knowing she had already tipped her hand. Then came a low groan, the unmistakable sound of pain.
'Fourcade?' she called, easing down the stairs. 'Don't make me shoot you. I've got a big gun, you know.'
He lay on the gallery floor, the light spilling out the window illuminating his battered face.
'Oh my Lord!' Annie stuck the gun in her waistband and dropped down beside him. 'What happened? Who did this?'
Nick cracked open an eye and looked up at her. 'Never announce yourself until you know the situation, Broussard.'
'Man, even half dead you're bossy.'
'Help me up.'
'Help you up? I should call an ambulance! Or I suppose I could shoot you and put you out of your misery.'
He winced as he tried to push himself up onto his hands and knees. 'I'm fine.'
Annie made a rude sound. 'Oh, excuse me, I mistook you for someone who'd had the shit beat out of him.'
'Why does that not surprise me?'
He straightened slowly, pain rippling through his body. 'Come on, Broussard, quit gawking and help me. If we're partners, we're partners.'
Annie moved around beside him and let him hook an arm around her shoulders. 'I don't mind saying you're more than I bargained for, Nick.'
He leaned heavily against her as she helped him into the house. They lurched past the front parlor like a pair of winos. Annie glanced at the blood that dyed the front of his T-shirt and muttered an expletive.
'Who did this?'
'Friend of a friend.'
'I think you need somebody to redefine that term for you. Where are we going?'
'Bathroom.'
She steered him down the hall and nearly fell into the tub as she lowered him to sit on the closed lid of the toilet.
'God, are you sure you're alive?' she said, squatting down in front of him.
'Looks worse than it is.'
'I suppose you're gonna tell me I should see the other guy.'
'They were ugly to start with.'
'They? Plural?'
'Nothing's broke,' Nick said, fighting off another groan as the muscles in his back seized up. 'I'll be pissing blood tomorrow, that's all.'
He leaned his forearms on his thighs and tried to concentrate on clearing away the dizziness. His head was banging like a ten-pound hammer on a cast-iron pot.
'Get me a whiskey,' he grumbled.
'Don't boss me around, Fourcade,' Annie said, digging through the small medicine cabinet. 'I have it on good authority you should never piss off your medical personnel.'
'Get me a whiskey,
