They took the coffee outside and stood under an awning while the rain fell. “I’d better go in there and see Nat,” Willow said, indicating the precinct. “When he’s through with me, I’ve got to get to my office and do any damage control necessary. Thanks for the coffee.”
He studied her seriously, trying not to be distracted by Mario’s penetrating black stare.
“I can’t make you let me,” he said, “but can I come with you? Nat may kick me out, but I don’t think so and it never hurts to let authority see you’ve got backup. Not that Nat won’t treat you well. From some of the things Gray has said about Nat’s bosses, he could be under the gun from them and fighting for a way to close this case. It could make him tougher than he’d normally be.”
“Well—”
“Both Sykes and Gray asked me to come with you,” he said in persuasive tones.
She considered while Mario continued to stare at Ben as if trying to transmit a message. “How did they know I was coming here this morning?”
“Nat told them.” At least he hadn’t completely lied. Nat told Willow he wanted to see her—at her place or his. Ben had figured that out from listening to her side of the conversation and talked about it with the two men who had more experience dealing with the police than he did. So, in a way, Nat had told them—by a circuitous route.
“Okay. Come with me, but, if Nat behaves as if I’m a kid with parent in tow, please understand that’s more than my ego can take.”
He nodded. “Okay. And there’s nothing wrong with your ego. Let’s get this done.”
Mario licked her jaw and she cuddled him close. He kept his head tucked into her neck while they entered the precinct house.
Several uniformed cops congregated on the front steps of the building. If they had any interest in Ben and Willow, it didn’t show.
Inside, things were quiet, although the duty officer must just have come on because she looked fresh.
“Is Detective Archer in?” Ben asked.
“Surely is,” the woman said. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Willow Millet,” Willow said. “He’s expecting us.”
“He’s downstairs.”
Ben said, “We know the way,” although Willow didn’t.
He led her through a door and down some steps until they were beneath street level.
“How do you know how to get there?” Willow said.
“Gray said it was in the basement. How hard can it be?”
A corridor took them past mostly empty offices. They could see through mangled metal blinds that few people were at their desks yet.
They arrived at a door that announced Detective Archer, and Ben knocked.
Nat could be seen pacing around inside, and he hurried to open the door. Looking from Willow to Ben, he frowned, but kept whatever he was thinking to himself. “Come on in.” He looked at the coffee in their hands.
“Sheesh,” Willow said. “I should have brought you some.”
“I’ve already had some,” he said, but still he gave her cup a longing look. “Have a seat. Both of you. I don’t suppose Gray’s started talking about wanting to come back to the department, has he?”
Willow sat in a metal chair in front of Nat’s desk. She wouldn’t let herself smile at the pathetic hope in Nat’s question. It was no secret that Nat missed his old partner. “Not that I’ve heard,” she said. “He’s still writing articles—mostly local color. Plenty to write about. But Marley said he’s working on a book, too. Fiction, I think. Some sort of mystery. And they’re all secretive about it, but Gray has this big project on jazz singers—tied in with all the ones that went missing earlier this year. If I ask about it, all he’ll say is that he has ‘to be patient,’ whatever that means.”
“Yeah, he isn’t bored with all that yet,” Nat said. “Too bad. I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate Bucky Fist—he’s reliable—but he’s ambitious and he’ll move up. And I’ve had two of the best partners ever, Gray and Guy Gautreaux before him. The really good ones don’t come along often enough and then they don’t stay, dammit.”
“I expect Wazoo keeps you up to date on Guy,” Ben said. “They’re both in Toussaint. Guy’s a private eye now, isn’t he?”
Nat couldn’t have expected the remark, and he didn’t look happy. “They are and he is,” was all he said.
Willow knew Wazoo was Nat Archer’s girlfriend, who lived in Toussaint, not far from St. Martinville and was rumored to have “powers.” That’s what was said by people who were being kind. Oblique references to ritual and voodoo occasionally came up. Whatever, everyone knew Nat was crazy about her.
“Okay,” Nat said. “We’ve got quite a bit to go through, and you’re in the middle of it all, Willow.”
“She’s not in the middle of anything,” Ben said sharply. He was still standing. “Except by coincidence.”
“It was actually Willow I asked to see,” Nat said, mildly enough. “I’d like her to answer for herself.”
Willow was under no illusion that Nat’s mild manner wouldn’t turn downright nasty if Ben didn’t keep his mouth shut.
Ben said, “Sorry,” and Willow was relieved.
The office, with its scarred desk and grubby orange carpet, smelled of old nicotine, which must be from other people since Willow had never seen Nat smoke. A whiteboard—scribbled all over—just about covered one sick- green wall and she noted that Nat owned his own watercooler. Very little else in the office was worth noticing.
“Would you like to have a lawyer present?” Nat asked.
She swallowed. “Not unless it gets sticky.”
“And you want Ben with you?”
Willow only hesitated a moment. “Yes. This isn’t what you call an official interrogation, is it? No recordings or anything?”
“Not even a note, unless there’s something I really need to remember straight,” Nat said with a reassuring smile that only made Willow raise her guard higher.
A notepad sat on his desk, open to a pristine page and with a pen on top.
“New dog?” Nat said after a long, uncomfortable pause. “It’s a fancy breed I should know, isn’t it?”
“This is Mario,” Willow said and smiled. “He’s a mutt.” She had yet to try to figure out the ingredients in Mario, but she’d decided he was a small terrier mix.
“Cute,” Nat said. “What does Winnie think of it?”
Willow wasn’t foolish; she knew when she was being softened up. “She’s fine about Mario,” she said. “Tell me what happened on South Rampart Street last night. What did Chris say to you?”
Nat picked up a folder and opened it. Inside were papers and a stack of photographs. He gave her the photos. “Anyone you know?”
She looked at the first shot and winced.
“Sorry,” Nat said. “If they’re too much for you, say so.”
“I’m okay.” She was grateful Ben didn’t say anything. “It’s Surry Green,” she said, looking at the dead and discolored face revealed by a sheet pulled down beneath the chin. “She lived over the dance hall. What did she die of?”
“I’m waiting for the medical examiner’s report. Shouldn’t be long. Look at the others.”
Willow didn’t want to, but she put the first photo on the bottom of the pile and looked at the next one. This time the body was naked and someone had used arrows and notations around the edges.
“Oh, my God,” Willow said. “What am I… I’m not sure what I’m seeing.”
“A body with the skin stripping off,” Nat said dispassionately.
“How could that happen?” she whispered.
“Why does Willow have to look—”
“Don’t interfere, Ben,” Nat said. “I should have you leave anyway. We don’t know how it’s happening. Both bodies have tiny red marks on them. It’s fair to think whatever made them punctured the skin. Could be the skin started peeling away where the holes are.”
“This happened to Billy Baker, too?” Willow’s voice felt rusty. “Is it a disease?”
“Not that we know of.”
“A sort of Hannibal Lecter thingie, then?” Her heart pounded and she felt sick. “If Billy saw something like
