all night now, and monitored the video cameras installed below the waterline twenty-four hours a day.
There was a man out there somewhere who clearly wanted to kill him. Little did that man know his target was already dead.
Her room was just the way she’d left it, hats, blouses, scarves, bathing suits, straw hats, all strewn about the bed. He sat down amongst these things, not quite sure why he’d come here. Unable to stop himself, he picked up her pillow and pressed it to his face. The scent of her perfume, of course, still lingered there.
God.
Then, through eyes blurred with tears, he saw the address book on her nightstand and remembered why he had come here. He opened the book to S and didn’t find what he was looking for. He turned to D and there it was.
Daddy. And a 225 area code. Louisiana.
Even the sight of her handwriting in the address book was unbearable. When he thumbed through its pages, a small envelope fell out. It had his name on it. It wasn’t sealed.
Inside were two tiny photographs. The ones that had been inside his mother’s locket. Then he remembered. She’d vowed to wear the locket always. She must have removed the pictures that morning, not wanting to harm them, realizing they’d be going for a swim on the island.
He remembered the golden locket hanging from her neck, suspended between their bodies, swinging to and fro in the rhythms they were creating, the two of them there on the sand beside the ripples of pale blue waters that lapped the sand. And the swift dark blue waters farther out.
He uttered the one oath he’d always considered himself too much of a gentleman to say and reached for the receiver. He began punching in the number he’d found in the book. He lost track of the number of times the phone rang before anyone picked it up.
“Hello?” a sleepy Southern voice finally said.
“Is this Seven Oaks plantation? LaRoche, Louisiana?” he asked.
“Yes, suh, shore is.”
“This is Alexander Hawke calling. I’d like to speak to Senator Harley Sweet, please.”
“Might be asleep out on the porch, suh. Too hot to sleep indoors, but the senator, he’s not a believer in air- conditioning.”
“I’m sorry to disturb him, but would you please tell him it’s extremely important?”
“Well, if you say so, suh, I surely will do that. Will you hold the phone? I’ll go see if I can rouse him up.”
Alex waited, rubbing his eyes, staring at the framed picture of Vicky and him on her nightstand. They had their arms around each other, standing beside the Serpentine in Hyde Park. When the deep voice suddenly came on the line, it startled him.
“This is Harley Sweet.”
“Senator, we’ve never met. This is Alexander Hawke calling.”
“Alex Hawke! Well, it’s mighty fine to finally hear your voice, son. I’ve been hearing an awful lot about you from my little girl.”
“That’s why I’m calling, Senator. I’m afraid I have some horrible news. There’s been an accident.”
“What do you mean? Is Vicky hurt?”
“Senator, I’m afraid Vicky has been lost.”
There was a long silence, and Alex just held the phone to his ear, numb, staring at her face in the picture.
“Lost? You mean dead? Tell me exactly what happened, Mr. Hawke.”
“We, uh, we went for a picnic this afternoon on a small island. Just Vicky and I.”
“Vicky is my only child, sir.”
“I know that, Senator. I must tell you that I’d far rather be dead myself than giving you this news.”
“Go on, son. Tell me about it.”
“We had a small lunch. After we’d eaten, we both fell asleep on the beach. When I awoke, I didn’t see her. I thought perhaps she’d gone off exploring the island. I didn’t see her swimming, so I looked up and down the beach. I—”
“Please continue, Mr. Hawke. I’m sure this is difficult for you.”
“Sorry, sir. I heard a faint cry coming from the sea. There is a deep channel a few hundred yards offshore. It runs between the island where we’d gone and another island about a mile away.”
“Yes?”
“I could see her. It was Victoria. She was almost two thirds of the way to the other island. I could see that the, uh, current had her. The riptide.”
“What did you do, Mr. Hawke?”
“I swam for her, of course. I tried to keep her in sight. It’s a riptide that runs to the open sea. It was moving very swiftly.”
“You were unable to reach her?”
“I’m a good swimmer. I swam as hard as I could. She was calling to me, saying no, telling me to go back, I think. She might have realized it was useless at that point. I—”
“You gave up.”
“No, sir, I did not. I swam out into the rip. When I looked up, I realized that for every ten yards I was gaining, the tide was opening the gap between us by thirty or forty yards, maybe more.”
“You lost sight of her?”
“I saw her go under. I swam for her. She came up once more and called out something, but by then she was too far away.”
“And then?”
“I watched her go under. She never came back up.”
“My baby is gone?”
“I had Bahamas Air-Sea Rescue and my own men on the scene within fifteen minutes. We continued the search for eight hours without any—without any sign of her, sir.”
“I understand.”
“I’ve ordered the search to resume at first light, Senator. I’m going back out in my own plane as well.”
“I’m certain you’re doing all you can, Mr. Hawke. I appreciate your efforts on my daughter’s behalf. If you’ll excuse me now, I’m going to hang up the phone.”
“Senator, I cannot possibly tell you how grievously sorry I am. This is all my fault.”
“Vicky was a very powerful swimmer, Mr. Hawke. All-American at Tulane. She swam all the way across Lake Pontchartrain when she was thirteen years old. She knew what she was doing. The idea that a current might be too strong would never occur to her.”
“But I should have—”
“My daughter would not have wanted you or anyone else to die needlessly. If there’d been a prayer of you reaching her, I’m sure you…”
“I couldn’t, sir. I couldn’t.”
“Son, listen to me. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting you, but if my daughter cared for you, you must be a good man. Vicky grew up in this old tumbledown place. It was just the two of us. Her momma died in childbirth.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“That was a long time ago. There’s a big live oak out at the end of our drive. Sits on top of the levee and you can see clear to the other side of the Mississippi from the topmost branches.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Victoria loved that old tree. Called it the Trinity Oak because it had three big old branches. She’d spend all day up on the highest branch, reading her books, writing her poetry. It’s where she felt closest to God.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m not a religious man, Mr. Hawke. But my daughter was. So, I want you to find my little girl. I want to lay her down to rest in her sacred place, that little churchyard that is in the shade of old Trinity.”
“I’ll do everything I can to find her, sir,” Hawke said.
“I believe you will. Goodbye, Mr. Hawke. And don’t drink any more damn whiskey. I find too much of it only
