ABSOLUTION (A Frank Renzi novel) (38 page)

After the music faded to a spatter of applause, Dana said, “Is Tim your only suspect?”

“
At the moment, yes. Why?”

“
He reminded me of my brother. He even looked like Josh, dark hair, dark eyes. Josh killed my father.”

He stared at her, dumbstruck.

“
Not directly, but dealing with Josh took its toll. He was the problem child. I was the kid sister, the good daughter. Dad died of a stroke when I was twenty.” A tear rolled down her face, and she wiped it away.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her and comfort her. Had she come here to tell him about Tim, he wondered, or her brother?
Cui bono?

He took her arm and led her into the park and sat her down on a bench.

“
Tell me about Josh.”

“
He stole a car when he was fifteen, but my father hired a good lawyer and he got off with probation. Josh always walked on the wild side.” She twisted her ponytail and mustered a smile more wistful than happy. “But he loved playing jazz on his trumpet, and he was good. Good enough to get a scholarship from Berklee College of Music.”

“
Great place to study jazz.” He’d considered going there himself, until he went to some concerts there and figured out there were a million jazz trumpeters, most of them better than he was.

“
Then Josh robbed a Store-24. The cops nailed him and tied him to a string of robberies. My parents weren’t rich, but we were comfortable. Josh didn’t need to steal.” She worked at her ponytail with her fingers, separating strands of sable-brown hair. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear this.”

He wanted to take her to the hotel and lie down with her, skin-to-skin, and make her pain go away. He settled for holding her hand.

“
Yes, I do,” he said. “What happened?”

A young couple walked by and stopped ten yards away to admire the statue of Andrew Jackson on his horse, silhouetted against the blue-black sky.

Oblivious to them, Dana said, “Josh spent five years in prison. After he got out he hung around Boston, played some of the small clubs to get his chops back.” Her lips curled at the corners, not quite a smile. “See? I know the lingo. You played trumpet in a jazz band, right?”

“
Right. What happened to Josh?”

“
He moved to New Orleans the year I entered med school. One night I got a call from Charity Hospital. The EMTs found my phone number in his wallet. He’d been selling guns on the street. A deal went bad and someone stabbed him.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, looking tough and vulnerable at the same time. Frank ached for her.

“
Where’s Josh now?” he asked, fearing the worst.

“
He died seven years ago. Another prisoner shanked him.”

“
That’s a shame, Dana, but you did what you could.”
And Josh didn’t go to jail for killing someone. He didn’t torture and kill women like Tim Krauthammer.

She pulled her hand away and stretched her arms over her head. “Listen to me, bearing my soul, as if you were my shrink.”

“
Being a good listener is part of my gig.” And his gig wasn’t done. He still had to watch the Cockpit security videos to see if Lisa was on them.

“
Want to know the real reason I came to New Orleans?”

“
Yes,” he said, gazing into her eyes, all other issues forgotten.

“
I wanted to see if I could have a good time here for once.”

What about when you were here with your husband?

“
Come on,” he said. “You need a glass of wine.”

_____

The Wal-Mart Superstore was open 24-7 to serve the community’s needs, but not their craving for guns as it turned out. The sinner strode into the store, head down, avoiding other shoppers. At a book rack he stopped to select a copy of the Holy Bible and continued to the sporting goods section in the back of the store. An older man behind the counter told him Wal-Mart no longer sold handguns, but, like a good Wal-Mart worker, he added, “Try Academy Sports. They sell all kinds of guns.”

He paid for the Bible and drove to Academy Sports, where a young man with greasy hair and an eager smile was thrilled at the prospect of selling him a Glock 9 millimeter, demonstrating how to cock it, how to check the action, how to insert the ammunition clip. Brushing greasy hair away from his face, the clerk told him the magazine held eight bullets.

He couldn’t imagine using more than one or two.

“
I’ll take it,” he said.

The clerk checked his driver’s license to make sure he was a Louisiana resident and told him to fill out a form for a background check.

“
It’s just routine, sir. I call NCIC and they check to see if you’ve got a criminal record, that sort of thing.”

No problem there. Timothy Krauthammer had no criminal record.

He filled out the form, and the clerk took it into a back room. Five minutes later he came back smiling. “You’re all set, sir.”

He paid cash for everything, went out to the parking lot and got in his car, his mission half-accomplished. At his five o’clock press briefing, Special Agent Norris had urged Archbishop Quinn to make every priest in the diocese submit a DNA sample to the serial killer taskforce. He doubted the Archbishop would do this, but if Detective Frank Renzi gathered enough circumstantial evidence, Renzi might get some sort of legal order to compel him to give them a DNA sample.

Murderous thoughts rampaged through his mind. That’s why Renzi was hounding him, coercing him into another interview. If Renzi kept digging, he might unearth certain facts best left undiscovered. Daily and Renzi were in cahoots. Charlie Malone had as much as told him so.

Rage burned inside him like a furious beast. Oddly, this made him feel good. The gun made him feel even better, strong and powerful. He touched the shopping bag with the Glock-9 and the 8-round clip and the box of ammunition. Owning a gun put the power of life and death in your hand.

Guns were proof of your manliness.

That’s what Father thought. Seated in front of a blazing fire, drinking martinis after he’d been out hunting in the woods, Father loved bragging to Nanny about how many rabbits he’d shot with his trusty Winchester 22.

Father didn’t know about the squirrels.

He started the car and drove out of the parking lot. If he told Father how many squirrels’ tails he’d hacked off, would Father think he was manly?

If he told Father about firebombing Rona Jefferson’s house, would Father admire his spunk? What would Father think if he knew about his Absolutions? And his current plans. Would Father be proud?

No, Father would turn him in to the cops.

_____

“
How come you still wear the ring?” Frank asked.

Dana batted her eyelashes and drawled, “Why, to keep the mashers away when I go to jazz clubs by myself, of course.”

They were sitting on a bench on the patio outside Jax Brewery. The joint was jumping, customers two deep at the bar, not an empty table in sight, so Frank had put his name on the waiting list for a table.

“
You go by yourself?” he said.

“
Why sit home just because I don’t have a date?”

“
Why, indeed?” A feisty woman. He liked that. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face, emotions running the gamut from heartbreak to joy plain for all to see. He knew something was going to happen between them, not tonight maybe, but soon. Another risky move. If Krauthammer was the Tongue Killer, Dr. Dana Swenson might be called to testify at the trial.

“
It took us ten years to figure out we weren’t that compatible,” she said. “Bob’s a trial attorney and I was busy with my practice. But we’re still friends.” She gave him one of her whimsical smiles. “Okay, your turn.”

“
Evelyn and I weren’t that compatible, either, and it didn’t take me ten years to figure it out. But by then we had a kid.”

Off in the distance a tugboat on the river sounded a mournful toot.

“
One day I met Janine and sparks went off. Lots of married people pretend to be happy when they’re not, find happiness where they can. We were happy for ten years, happier than a lot of married couples I know. The end was painful, one of the most painful things in my life.”

“
You loved her.”

He rubbed the scar on his chin, remembering. “Yeah, I loved her.”

Dana took out a pack of Dorals and offered it to him.

“
You smoke?” he said, surprised.

“
Only during emergencies.”

He waved his hand. “No thanks, I quit years ago.”

“
You must have cared for each other a lot for it to last ten years.”

“
We did.”

“
But you’re a man that likes to take risks.”

He grinned at her. “You trying to shrink-wrap me, lady?”

She gave him a mock-frown. “This is not a professional consultation, sir. I’m just trying to understand this very attractive man sitting beside me.”

He laughed. “Well, since you put it that way, sure, the risk was part of it, but when you’re not married, you don’t take your partner for granted.”

“
None of the humdrum details of life get in the way.”

“
Maybe,” he said, annoyed at the flip remark.

“
And breaking your wedding vows must have created a certain conflict for you, given your profession.”

He gave her a hard stare. “Did you ever lie to a patient?”

She looked at him and the look in her eyes told him she had.

“
Right. Sometimes you do what you gotta do. Being unfaithful to Evelyn bothered me, but being a cop had nothing to do with it. We all make choices and we suffer the consequences.”

“
Frank, you don’t have to explain—”

“
No, listen. This is important. I don’t live my life according to someone else’s idea of the rules. It’s a matter of personal integrity. I know what’s right and what isn’t. I would have preferred to be happy with Evelyn. That’s what I expected when I married her, but it didn’t turn out like that.”

“
And she never suspected that you were seeing another woman?”

“
I think she knew, but she tolerated it. Maureen meant everything to me, and Evelyn knew it. Then I ran into a problem at work and got in a funk. First time in my life I had no interest in sex. By then I was involved with Gina. One night we went out for dinner and one of Evelyn’s friends saw us.”

“
Uh-oh.”

“
Uh-oh doesn’t begin to describe it.”

A loudspeaker on the side of the building crackled and a voice said, “Frank, party of two, your table is ready.”

_____

Aurora crept down the staircase and padded down the hall in her bare feet to Sean’s office. An hour ago he had left their bed and gone downstairs. When she entered the office Sean looked up, his face pale and drawn.

“
Sean, what’s wrong? Don’t you feel well?”

“
Too many things on my mind.” He attempted a smile.

“
I wish they’d catch this killer. On the news tonight Agent Norris said that woman witness might be right. Maybe the killer is a priest.”

Sean rose and came around the desk and kissed her cheek. “Did you send that sketch to Rona Jefferson? The one with the Roman collar?”

She fiddled with the zipper on her robe, avoiding his eyes. “Sean, you think this Father Krauthammer is the killer, I know you do. What kind of priest is he? Making threats.”

Sean caressed her face, gazing at her with love in his eyes.

“
He’s nothing like you, Sean. He’s a bad priest. You might not be a priest, but you do God’s work. You comfort the sick and the dying.”

He embraced her and held her close. “You sent it, didn’t you.”

She gripped him fiercely. “Yes, I did, Sean, and I’d do it again. I only wish I’d put his name on it. That man is evil.”

_____

“
After your wife’s friend saw you with Gina,” Dana said, toying with her wine glass, “she told Evelyn, right?”

He slugged down some Merlot and stared out the window beside their second-floor table overlooking the river. “Yes, which meant Evelyn had to do something or lose face. She filed for divorce on grounds of adultery, and Maureen was old enough to know what that meant.”

“
That must have hurt a lot.”

“
Yeah. We’re still getting past it.”

They sat in silence, staring at the lights on the opposite shore.

At last Dana said, “What made you want to be a cop?”

“
That’s easy,” he said, grateful for a new topic. “I believe in justice, like my father. He’s an appellate court judge now, but he started out as a prosecutor. He expected me to go to law school, but I wasn’t interested. Lawyers write briefs and argue cases in court. Cops are out on the street helping people. I always wanted to be a detective. It took me six years to get the gold shield. Cops protect people. We put the bad guys away.”

She nodded, looking thoughtful, but he didn’t think she understood what he meant. She was Father Tim’s therapist. Dr. Dana Swenson knew about the sexual abuse and the indifferent father and the wicked stepmother. If Tim was the killer, a good defense lawyer might use her testimony to get him off on diminished capacity. Not if he could help it.