Crescent City Connection (33 page)

“If she’d followed us, we’d never have gotten as far as we did. The woman’s a detective—she did what we did; looked up Isaac’s last employer.”

His father stood up. “Detective, my fucking foot. Son of a motherfucking bitching bastard. That woman’s the spawn of the demon Lilith and the clove-footed beast from below.” He was spitting. “’Therefore says the Lord God … behold, I am against you; and I will execute judgments against you in the sight of the nations. And because of all your abominations I will do with you what I have never yet done and the like of which I will never do again…. You shall be a reproach and a taunt, a warning and a horror, when I execute judgments on you in anger and fury, and with furious chastisements—I, the Lord God, have spoken.’”

His voice dropped, and it was low and terrible. “God will be the instrument of her destruction and he will work through me and he will work now! Not soon. Not when all my petty plans are laid. He will work immediately! The female beast from the darkest corner of hell must be destroyed before we can proceed with our master plan—before justice can be done for the people of these great United States. She stands in our way and she must be removed.”

Even to Daniel, he sounded nuts. All he could think was,
Thank God he’s mad at her instead of me.

It could so easily have gone the other way.

“We’ve got to escalate this Shavonne thing. Forget that fucking Dorise; forget all that finesse and careful planning. God doesn’t have time for that. God wants to act now.

“Go get Shavonne. Go get her right now. Don’t even change your clothes. Just go get her.”

“Uh… Daddy… I don’t actually think I know a Shavonne.”

His father seized the heaviest thing at hand—the stapler on his desk—and threw it at him. It caught Daniel square in the forehead, in the spot damn-fool kids like his daughter called “the third eye.” The kind of pain it caused was something like a cut and something like a heavy blow and, oddly, something like a tickle, yet the way a tickle would be if it were the worst pain in the world.

Daniel staggered backward, automatically throwing a hand up to his forehead. It came away wet and red. Blood filled his eyes. He hit a table leg and staggered. His father gave no sign that he noticed. Instead, he picked up his phone and said, “Get Dashan Jericho over here,” in a voice so thick with menace. Daniel feared for Dashan.

His father looked at him again and for the first time seemed to notice the blood. He said, “Son, let me get you something for that.” He walked out of the room and came back with a towel. It was the first time in memory Daniel had known him to get something for himself, much less for someone else. “We’ve got to get you better,” he said. With one hand he handed the towel to Daniel, with the other he guided him into a chair. Daniel sat there applying pressure to his wound, feeling befogged and slightly nauseous, until Dashan arrived.

Dashan began his greeting, which would have been, “Hey, Daddy,” Daniel thought, but he got no farther than the first “D.”

“Dashan, where’s that little girl go to school?”

“Shavonne?”

“Of course, Shavonne. Look alive, son. Who’ve you been working on? You
have
been working, haven’t you, Dashan?”

“Of course, Daddy. Dorise and I are thick as thieves.”

“Well, I don’t give a shit about Dorise. Your assignment was to get as close as you could to Shavonne. Now, where’s she go to school?”

“McDonogh Number Forty-three, Daddy. Her teacher is Mrs. Pearl Rivers, and the principal is Felix Pitre.”

“Fine. Now you two boys go over there and hold it up at gunpoint. Get that kid and bring her here. You get followed and the Lord will take his vengeance.”

“Daddy, there’s no need for that. I’ve been doing my work. Shavonne’ll leave with me. She loves me.”

Daniel’s dad screamed. “Did you hear me, you jackass? Did I say use guns or didn’t I? What did I tell you?”

“Yessir. You said use guns, Daddy. And that’s what we’re going to do.”

“And I mean use guns. See that at least one shot is fired, you hear me? And nobody gets hurt and nobody gets followed.”

“Yessir.”

Daddy nodded. “Good. The Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.”

This last was so incongruous Daniel almost wondered if his dad was drunk.

“Let’s go, Dashan.”

“What happened, brother?” Meaning his wound.

Daniel winced, knowing it would set Daddy off again. His father was around his desk before either of the others saw him move. “I’m going to kick both your butts.” He raised his foot and kicked Dashan into the wall. “Get up, boy,” he said to Daniel. “Now turn around.”

In the car, on the way over to the school, Dashan said, “Man, you must have done something really bad. He’s so mad at you it’s getting on me.”

“Well, my man, usually he is. But this time it’s not me he’s mad at. It’s somebody else.”

“He sure is mad.”

“Yeah. So we better not fuck up—what you know about burglary?”

Dashan said, “Are you kidding? I’m a computer nerd.”

“Okay. Let me think about this.”

They drove around until they had a plan, though in the end it was all Daniel’s plan. Daniel had spent his life studying survival; Dashan had spent his bent over books. He could drive, Daniel thought.

The first thing—to buy some time—was to cut the phone lines. That should be easy, as most public buildings have phone boxes outside. They went to buy supplies: wire cutters, coveralls, a couple of new caps. They already had plenty of guns.

Daniel left Dashan in the car, sweat running down his cheeks.
He’s not going to last, Daniel thought. I just hope he gets through this one.

In his coveralls, cap, and shades—this time the reflecting kind—Daniel found the phone box and cut the wires. Then, toolbox in hand, he went to the principal’s office and asked for Shavonne Bourgeois’s room number.

The secretary was a black woman of about thirty, with straightened hair and about sixty extra pounds. She had a round, pretty face and wore no makeup. She was chewing gum.

She said, “If you need to leave something for her, I’ll see that it gets there.”

Daniel might have argued with her, might even have tried to sweet-talk her, but there was no time for that. He said, “Take me to her, darlin’.”

The woman looked puzzled, as if she couldn’t believe someone would talk to her like that.

He said, “Her dad’s been in an accident. He’s not expected to live.”

“My God! Stay here and I’ll get her.”

“I’m going with you.”

The woman stood up and walked around the counter. She was nearly at the door when she seemed to remember her job.

She turned to him. “Sir, I really need authorization from the child’s parents. I’m sorry, but I—”

“Her mother’s at the hospital.” He looked over her shoulder at three curious faces, two black, one white, all female. “Look, could we talk in the hall?”

The woman shrugged shoulders that looked massive—though not unattractive—under dark green fabric. She crossed the threshold and almost the second she did, Daniel put the gun to her head.

“Let’s go.”

Fortunately, it wasn’t far. The woman wet her pants almost instantly and hyperventilated the entire way. He didn’t know how long he had before she passed out.

He shoved her into the room. “Get the teacher out here.”

But the teacher didn’t have to be asked. She took one look at the secretary and without even a word to the kids, click-clicked to the door of the room. “What is it?” she hissed.

Daniel showed her his gun. “Shavonne Bourgeois. Now.”

“I’m sorry, but I really can’t—”

He shoved the gun in the secretary’s temple so hard she jumped. “You can, or I’ll kill her.”

Without flinching, the teacher turned around; an extremely cool customer, also black, a lot older than the secretary. “Shavonne, can I see you a minute?”

As soon as the girl was close enough, Daniel grabbed her. The teacher made a noise like someone who’s been hit, and literally grabbed for Shavonne. Took her around the waist and pulled. Daniel had her arm. Shavonne, suddenly the object of a tug of war that might result in mayhem, screamed, “Mama. Mama, Mama!”

Daniel hit the teacher with the gun, its butt to her temple. The sound was ugly, even to him.

The secretary, seizing the distraction, started running down the hall, screaming, “Help! Help! Kidnapping! Help!”

Daniel fired a shot, and she fell down. He didn’t think he’d hit her—hadn’t even aimed for her—but she lay still.

Room doors were cracked and timid heads peeked out. However, one man, a large black dude Daniel thought might have been a coach, flung open his door and lunged.

Daniel didn’t have so much as a split second to make a decision. He simply fired, more or less a reflex.

The bell rang, signifying school was out for the day.

Only later did Daniel remember that Daddy said no one gets hurt. It occurred to him to throw himself from the speeding car.

CAPPELLO GOT THE call while Skip was questioning Lovelace. The girl was still screaming when the sergeant came in. Skip knew from Cappello’s face the worst had happened.
What can be worse?
she thought.
I killed a man today
.

Another man.

Cappello took care of the girl first. “Calm down, Lovelace. Take a deep breath.”

Skip said, “What is it?”

Cappello said, “Let’s get her squared away.” She turned to Lovelace. “You okay, darlin’?”

Lovelace shut up quickly. Nodded, looking terrified. “Is it my uncle?”

“No, baby, it’s not your uncle. Langdon, you through here?”

“Yes.”

“Lovelace, we’re going to have to put you in protective custody for a while. Stay here a minute more. I’ll send someone for you as soon as I can.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just left the interrogation room, Skip following.

“What is it?”

“Someone’s kidnapped a little girl at school, just as the kids were getting out for the day. The FBI’s over there—they want you right away.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid it’s a kid you know. Shavonne Bourgeois.”

“Oh, shit! It’s Jacomine. Oh, shit—Shavonne. I never thought of that—I thought Sheila or Kenny. I never thought Shavonne. Oh, God, the man’s evil. I swear to God he’s the devil. Always one step ahead, no matter how I think I’m in control.”

“Hey, hey. Take it easy.”

The tirade had been involuntary. She expected Cappello to tell her how paranoid she was, possibly even to take her off the case. The sergeant said, “You want to sit down?”

“I’m okay, goddammit. I’m just mad.”
And scared half out of my mind
.

“We need to talk about this. Let’s go in my office.” Cappello would probably send her to Cindy Lou this time—a definitive vote of no confidence. It would end up in an administrative reassignment, and she needed to be on the case. She could have bitten her tongue off.

Still, there was nothing to do but follow the sergeant like a puppy-dog.

Cappello made her sit, though Skip was far too antsy to pull it off with any grace. She wanted to stand; she wanted to pace. She wanted to chew nails and pound walls.

Cappello said, “You think Jacomine kidnapped Shavonne to get to you somehow.” She sounded like a shrink, humoring the patient.

“I know it sounds crazy, but he is crazy. I’m telling you, Sylvia….”

“The FBI agrees with you.”

“What?” Skip hoped her mouth wasn’t hanging open. She said, “Shellmire.”

Cappello nodded. “Shellmire knows all about you and Delavon. He knew exactly who Shavonne was, and apparently the feds huddled and came up with the same theory you have.”

“Do they have any evidence?”

“None.” But she hesitated.

“What?”

“Well, I guess the whole terrorist thing got to them. And, frankly, maybe the fact that it was a white guy”

“I don’t get it”

She shrugged. “Obviously it wasn’t the kid’s father. He cut the phone lines and marched right in wearing coveralls and those insect glasses—scary as hell. And he shot someone for no reason.”

“Dead?”

“Not so far.”

Skip sighed. “If there’s a Jacomine M.O., that’s more or less it—terrorist tactics, senseless violence.”

“Listen. How’re you holding up?” It was the same question Cappello had asked before, when Danny LaSalle had shot Herbert. It meant “Are you going to make it or are you going to fall apart after shooting that man today?”

“I’m fine.” It was more or less true. She wasn’t fine, but she wasn’t falling apart either—at least not yet. She was running on adrenaline. “What about Public Integrity?”

That was the department’s name for Internal Affairs, the cops who policed cops. She had been scheduled to report immediately after talking to Lovelace—standard procedure when an officer fired a shot.

“Later. The chief wants you out at the school. You’re the only officer familiar with the case—and you may end up at the center of it. The whole goddamn city’s exploding, and he doesn’t want to look like an idiot.”

“Too little too late.”

She could have sworn the sergeant suppressed a smile. “Go. Abasolo’s waiting for you.”

Great. She finally had help.

It was bedlam at the school. The streets were clogged with parents and school buses trying to get the kids home. Emergency vehicles were everywhere, though there had been only three injuries—the shooting and bruises resulting from a fall and a gun butt to the head.

Feds and policemen swarmed, streaked with sweat and looking disoriented. There was an odd sense of panic in the air.

An army of press was there. As soon as she and Abasolo emerged from their car, a familiar figure started toward them.

“Shit. Jane Storey.” A former print reporter who’d been trying to nail Jacomine almost as long as Skip had. They’d pooled information once, and she’d had more than Skip. Skip owed her. And now she worked in television, which made her about ninety times as visible.

Abasolo said, “Let’s just duck her.”

“Right.”

Jane waved. “Hey, Skip.”

“Hey, Jane. Sorry. Can’t talk now.”

“I’ve got something for you.”