Barbara Holloway: Desperate Measures Part 12

For the next hour they discussed the names of the hospital committee members. Bailey said he had eliminated seven of the fifteen people, two women and two nuns, a priest, old Rudy Conroy, and Reggie Hersch. Barbara would have pointed out that the nuns were women, but Bailey had not stopped talking long enough.

"So, I have eight guys to follow up on," he said. "I have their public stuff in here." He patted a folder he had put on the table. "How deep do I go for the other stuff?"

"Hilde was fifty-three," Frank said, scanning the list of names. "I'd say start with those who are between fifty and sixty-five, see what surfaces."

Bailey nodded. "Okay. We lifted quite a few fingerprints from the Franz house, and someday we'll want to get some prints of anyone we begin to circle in on. But for now the question still is, how deep?"

"As deep as it takes," Barbara said. "We want him."

Herbert was a magician, Barbara decided that night. Mystified, she had watched him carry the grill off the porch into the yard, but when billows of smoke rose later, she understood; Frank grumbled that a fire engine would arrive any second. Herbert had bought a whole red snapper, which he said would have to do. He smeared a thick spicy paste on it and set it aside while he grilled zucchini, after marinating it in olive oil and garlic; he stuffed little red peppers with cheese, wrapped each one with a strip of bacon, and grilled them. Peas in a b.u.t.tery tarragon mint sauce, grilled little new potatoes...

They ate on the back porch while the two cats prowled from the table to the grill. And Herbert talked about New Orleans.

"Six, eight feet below sea level, some places more than that. One day a levee will breach, then another, and so long, Big Easy. Most of those old houses are being held together by termite dung; they won't take much wave action."

Frank's att.i.tude changed during the meal from nearly open hostility to at least neutral interest. "You from New Orleans?" he asked.

"Nope. Texas. I just pa.s.sed by that way a few years back, got a job in a restaurant and hung out watching what they did for a few days, then started cooking. Not much to it if you pay attention and know what you like. My motto: Never cook anything you don't like to eat." He patted his ample belly and grinned.

Barbara was too content to argue with him. It certainly was not that simple. She knew what she liked (nearly everything), had watched, read cookbooks, made every effort, and she could not do it. It was magic, nothing less.

Then, with coffee in place, the cats savaging what was left of the fish, they discussed the coming days.

"Bailey said he wanted someone for general security. He says the guy might try it at night, here probably. He thinks you're safe enough in the daytime with people around if you stay out of deadend alleys and abandoned warehouses. And while I'm here, I can paint the house. But you'll have to pay for the paint and hours I'm painting. Bailey's paying my going rate per day." He grinned again, a big toothy smile. "I don't mind cooking," he said. "On the road like I usually am, I don't do much real cooking."

"We'll take turns," Frank said. "This was a d.a.m.n fine dinner, and I can't compete as far as quality goes. But I'll give it a shot."

Barbara bit her cheek to keep a straight face. Alpha males fighting over who got to cook. "If you'll excuse me now, I'll walk over to my place, check mail, check in with Sh.e.l.ley, like that. I'll ask her for a ride home if it gets dark."

Then, walking, with cyclists whizzing by, children running, dogs on leashes pulling their slaves this way and that, couples with arms entwined, she thought of the twists and turns her case had taken. A bodyguard for her father! A newly discovered cousin. An old would-be date surfacing. A woman who died when she shouldn't have. A world-famous, yet anonymous, cartoonist. A client who would suicide rather than go to prison, whose privacy meant more to him than a possible murder trial. What it all added up to, she decided, was a mess.

The river was beautiful at this time of day, silver with a haze softening the banks, the trees on the other side, the occasional rock that made the water ripple and foam around it. The air was warm and still, fragrant down here; blackberries were still blooming, luminous in the shadows of the brambles. Two picture-book herons glided by, following the river.

Sometimes the victim really is to blame, she thought then. Gus Marchand should have home-schooled his children if he wanted to keep them insulated from the world. It had been cruel to send them out among the tempters and then deny them the opportunity to say yes or no, to grow with every decision, or dwindle. His children had not had the experience of choosing in order to make wise choices now; they had both become liars and cheats, sneaking behind their father's back to sample the forbidden fruits. Now he was dead, two women were dead, and someone who probably had never dreamed of such a thing had become a murderer.

A young couple had stopped on the side of the bike path and were locked in what appeared to be a to-the-death embrace. Two little boys stopped to watch, and a man, probably their father, was trying to herd them away soundlessly. Smiling, Barbara walked around them, and soon after that left the broad path for the narrow stone steps that led up to the Rose Garden.

The air in the garden was so heavy with perfume, it was almost overwhelming. Roses glowed on all sides, mammoth shrub roses, dainty tea roses, ramblers on trellises.... She walked through slowly; she could almost feel the perfume molecules settling in her hair, on her clothes. Many others were enjoying the display that evening, no one in a hurry. Then, across the street on the other side, her own apartment complex came into view, and Bill Spa.s.sero's convertible tore down the street, heading away from the complex. She waved, but he kept going, driving much too fast for a residential neighborhood.

As soon as she entered her second-floor apartment and turned on a light, her phone rang. Sh.e.l.ley was ready to report.

"I'm p.o.o.ped," she said as she came in a minute later. "I was afraid you'd come and gone again, that I'd missed you. I got the car, a Mazda, black, with tinted windows this short of being illegal." She held her finger and thumb almost together. "He loves it."

Barbara laughed and motioned toward the sofa. "Sit and take a breath. I saw Bill driving away. I suspected you hadn't been home long, and I just got here. Good timing all around."

"Oh, Bill," Sh.e.l.ley said with a frown. "He just takes everything for granted. He called, he said, and left a message on my machine that he'd come by and maybe we could have an eightish dinner. But I never heard the message. He simply a.s.sumed that I'd salute, and off we'd go. He waited for me and then he got p.i.s.sed because I hadn't heard his message and already had dinner, and I told him I had to work."

"I'm the bad guy again," Barbara said. "Okay. Now tell me about the car and Alex."

"Right. I called him, and then I made some calls and found what we were looking for, and I went to the dealer and d.i.c.kered. They really didn't want to lease it and let me drive away just like that. But I said I had to leave my Porsche on the lot and would it be okay, and I showed them papers and stuff, and they got as sweet as pie. So I drove out to Will Thaxton's place and picked up Alex. I made him stay outside and try to see me at the wheel, and of course he couldn't, so he was pretty pleased."

Breathlessly she described the rest of the day. Alex had driven to the coast and back; they had gone to West Brothers, where he had waited in the car while she went in for barbecued ribs, pesto-mashed potatoes, and salads, and then they had gone up the Mackenzie River and found a picnic spot.

"And then," she finished, "he drove me back to the dealer and I got my car and came home, and he headed back to Opal Creek. He's so funny, Barbara, and so smart! He's read everything and remembers it all. I kept feeling like a moron, but it was all right because he's so funny. And he doesn't know he's that smart."

Watching her, listening to her, Barbara thought, Oh, G.o.d, what have I done?

17.

That week Barbara put in many hours at the law library, and by Friday she felt overstuffed with gourmet food and overloaded with facts. When she checked in at the office Friday afternoon, there was a message from Will Thaxton. "Jazz and steaks on the patio around six?"

She walked out and across the street to use a pay phone to call him.

"I believe we need a conference with all the parties concerned," Will said.

"Right," she said. ''I'll shop for food. Can you give me a ride? I'll explain when I see you."

He said that would be fine. She gave him Frank's address.

Sh.e.l.ley met her when she returned. "Today I got a DUI, and he's guilty. I explained his options, and he's not happy. I don't care if they throw the book at him." She slumped down on the sofa.

"They probably will." Barbara looked at her watch. "G.o.d, after four already! Bailey's due any minute at the house. And I have to dinner shop."

"You? I thought they were feeding you royal jelly day after day."

"I'm going out to Will's place. Conference, and I don't know what about. Alex will be through with his computer stuff around six. We'll eat and talk."

"Can I come?" Sh.e.l.ley asked, straightening up. "I'll get the dinner makings."

"There will be five of us if you come," Barbara said hesitantly. Then she thought, Sh.e.l.ley was her colleague, Alex her client, and they would have to see each other often, one way or another. Besides, it was none of her business.

"That's okay," Sh.e.l.ley said. "I'll take care of dinner. Don't worry about it."

Barbara shrugged. "Deal." She knew she would not be able to bear it if it turned out that Sh.e.l.ley could cook.

Herbert was on a ladder at the side of the house when she drove up. He waved and called howdy; she waved back and went inside. Frank and Bailey were at the dinette table talking about the people on the committee list.

"Anything?" she asked, taking a chair.

Bailey shook his head. "Eliminating them one by one."

"While you're here, Bailey, let's get one thing straight," Barbara said then. "I have a date tonight with Will Thaxton. He's coming to pick me up around six, and I don't want a chaperone all evening." She looked at Frank. "Call off the dogs, Dad."

He shrugged, an innocent expression on his face, but then he grinned. "Okay. He's picking you up here, bringing you home again?"

"That's how dates work," she said.

"I guess she doesn't need a chaperone," he said to Bailey. "That might even get a mite embarra.s.sing." Then to Barbara he added, "You and Will are welcome to share dinner."

Yesterday Herbert had boned a duck, stuffed it with fruit and nuts, braised it in wine, then crisped it in a very hot oven. It had been heavenly. Today Frank would try to top it.

"You're going to kill each other with food," Barbara said. "Thanks, but I'm ready for a quick hamburger, a few fries."

"Herbert's working out okay?" Bailey asked.

"He's fine," Frank said. "Nothing wrong with Herbert once you get to know him."

In the car with Will driving, Barbara said, "At least he didn't tell you to have me home by ten."

"I think his tongue may be in shreds, though," Will said. "It must be twenty years since I've had a father look me over like that."

"A father can't be too careful," she said. "What's up?"

"I don't know. Graham called and said he has to see us. Alex's parents were on the phone with him, apparently, demanding to know what Alex has done. He was quoting Alex's mother."

"Oh boy," she said gloomily. "Sh.e.l.ley's getting dinner stuff; let's just go straight out to the house."

After several minutes of silence, she said, "Will, you know Alex. Does he still have violent episodes?"

"I think he swatted a fly a couple of years ago," he said.

"More. If they arrest him, can he keep his cool?"

"I don't know," he said after a moment. "I just don't know. He's terrified of going to prison, or even jail. You realize that one good hit in the head could be fatal for him? Or, worse as far as he's concerned, could cause a debilitating stroke. And he invites. .h.i.tting in the head; just the way he looks is an invitation."

Dr. Minick met them at the door; he looked worried and older than Barbara remembered.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Sh.e.l.ley is in the kitchen with Alex making lasagna. Before we join them, I want to tell you his mother is an idiot. She told the police officer that they wanted to put Alex in an inst.i.tution years ago but I talked them out of it. She's ready to a.s.sume the worst. And the detective went to the hospital with a subpoena for Alex's medical records. They didn't bother with me, but went straight to the source. The local police sent a detective all the way to New York. They're serious about nailing him for the murder, aren't they?"

Barbara shrugged. "They don't have anyone else convenient. How's Alex taking it?"

"We haven't had a chance to talk much. He was gone when the calls came, and by the time I got here, he was already planning what to do in his chat room. Now he's in the kitchen helping Sh.e.l.ley. I don't know what he's thinking."

They started to walk through the bright hallway toward the kitchen when Barbara came to a stop, realizing what he had said. Will had come to a stop at her side. "Can you make lasagna?" she asked him.

"Are you kidding? No way, no how."

"Thank G.o.d."

They went to the kitchen, where Alex and Sh.e.l.ley were at a counter. "She said to get everything ready and then just layer it all in," Sh.e.l.ley was saying.

"Hi, Alex," Barbara said. "Can we talk a few minutes?"

"After Sh.e.l.ley teaches me how to make lasagna," he said, without turning to look at her.

Will poured wine and put a gla.s.s in Barbara's hand. "Terrace," he said. "Cool shade, nice wine."

So Sh.e.l.ley hung out in the kitchen watching the cook in her parents' house, and after a time she just began cooking, Barbara thought, scowling. She followed Will and Dr. Minick to the terrace.

When they were seated, she asked Dr. Minick what she had asked Will in the car. Could Alex keep cool if they came to arrest him?

He regarded her for several moments. "He's a very complex young man," he said. "Can he remain cool and calm is one question, which I can answer without hesitation. Yes. He has remarkable self-control, and has needed it. Would he remain cool? That's much harder. He appears to be hermitlike, but he has more awareness of what's happening in the world than most. He reads many newspapers, magazines, books, surfs the Internet, lurks in chat rooms, watches political debates. He's aware. For years one of his recurring targets for cartoons has been the penal system, the corruption in many police departments, wrongful arrests, wrongful death sentences, faked evidence, police brutality. He knows what's going on and he targets it again and again. He has enormous contempt for the system, I'm afraid. At the same time, he is equally aware of his own physical vulnerability and the need to be discreet.

"In the past," he said, "he lost control when he was overwhelmed by events he could not handle. Fear and frustration drove him. That's no longer true, but if events become overwhelming again, how he will react is a difficult question." He spread his hands. "Impress upon him the need to be cooperative, not confrontational."

"And pray," she said softly when he stopped without answering her question.

He nodded. "And pray."

In the silence that followed, they could hear Sh.e.l.ley laughing.

Sh.e.l.ley blushed when they praised her lasagna. "I didn't really cook anything," she said. "It was already cooked. I just put it together, and Alex made the sauce. That's the only tricky part, the sauce."

Her vegetable layer was spinach, artichoke hearts thinly sliced, scallions, and chopped snow peas. And the seafood was lobster, crab, and shrimp. She had bought fresh pasta. Barbara decided she had to start hating Sh.e.l.ley.

To her surprise, Alex joined them on the terrace for dinner. Everyone was careful not to watch him eat. Then, as Dr. Minick and Will talked about global warming or something, her mind wandered, considering how people saw one another. First impressions, lasting impressions sometimes. Sh.e.l.ley was more often than not regarded as a cuddly doll, to be cherished and protected, and never taken seriously. And Alex. People saw a monster.

Essence and existence, she thought. Alex saw his mother as a vain, one-dimensional figure. And did he really see Sh.e.l.ley as the princess on the gla.s.s mountain? Earlier, listening to their laughter coming from the kitchen, and now watching them, how Sh.e.l.ley darted glances his way and blushed, and how he had positioned himself so that even partly turned away, he could see her, Barbara was very much afraid he was fastening spikes for his shoes in order to climb the gla.s.s mountain.

Then, with the table cleared and coffee poured, she said, "Now can we talk?"

"Now," Alex said.

"Okay. Since the police sent a detective to New York, we know they're getting serious. They simply don't have anything else, and any case they're building has to be strictly circ.u.mstantial. Have you ever been inside the Marchand house? Or on the porch?"

"Never."

"So they don't have fingerprints. No witnesses, nothing. What they will try to prove is a motive, and I can shoot that down. But the problem is that even with a flimsy circ.u.mstantial case, they can still arrest you and try you. And until they arrest you, my hands are tied. I don't know what they're basing anything on. I don't have access to any statements that others have made. With discovery I can find out, but not until then." She paused, then said, "Do you understand what I'm getting at?"

He nodded. "We can't duck until they swing."

"Exactly," she said. "By now they know your parents are affluent, people with resources, and that you can afford legal counsel, so I don't think they'll send in a SWAT team to arrest you. First, they'll want a formal statement. Then we'll d.i.c.ker about how to surrender you. And the question is, Alex, will you stay calm and collected regardless of what they say?"

"A calm monster? Isn't that a contradiction in terms?"

"A more highly evolved monster than the ones who will collar you," she said. "That's what I'm asking for. They will try to make you out to be a monster; I want you to demonstrate that you're a reasonable human being."

"I'll be good," he said.

"Okay. Next order of business. Bail. If they agree to bail, it will be high, a million dollars probably. Can you raise ten percent of that much?"