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"You were there," he whispered, setting off a stabbing pain in his face. What little lidocaine the doctor had bothered to use was wearing off. The packing in his nose forced him to breathe through his mouth, and only added to the feeling that his head was twice its normal size. His sinuses were draining down the back of his throat, half choking him.
"I need to know what happened before I got there," she said. "What precipitated the fight?"
"Attack."
"You're saying Detective Fourcade simply attacked you? No words were exchanged?"
"I came out… of the building," he said haltingly. Tape bound his cracked ribs so tightly he wasn't able to take in more than a teaspoon of air at a time. "He was there. Angry… about the ruling. Said it wasn't over. Hit me. Again… and again."
"You didn't say anything to him?"
"He wants me dead."
She glanced up at him from her notebook. "He's hardly the only one, Mr. Renard."
"Not you," Marcus said. "You… saved me."
"I was doing my job."
"And Fourcade?"
"I don't speak for Detective Fourcade."
"He tried… to kill me."
"Did he state that he meant to kill you?"
"Look at me."
"It's not my place to draw conclusions, Mr. Renard."
"But you did," he insisted. "I heard you say, 'You're killing him.' You saved me. Thank you."
"I don't want your thanks," A
"I didn't… kill Pam. I loved her… like a friend."
"Friends don't stalk other friends."
Marcus lifted a finger to admonish her. "Conclusion…"
"That's not my case. I'm free to review the facts and come to any conclusion I like. Did you provoke Detective Fourcade in any way?"
"No. He was irrational… and drunk."
He tried to moisten his lips, his tongue butting into the jagged edges of several chipped teeth and a blank space where a tooth had been. He shifted his gaze to a plastic water pitcher on his right.
"Could you please… pour me a drink… A
"Deputy Broussard," A
She set her notebook on the bedside stand, poured half a glass of water, and handed it to him. The knuckles of his right hand were ski
He tried to sip at the water, avoiding the mended split in his lip by pressing the glass against the left corner of his mouth. A stream dribbled down his chin onto his hospital gown. He should have had a straw, but the nurses hadn't left him one. A
"Thank you, again… Deputy," he said, attempting a smile that made him look more ghoulish. "You're very kind."
"Do you want to press charges?" A
He made a choking sound that might have been a laugh. "He tried to kill me. Yes… I want to press charges. He should be… in prison. You'll help me put him there… Deputy. You're my witness."
The pen stilled in A
He tried to shake his head. "You don't… want me dead… A
"I already wish I hadn't."
"You don't… look for revenge. You look… for justice… for truth. I'm not… a bad man… A
"I'll feel better if a court decides that," she said, closing her notebook. "Someone from the department will get back to you."
Marcus watched her walk away, then closed his eyes and conjured up her face in his mind's eye. Pretty, rectangular, a hint of a cleft in the chin, skin the color of fresh cream and new Georgia peaches. She believed in the good in people. She liked to help. He imagined her voice-soft, a little husky. He thought of what she might have said to him if she hadn't come in her capacity as deputy. Words of sympathy and comfort, meant to soothe his pain.
A
6
The rain fell steadily, reducing the reach of the headlights, making the night close in like a tu
She hated working the late shift. But then, she hated being home at night, too. She had been raised to fear basically everything about the night: the dark, the sounds in the dark, the things that might lurk in the dark. She wished she had a roommate, but the last one had stolen her best jewelry and her television and run off with some no-account biker, and so she was living alone.
Headlights came up behind her, and Je
Just imagining the terror that woman must have felt was enough to give Je
The car swept up alongside her and her panic doubled. Then the car sailed on past, taillights glowing in the gloom. Relief ran through her like water. She hit the blinker and turned in at the trailer park.
She had her key in her hand as she went up the steps to the front door, the way she'd read in Glamour. Have the key ready to unlock the door quickly or to be used as a weapon if an attacker jumped up from the honeysuckle bush that struggled to live beside her stoop.
A lamp burned in the living room to give the impression someone was home all evening. After locking the door behind her, Je
With the knowledge of safety, the tension began to subside, letting fatigue settle in. Too many nights with too little sleep, the hassle with her supervisor over the length of her coffee breaks, the past-due balance on her phone bill-each worry weighed down on her. Depressed, she brushed her teeth, took off her jeans, and climbed into bed in the T-shirt she'd worn all day. i'm with stupid, it read, and an arrow pointed to the empty space in the bed beside her. She was with no one. Until 1:57 a.m.
Je
But even through the blur she could see her attacker. His image was illuminated by the green glow of the alarm clock and by the light that seeped in around the edges of the cheap miniblinds. He seemed huge as he loomed over her, the vision of doom. Terrified, she fixed on his face-a face half hidden by a feathered Mardi Gras mask.