A Thin Dark Line

"But then," Renard murmured, staring down into his tea, "maybe that was just an excuse. I think she was seeing someone for a short time."

"Why would you think that?"

He couldn't answer her. The only way he would know was if he had watched her, followed her. He wouldn't admit to that, couldn't admit to it. The stalking was the basis for the whole case against him. If he admitted to stalking Pam Bichon, and if in that admission he revealed he had seen her with another man, that only added to his motive to kill her. Jealousy. She had spurned him for another.

A

Renard rose, too, and limped along beside her as she moved toward the door. "There is more than one kind of obsession," he said. "Fourcade is obsessed with this case. He planted that ring. He's done that kind of thing before. He has a history.

"I have no history. I've never hurt anyone. I'd never been arrested before this."

"Maybe that just means you're good at it," A

"I didn't do it."

"Why should I believe you? More to the point: Why are you so bent on convincing me? You're a free man. The DA's got nothing on you."

"For now. How long before Fourcade or Stokes manufactures something else? I'm an i

"I'm looking," she said in a cool voice. "I don't guarantee you're go

Marcus held the door for her and watched as she descended the stairs and walked out of the building. She moved in a way that seemed unselfconscious, fresh. Freer than Pam in her physicality, in her gestures. Pam's free-spirit soul sister. He found comfort in the thought. Continuity.

He had pi

17

The Bayou Realty office was closed and locked when A

Of course, there was the chance that it was true. A

A

He swore he was i

Find the truth or muddy the waters? she wondered. She had just stepped into the investigation and already there were factors to consider she hadn't seen before. Fourcade had been down these twisted trails already. His offer hung in her mind like a seductive promise, something she should resist. Turning away from Renard, she put the Jeep in gear and headed across town.

Do

"To get away from me, more like," he muttered.

He tipped his bottle up only to find it empty. He scowled and tossed it down into the bucket of the backhoe, where it shattered against the remains of several other brown bottles. The sound pierced through the country music blaring from the radio. Several heads turned in his direction from the float, but no one said anything.

People had grown wary of his moods since Pam's death. They walked around him on eggshells, hedging their bets in case the cops were wrong about Marcus Renard, in case Do

"Goddamn cops," he grumbled.

"Sounds like maybe I should come back."

A

Do

"A

"Oh, Christ, now what? Did my check bounce? I don't care if it did. You can throw Fourcade back in the hoosegow, the ungrateful son of a bitch."

"Why do you say that?"

He opened his mouth to complain, then swallowed it back. Fourcade was on suspension, off the case. No sense dredging up old suspicions with a new cop.

"The man is unstable, that's all," he said as he climbed down from the backhoe. "So, you're Fourcade's replacement. What happened to the other guy, that black guy- Stokes?"

"Nothing. He's still on the case."

"Not that I care," he said, bending to dig another bottle out of the old Coleman cooler that sat beside the backhoe's tire. "You want my opinion: That guy is lazy. He was on the case when Renard started hassling Pam, and all he wanted to do was make time with her. Always looked to me like Fourcade was the brains of the pair. It's too damn bad he's off the case, except of course that he's nuts."

He twisted the top off the bottle and tossed it into the backhoe bucket with the rest of the trash. "Too damn bad he didn't get to close the case for good in that alley. You want a beer?"

"No, thanks." A

"On duty?" He laughed. "That never stopped any cop I ever knew-Gus Noblier included. What are you, new?"

"I need to ask you a couple questions."

"I swear, that's all you people do-ask questions. You got more answers now than you know what to do with."

"I spoke with Lindsay Faulkner this morning."

His face twisted in distaste. "Did she tell you I'm the Antichrist? The woman hates me. You would have thought she was Pam's big sister. They were that close. As close as women get without being lesbians."

"She told me you're going to sell Pam's half of the business."

"I've got my hands full with my own business. I have no desire to have Lindsay for a partner and she has no desire to have me. "

"She said you may have a buyer from New Orleans. Is that true?"

He slanted her a sly look. "A good businessman doesn't tip his hand too far."

"Are you telling me it's a bluff?" She smiled back, like a friend wanting in on the secret. "Because a name came up and I could just make a couple phone calls…"

"What name?" She could feel him drawing back from her, raising his shields.

"Duval Marcotte."

"It's a bluff," he declared flatly. "Make all the calls you want."

He scratched at the stubble on the knob of his chin and gestured toward the float. "What do you think of the masterpiece?"