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She moved out of the living room and around the perimeter of the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of order. The old refrigerator hummed and groaned. The alligator on the door gri
The answering machine continued chattering. A.J.'s psychologist sister-in-law, Serena, wanted to offer a friendly ear if A
Back in the living room, A
"What's the deal, Alphonse?" A
Silence. Then Marcus Renard's voice spoke to her.
"A
The skin crawled on the back of her neck. She crossed the room and started down the hall as the machine reported two more hang-up calls.
The bathroom was clear. Her workout room appeared undisturbed. The tension ebbed a bit. Maybe she was still just reacting to the shooting. Maybe she was just projecting her feelings of violation at Renard having left another gift for her. He should never have been able to get into her home. The doors had been locked.
Then she turned the corner and opened the door to her bedroom.
The stench of decay hit her full in the face and turned her stomach inside out.
Nailed to the wall above her bed in a position of crucifixion, its legs broken and bent, hung a dead black cat. Its skull had been crushed, its entrails spilled out of the body cavity onto the pillows below. And above it one word was painted in blood-cunt.
"People should get what they deserve, don't you think? Good or bad.
She deserves to be confronted with the consequences of her sins. She deserves to be punished. Like the others.
Betrayal is the least of her crimes.
Terror is the least of mine."
37
He lay in wait like a panther in the night, anger and anticipation contained by forced patience. The glowing blue numbers on the VCR clicked the minutes. 1:43. 1:44. The low purr of an engine approached, passed one end of the house, and slipped into the garage.
The rattle of keys. The kitchen door swung open. He waited.
Footfalls on tile. Footfalls muffled by carpet. He waited.
The footsteps passed by his hiding place.
"Quite the night owl, aren't you, Tulane?"
Do
"You lied to me, Do
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Do
Nick gave him a shake, banging his head back against the wall. "In case you haven't noticed, Do
Do
"Truth. You tell me you don't know Duval Marcotte. But Marcotte, he called you on the telephone tonight, didn't he?"
"I don't know him. I know of him," he stressed. "What if he called me? I can't control what other people do! Jesus, this is the perfect example-I did you a good turn and look how you treat me!"
"You don't like the way I treat you, Tulane?" Nick said, easing his weight back. "The way you lie to me, I was tempted to beat the shit out of you a long time ago. Put in the proper perspective, my restraint has been commendable. Perspective is the key to balance in life, c'est vrai?"
Do
Nick smiled. "Don't you run away from me, Do
"I've already managed to do that."
"Yeah, but you ain't never seen me mad, mon ami. You don't wa
"You know, this is it, Fourcade," Do
Nick leaned into the back of a tall recliner and turned the lamp beside it on low. Do
"Why are you wearing sunglasses?" Do
Nick just smiled slowly.
"You sure you wa
"Me,"-he shrugged-"I'm just a friend who dropped by to chat. But you…" He shook his head sadly. "Tulane, you just got more and more explaining to do. You see how this looks-you dealing with Marcotte? I'll tell you: It looks like you had one hell of a motive to kill your wife."
"I never talked to Marcotte-"
"And now your wife's partner is attacked, left for dead-"
"I never laid a hand on Lindsay! I told Stokes, that son of a bitch-"
"It's just not looking good for you, Do
"Do what?" Do
"Did Marcotte contact you or the other way around?"
Do
"When?"
"Yesterday."
Nick silently cursed his own stupidity. "That's the truth?" he demanded.
Do
Nick grabbed his face with one big hand and squeezed as he backed him into another wall. "Look at me," he ordered. "Look at me! You he to God all you want, Tulane.
God, He's not here go
Do
And if that was the truth, then Nick had drawn Marcotte onto the scene himself. The obsession had blinded him to the possibilities. The possibility that Marcotte's interest would be piqued by Nick's ill-fated visit, and that Marcotte would be drawn to the scene like a lion to the smell of blood.
"He's the devil," he whispered, letting Do
He dropped his gaze to the floor, reflecting on his own stupidity. There was no changing what he'd done, nothing to do but deal with it. Slowly Do
"Where you been tonight, Tulane?"
"Around," Do