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“Do you remember his name?”
“No, except that it was French and it wasn’t LaBrecque. And he was a cook.”
Fly
“Do you think LaBrecque is capable of killing someone?”
Again Renfrew looked uncomfortable, seeming to study the fluorescent light fixture. “I don’t know,” he said, looking back at Fly
—
Frank LeBrun was waiting outside Emerson Hall. It was getting dark, though it was only a little after four o’clock, but the day had turned cloudy. Snow was forecast. The TV had been showing footage of winter storms in Colorado and Montana. LeBrun had only a sweater. He paced back and forth in front of the iron fence posts, rubbing his arms and talking angrily to himself. He had been upset since the memorial service. Bobby Newland had made him mad. He didn’t like being at Bishop’s Hill anymore and he wouldn’t have stayed if there hadn’t been special work to do. The whole business had become disagreeable and he was getting that boxed-in feeling that he hated.
When he heard the front door open, LeBrun pressed back against the fence. Soon Roger Be
LeBrun sprang after him and grabbed Be
“Let go of me,” said Be
“Why didn’t you tell me that old guy was going to kill himself?”
“How in the world could I have known?”
“You knew him better than me. You all knew him.”
Be
LeBrun stepped forward and took hold of the lapels of Be
Be
LeBrun pulled Be
“I’m not the only one who knows about this,” continued Be
LeBrun let go of Be
“A little late for that, isn’t it?”
“You know, Be
For the first time Be
“Hey, there’s always jokes. You hear about the Canuck who stole the Thanksgiving turkey?”
Instead of answering, Be
LeBrun angrily kicked the metal fence. Then he sat down on the ground and massaged his bruised toes. In the begi
For a moment, LeBrun considered ru
LeBrun got up off the ground. His butt was cold and his foot hurt. Maybe he’d busted a toe, like he’d once busted a finger when he punched a wall. He had to talk to the girl and get the dates straight. Fucking Misty. When he was younger, girls like that wouldn’t give him the time of day. You had to get a hold on a person, otherwise you were nothing. And wasn’t that what Be
LeBrun walked around the outside of Emerson, rubbing his arms and deep in conversation with himself. He wanted to talk to the girl. It was past four-thirty and she was probably in her room. He’d never been there but he knew it was on the second floor of Smithfield. LeBrun always made a point of finding out where things were. There was no telling when it might come in useful. And keys, he always liked to have a lot of keys.
He rounded Emerson by Stark Hall, into which Be
There was a back door to Smithfield and LeBrun unlocked it. He stepped inside and listened. He could hear girls’ voices and laughter from the living room. And there was music. LeBrun didn’t like music, not even rock and roll. It made him jittery. He couldn’t imagine listening to music to relax. There was lots of stuff he didn’t like. LeBrun paused on the back stairs and thought about it. He didn’t like people fucking with his space, and to tell the truth, a whole lot of people fucked with his space.
LeBrun paused again at the second-floor landing. A girl was walking down the hall from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her and he waited for her to get out of the way. Jessica’s door was the second one down on the left. He would surprise her. It would help to make her think he was invincible. But he wouldn’t touch her. On the whole, he didn’t like to touch anyone, except for business purposes.