Island of Bones(10)
“She didn’t lose her shoes in the storm. She was barefoot,” Louis said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Look at her feet. They’re all cut up.”
Landeta didn’t move.
Louis was about to move away and leave Landeta to his little games when he had a sudden memory. A night a long time ago when he had stood over his bathroom sink trying to wash blood from a blue uniform shirt. He had ended up letting it soak for two days and still the blood did not come out.
“What is it?” Landeta asked.
“There’s no blood,” Louis said.
Landeta was silent.
Louis stood up and looked at Landeta. His shirt clung to his body and he could feel the sweat dripping in his eyes.
“There’s no blood or stains on her clothes,” Louis said. “She was in the water when she was shot or went in right after.”
Horton came breaking through the trees at that moment, panting and sweating. He stopped abruptly when he saw the body.
“Jesus H Christ,” he whispered. He put a hand to his mouth.
Louis looked at Landeta, holding his gaze for a moment before turning to Horton.
“Two shots, Chief, in the back and neck,” Louis said yanking off the gloves. “And it had to have happened in the last two days, probably around the time the storm hit.”
Horton looked quickly at Landeta, but the detective said nothing.
“I’m guessing she was trying to get away from someone,” Louis said. He looked around the mangroves. “In a place that tore up her feet. She ran into the water and someone shot her.”
Horton was staring at the body. Landeta was looking at Louis. Louis looked back at the body.
He was noticing the style of the jeans and blouse. She was young, he guessed. His eyes went up to her face, to the open eyes and mouth frozen in a grimace of fear. What had terrified a girl so much that she would run into the face of a hurricane?
Louis heard Horton cue his radio. But he wasn’t listening. He was staring at the woman’s hand. It was lying across her chest, almost as if she were proudly displaying something.
A ring. On the fourth finger of the left hand. A white band.
He heard Horton come up to his side. “CSI and medical examiner are on their way. We gotta get her out of here before the tide comes back in.” Horton paused, looking at the body. “Can’t believe it. Still no one reported missing from the storm.”
“Someone is missing her,” Louis said, nodding to the ring. “Probably her husband.”
CHAPTER 5
Louis dragged a palm frond out to the road and tossed it on the ten-foot pile of debris. He paused to wipe the sweat from his eyes and watch the slow line of cars creep along the beach road. The causeway was open again. Things were getting back to normal.
Everything except his own cottage. The hurricane had torn away a section of his roof, right over his bed. Pierre had promised to fix it three days ago. But the roof was still covered with a tarp and he was still sleeping on the sofa.
A car slowed, and a woman leaned out the window. “Excuse me, is this Branson’s on the Beach?” she yelled out to Louis.
“Yeah, the sign’s down,” he said, pointing. He stepped aside and she pulled her Honda in, parking near the office. He was throwing another frond on the pile when the woman came up to him.
“Can you tell me where I can find Louis Kincaid?” she asked.
“You found him,” Louis said.
Her eyes quickly took in his dirty jeans and bare sweaty chest. “Oh, I thought —- ” She held out her hand. “I’m Diane Woods.”
Louis pulled off his work gloves and shook her limp hand as he sized her up. Short dark hair, tall, in her mid-thirties. Conservative blue suit, sensible heels that were nice but not expensive. And panty hose, even though the temperature was ninety-five. A secretary, he guessed, and from the pinched tired look on her face, another mother looking for help in getting a kid back from an AWOL ex.
He suppressed a sigh. Man, he hated child custody cases. Too much work for too little money, with the great payoff of watching a social worker stuff a crying kid into a car.
“I don’t know how this is done,” Diane Woods began.
“You want to hire me to investigate something, right?” Louis asked.
She gave a small nod, like she wasn’t sure.
“Why don’t you come inside and we can talk?” Louis said.
He led her into his cottage, setting aside the pile of laundry he had dumped on the sofa. She perched on the edge, clutching her big tote bag.
“Can I get you something, a soda?” he asked.
“Water?”
Louis brought her a glass of water then excused himself, going into the bedroom to throw on a T-shirt. When he returned she was just sitting there, the water untouched, eyes downcast.