Island of Bones(15)

“Well, that narrows it down,” Landeta said. “Any indication of trauma, defense wounds?”

“Vince added a note about that,” Louis said. “Says she had lots of fresh cuts and abrasions on her body, but he can’t say they didn’t come from getting tossed against rocks, coral, or something in the storm. In fact, he found particles of oyster shell in her skin.”

Landeta finally settled in his chair. “That makes sense. Oysters attach themselves to mangrove roots. We found her in mangroves. Anything else?”

“No drugs or alcohol. No food at all in her. No stomach contents.”

Landeta swung back and forth in his chair, his gaze fixed on the blank wall as Louis continued to read. The room was quiet except for the squeaking of Landeta’s chair.

Louis let out a breath.

“What did you find?” Landeta asked.

“A recent history of abuse that Vince says definitely predates the storm,” Louis said. “Older bruising on upper arms and face. Ligature marks on wrists, ankles, and neck. Anal and vaginal abrasions.”

The squeaking stopped.

“Shit,” Louis said softly.

“What?”

“She was pregnant,” Louis said. “Twelve weeks.”

Louis looked up at Landeta but his face showed nothing.

“We have to consider a boyfriend or married lover,” Landeta said.

Louis was thinking of Frank Woods and just couldn’t see the guy involved with a young woman. But he knew that people had shadows and secrets in their private lives and that even the most normal man had things to hide.

Landeta pushed himself out of the chair. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “I’m out of here.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Louis asked.

“About what?”

“I mean, could you use any help on this?”

Landeta cocked his head. “I heard you used to be a cop,” he said

“Yeah. Used to be.”

“You’ve got quite a rep down at O’Sullivan’s,” Landeta said.

“I’ve caught a couple of big cases,” Louis said. “No big deal.”

“So why’d you quit?”

There was a bite to the word quit, like it was a taunt. Louis had a feeling Mel Landeta already knew the answer, knew his whole history as a cop, in fact, but that he wanted Louis to tell the story for his entertainment. Well, he wasn’t going to give the sonofabitch the satisfaction.

Louis rose, tossing the autopsy file on the desk. “Tell the chief I was here,” he said.

“Don’t forget your head,” Landeta said.

Louis picked up the Federal Express box and started to the door.

“Hey,” Landeta called out.

Louis turned.

“How long did it take before you didn’t miss it anymore?”

Louis knew what he meant. How long before you missed being a cop, but he had the feeling Landeta was baiting him.

How long? Try a lifetime...

“You get used to it,” Louis said. He hesitated then nodded to the Jane Doe file. “Let me know if you need help.”

Landeta stared at him, his eyes looking jaundiced behind the glasses. “I can handle it from here on out,” he said.

He tossed the file to the box on the corner of his desk. It missed and fell to the floor. Landeta ignored it.

Louis left the office. He was about to turn back and say good night, but the door swung shut. He could hear Landeta whistling the same melancholy tune again.





CHAPTER 8




It was dark by the time he swung the Mustang into Branson’s on the Beach and parked by his cottage. He popped open the glove box and took out the Glock. Getting out of the car, he clipped the holstered gun at his hip and picked up the Federal Express box. Closing the door with his foot, he started toward the cottage. He drew up short when he saw his front door wide open. The living room was dark but he could see a light on back in the bedroom.

Silently, he set the box on the porch step and crept up to the door. He could see through the cottage to the open bedroom door and to the nightstand with its small bedside lamp. The shade had been knocked off and in the bare-bulb light he could see a shadow moving along the wall. He pulled out his gun and crept forward.

Banging and scraping sounds, like someone searching through the dresser drawers. He spun into the doorway, gun raised.

“Don’t move!”

The man crouched in the corner jumped, dropping something to the floor as his head snapped to Louis.

"Putain de merde!” he screamed.

Louis lowered the gun, letting out his breath. “Jesus, Pierre. What the fuck —-?”

Pierre was cowering, one hand outstretched and the other to his bare chest. “Louis! You scared the shits from me!”