Island of Bones(58)
“Louis?”
Damn it. It was Pierre. What the hell did he want?
Louis walked to the living room, looking at Pierre through the screen.
“What?”
“The Kozol family in number eight, they say they were robbed this afternoon. Someone went in and stole their boom boxer.”
Louis lifted the bottle to his lips and took a drink.
“You were not here to stop them,” Pierre said.
“No, I guess I wasn’t,” Louis said.
“You playing flic again?” Pierre asked, using the slang for “cop.”
Louis gave a bitter snort. “Yeah, a fucking flic, that’s me all right.”
“Tiens! And they pay you enough to live here on your own?”
Louis lowered the bottle. “No, they don’t.”
“You should remember that next time you sit on your porch here to see the sunset, Louis.”
Pierre disappeared into the shadows. Louis looked down at the bottle in his hand. He went back to the kitchen, recapped the brandy and put it away. He leaned against the counter and rubbed his face, his mind rewinding the scene on the boat again. Frank moving to the rail. His head bobbing in the water, then slowly sinking, along with the case and his reputation.
Now what?
Louis went to the television, and flipped it on, tuning it to the news. He caught the middle of a talk show, and glanced at his watch. He had ten minutes before the news.
He showered, pulled on a pair of shorts and a clean T-shirt, and went back to the television, a Dr Pepper in hand. It was the lead story.
Landeta was at the marina, back-dropped by the bay and a few boats that were still searching. Landeta’s head was red, burned by the afternoon sun, and his shirt held dark circles of sweat. The gold detective shield hanging on his pocket sent off a sharp glint in the setting sun.
Landeta was recounting the afternoon’s events, pointing out at Pine Island Sound. Heather Fox was barking out questions, thrusting the mike in Landeta’s face. He didn’t have many answers.
“Why did Woods go out to the island?”
“We don’t know.”
“Why did he jump overboard?”
“We don’t know.”
“Do you believe him to be the killer of Shelly Umber?”
“We just wanted to talk to him.”
“Who was with Woods on the boat?”
Landeta stared right into the camera. “A private investigator named Louis Kincaid.”
“Is Kincaid working in an official capacity with the Fort Myers police?”
Landeta drew in a breath. “Not anymore.”
The camera switched to a view of the sound. Louis watched the police and coast guard patrol boats, hoping to see Frank’s body being hauled on board. Heather Fox was talking about the search and how many agencies were involved.
“So far, no body has been found,” she said. “And with police unwilling to speculate on Frank Woods’s mental state, some sources are saying that Woods’s jump off the ferry was simply an escape attempt.” She gestured back at the sound. “Apparently, a successful one. This is Heather Fox, live on Captiva Island for WINK-News."
His phone rang and he reached for it, then hesitated. Damn, who was this? Another reporter? He let it ring, but then realized it could be Chief Horton. He picked it up.
“You killed him!” she screamed.
Louis sat forward. “Diane —-”
“Why didn’t you stop him? I told you he would do this! I told you!”
He moved the phone farther from his ear.
“I paid you to protect him!”
“I’ll give your damn money back.”
Silence. He could hear her crying now.
Louis dropped onto the sofa. Jesus, here he was pissed off because he had lost a suspect again. Diane had lost a father. His eyes went to the TV. Frank’s picture was displayed behind the anchorman’s head. Louis muted the sound.
“Diane, listen to me,” he said. “They haven’t found his body. He could have...”
She was sobbing now. She knew he was lying. She knew just as well as he did that Frank Woods wanted to die.
“Diane, I’m sorry.” It sounded weak, almost pathetic. It was all he had to offer her.
“Diane, if a person really wants to kill himself, no one can stop him,” Louis said. “You know that, don’t you?”
She didn’t answer. He wondered if she had put the phone down and walked away.
“Diane? You still there?”
Silence. Then, “Yes” in a whisper.
“Diane, I still want to know if he killed those women.”
“Why? What difference does it make now?”
“Reputation,” Louis said. “Getting it back. That’s worth something.”
“You don’t really care whether he did it. It’s your own damn reputation you care about.”