Island of Bones(59)

Louis put his head in his hand, holding his temper. “It’s not that I’ve looked stupid before.”

She gave a short, bitter laugh.

“Diane —-”

“What the hell do you want from me? What else can I possibly give you?” She was crying again.

“Your mother’s maiden name.”

She made a strange sound. He couldn’t figure out whether it was a laugh or a sob.

“Screw you, Louis Kincaid,” she said. “You’ve killed my father. I’m not letting you near my mother.”

She hung up.





CHAPTER 28




He flipped to his back and closed his eyes again, hoping this time sleep would come. He lay in the darkness of his bedroom, stripped down to his shorts, listening to the rattle of Pierre’s fan.

Every once in a while, he could feel the breeze off the gulf wash over his bare skin, bringing temporary relief from the heat.

It was hopeless. He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness.

What time was it? Had he slept at all? Was it the brandy keeping him awake or this damn case? Or was it the burning embarrassment of stupidity?

The soft light of dawn started to rise in the window.

He hadn’t become a cop for the attention...few did. But the last few years had brought some headlines and accomplishments. He still didn’t like reporters or the spotlight, but he was proud of what he had done. He liked having the reputation as a dogged, smart investigator whom the cops trusted. It meant something. Until yesterday.

Forget it, Louis. It’s not the first time you fucked up. Go back to sleep.

He closed his eyes just as the phone rang. Something told him the call was about Frank, but he wasn’t sure why anyone would be calling to tell him anything about Woods. It was probably just Pierre wanting him to quiet down some drunken tourist.

He grabbed it without rolling over.

“Yeah?”

“Louis?”

“Who’s this?”

“Strickland. Officer Strickland.”

Louis sat up. “What happened?”

“He’s washed up. Woods is in the water just off Monkey Island. I’m heading out now to pick up Landeta.”

Louis rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “Strickland, why are you calling me? Didn’t you see the news?”

“I heard what Landeta said, but I also know he’s a moron. And when we got back to the station, the chief took him behind closed doors and Landeta’s head was red as a frickin’ beet when he walked out of there. He was pissed.”

Louis was quiet.

“Look,” Strickland said. “I just thought maybe you weren’t so ready to give up, that’s all. I gotta git.” He hesitated. “You won’t tell the chief I called you, will you?”

“No. Thanks for the tip.”

Down at the Fort Myers yacht basin, Louis caught a ride from the mainland with a couple of crime scene techs he had worked with before, guys who knew who he was and what had happened but didn’t seem to care.

The sun was still low in the eastern sky but the tide was high by the time they got to the island. No wading in this time. Louis stepped off the boat and headed up the small rise toward the yellow crime scene tape. A couple of uniforms stood talking, and two fishermen were pointing toward the water.

He was surprised to spot Heather Fox standing a little ways off, working to set up a remote with her cameraman. She was wearing worn jeans and bright yellow rubber boots like a kid might own, but above the waist she looked picture-perfect right down to a white silk blouse and lacquered hair.

On the other side of the tape was Chief Horton. He stood, legs wide, hands on hips, looking down at the water. Out in knee-deep water, Landeta and two other men stood in a tight knot. The photographer moved and Louis caught a glimpse of bright red that he recognized as Frank’s shirt.

With a glance back at the uniforms, Louis ducked under the tape and went up behind Horton.

He could see Frank’s body now, the red shirt billowing like a flag in the pale shallow water. Frank was curled against the tree roots, as if he were being rocked asleep by the gently rippling current He looked almost peaceful lying there, nothing like Shelly Umber had looked, twisted and tortured in her mangrove cage.

“He couldn’t swim,” Louis said.

Horton’s head swiveled back to him.

“What the hell are you doing here, Kincaid?”

Louis couldn’t think of an answer. And from the expression on Horton’s face, he wasn’t even sure he needed one. In fact Horton looked almost glad to see him.

“Frank’s daughter, Diane, told me he couldn’t swim.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before now?”

“I just remembered it”

Horton looked back at the body. “Suicide?”