Chapter 37
Dylan and Beth sat across from each other at the dining table, conversing over cups of coffee. Having finished his breakfast, Andrew was at their feet, making motor noises as he scooted his cars across the floor.
Dylan had warmed to Beth immediately. She was charming and sweet, and seamlessly guided their conversation from one topic to another. But Dylan got the impression that Beth was keeping her occupied and distracted from whatever the menfolk were talking about out on the porch.
Was Beth that incurious herself? No, Dylan thought. It was more likely she already knew what they were discussing. Their surprise arrival had seemed urgent, not social.
Dylan didn’t have long to wonder about it. When the two men came back inside, it took only seeing Mitch’s expression for her to ask, “What’s happened? What’s the matter?”
Neither he nor John answered her. Even Andrew seemed to pick up on the tension the two had brought inside with them, because he stopped making engine noises and said in a tentative voice, “Daddy?”
Mitch hunkered down beside his son and patted him on the head. “That’s some semi you’ve got there, buddy. What do you figure it’s hauling, huh?”
“Milk.”
“Oh, I see now.”
John went directly to Beth, leaned down, and splayed his hand over her distended belly. “You’re sure you’re okay to stay here with Andrew?”
“I’ll enjoy having a day with him.”
“Call me if you have the slightest twinge,” he said to her. “Promise.”
“I promise.”
“Don’t even think about taking the boat out.”
“Do you think I’m crazy?”
“No, but you’re stubborn.”
“I wouldn’t dream of taking the boat. I’d tip it over.”
“The sedan will be in the garage in case of an emergency.” Beth nodded. “And you know where the g-u-n-s are and how to use them.”
“Don’t hesitate,” Beth said, apparently repeating previous instructions.
“That one would get anyone’s attention, and it’s loaded.”
Dylan looked in the direction John had indicated with a tilt of his head and saw a double-barrel shotgun resting in a rack attached to the wall about seven feet off the floor.
Beth smiled up at her husband and covered his hand still covering her abdomen. “We’ll be fine. Promise baby and me that you’ll be careful.”
He promised, they kissed, and then looked at each other with such transparent love and adoration, it made Dylan feel like a voyeur. As John straightened up, he gave her a nod but said nothing except her name, then turned to Mitch. “See you at headquarters.”
Mitch said, “Coming right behind you.”
At the door, John put on his slicker and flipped up the hood. As he left, a whoosh of rain-laden wind blew in behind him.
Dylan scraped back her chair and stood up. “What is going on?” she demanded of Mitch, who had left Andrew to his toy truck.
Now wearing his intense, expressionless game face, he said, “In here.” He motioned her toward the guest bedroom. She balked at the curt order and looked for support from Beth, who gave her a solemn nod.
Feeling resentful for being treated with no more deference than Andrew, she followed Mitch into the bedroom. The instant he closed the door, she rounded on him. “Are you going to pat me on the head and spell out g-u-n-s to me, too? What is going on that only the grownups know?”
“Roland Malone is dead.”
She fell back a step and, dumbfounded, looked at him with stark disbelief.
“Sometime last night, he was murdered.” He gestured her toward the bed. Gripped by shock, she backed up and dropped down onto the edge of it. Mitch said, “Before dawn, a bulletin went out to regional law enforcement departments that Malone’s body had been discovered. Apparent homicide.”
Dylan’s throat worked. “Discovered where? By whom?”
“A patrol officer cruising around a derelict industrial district noticed the garage door of an old factory had been left open. Went to check it out, wandered inside, discovered the building had been converted into a meat locker. Sides of beef. You know. Later, it was verified that the building belonged to one of Malone’s numerous LLCs and was used by his restaurant exclusively. ”
With foreboding, Dylan waited while he paused to take a deep breath.
“Malone was hanging from a meat hook. He’d been eviscerated.
The NOPD detective told John he’d been ‘field dressed.’ His innards lay in a heap on the concrete floor.
His blood had been washed down a large drain.
” Mitch thought for a moment, then mused aloud, “That’s probably where Malone has been killing his victims before ditching them. ”
Dylan was no longer looking at him, but staring vacantly straight ahead, trying to assimilate everything he was telling her. “Who would have done such a thing?”
“Someone handy with a knife.”
“El Paso?”
“He would top my list, but I don’t think he took it upon himself.
I’ll get to why I think that is in a sec.
But first…” He stopped for a beat before continuing.
“Look, Dylan, I’d spare you the coarse language and gory details, but I need to impress upon you that these perpetrators have no limits.
None. I know that from my experience of pretending to be one of them.
They get off on making grand gestures like disemboweling Malone. It’s a terror tactic.
“I’m also sensitive to the fact that until two days ago you had known Roland Malone only as a patient, and you have a fierce loyalty to your patients.
I respect it. I realize that your emotions must be in chaos right now, not knowing how to feel about this.
I wish I could give you more time to sort it out, but I can’t. I’ve got to play the cop card.”
At that, she looked up at him, but simultaneously, he squatted down to bring them on eye level. His eyes, which she’d seen alight with passion, were now dark with purpose.
“Malone wasn’t gutted while hanging from a meat hook because a customer got pissed off when his order came out cold. Malone was a central player in a criminal organization where people die all too frequently. They kill their enemies, or those perceived to be. They kill traitors or suspected ones.
“They kill mercilessly. Insidious deaths like Angela’s staged suicide.
Or bloody, vicious deaths like Randy Nelson’s and those two people we found this week in Bayou Coeur.
When it came to eliminating Malone, his longevity counted for nothing.
He’d worn out his welcome. He was the death du jour. I’m trying to prevent the next one.”
“The next one?”
He took a phone from his pocket and swiped it on. “I was sent a heads-up.” He palmed the phone and held it so she could see it.
She gave a soft cry, covered her mouth with one hand, crossed her arm over her stomach, and turned her head aside.
Mitch set the phone on the bed. “Early this morning, the severed finger was delivered by courier to our department and addressed to me. Whoever killed Malone was sending me a warning. John recognized it as such. That’s why he and Beth beat it out here.”
He placed his knuckle beneath her chin and turned her back to face him.
“I don’t think El Paso sent that thing. He probably had Malone’s blood and guts on his hands, but he’s not a thinker, he’s a cobra.
He acts on animal instinct. Strikes quick.
A much more sophisticated mind would have thought up doing that,” he said, indicating the phone.
“That picture is a threat of imminent violence, Dylan. And what really scares me is that it probably includes you and Andrew in addition to me. You can’t violate the trust of a dead man, so whatever information you have on Roland Malone you need to share. Right now.”
She groaned. “I understand, Mitch, but I’ve told you time and again that if he had any deep, dark secrets he never confided them to me.”
“He had to have had secrets. Something was eating at him, or why did he start coming to you for therapy?”
“It took me a while to determine that myself. In general, I think—and this will sound out of character. I think it was for religious reasons.”
“Religious?”
“He feared dying unforgiven. He didn’t want to go to hell.”
Mitch gave a scornful laugh. “Good luck with that, Roland.” He ignored her look of mild reproach and asked, “What makes you think that was his hangup?”
“I speculate that he did something in his youth that he felt was unforgivable. I don’t know what, but he remarked once or twice in jest about having an imaginary evil twin that he had to keep in line.”
“Like having an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other?”
“Yes. And he feared that devil’s influence would invoke God’s wrath and condemnation. I’m paraphrasing, but that was a recurring theme of our sessions.”
“Sounds to me like you served as a stand-in priest.”
“Of sorts, I suppose. But he never confessed to committing a blood-curdling crime.”
“He chalked up a lot of them, but he wasn’t the mastermind.” He paused, his eyes narrowing on her. “Did Malone ever drop the name Allen Busby?”
She frowned. “That’s vaguely familiar, but I don’t know why.”
“He’s on TV all the time. Gaudy neckties, shellacked hair, white teeth.”
“The lawyer who does all the commercials?”
“The King of Cash. That was my epiphany earlier.”
“When you looked past the stereotype?”
“Um-huh. Busby looks like a clown, not a criminal. But behind that flashy persona on TV, he’s the mastermind, the drug kingpin. Malone did his bidding, including killing Angela.”
“How do you know this?”
“Well, that’s the hitch. I feel it in my gut, but I can’t prove it.
I can’t even officially allege it until I have more than a strong hunch.
I was hoping to get to him through Malone.
That opportunity is lost to me. So I need to know if Malone ever dropped his name to you.
Did he ever indicate that he knew the King of Cash, or even boast that he was a regular at the restaurant? ”
She was shaking her head no, and no, and no. “That’s not something I would likely forget. In fact, I probably would have noted it as something to pick up on later. But perhaps somewhere in Roland’s file—”
“Going through all your notes on his sessions would take time. I need something now. Imminent harm, Dylan. Please try to remember. From your first session to the last, in any context, did Malone ever mention him?”
She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying desperately to remember but already knowing there wasn’t a memory to recall.
“I’m sorry, Mitch.” She leaned forward and placed her hands on his shoulders.
“If Roland had confessed to committing a crime or had talked about anyone who had, I would tell you now. I swear.”
He nodded, then his head dropped forward until his chin almost touched his chest. He said wryly, “I believe you. Malone would never have confessed, would he? No matter how much he feared burning in hell, he’d have been too cautious, too paranoid to admit a mortal sin out loud.
He wouldn’t have told even a priest in a confessional. ”
Quietly, she said, “I would hope you believe me because I’ve won your trust.”
Then, raising his head and meeting her eyes again, he reached up and ran his hands over her hair and drew her face closer to his. “That, too.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
After exchanging a tender kiss, he said, “I’ve got to go. You’re staying here with Beth.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he held his index finger vertically against her lips.
“No argument, please. John wanted to ask you, but thought that the request should come from me. Beth looks ready to pop, and Andrew is a handful. If she got down on the floor to play with him, she might not be able to get back up.”
“That’s not the real reason you want me to stay here.”
“That’s John’s reason.” He cupped her head more firmly. “Mine is that Malone’s finger was sent to me as a harsh reminder that I’ve been living on borrowed time.”
She clutched handfuls of his shirt. “You’re frightening me.”
“The good news is that catching bad guys is my job.” He grinned his grin and winked. “And I’m good at it.”
His grin didn’t work this time to alleviate her disquiet, but when he kissed her, it was deep and meaningful, and she kissed him back in kind.
When it ended, he pecked a light kiss on her lips and said, “Save my place, but I’ve gotta run. You and Andrew will be safe here. No one except us knows this place exists. Malone’s out of the picture, and Oz wouldn’t know—” He broke off when he read her stunned expression. “What?”
In a thin voice, she said, “Oz?”
“The drug kingpin’s street name.”
“Also Roland’s evil twin.”