bringing you on board here,” Gus said quietly. “I did it because I knew your papa, and I owed him something from way back. And because I believed you about that business in New Orleans, and I thought you could do a good job here.
“This is how you pay me back?” he asked, voice rising. “You screw up an investigation and beat the hell out of a suspect? You better have something more than nothing to say for yourself, or, by God, I’ll throw your ass to the wolves!
“Why’d you go near Renard when I told you not to? Why’d you have to get in his face? Jesus Christ, do you have any idea what him and that anorexic lawyer of his are gonna do to this office? Tell me you had some kind of cause to go near him. What were you even doing in that part of town?”
“Drinking.”
“Oh, great! Good answer! You left my office in a flaming temper and went and threw alcohol on it!”
He shoved the chair into the table. “Damage control,” he muttered. “How the fuck do we spin this? I can say you were on surveillance.”
“You told the press you pulled the surveillance.”
“Fuck the press. I tell ’em what I want ’em to think. Renard is still a suspect. We got reason to watch him. That gives you cause to be there, and it shows I believe in your innocence on that evidence-tampering bullshit Kudrow’s trying to stir up. So then what? Did he provoke you?”
“Does it matter?” Nick asked. “Never mind that he’s a murderer, and the goddamn court shoulda punched his ticket for him—”
“Yeah, the court should have, but it didn’t. Then Hunter Davidson tried to and you stopped him. It looks like you just wanted the job all for yourself.”
“I know what it looks like.”
“It looks like assault, at the very least. Broussard thinks I should throw your ass in jail.”
Broussard. Nick pushed to his feet, the anger stirring anew. Broussard, who hadn’t said ten words to him in the six months he’d been in Bayou Breaux. Who suddenly sought him out at Laveau’s. Who appeared out of nowhere with a gun and the power to arrest him.
“Will you?” he asked.
“Not if I don’t have to.”
“Renard’ll press charges.”
“You bet your balls he will.” Gus rubbed a hand over his face and secretly wished he’d stayed in geology all those years ago. “He’s no shit-for-brains lowlife you can stick his head in a toilet and flush a confession outta him and won’t nobody listen to him when he screams about it. Kudrow’s been threatening a lawsuit all along. Harassment, he says. Unlawful arrest, he says. Well, I sure as hell know what he’ll say about this.”
He dropped down onto a chair. “All in all, I think I’m gonna wish you’d finished the job and fed Renard to the gators.”
“ W hat you hanging around for, Broussard?” Rodrigue asked. Blocky and nearly bald, he stood behind his desk shuffling papers with an air of false importance, as if he hadn’t been kicked out of the interview room himself.
Annie gave the sergeant a defiant glare. “I’m the arresting officer. I’ve got a suspect to book, a report to file, and evidence to log in.”
Rodrigue snorted. “There ain’t gonna be no arrest, darlin’. Fourcade, he didn’t do nothing ever’body in this parish hasn’t wanted to do.”
“Last time I looked, assault was against the law.”
“Dat wasn’t no assault. Dat was justice. Oh, yeah.”
“Yeah,” Degas chimed in. “And you interrupted it, Broussard. There’s the crime. Why didn’t you let him finish the job?”
Because that would have been murder, Annie thought. That Renard deserved killing didn’t enter into it. The law was the law, and she was sworn to uphold it, as were Fourcade and Rodrigue and Degas, and Gus Noblier.
“That’s right,” Pitre said, swaggering toward her, pulling the handcuffs off his belt. “Maybe we oughta be arresting you, Broussard. Obstruction of justice.”
“Interfering with an officer in the performance of his duty,” Degas
“This is how you pay me back?” he asked, voice rising. “You screw up an investigation and beat the hell out of a suspect? You better have something more than nothing to say for yourself, or, by God, I’ll throw your ass to the wolves!
“Why’d you go near Renard when I told you not to? Why’d you have to get in his face? Jesus Christ, do you have any idea what him and that anorexic lawyer of his are gonna do to this office? Tell me you had some kind of cause to go near him. What were you even doing in that part of town?”
“Drinking.”
“Oh, great! Good answer! You left my office in a flaming temper and went and threw alcohol on it!”
He shoved the chair into the table. “Damage control,” he muttered. “How the fuck do we spin this? I can say you were on surveillance.”
“You told the press you pulled the surveillance.”
“Fuck the press. I tell ’em what I want ’em to think. Renard is still a suspect. We got reason to watch him. That gives you cause to be there, and it shows I believe in your innocence on that evidence-tampering bullshit Kudrow’s trying to stir up. So then what? Did he provoke you?”
“Does it matter?” Nick asked. “Never mind that he’s a murderer, and the goddamn court shoulda punched his ticket for him—”
“Yeah, the court should have, but it didn’t. Then Hunter Davidson tried to and you stopped him. It looks like you just wanted the job all for yourself.”
“I know what it looks like.”
“It looks like assault, at the very least. Broussard thinks I should throw your ass in jail.”
Broussard. Nick pushed to his feet, the anger stirring anew. Broussard, who hadn’t said ten words to him in the six months he’d been in Bayou Breaux. Who suddenly sought him out at Laveau’s. Who appeared out of nowhere with a gun and the power to arrest him.
“Will you?” he asked.
“Not if I don’t have to.”
“Renard’ll press charges.”
“You bet your balls he will.” Gus rubbed a hand over his face and secretly wished he’d stayed in geology all those years ago. “He’s no shit-for-brains lowlife you can stick his head in a toilet and flush a confession outta him and won’t nobody listen to him when he screams about it. Kudrow’s been threatening a lawsuit all along. Harassment, he says. Unlawful arrest, he says. Well, I sure as hell know what he’ll say about this.”
He dropped down onto a chair. “All in all, I think I’m gonna wish you’d finished the job and fed Renard to the gators.”
“ W hat you hanging around for, Broussard?” Rodrigue asked. Blocky and nearly bald, he stood behind his desk shuffling papers with an air of false importance, as if he hadn’t been kicked out of the interview room himself.
Annie gave the sergeant a defiant glare. “I’m the arresting officer. I’ve got a suspect to book, a report to file, and evidence to log in.”
Rodrigue snorted. “There ain’t gonna be no arrest, darlin’. Fourcade, he didn’t do nothing ever’body in this parish hasn’t wanted to do.”
“Last time I looked, assault was against the law.”
“Dat wasn’t no assault. Dat was justice. Oh, yeah.”
“Yeah,” Degas chimed in. “And you interrupted it, Broussard. There’s the crime. Why didn’t you let him finish the job?”
Because that would have been murder, Annie thought. That Renard deserved killing didn’t enter into it. The law was the law, and she was sworn to uphold it, as were Fourcade and Rodrigue and Degas, and Gus Noblier.
“That’s right,” Pitre said, swaggering toward her, pulling the handcuffs off his belt. “Maybe we oughta be arresting you, Broussard. Obstruction of justice.”
“Interfering with an officer in the performance of his duty,” Degas
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