A Stained White Radiance by James Lee Burke Page A

canvas deck chairs by a swimming pool that was shaped in the form of a cross. The underwater lights were on, and the turquoise surface glistened with a thin sheen of suntan oil. On the flagstone patio a linen-covered table was setwith candelabra and service for two. Bobby Earl walked to the side door of his house and spoke to his chauffeur, who had changed into a white butler’s jacket. Then a young blonde woman in a pink bathing suit, terry-cloth robe, and high heels came out the door and began arguing with Bobby Earl. His back was to us, but I could see him raise his long, slender hands in a placating gesture. Then she slammed the screen and went back inside.
    â€œI told you he was a gash hound,” Clete said.
    â€œClete, will you ease up? I mean it.”
    â€œI’m mellow, I’m extremely serene. Don’t sweat it. Hey, I didn’t mention something else about the gateman back there. He was a coke mule for Joey Gouza and the Giacano family. It’s funny he’s out here with the white man’s hope.”
    â€œWe’ll run him later. Now stop shaking the screen on the zoo cage.”
    â€œYou’ve got no sense of humor, Streak. The sonofabitch is scared. Watch the corner of his mouth. Now’s the time to squeeze his peaches.”
    Bobby Earl came back to the pool, with his butler behind him. The butler set a bowl of popcorn crawfish down on a folding table between me and Clete.
    â€œWould you gentlemen like something from the bar?” he said. His face was flat, with a small nose, close-set eyes, and a chin beard.
    â€œNothing for me, thanks,” I said.
    â€œHow about a double Black Jack, no ice, with a 7 on the side?” Clete said.
    â€œI’ll have a vodka collins, Ralph,” Bobby Earl said, sat down across from us, and folded one legacross his knee. I studied his handsome face and tried to relate it to the 1970s newspaper photograph I had seen of him in silken Klan robes when he had been imperial wizard of the Louisiana Grand Knights of the Invisible Empire.
    â€œDoes Mr. Raintree work for you?” I asked. I opened a small notebook in my hand and clicked my ballpoint pen with my thumb.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHe doesn’t work for you?” I said.
    â€œYou mean Eddy?”
    â€œYes, Eddy Raintree.”
    â€œHe did at one time. Not now. I don’t know where he is now.”
    Then I saw what Clete had meant. The skin at the corner of his mouth wrinkled, like fingernail impressions in putty.
    â€œWhen’s the last time you saw him?” I asked.
    â€œIt’s been a while. I tried to help him a couple of times when he was out of work. Has Eddy done something wrong? I don’t understand.”
    â€œI’m investigating the murder of a police officer. I thought Eddy might be able to help us. Do you know if Eddy has ever been up the road?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHas he ever done time?”
    â€œI don’t know.” Then his peculiar, mismatched eyes focused on me thoughtfully. “Why do you ask me if he’s been in prison? As a police officer, wouldn’t you know that?”
    â€œI didn’t know his first name until you told me,” I said, and smiled at him.
    The butler brought the drinks from the poolside bar and served them to Clete and Bobby Earl. Earl took a deep drink from his without his eyes ever leaving my face. When he lowered his glass his mouth looked cold and red, like a girl’s.
    â€œWhen was the last time you talked to him?” I asked.
    â€œIt was awhile back. I don’t remember.”
    I nodded and smiled again while I wrote in my notebook. Clete put a handful of popcorn crawfish in his mouth, drank out of his glass of 7-Up and cracked the ice between his molars.
    â€œThis is a great place,” he said. “You own it?”
    â€œI lease it.”
    â€œI hear you’re going to run for the U.S. Senate,” Clete said.
    â€œPerhaps.”
    â€œSay,