case. Now they had a masked rapist running around loose, and while Jennifer Nolan was being attacked, the cops had been busy arresting each other. That was how the press would paint it. And right smack in the middle of that painting would be Annie’s own face.
The ground around the back side of the trailer was nothing but weedy gravel for several feet, then the “estate” gave way to woods with a floor of soft rotted leaves. Annie worked her way from one end of the trailer to the other, looking for anything—a partial footprint, a cigarette butt, a discarded condom. What she found at the north end of the trailer was a fan-shaped black feather about one inch in length, caught in a tuft of grass and dandelions. She took a snapshot of the feather where it lay, then tore a blank sheet of paper from her pocket notebook, folded it around the feather, and slipped it in between the pages of the notebook for safekeeping.
Where had the rapist parked his vehicle? Why had he chosen this place? Why had he chosen Jennifer Nolan? She claimed to have no men in her life. She lived alone and worked the night shift at the True Light lamp factory in Bayou Breaux. The factory would seem the logical starting point to nose around for suspects.
Of course, Annie wasn’t going to get the chance to interview anyone but the neighbors. The case belonged to Stokes now. If he wanted help, he sure as hell wouldn’t come to her for it. Then again, maybe the rapist
was
a neighbor. A neighbor wouldn’t have to worry about hiding his vehicle. A neighbor would be aware of Jennifer Nolan’s schedule and the fact that she lived alone. Maybe that KOD duty wouldn’t be so boring after all.
The ambulance was driving out of the trailer park as she came around the end of the Nolan home. A woman with a toddler on one hip and cigarette in hand stood in the doorway of a trailer two down the row. At another trailer, a heavyset old guy in his underwear had pulled back a curtain to stare out.
Annie bagged the feather and took it inside. She found Stokes in the bathroom picking pubic hairs out of the tub with a tweezers.
“I found this behind the trailer,” she said, setting the bag on the vanity. “It looks like the kind of feather they use in masks and costumes. Maybe our bad guy was molting.”
Stokes arched a brow. “
Our?
You got nothing to do with this, Broussard. And what the hell am I supposed to do with a feather?”
“Send it to the lab. Compare it to the mask left on Pam Bichon—”
“Renard did Bichon. That’s got nothing to do with this. This is a copycat.”
“Fine, then send it to the lab, get Jennifer Nolan to draw a sketch of the mask the rapist was wearing, and see if you can’t track down a manufacturer. Maybe—”
“Maybe you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Broussard,” he said, straightening from the tub. He folded the pubic hairs in a piece of paper and set it on the back of the toilet. “I told you before, I don’t want you around. Get outta here. Go write some tickets. Practice for your new job as a meter maid. That’s all you’re gonna be, sweetheart. If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’. You don’t rat out a brother and stay on the job.”
“Is that a threat?”
He reached out with a forefinger and pressed it hard against the bruise on her cheek. His eyes looked as flat and cold as glass. “I don’t make threats, sugar.”
Annie gritted her teeth against the pain.
“Better get your story straight about what happened with Renard last night,” he said.
“I know exactly what happened.”
Stokes shook his head. “You chicks just don’t know shit about honor, do you?”
She pushed his hand away. “I know it doesn’t involve committing a felony. I’ll go talk to those neighbors now.”
9
____
N ick stood in the pirogue, his gaze focused on a watery horizon, his mind concentrating completely on his slow, precise movements.
Balance . . . grace . . . calm . . . breathe . . . harmonize
The ground around the back side of the trailer was nothing but weedy gravel for several feet, then the “estate” gave way to woods with a floor of soft rotted leaves. Annie worked her way from one end of the trailer to the other, looking for anything—a partial footprint, a cigarette butt, a discarded condom. What she found at the north end of the trailer was a fan-shaped black feather about one inch in length, caught in a tuft of grass and dandelions. She took a snapshot of the feather where it lay, then tore a blank sheet of paper from her pocket notebook, folded it around the feather, and slipped it in between the pages of the notebook for safekeeping.
Where had the rapist parked his vehicle? Why had he chosen this place? Why had he chosen Jennifer Nolan? She claimed to have no men in her life. She lived alone and worked the night shift at the True Light lamp factory in Bayou Breaux. The factory would seem the logical starting point to nose around for suspects.
Of course, Annie wasn’t going to get the chance to interview anyone but the neighbors. The case belonged to Stokes now. If he wanted help, he sure as hell wouldn’t come to her for it. Then again, maybe the rapist
was
a neighbor. A neighbor wouldn’t have to worry about hiding his vehicle. A neighbor would be aware of Jennifer Nolan’s schedule and the fact that she lived alone. Maybe that KOD duty wouldn’t be so boring after all.
The ambulance was driving out of the trailer park as she came around the end of the Nolan home. A woman with a toddler on one hip and cigarette in hand stood in the doorway of a trailer two down the row. At another trailer, a heavyset old guy in his underwear had pulled back a curtain to stare out.
Annie bagged the feather and took it inside. She found Stokes in the bathroom picking pubic hairs out of the tub with a tweezers.
“I found this behind the trailer,” she said, setting the bag on the vanity. “It looks like the kind of feather they use in masks and costumes. Maybe our bad guy was molting.”
Stokes arched a brow. “
Our?
You got nothing to do with this, Broussard. And what the hell am I supposed to do with a feather?”
“Send it to the lab. Compare it to the mask left on Pam Bichon—”
“Renard did Bichon. That’s got nothing to do with this. This is a copycat.”
“Fine, then send it to the lab, get Jennifer Nolan to draw a sketch of the mask the rapist was wearing, and see if you can’t track down a manufacturer. Maybe—”
“Maybe you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Broussard,” he said, straightening from the tub. He folded the pubic hairs in a piece of paper and set it on the back of the toilet. “I told you before, I don’t want you around. Get outta here. Go write some tickets. Practice for your new job as a meter maid. That’s all you’re gonna be, sweetheart. If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’. You don’t rat out a brother and stay on the job.”
“Is that a threat?”
He reached out with a forefinger and pressed it hard against the bruise on her cheek. His eyes looked as flat and cold as glass. “I don’t make threats, sugar.”
Annie gritted her teeth against the pain.
“Better get your story straight about what happened with Renard last night,” he said.
“I know exactly what happened.”
Stokes shook his head. “You chicks just don’t know shit about honor, do you?”
She pushed his hand away. “I know it doesn’t involve committing a felony. I’ll go talk to those neighbors now.”
9
____
N ick stood in the pirogue, his gaze focused on a watery horizon, his mind concentrating completely on his slow, precise movements.
Balance . . . grace . . . calm . . . breathe . . . harmonize
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