specific.”
“Wilena recalls something about a waitress who got roughed up. We think her name might have been Helen Yount. Is that specific enough?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Pull over there, under the shade of that tupelo.”
For all his paunch and fleshy, hound-dog face, Cliff Boudreaux was nobody’s fool. In his twenty-eight years as sheriff, he’d taken the art of making a suspect sweat to the level of a master. His deputies -- Steve among them -- had found themselves swallowing curses and changing shirts on a regular basis, as well.
He swallowed a few oaths now as he waited for Cliff to bait his hook. With a flick of his wrist, the former sheriff sent the squirming minnow in a smooth arc. It hit with a plop and disappeared beneath the surface. Steve cast to the opposite side of the boat.
“You going to tell me,” he asked after a few moments, “or make me drag it out word by word?”
“Not much to tell. I didn’t even remember the incident until I heard Helen’s daughter was back in the area.” He tested the line, squinting into the sun. “Happened a good twenty-four, twenty-five years back.”
Along about the time Jess bloodied the noses of two classmates. Giving his own line a gentle tug, Steve waited.
“She was flying high that night. Rum and coke -- the kind you snort, not drink. Jiggled those big tits of hers up against every man in the Blue Crab. That’s what they claimed, anyway.”
“They?”
“The five men who stretched her out on a table in the back room and had at her.”
“Oh, hell!”
“One of the other customers thought he heard muffled screams and called in a 911.”
“Was it rape?”
“If it was, she wouldn’t file charges. Probably figured she couldn’t make them stick if she did. Helen had taken a few men into the back room before. More than a few.”
Which probably explained that incident in the schoolyard. Jess would have heard the rumors about her mother. Hell, she probably had them thrown at her every day. Kids could be real pissers.
“Wasn’t pretty what they did to her, though.”
Wrenching his thoughts from a dusty schoolyard, Steve caught the flash of disgust on Cliff’s face. Boudreaux didn’t spell out the details. He didn’t have to. They were both cops.
“She was in pretty bad shape when I got to the Blue Crab, but she wouldn’t let me take her to the hospital. That woman was some stubborn.”
So that’s where her daughter got it from. Well, Jess had warned Steve that she was just like her mother in every way that counted.
“I had a talk with the boys who roughed her up,” Cliff ruminated, “then stopped by Helen’s trailer later that night and suggested it might be better if she moved on.”
“Better for her?” Steve drawled. “Or the men who assaulted her?”
“Both, to my way of thinking. The talk was sure to turn ugly, and that scrappy little kid of hers had already ‘bout got herself kicked out of school.” He angled a look at Steve, his brown eyes sleepy beneath their drooping lids. “That young ‘un was so skinny she couldn’t make a shadow if there was three of her bundled together.”
“She’s filled out some.”
“Must have, if you’re sniffing after her.”
“Jesus, is there anything that goes on in this county that everyone else doesn’t hear about before I do?”
“Not much.”
Reeling in, Steve checked his bait and re-cast. The ripples had spread halfway across the dappled surface of the pond before he asked the question Boudreaux obviously expected.
“So who were these fine, upstanding citizens?”
“The recently deceased Delbert McConnell was one,” the sheriff drawled.
“Oh, shit.”
“He was just getting ready to go into the Marines and feeling his juice. I figure that nasty little incident was one of the reasons he eventually turned to Jesus.”
Steve had seen too many righteous fall and sinners redeem themselves to comment on what led a rapist to God.
“Who were the others?”
“Old man
“Wilena recalls something about a waitress who got roughed up. We think her name might have been Helen Yount. Is that specific enough?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Pull over there, under the shade of that tupelo.”
For all his paunch and fleshy, hound-dog face, Cliff Boudreaux was nobody’s fool. In his twenty-eight years as sheriff, he’d taken the art of making a suspect sweat to the level of a master. His deputies -- Steve among them -- had found themselves swallowing curses and changing shirts on a regular basis, as well.
He swallowed a few oaths now as he waited for Cliff to bait his hook. With a flick of his wrist, the former sheriff sent the squirming minnow in a smooth arc. It hit with a plop and disappeared beneath the surface. Steve cast to the opposite side of the boat.
“You going to tell me,” he asked after a few moments, “or make me drag it out word by word?”
“Not much to tell. I didn’t even remember the incident until I heard Helen’s daughter was back in the area.” He tested the line, squinting into the sun. “Happened a good twenty-four, twenty-five years back.”
Along about the time Jess bloodied the noses of two classmates. Giving his own line a gentle tug, Steve waited.
“She was flying high that night. Rum and coke -- the kind you snort, not drink. Jiggled those big tits of hers up against every man in the Blue Crab. That’s what they claimed, anyway.”
“They?”
“The five men who stretched her out on a table in the back room and had at her.”
“Oh, hell!”
“One of the other customers thought he heard muffled screams and called in a 911.”
“Was it rape?”
“If it was, she wouldn’t file charges. Probably figured she couldn’t make them stick if she did. Helen had taken a few men into the back room before. More than a few.”
Which probably explained that incident in the schoolyard. Jess would have heard the rumors about her mother. Hell, she probably had them thrown at her every day. Kids could be real pissers.
“Wasn’t pretty what they did to her, though.”
Wrenching his thoughts from a dusty schoolyard, Steve caught the flash of disgust on Cliff’s face. Boudreaux didn’t spell out the details. He didn’t have to. They were both cops.
“She was in pretty bad shape when I got to the Blue Crab, but she wouldn’t let me take her to the hospital. That woman was some stubborn.”
So that’s where her daughter got it from. Well, Jess had warned Steve that she was just like her mother in every way that counted.
“I had a talk with the boys who roughed her up,” Cliff ruminated, “then stopped by Helen’s trailer later that night and suggested it might be better if she moved on.”
“Better for her?” Steve drawled. “Or the men who assaulted her?”
“Both, to my way of thinking. The talk was sure to turn ugly, and that scrappy little kid of hers had already ‘bout got herself kicked out of school.” He angled a look at Steve, his brown eyes sleepy beneath their drooping lids. “That young ‘un was so skinny she couldn’t make a shadow if there was three of her bundled together.”
“She’s filled out some.”
“Must have, if you’re sniffing after her.”
“Jesus, is there anything that goes on in this county that everyone else doesn’t hear about before I do?”
“Not much.”
Reeling in, Steve checked his bait and re-cast. The ripples had spread halfway across the dappled surface of the pond before he asked the question Boudreaux obviously expected.
“So who were these fine, upstanding citizens?”
“The recently deceased Delbert McConnell was one,” the sheriff drawled.
“Oh, shit.”
“He was just getting ready to go into the Marines and feeling his juice. I figure that nasty little incident was one of the reasons he eventually turned to Jesus.”
Steve had seen too many righteous fall and sinners redeem themselves to comment on what led a rapist to God.
“Who were the others?”
“Old man
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