A Twisted Ladder (72 page)

God bless Sheriff Cavanaugh and his tireless troupe
.

“Anyway,” Joe said. “I’d had a long talk with my client. Seems he got himself a special friend who feeds him information.”

Madeleine’s face remained expressionless, knowing Joe was watching her, but inside she was spinning. He was confirming what she’d suspected.

“Joe, isn’t there some rule about attorney-client privilege? I’d hate to have to bear witness against you in front of some kind of ethics committee.”

Joe made a grumbling noise into his glass, and otherwise chose to ignore the comment. “I must say, defending someone like Zenon Lansky, makes me rethink my chosen profession.”

“Oh, there’s always hope. The judge could declare a mistrial and Zenon could go free, and then your work here would be done.”

He shrugged, missing the sarcasm. “A mistrial would just buy some time, that’s all. U.S. attorney would have Lansky’s ass back in jail awaiting a new trial before sundown. She can’t afford to let this one go. It’s a real high-profile case, thanks to you. The biggest one this city’s seen in a long time.”

“If this weren’t such a high-profile case, you wouldn’t have taken it.”

Joe laughed with genuine mirth as he shook his head. “Just like your daddy. I have to say, I do miss him, your father.” He regarded her. “We were always at odds, but we loved each other too. Well, I loved
him
, anyway. When my wife was in the hospital with lung cancer, he was there the whole time. And he didn’t just make appearances. He was really there. He held her hand. Hell, he held my hand through it all. He was a good man. You just never knew what to expect.”

She softened. “I am sorry about your wife, Joe.”

Joe nodded. “I didn’t deserve her. Since she’s been gone, I’ve turned into some silly old fool, making passes at women half my age.”

He sighed, holding his drink with both hands and staring into the amber liquid. “Well, I’d better get back to my client. You take care of yourself.”

She watched him gather himself from his chair. As much as it would have pained her to admit it, she was grateful to him for telling her what he knew about Zenon and the police discovery. Certainly the bureau detectives and Ms. Jameson would have preferred to watch her sweat a while.

Joe paused at the bar and dug out his wallet to pay the bartender. Madeleine remembered the moment in court earlier that day, when she was able to silence Joe with sheer concentration. The bartender glanced at Madeleine, and she focused her thoughts:
On the house
.

As Joe handed the bartender some folded bills, the bartender put up his hands.

“No charge today, Joe.”

Joe looked surprised. “No
charge
?”

“Nah, it’s on the house.”

Madeleine’s pulse quickened.

Joe stood for a moment, then tucked the money back into his wallet, more confused than grateful.

“Thanks,” he muttered, then shuffled toward the door.

As he left, Madeleine saw a little girl’s silhouette in the door, framed by the late evening sun.

“Madeleine works the little trick, yes,” Severin said.

Madeleine stood and retrieved her wallet from her purse, and offered a wad of bills to the bartender.

“On the house today, Miss,” the bartender said, waving off the money.

“No, not today,” she said, and dropped the bills on the bar in front of him.

As she left with Severin, she heard another customer ask if his drinks were on the house too.

“Hell no, you pay up,” the bartender said.

Madeleine smiled. She blinked at the sunlight, leaned against the brick wall, and waited for Ethan.

NEW ORLEANS, 2010

I
N THE CASE OF
The People vs. Zenon Lansky, the good judge had declared a mistrial. Though not as a direct result of Madeleine’s courtroom outburst. In that, he had ruled that the trial should continue. Later, however, it had come to light that some members of the jury were discussing what the newspapers had said about Madeleine.

The judge interviewed the jurors individually, and found several who had ignored his orders to stay away from news media, and were therefore “tainted.” One juror had said that she read in the papers that Dr. Madeleine LeBlanc was a “seer,” and that if the doc said Lansky’d done it, then he done it.

Just as Whitney had predicted, Zenon’s freedom had been shortlived, and the U.S. attorney did indeed have his ass back in a federal holding facility before sundown.

Letters to Madeleine rolled in. People from all over the U.S., and then all over the world, had something to say. Mrs. Salazar had even sent a note of support.

Eventually detectives had released the results of the DNA tests from the remains at Terrefleurs, and the frenzy reached a crescendo. The lab had determined that the pigeon house remains belonged to Angel Frey, and matched the tissue scrapings underneath the fingernail to Zenon Lansky. This of course exonerated Madeleine in the eyes of the public.

And, false reports abounded, especially in the less-than-reputable publications. Some even stated that Madeleine was holding séances to determine winning lottery numbers.

MADELEINE MET WITH ETHAN
at the PJ’s Coffee at the uptown campus. She smoothed out the crumpled steno paper, light greenish-beige with a line down the center, with cramped script covering two sides in thick black ink that bled through.

“It came in the mail?” Ethan asked.

Madeleine shook her head. “No. Someone slipped it under the door.”

“At your place?”

She nodded, handing it over to him.

 

Dear Madeleine,

I think about you every moment since arriving here. I can’t imagine why you haven’t come to visit me yet, you being my sister and all. I guess you probably blame yourself for getting me locked up. The guilt must be a lot for you to handle. You don’t have to feel too bad, though. I’m pretty sure I’ll be out soon. Seems if I concentrate real hard, things happen the way I want them to. Family trait, I guess. I know it must be hard for you to come to this place to see me. I’m really trying to understand that. I wish I could make it easier on you and come visit you instead. But of course that ain’t going to happen just now. The next best thing is if one of my buddies came to see you. There’s an old boy in here who’s going to be let out soon. I showed him your picture on the TV, and he already thinks very highly of you. He says you looked real pretty on the TV. He’s a nasty son of a bitch but he’s been rehabilitated. Anyhow, don’t be surprised if someone pays you a visit. The burden to make social calls shouldn’t just be on you. Fair’s fair.

Your brother,
Zenon

Madeleine waited while Ethan read the letter. She understood Zenon’s meaning: He was not willing to go quietly to prison, and would get at her in the only way he could. Already he had somehow gotten someone to deliver this letter to her door. She wondered who could have done that. Someone on parole? A guard? She wondered if whoever it was might still be out there, watching.

Ethan looked up from the letter and pressed his lips together in a tight line. “That son of a bitch.”

He looked at her and took her hand in his. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone get near you.”

She squeezed.

He said, “Have you shown it to the police?”

“No, but I will. Can’t imagine it’ll do much good.”

“You get yourself a handgun and keep it with you.”

She arched her brow.

He said, “I don’t like this one bit.”

“I can’t exactly pick off released prisoners like ducks in a shooting range.”

Ethan balled his fist and slammed the table. Madeleine’s empty paper coffee cup fell sideways. She watched it, let it rock back and forth. His left hand was still clasped in hers.

Ethan said, “You’re going to see him.”

“I can’t think of a better idea.”

“Tell the police, carry a gun.”

“That’s just reacting. It won’t solve the problem.”

He was staring at their joined hands, his thumb moving over her knuckle. “I’ll go with you.”

“I think he’d just shut down if you were there.”

“Damn it! You drop this bomb on me and I’m just supposed to sit here and do nothing?”

Madeleine said, “Quite frankly, my instinct was to not tell you at all.”

“That would have pissed me off worse.”

“And so here I am.”

“Well. At least you’re not shutting me out.” He breathed out through his nose. “I’ll drive you there. I guess it’s the only thing I can do.”

“You don’t have to—” But she saw the flicker of intent in his face and she stopped herself.

Instead she said, “Thank you.”

He put his other hand over the one that already gripped hers and held on. Students wandered in through the glass doors, carrying on conversations with unseen people through microphones clipped over their ears.

“All right,” he said as if accepting and moving on. “But I still don’t think you should go alone.”

“There’s no one else he’d respond to.”

“Yes there is.”

She looked at him inquisitively. His dark eyes held steady.

He said, “Chloe.”

“Oh, God no.”

“Think about it, Madeleine. Who else on the planet knows more about all of this than she does? She’s probably the only person who can help you.”

“I don’t trust her!”

“So don’t trust her. But bring her along.”