Island of Bones (18 page)

He looked down into the dark mangroves. He could just make out the white of his brother’s shirt. He didn’t want to look at it
. He didn’t want to do what he knew he had to.

Your brother is dead. It is God’s will. You must take his place and he must take yours.

He looked back at his mother. “Go back to the house, Mama,” he said. “I’ll take care of everything.”

He started down toward the mangroves. It was quiet, just
the sound of the water lapping against the roots. There was nothing to break the darkness, not one light not one boat, no sign that there was another world somewhere out there.

He knelt in the mud and began to unbutton his brother’s shirt
. When he had undressed him, he took off his own red shirt and shorts, putting them on his brother. Mustering the last of his strength, he slowly dragged the body back into the water.

He started wading out, away from shore, guiding the body in front of him. When the water was chest-high, he stopped. He
brought up his hand and slipped off his gold wedding band. He put it on his brother’s left hand.

Lightning flashed behind the billowing banks of thunderheads, but there was no thunder. There was no noise at all except for the lapping of the water and the pounding in his temples. The currents were swirling around him. He let go, and his brother’s body began to drift away.

“
Ave atque vale
, Frank Woods,” he whispered.

Louis slammed the screen door to his cottage, ripping off his shirt as he headed to the kitchen. He threw the shirt in a corner and yanked open the refrigerator. No fucking beer.

His eyes lasered up to the bottle of Remy Martin that Roberta had forced on him after the storm. He pulled it down, and took off the cap.

“Louis?”

Damn it.
It was Pierre. What the hell did he want?

Louis walked to the living room, looking at Pierre through the screen.

“What?”

“The Kozol family in number eight, they say they were robbed this afternoon. Someone went in and stole their boom
boxer.”

Louis lifted the bottle to his lips and took a drink.

“You were not here to stop them,” Pierre said.

“No, I guess I wasn’t,” Louis said.

“You playing flic again?” Pierre asked, using the slang for “cop.”

Louis gave a bitter snort. “Yeah, a fucking flic, that’s me all right.”

“
Tiens
! And they pay you enough to live here on your own?”

Louis lowered the bottle. “No, they don’t.”

“You should remember that next time you sit on your porch here to see the sunset, Louis.”

Pierre disappeared into the shadows. Louis looked down at the bottle in his hand. He went back to the kitchen, recapped the brandy and put it away. He leaned against the counter and rubbed his face, his mind rewinding the scene on the boat again. Frank moving to the rail. His head bobbing in the water
, then slowly sinking, along with the case and his reputation.

Now what?

Louis went to the television, and flipped it on, tuning it to the news. He caught the middle of a talk show, and glanced at his watch. He had ten minutes before the news.

He showered, pulled on a pair of shorts and a clean T-shirt, and went back to the television, a Dr Pepper in hand. It was the lead story.

Landeta was at the marina, back-dropped by the bay and a few boats that were still searching. Landeta’s head was red, burned by the afternoon sun, and his shirt held dark circles of sweat. The gold detective shield hanging on his pocket sent off a sharp glint in the setting sun.

Landeta was recounting the afternoon’s events, pointing out at Pine Island Sound. Heather Fox was barking out questions, thrusting the mike in Landeta’s face. He didn’t have many answers.

“Why did Woods go out to the island?”

“We don’t know.”

“Why did he jump overboard?”

“We don’t know.”

“Do you believe him to be the killer of Shelly Umber?”

“We just wanted to talk to him.”

“Who was with Woods on the boat?”

Landeta stared right into the camera. “A private investigator named Louis Kincaid.”

“Is Kincaid working in an official capacity with the Fort Myers police?”

Landeta drew in a breath. “Not anymore.”

The camera switched to a view of the sound. Louis watched the police and coast guard patrol boats, hoping to see Frank’s body being hauled on board. Heather Fox was talking about the search and how many agencies were involved.

“So far, no body has been
found,” she said. “And with police unwilling to speculate on Frank Woods’s mental state, some sources are saying that Woods’s jump off the ferry was simply an escape attempt.” She gestured back at the sound. “Apparently, a successful one. This is Heather Fox, live on Captiva Island for WINK-News."

His phone rang and he reached for it, then hesitated. Damn, who was this? Another reporter? He let it ring, but then realized it could be Chief Horton. He
picked it up.

“You killed him!” she screamed.

Louis sat forward. “Diane —-”

“Why didn’t you stop him? I told you he would do this! I told you!”

He moved the phone farther from his ear.

“I paid you to protect him!”

“I’ll give your damn money back.”

Silence. He could hear her crying now.

Louis dropped onto the sofa. Jesus, here he was pissed off because he had lost a suspect again. Diane had lost a father. His eyes went to the TV. Frank’s picture was displayed behind the anchorman’s head. Louis muted the sound.

“Diane, listen to me,” he said. “They haven’t found his body. He could have...”

She was sobbing now. She knew he was lying. She knew just as well as he did that Frank Woods wanted to die.

“Diane, I’m sorry.” It sounded weak, almost pathetic. It was all he had to offer her.

“Diane, if a person really wants to kill himself, no one can stop him,” Louis said. “You know that, don’t you?”

She didn’t answer. He wondered if she had put the phone down and walked away.

“Diane? You still there?”

Silence. Then, “Yes” in a whisper.

“Diane, I still want to know if he killed those women.”

“Why? What difference does it make now?”

“Reputation,” Louis said. “Getting it back. That’s worth something.”

“You don’t really care whether he did it. It’s your own damn reputation you care about.”

Louis put his head in his hand, holding his temper. “It’s not that I’ve looked stupid before.”

She gave a short, bitter laugh.

“Diane —-”

“What the hell do you want from me? What else can I possibly give you?” She was crying again.

“Your mother’s maiden name.”

She made a strang
e sound. He couldn’t figure out whether it was a laugh or a sob.

“Screw you, Louis Kincaid,” she said. “You’ve killed my father. I’m not letting you near my mother.”

She hung up.

He flipped to his back and closed his eyes again, hoping this time sleep would come. He lay in the darkness of his bedroom, stripped down to his shorts, listening to the rattle of Pierre’s fan.

Every once in a while, he could feel the breeze
off the gulf wash over his bare skin, bringing temporary relief from the heat.

It was hopeless. He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness.

What time was it? Had he slept at all? Was it the brandy keeping him awake or this damn case? Or was it the burning embarrassment of stupidity?

The soft light of dawn started to rise in the window.

He hadn’t become a cop for the attention...few did. But the last few years had brought some headlines and accomplishments. He still didn’t like reporters or the spotlight, but he was proud of what he had done. He liked having the reputation as a dogged, smart investigator whom the cops trusted. It meant something. Until yesterday.

Forget it, Louis. It’s not the first time
you fucked up. Go back to sleep.

He closed his eyes just as the phone rang. Something told
him the call was about Frank, but he wasn’t sure why anyone would be calling to tell him anything about Woods. It was probably just Pierre wanting him to quiet down some drunken tourist.

He grabbed it without rolling over.

“Yeah?”

“Louis?”

“Who’s this?”

“Strickland. Officer Strickland.”

Louis sat up. “What happened?”

“He’s washed up. Woods is in the water just off Monkey Island. I’m heading out now to pick up Landeta.”

Louis rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “Strickland, why are you calling me? Didn’t you see the news?”

“I heard what Landeta said, but I also know he’s a moron. And when we got back to the station, the chief took him behind closed doors and Landeta’s head was red as a frickin’ beet when he walked out of there. He was pissed.”

Louis was quiet.

“Look,” Strickland said. “I just thought maybe you weren’t so ready to give up, that’s all. I gotta git.” He hesitated. “You won’t tell the chief I called you, will you?”

“No. Thanks for the tip.”

Down at the Fort Myers yacht basin, Louis caught a ride from the mainland with a couple of crime scene techs he had worked with before, guys who knew who he was and what had happened but didn’t seem to care.

The sun was still low in the eastern sky but the tide was high by the time they got to the island. No wading in this time. Louis stepped off the boat and headed up the small rise toward the yellow crime scene tape. A couple of uniforms stood talking, and two fishermen were pointing toward the water.

He was surprised to spot Heather Fox standing a little ways off, working to set up a remote with her cameraman. She was wearing worn jeans and bright yellow rubber boots like a kid
might own, but above the waist she looked picture-perfect right down to a white silk blouse and lacquered hair.

On the other side of the tape was Chief Horton. He stood, legs wide, hands on hips, looking down at the water. Out in knee-deep water, Landeta and two other men stood in a tight
knot. The photographer moved and Louis caught a glimpse of bright red that he recognized as Frank’s shirt.

With a glance back at the uniforms, Louis ducked under the tape and went up behind Horton.

He could see Frank’s body now, the red shirt billowing like a flag in the pale shallow water. Frank was curled against the tree roots, as if he were being rocked asleep by the gently rippling current He looked almost peaceful lying there, nothing like Shelly Umber had looked, twisted and tortured in her mangrove cage.

“He couldn’t swim,” Louis said.

Horton’s head swiveled back to him.

“What the hell are you doing here, Kincaid?”

Louis couldn’t think of an answer. And from the expression on Horton’s face, he wasn’t even sure he needed one. In fact Horton looked almost glad to see him.

“Frank’s daughter, Diane, told me he couldn’t swim.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before now?”

“I just remembered it”

Horton looked back at the body. “Suicide?”

“Diane thinks so.”

Horton’s eyes came back to Louis. “You don’t?”

Louis didn’t answer. He was looking around at the mangroves, at the proximity of the other islands.

“Strange,” Louis said.

“What is?”

“Frank ending up close to where Shelley Umber did.”

“Maybe he planned it that way.” Horton let out a tired sigh of frustration. “Sick fuck.”

The crime techs were finished. The body was lifted into a bag. Landeta was still standing in the water, pulling off his gloves as he talked to the other Fort Myers detectives. Horton was watching them both closely.

“How’d you find out about this, Louis?” Horton asked.

“I have friends.”

“In my department?” When Louis didn’t answer, Horton added, “Friends who don’t think we can handle this without you?”

“Friends who think Landeta’s lost it.”

Horton drew in a slow breath. He looked at the other cops, the crime tech guys, and finally at Heather Fox. He ducked under the tape and started away, nodding at Louis to follow. The sun was high in the heat-hazed sky now, baking the mucky earth and unleashing all the primordial smells. Horton finally paused under the thin shade of a strangler fig tree.

“I didn’t think it was that obvious,” he said.

“You knew?” Louis asked.

“I had a suspicion so I started watching and realized he was missing stuff he shouldn’t,” Horton said. “This is a cop who had great instincts, who could find evidence fibers on a gnat’s ass.” Horton let out a sigh. “I don’t know what happened.”

“
There’s rumors he’s an alcoholic.”

“He’s been off the sauce for years.”

“I saw him take a drink at O’Sullivan’s.”

Horton looked back at Louis. “Shit,” he said softly. “I don’t suppose it matters much now. This case is about done.”

“Done?” Louis asked.

Horton nodded. “Woods is our killer. Not being able to prove it doesn’t change anything. I wish we had more than that ring to link Woods to Shelly Umber, but we don’t. And I don’t have the manpower or money to keep looking. We’ll just have to call it closed with what we got.”

Louis looked over toward Landeta and Frank Woods’s body. “I think I’ll stay with this awhile longer,” he said.

Horton squinted at Louis, the sun in his face. “Louis, this
case hasn’t been one of your best pieces of work. You’re not looking just to redeem yourself, are you?”

Louis glanced out at the water. “I just want to be sure.”

Horton nodded. “Well, I can’t stop you, but do me a favor. Work with Mel. I don’t want him fumbling around for weeks trying to close this thing down.”

Louis gave him a look of disgust.

Horton leaned close. “Look, Louis, you’re a PI. Most PI’s don’t even get within smelling distance of a homicide, let alone allowed access to the things I’ve given you. I do it because I like and respect you. But don’t think I don’t take shit for it among my own.”

Louis was silent.

“I can’t force you to do anything,” Horton said. “But I’m asking.”

“Then what?” Louis asked.

Horton let out a big breath. “Then I think Mel is going to have to resign.”

Horton heard Landeta coming up behind him and he threw Louis a pleading look. Landeta stopped near them, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped his head. “It looks like Woods but no beard,” he said.

“He shaved it,” Louis said. “And he was wearing that red shirt at the restaurant.”

Landeta stared at Louis, as if he had just noticed he was there. Then he turned his back on Louis to face Horton.

“We’ll need an ID,” Landeta said, taking off his glasses to clean them. “I’ll call his daughter and get her in —-”

“No,” Horton interrupted. “Let Louis do that.”

Landeta’s hands froze and he lifted his gaze to Horton. His eyes looked bugged, glassy, and red. Louis wondered if he had been drinking again.

Horton waited for a reply and Landeta finally replaced his glasses, his neck twitching. “Yes, sir.”

“I want this whole thing wrapped up real quick, Mel,” Horton said. “I’d like something stronger between Woods and Shelly Umber, but if we don’t get it, we wrap it up by the end of the month.”

Landeta inhaled slowly, his eyes focused hard on Horton’s face. “What about the other women?”

“There’s no evidence Frank Woods had anything to do with them except cutting their pictures out of a newspaper,” Horton said. “Just concentrate on Umber.”

“What about him?” Landeta asked nodding toward Louis.

Horton glanced between Louis and Landeta. “Nothing’s changed in spite of your comments on TV yesterday. Work with him, Mel. That’s an order.”

Landeta watched Horton move into the crowd then looked out at the bay. He said nothing but there was an emptiness in his gaze, a s
light slump to the shoulders. Louis wondered if Landeta knew about the talk behind his back. He wondered if Landeta knew how close he was to not being a cop anymore.

He remembered suddenly what Landeta had said back in his office that day he
had come
in to pick up the baby skull.

So how long did it take before you didn't miss it anymore?
And his thought at the time:
Try a lifetime.

Louis drew in a breath. “Look,” he said “if it makes you feel any better, I agree with you on the other women. If you want
—-”

Landeta’s head jerked back to Louis. “You think I need your shit-ass opinion to make me feel better?”

Louis tightened. “I only meant I understand how you must feel, with the chief shutting you down like that, that’s all.”

“
You don’t understand shit.”

“Okay. You’re right,” Louis said. “I don’t understand you or him. But how can you not pursue the other women? Or maybe you’re just not seeing the connection. Is that it?”

“I see more than you think,” Landeta said “I see a hot- shot private eye who doesn’t have the guts to even try to put on a badge again.”

Louis leaned into him. “And I see a burn
-out playing it easy just to keep his job.”

Landeta curled a fist, his body rigid. “You sonofabitch.”

Louis stared at him for a second, then stepped back. “I’m out of here,” Louis said, turning away.

“Where you going?” Landeta called out.

“To the morgue with Woods,” Louis shot back over his shoulder.

“Make sure he doesn’t get away from you this time,” Lan
deta yelled.