‘And you didn’t tell him anything, did you, Lenny?’
‘No… no. Of course not.’
They started moving again then, but slowly, less flamboyantly. But Truelle was still petrified, fearful that with the slightest false half-step, he’d fall over the edge.
‘So, what did happen in that meeting, Lenny?’
‘Not that much. Not that I can think of.’
That didn’t seem to please Nel-M. The step increased, the swaying bolder. ‘Think, Lenny. Think. It’s important.’
‘Well, he… he seemed concerned about hearing that Doctor Thallerey, Jessica Roche’s obstetrician, had died in a car accident. And an accident too that he’d had himself… thought they might be linked.’
‘You see… you see. You can do it when you try.’ The swaying subsided a little. ‘What else?’
‘I don’t know… not much else, really.’
The step and swaying picked up again. ‘Think harder, Lenny. Like I say, it’s important.’
‘He… he left in such a rush. That’s why there wasn’t… wasn’t much else.’ Truelle was having trouble talking and concentrating on his step at the same time. ‘He nev… never told me what had troubled him so just before he left.’
The step steadied again. ‘Okay. I buy that. Anything else?’
‘With… with what had happened with himself and Thallerey, almost like… like a warning I might be next.’
‘You might be, Leonard.’ Another quick looping sway with Truelle held dramatically over the drop before quickly righting again. Nel-M’s gloat slid into a brief chuckle. ‘You might be.’
‘And he…’ Truelle suddenly stopped himself, worried that this part might bring back questions about his insurance policies.
‘What else, Lenny?’ The swaying step increased once more. ‘Don’t hold back on me now.’
‘He…’ Truelle’s left foot slipped over the edge then, Nel-M quickly pulling him back up tight. But the pain lanced through him again as Nel-M’s hand pressed harder into his back. Truelle took a second to regain his composure and breath. ‘He… he asked me if my telephones might have been bugged. Said he was worried that his might have been…’
Now it was Nel-M’s turn to hyper-ventilate, and he almost let Truelle loose from his grip with the jolt that went through him — or maybe it was as much shoving him away in anger, taking his frustration out on the nearest thing — as everything hit him in a rush: McElroy saying that he’d dropped the case and then the sudden lack of any meaningful calls on his home phone, except one; the one where he’d followed McElroy and nobody had showed up. Not only had McElroy thrown them a curve ball over his bugged phone-line, he’d also no doubt had yours truly followed the other day. Now knew more about himself and Roche than he dared think about.
But one consolation, he thought: He’d get to play out his plan B with McElroy. Roche would now jump for it quicker than… well, quicker than a ‘Psychiatrist falls off the edge.’ One last pause as he pondered whimsically what a shame it was that he wouldn’t now be reading that headline tomorrow, then with one hand he helped Truelle down from the ledge.
‘And thank you kindly for the dance, Mr Truelle. It’s been most… most enlightening.’
26
Torch- and candle-light outside the prison gates.
If Jac didn’t know that there wasn’t long left now until Durrant’s execution, he’d have become aware from the people holding vigil outside Libreville.
Only a small group now, eight or nine, but in the final few days those numbers would swell — local protesters, and an increasing number of anti-capital punishment supporters, mostly from out of state — to probably a hundred strong by the end.
Jac had received the news that the Board of Pardons hearing would be in only two days’ time. It wasn’t the sort of news he wanted to give Durrant over the phone, it warranted face-to-face, and after the news from Rillet there were a few things he wanted to ask Larry directly.
There was also something he needed to pick up after work before heading out to Libreville, so the last of the dusk light was fast fading as Jac hit the Pontchartrain Causeway, a shiver still running through him each time he crossed it.
Ghosts. Even the corridors at Libreville now held them for Jac. Memories of when he’d first headed along their grey, footstep-echoing lengths, shirt sticking to his back, nerves bubbling wildly, to see Larry Durrant for the first time.
Felt like a lifetime ago now. Because now it seemed like they were long-lost old friends, Larry hugging him in greeting before they took up seats each side of the table in the ‘Quiet’ room. Larry’s expression darkened as Jac told him about the BOP hearing in two days’ time.
‘What do you think are the chances?’
‘We’ve put in a strong plea, no denying: good character, strong religious values, your self-educating, and, of course, the key issue of executing someone who even now doesn’t have all their memory faculties. I even sent in a couple of case examples to back that up. But against that we’ve got the thorny problem of Aaron Harvey re-offending. Killing again. There’s a lot of political pressure on Candaret because of that. And so…’ Seeing Durrant hanging on his words with fresh light, hope, in his eyes, Jac side-stepped, moderated what he’d initially planned to say. ‘So it’s all in the balance, Larry. All in the balance.’
Larry nodded thoughtfully, and Jac felt a stab of guilt to his chest. Having told himself that he couldn’t and wouldn’t fool Larry, in the end he’d weakened and done just that: the odds were far worse than fifty-fifty. From what he’d seen in the press and talking with John Langfranc, the political pressure on Candaret was so intense that the chances were probably no better than two or three percent.
But having spent the past weeks giving Larry something to cling to, filling him with hope, Jac couldn’t just come along now and tell him that there was little or no hope. Kill the faint light in Durrant’s eyes he’d only just put there.
Jac introduced a fresh tone. ‘But there’s been movement too on other fronts.’ He told Larry about Mack Elliott and Rillet and his conversations of the past few days. He didn’t mention the crack house or being worried for their lives at one point, because Larry hardly remembered Rillet in any case; a reminder to Jac of how little Larry recalled from his past, how far he might be stretching for what he wanted now. ‘And miracle of miracles, Rillet did manage to dig up his diary from that week.’
‘Oh? That’s great.’
Jac held one hand up, calming, as that hopeful light came back into Larry’s eyes. ‘It’s only given us half the picture, unfortunately. He wasn’t working the night of Jessica Roche’s murder — so he can’t tell us anything about then. But the good news is that the pool game wasn’t one of the nights he was working that week. Otherwise we’d have struck out straight away.’ One trait Jac had gained from his father: look to the bright side. When Jac had first heard that Rillet hadn’t worked that key night, he’d felt immediately deflated, especially after the lines he’d put through name after name over the last few days. But then he’d shaken himself out of it, started to look at the other options. ‘So, of course, that means with the pool game taking place on one of those nights remaining, it could well have coincided with the night Jessica Roche was murdered. Out of those nights you used to play — Tuesday, Thursday or Saturday — Rillet was there Saturday, and it wasn’t then. So that leaves just the Tuesday and the Thursday, the night she was murdered. We’ve managed to narrow it down to just two nights.’ Jac held Durrant’s gaze for a second. ‘That’s the other reason I’ve come here now, Larry. To hopefully try and fill in that final gap. I’ve asked everyone else, but not you.’
‘Okay, fine.’ Durrant nodded, something in his eyes lifting, as if only then did it fully dawn on him where Jac was heading. ‘Fire away.’