The question struck Laurel harder than it did Jack. Wednesday night. That had to be Savannah's time of death. Sometime between the hours of ten and two. Midnight. The dead of night. She felt chilled.
Wednesday night between ten and two. She had come home from dinner with Vivian around nine and gone to bed early because Aunt Caroline had been out with friends and Mama Pearl had been engrossed in a television movie. And something had jerked her from sleep in the middle of the night.
Oh, God, had she somehow known? Had she somehow sensed the moment her sister had passed from this world?
The thought left her feeling dizzy and weak.
Kenner deliberately ignored the sudden pallor of Laurel Chandler's skin. If she couldn't stand heat, she shouldn't have come into the kitchen. He kept his eyes on Jack and repeated the question.
Howling at the moon, Jack thought. Wandering the banks of the bayou, as he had done most of the day yesterday. Thinking, remembering, punishing himself. Alone.
"Where were you?" Kenner asked again.
"He was with me," Laurel said softly, her heart pounding in her breast. She'd seen the light come on in his window. It had to have been two or after, but he wasn't answering, and she wasn't going to let Kenner pin Savannah's murder on him. Jack couldn't have killed Savannah. He couldn't have brutally murdered a woman and then been moved to tears at the thought of the wife and child he had lost. He couldn't have killed Savannah and then come home and made love with her sister until dawn.
She glanced up at him. His face was a blank, unreadable mask, the scar on his chin looking almost silver under the harsh fluorescent light. "He was with me. We were together. All night."
Swell. Kenner ground his teeth as he ground out his cigarette. The lady lawyer was the alibi. Wasn't that neat? He regarded her for long, silent moments, trying to read a lie in the delicate pink tint of her cheeks. She had loved her sister. He couldn't imagine her lying to cover the murderer's ass. He turned back to Boudreaux. "Is that a fact?"
"Ah, me," Jack drawled, forcing the corners of his mouth up into a smug, cat-in-the-cream smile as he splayed his hands across his chest. "I'm not the kind of man to kiss and tell."
"You're a smart-ass, that's what you are," Kenner barked, his temper snapping. He leaned down in Boudreaux's face, his forefinger pointed like a pistol. "There's nothing I hate like a smart-ass. Poor little Cajun kid got himself a scholarship and went off to college. You think that makes you a big shot now? You think 'cause some bunch of New York dickheads pay you money to write trash, that makes you better than ever'body? I say you're still a smart-ass little swamp rat."
Laurel watched Jack's jaw tighten at the insult and knew Kenner had managed to strike a nerve more sensitive than most. "Does this character assassination have anything to do with the case, Sheriff?" she asked sharply. "Or are you just getting your jollies for the day?"
Kenner didn't take his eyes off Jack. "I'll tell you what it has to do with the case. I've got me a dead woman found with a page from one of ol' Jack's books in her stiff little hand. I've got a dead snake wrapped around a door handle-just like in one of Jack's books. What does that add up to, counselor?"
"It adds up to shit," Laurel declared. "He'd be a fool to implicate himself that way."
"Or a genius. What do you say, Jack? You think you're a genius?"
Jack lit another Marlboro and rolled his eyes, slouching back in his chair. "Jesus, Kenner, you've been watching too many Clint Eastwood movies."
"You ever tie a woman up to have sex with her?"
He held his gaze on Kenner's, avoiding even a glance at Laurel. "I don't have to force women to go to bed with me."
"No, but maybe you like it that way. Some men do."
"Speak for yourself," Jack said, tapping the ashtray. "You're the one wearing handcuffs on your belt. I'm only into violence on paper. Ask anyone who knows me."
Kenner's eyes glittered. "I'd ask your wife, but it so happens she's dead too."
"You son of a bitch."
In one move, Jack came up out of the chair and flung his cigarette down on the floor to singe a hole in the linoleum. Fury built and burned inside him like steam, searing his skin from the inside out. He would have given anything for the chance to tear Kenner's head off without running the risk of prosecution. His hands balled into tight, white-knuckled fists at his sides.
Kenner smiled coldly, careful to move back a step or two, just in case. "That's a nasty temper you have there, Jack," he drawled.
Jack's mouth twisted into a sneer. "Fuck you, Kenner. I'm outta here." Without a backward glance, he stormed from the interrogation room.
"You have a real way with people, Sheriff," Laurel said, brushing past Kenner on her way to the door.
"So does the killer," he growled as she walked out.
Laurel followed Jack through a side door that got them out of the building without being seen by any of the reporters hanging around inside the courthouse. She caught up with him on the sidewalk that cut through the park north of the courthouse, where the moss-draped canopy of live oak offered token protection from the choking heat. The sun had finally emerged to boil the humidity left over from the rain. As a result, the park was empty, air-conditioning being favored way above perspiration. As she hurried down the sidewalk, sweat pearled between her breasts and shoulder blades.
Jack stopped and wheeled on her suddenly, and she brought herself up short, eyes wide at the fierce expression on his face.
"What the hell did you do that for?" he demanded.
Laurel brought her chin up defiantly. "I knew Kenner was questioning you. I couldn't envision you calling an attorney for anything other than to ask him if he had Prince Albert in a can," she said sarcastically.
"That's not what I'm talkin' about, sugar," he said, wagging a finger under her nose. "But while we're on the subject, I can damn well take care of myself."
"Yeah, that's what I like," Laurel drawled, rolling her eyes. "A show of gratitude."
"I'd be grateful if you'd keep that pretty little nose out of my business."
"Oh, never mind that you follow me all over creation, butting in whenever you damn well feel like it! Besides, this is my business, too, Jack," she said, jabbing her chest with a forefinger. "It's my sister who's dead. Her killer is going to pay if I have to catch him with my own two hands!"
"And what if I killed her? You just gave me an alibi!"
"You didn't," she declared stubbornly, blinking back the tears of frustration and fury that swam in her eyes.
"How do you know that?" Jack demanded. "You don' know shit about where I was that night!"
"I know where I was half that night, and I wasn't with a killer!"
"Because we had sex-"
She hauled back a fist and slugged him on the arm as hard as she could. "We made love, and don't you dare call it anything else. We made love, and you know it."
He did know it. She had given herself to him without reserve, and he had taken and cherished every minute of it. He had known that night she was everything he'd ever wanted, and the knowledge scared him bone-deep.
"Why'd you lie to Kenner?" he demanded.
"Because you weren't giving an answer-"
"Why?"
"-and Kenner and Danjermond are more than willing to pin this whole Strangler case on you if they can-"
"Why'd you lie, Laurel?" he taunted, driven by a need that terrified him, knowing damn well he shouldn't want to hear the answer. "Miss Law and Order," he sneered. "Miss Justice For All. Why'd you lie?"
"Because I love you!" she shouted, toe to toe with him.
"Oh, shit!" He jammed his hands on his waist, then planted them on top of his head and turned around in a circle. Panic snapped inside. Love. Dieu, the one thing he secretly always wanted, never deserved. The thing that held the most potential for pain. And Laurel was offering it to him-No. She was throwing it in his face, like a challenge, daring him to take it.
"Yeah, well I'm real happy about it, too, Jack," Laurel shot back, his reaction stinging like a slap in the face. She sniffed and wiped a hand under her nose. "I really need to fall in love right now. I really need to be in love with a man who's dedicated his life to self-torment."