April didn’t have many options. She didn’t see how she could warn them without making matters worse. If she just came out of the kitchen with the bundle, Bouck might freak.
Calamita, the detective who had been searching the living room, made the choice for her. He pushed into the hallway.
“Shit, what’s that?” Bouck spun around and hit the banister.
“We have a few more officers here,” Braun said. “So don’t get excited.”
“Jesus Christ. Gimme that!” Bouck screamed.
“What is it, Calamita?”
April stepped forward to see it. It was then she saw Mike at the top of the stairs. No, stay where you are. Now there was a fourth. Four against one, and the guy was going to resist anyway. Suddenly April realized that the bulk at Bouck’s waist was not all fat. He had a pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans. Shit.
Bouck grabbed for the open box in Calamita’s hands. Inside was a 9mm Colt All-American. Fifteen-round magazine and 3¾ barrel brushing kit. One automatic, two barrels.
“Stand back,” Braun told him.
“What is that? Where’d you get that?” Bouck’s rage escalated.
“It was behind a false back in an old desk, sir,” Calamita replied.
“Would everybody stand back, please.” Braun’s voice was tight. “Put your hands out,” he said to Bouck. “I want to see your hands in front of you.”
Bouck ignored him. “You brought that in here. You brought it in,” he screamed. “I never saw it before. I don’t even know what it is.” He reached for it.
Calamita moved back.
The top stair creaked. Bouck turned his head and saw Sanchez. “Whaa—”
Instantly April was out the kitchen door, gesturing to Mike and Lieutenant Braun that Bouck had a gun.
“This is a frame,” Bouck screamed at the sight of two more detectives. “You’re going to be history. You took a sick woman out of here. You’re threatening me—I’m not going anywhere. I didn’t do anything.”
“Give me your gun.” Lieutenant Braun’s voice was soft now. “We don’t want anybody to get hurt.”
Bouck froze.
April let her breath out.
“Come on, let’s let the boys finish up in here.”
“Unh-unh. You can’t do this.”
“Come on. Give me the gun. Don’t you want to see your girlfriend?”
“Yeah, I do. Why don’t you go outside and wait for me? I’ll come out on my own.” Bouck’s voice turned cunning.
Braun shook his head. “It’s not happening that way. You give me the gun and we all go out together.”
Bouck tried something else. “What, are you nuts? I don’t have a gun.” He reached his hand across his body.
Roberts moved forward to grab him. Everybody changed position, moving in, moving back. Bouck’s pistol was out. Someone shouted. Roberts lunged at it.
Two shots exploded in the small space. Bouck crumpled, shot in the back. Braun sagged against the banister, screaming that he’d taken a hit. Blood poured out on the floor from a neat hole in his right shoe. Braun slid to the floor. More people began crowding in.
“What happened?” Penelope Dunham, the assistant D.A., running late, plunged through the front door with the two cops who’d let Bouck in without stopping him. She skidded in a puddle of blood on the floor. “Dear God …”
For an instant Mike and April stared at each other. Then Braun pointed at them, told them to stop gaping and get the hell out of there.
58
It sounds like you’re under a lot of stress right now,” Jason said. His notepad rested on his knee below the level of the tabletop. He made a quick note.
Camille lowered her head and nodded. “I’m worried,” she said softly.
“Sometimes when people get tense and nervous, their ears play tricks on them. They hear things when no one’s there.”
Camille nodded again.
“Have you ever heard people telling you things when no one’s there?”
“No.”
“What are you worried about?”
Camille glanced down at where she’d bitten her arm. She was silent for a long time.
“I’m worried about Bouck,” she said at last. “I’m worried about my relationship with my sister.” She looked up at Jason. “I’m worried about my future.”
“You sound blue.” There was nothing quite like stating the obvious. It usually worked.
Camille’s eyes filled with tears. She shook her head fiercely. “I’m not supposed to say.”
“Sometimes when people get depressed and worried they feel they don’t want to go on living. Have you ever felt like this?”
“Yes.” Camille mouthed the word.
“When?”
She shrugged.
“Within the last forty-eight hours?”
“No.”
“Have you ever felt life was not worth living?”
She bristled. “I already told you that.”
“You said yes. Did you ever try to end your life?”
“I’m not supposed to say.”
“Who told you that?”
She shrugged again.
Uh-huh. “You mean you did try to end it?”
“Nooooo, I mean I never went all the way.” She brushed her red hair away from her face, looked defiant. “I could do it. If I tried, I could do it.”
“So you went part of the way? What does that mean?”
Camille kissed the dog. “I have my baby to live for.”
“Yes.” Jason looked at the bloody marks on her arm. “But you can hurt yourself. You bit your arm.”
“I got nervous. I was upset. I don’t know why I did that. I feel better now. I don’t think I’ll do it again.”
“What else do you do to hurt yourself, Camille?”
She glanced at the pocket where Jason’s key chain with the knife on it was. “I cut myself. I burned myself.” She chewed on her lips. “I break things.”
“What about Bouck?”
“What about him?”
“Have you ever hurt Bouck? Or your sister? Have you ever hurt Milicia?”
She looked shocked. “No. How could I?”
“Anybody else?”
“What?”
“Have you ever hurt anybody else?”
She shrank back from the table. “You’re just asking me that because I’m in the police station. You think I’m crazy.”
Jason didn’t say anything.
She gnawed on her lip.
“Have you hurt anybody else?”
“No. Only myself,” Camille said firmly.
Okay. “You said you were worried about your relationship with your sister. You want to tell me about that?”
Camille shuddered. “My sister is making me sick.”
“How is she doing that?”
“Ever heard of voodoo?” she whispered.
“Your sister is making you sick with voodoo?”
“Yes, you got it.” She nodded vigorously.
“How does she do that?”
“It happened a long time ago, and she won’t stop. That’s why Bouck has four locks.”
“What happened a long time ago?”
“I can’t say.”
Okay. “Is your sister doing anything to you now?”
Camille nodded fiercely, her face brittle with pain.
“What?”
Suddenly her eyes squeezed shut. With her wild mane of reddish hair, the trancelike expression, and the loose gauzy clothes, Camille looked like a parody of a fortune-teller struggling for an omen. “I’m not sure. It’s hazy. I can’t see.”
Jason changed the subject. “Why don’t you tell me about the last few days before you came here. What were those days like?”
Camille opened her eyes. “You want to know what I do?” She looked around wildly, as if for something to say.
“Yes. What time do you wake up in the morning? What do you do? Things like that.” Jason sat back in his chair.
Camille took some time to answer. The dog pawed her hand for attention. It gave her something to focus on. She smiled.