For a moment she hesitated, then took out her revolver. She stood on the bottom step and held the gun on Rackstraw. It was dark in the cellar, only the light from one bare bulb casting long black shadows out to the walls of the basement. Scarlett tapped the bulb to start it swinging, then opened the cylinder of his Smith and Wesson and pumped all six bullets out into his palm. Holding the empty pistol out, he said to Rackstraw: "Take it."
The man shook his head. "Look, I don't know where Hardy is. I swear to…"
Scarlett kneed him in the groin, sinking him to the floor.
"Take it!"
"No!"
Spann cocked her pistol, the snap of the hammer audible all around the room. When Scarlett reached out for her gun, Rackstraw took the empty pistol as if to head him off.
"Now look at the serial number," he ordered.
Still doubled over from the blow to his groin, the frightened man moved the gun in his hand to look for the stamp on the metal when Scarlett lashed out suddenly and wrenched the.38 from his grip. A shiver of fright, surprise and the spread of the coke rattled through Rackstraw's body. One by one Scarlett put the bullets back in his gun.
"Oh, Jesus. All right. Hardy's in LA. I'll give you the address. It's…"
"Too late," Scarlett said, and he reached out with his left hand and grabbed the man by his shirt. With his right thumb he cocked the pistol, then placed the steel of the muzzle directly between Rackstraw's eyes.
Like a puppet show, shadows danced about the cellar. Outside they could hear the rush of the water and two of the basement walls were cracked so rain trickled in. It pooled on the floor.
"You said you'd find Hardy," Scarlett said, "and then you went and fucked me. Nobody does that. We know about the drugs coming in and the voodoo in New Orleans. We know Helen Grabowski was killed by Hardy, and so were all the others. We don't have Hardy, but we've got you. So try this for a theory.
"The US police arrested two cousins for the Hillside Strangler's rampage in Los Angeles. And now that's happened here.
"We can prove you're tied to Hardy and that Hardy is the killer. We think you killed them too. A joint sexual crime.
"We just came here to speak to you and suddenly you jumped me. Guilt I suppose. We fought for my gun which you tried to seize and in the struggle I killed you. Your prints on the metal will show that for a fact. Everyone will say the cocaine pushed you over the line. My partner here and I will be the heroes of the day. You won't be around to refute us.
"Now run for the door behind you and see how far you get."
With a shove Rick Scarlett pushed Rackstraw away.
As he raised the pistol to aim and shoot, Spann cried out: "No, don't!"
"Back off!" the male cop hissed.
"Oh, Jesus, no, don't shoot, don't shoot," the man on the floor screamed. "Hardy's in town. Hardy's in town. I'll tell you where he is!"
"Where?" Scarlett asked.
And Rackstraw told him.
Five minutes later the three of them walked out into the rain.
As the handcuffed man was climbing into the rear of the van, Rick Scarlett stopped him and whispered in his ear:
"We're going to put you somewhere until we check this out. You fuck me around and I'll be coming for your balls. Then I'm going to kill you." Rackstraw believed him.
Far from the Shore
5:13 p.m.
The thread was red serge, just as he had suspected. But what did the other fact mean? Avacomovitch had finished with the laser scatter technique. It had been two days since he had slept and his body cried out for sleep. His mind had begun to blur. Though he needed to talk to Robert DeClercq, that would have to wait. Perhaps he'd understand it all after a night of rest. Tomorrow might bring perspective.
If that's red serge,the scientist thought, from an RCMP tunic, then the tunic that that thread comes from is more than fifty years old.
Avacomovitch went home.
5:21 p.m.
She saw the boat approaching, hugging the jagged shore.
She stood alone on the miniature dock, waiting for him in the rain.
5:22 p.m.
"Do you want to get the warrant or the tools?" Rick Scarlett asked.
"The tools," the woman replied.
"Okay, drop me off at Headquarters and you take Rackstraw out to the Pen and have him put on ice. I want him totally isolated and incommunicado. Have them book him for now on PPT cocaine. I'll phone Tipple and have him do a stakeout till we arrive. I'll get the warrant and meet you there sharp at ten. Got it?"
"Got it," she said.
After Spann had dropped him off Scarlett smiled to himself. Yes, he thought smugly, I'm taking back control. That's how it ought to be.
He went inside and phoned Bill Tipple at home.
"Hello," the Corporal answered, his voice thick with sleep.
"It's Rick, Bill. Get up. We've found John Lincoln Hardy."
"You mean you got him in your hands?"
"No, but we know where he is."
"Then let's get a warrant."
"I'm just about to do that. Will you go watch the place till we get there at ten?"
"Give me the address."
Scarlett gave it to him.
"How'd you find him?" Tipple asked.
"Rackstraw told me."
"Oh, I see," the Corporal said. "Well just don't tell me why he told you. I don't want to know."
They both hung up.
5:27 p.m.
Robert DeClercq had been drinking.
As he climbed out of the small boat with his wife helping him onto the dock, the man tripped on a loose board and fell down on his hands and knees. The empty bottle of Camus cognac which he had in one hand rolled over to stop at Genevieve's feet. She crouched down to look at both the bottle and her husband.
"Robert DeClercq, I do believe you're drunk," she said.
"Was drunk, Genny. Now I'm just high."
She picked up the bottle. "Well at least it's a high-class binge."
DeGercq sat down on the dock in the pouring rain and looked out across the sea. All he could see was gray, the downpour like a curtain.
"Let's go up to the house," she said, "and settle in for the night. I want to talk to you about your case."
"Screw the case," DeClercq said. "I've got the day off."
Genevieve stared at him in wonder. She had never before seen him this way.
"Don't you have a seminar tonight?" the Superintendent asked.
"I'm going to cancel it."
"Why?"
"To be at home with you." "Well, I wish you wouldn't." The man turned to look at her. "Would you do that for me? Would you please go to that class?"
"Will you tell me why?"
DeClercq looked at the bottle in her hand and then looked away, once more out to sea.
"Well. Genny, do you recall telling me I hold myself too tight. Well that tightness is my cell, it's the dungeon of my guilt.
"This afternoon I took the boat and that bottle and just drifted along the coast, measuring the distance to shore. It's been a long time since I've done that — shared my own company with a bottle. And I'm finally thinking things out.
"If it hadn't turned dark I wouldn't be back yet because I still have some distance to go. But if I get just a bit more time to myself, just some more time to examine this dungeon of mine and how I built it, then I believe I'll find a way out."
She didn't say anything at first, but watched this man she loved so much just sitting in the pouring rain. He had his legs curled up and his chin on his knees and his arms wrapped around his shins. Finally she sighed a long sigh and said: "How long do you want?"
"Will you give me till twelve o'clock?"