“So it’s up to me,” Luccarella said in a quiet tone.
“That’s right,” Necessary said. “It’s up to you. All me and Dye can give you is our unofficial support. You’ll have that.”
Luccarella turned to Samuels. “Get on the phone and call Ricci. Explain it. Tell him to get up here and to bring a dozen with him. If he has to import a few, tell him he can pay top dollar.” He gave the instructions in a low, confident tone and for the first time I saw some reason for him to have risen as far as he had. “Now,” he added, and Samuels rose and hurried to the door.
Luccarella turned to Necessary and in that same, quiet, emotionless tone said, “I want all of their names and where they’re staying.”
“Sure,” Necessary said and told him. Luccarella didn’t seem to need to write anything down.
“That’s all?”
“That’s all I know about, although I’ve heard that some of them are moving their people in.”
Luccarella nodded. “I want this deal, Chief. I need it if you want to know the truth and I don’t care if you do or not. I’ve had a little trouble lately, but I’m getting that cleared up with the help of my analyst. He told me that I should trust people more. That I’m too suspicious. So I’m gonna take his advice. I’m gonna trust you and Dye. Bad things, real bad things happen to people who I trust and who then cross me. I don’t want anything bad to happen to either of you.”
“You take care of your end, we’ll take care of ours,” Necessary said.
“We’d still like to go over those books,” I said.
Luccarella pointed at one of the briefcases. “There’s a duplicate set in there. Take ‘em with you. It’s got everything — names, addresses, cash flow, everything. Lynch kept a good set of books, I’ll say that for him. He didn’t cross me either, so nothing bad’s going to happen to him. He just made a mistake. I can take that. But I can’t take being crossed by people I trust.”
“You’ve made that clear,” I said and picked up the briefcase.
Shorty stuck his head in the door. “What the hell you want?” Luccarella said.
“It’s for him,” he said, pointing at me. “It’s some chick on the phone called Thackerty. She’s all shook and says that she has to talk to him so I said I’d see.”
“I’ll take it,” I said and crossed to the telephone and picked it up.
“What’s the problem?” I said.
“It’s Orcutt,” she said.
“What about him?”
“You’d better get up here.”
“Up where?”
“His suite.”
“What about him?” I said again.
“He’s dead and they took away his face.”
Chapter 39
Necessary hurried through the door to Orcutt’s suite first, followed by Sergeant Krone who had drawn his revolver. I came last, carrying the briefcase.
Carol Thackerty stood by the window that offered a view of the Gulf of Mexico but she wasn’t looking at it. She was looking at the skinny gray-haired man who knelt by Orcutt’s body. The gray-haired man rocked back and forth and crooned to himself. His hands were pressed together as if he were praying. A long-barreled revolver lay on the floor beside Orcutt. Two feet away from it was a wide-mouthed glass jar, the kind that will hold a pint of mayonnaise. I could smell the exploded gunpowder, but there was another, sharper smell that stung my nostrils. I didn’t know what it was.
Necessary moved quickly over to Orcutt and lifted the towel from his face.
“I put it there,” Carol said. “I came in and saw him and put the towel over his face.”
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want—” the gray-haired man crooned in a singsong voice and rocked back and forth some more on his knees.
Necessary beckoned to me and I went over to Orcutt’s body. He lifted the towel again. Carol Thackerty had been right; something had taken away his face. The nose was almost gone, and there was some bone visible and also some blood. Only the eyes were the same, and they contained no more in death than they had in life. Necessary dropped the towel back into place.
“You know him, don’t you?” he said, jerking a thumb at the kneeling man.
“Frank Mouton, candidate for the city council.”
Necessary shook his head and turned to Sergeant Krone.
“Call Benson at Homicide and tell him to get his crew over here.” Krone hurried to a phone.
Necessary turned to Carol. “Well?” he said.
“I have my own key,” she said. “You know I have my own key.”
“I know,” Necessary said in a patient, reassuring voice.
“I was in the hall when I heard the shots. I was still in the hall and I heard three shots.”
“Take it easy, Carol,” I said.
“Let her tell it,” Necessary said.
“When I heard the shots I hurried and I got so frantic that I couldn’t find the keys in my purse and then I found them and finally got the door open and he was kneeling over Orcutt and praying and pouring this stuff on his face.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “So I called you and then got a towel and put it over his face.” She turned and stared through the window at the Gulf.
Mouton must have been close to sixty. His hair was gray and sparse on top of his long slab of a head. He had closely set, dark eyes. They looked out of focus behind his rimless glasses that were cocked a little to one side about halfway down a long, thin nose that seemed to have too many veins in it. His red, wet mouth was open now, crooning something else. He rocked back and forth and then started on the Twenty-third Psalm again. He wore a tan raincoat that was buttoned up to his neck.
Homer Necessary walked around him, got down on his hands and knees and smelled the empty pint jar. He rose and stared at Mouton. “Some kind of acid,” Necessary said. He walked over to the kneeling man and nudged him with his foot. “Hey, Mouton,” he said.
Mouton looked up at him. “Amen,” he said.
“What d’you kill him for?”
“He was a son of Satan,” Mouton said. “Father, forgive them for they know not what—”
“Get up,” Necessary snapped.
“I am the resurrection and the life—”
“Get your ass up,” Necessary said again in a hard voice and grabbed Mouton by an elbow and jerked him to his feet.
“Whosoever believeth—”
“He’s a deacon in his church,” I said.
“I remember,” Necessary said. “Take off your raincoat, Deacon.”
Mouton looked coy and suddenly went into a pose that resembled September Morn. “Not in front of you,” he said.
“Jesus,” Necessary said.
Mouton looked wildly around the room. He saw Carol Thackerty and smiled and I couldn’t find much sanity in that smile. “I’ll show her!” he said.
“All right,” Necessary said, “show her.”
Carol turned from the window as Mouton moved over to her. “You’re very pretty,” he said, unbuttoning his raincoat. “I like pretty girls. I’m going to show you something nice.” He held his raincoat open.
Carol looked at him and then turned back to the window. “He’s naked underneath the coat,” she said in a dull tone. “He’s got the legs of his trousers belted to his thighs somehow, but the rest of him’s naked.” She paused. “He’s ugly.”
Mouton spun around and held his raincoat wide open so that we could all take a look. He was ugly all right. “Button that up, mister!” Sergeant Krone snapped, and Mouton pouted before he rebuttoned the coat up to his neck.
Mouton looked down at Orcutt’s body. “It’s all so confusing. First, I was Judas and he was the Savior and then he was Judas and I was... I was—” He stopped, looked at me, and then in a calm, rational voice said, “I’m a professional man, you know.”