Fat Tuesday(62)

After an hour of debate, Pinkie had finally convinced the sheriff that the witnesses were hysterical and hadn't actually seen what they had claimed. That was one of Duvall's specialties. He'd mastered the technique in hundreds of criminal cases. Witnesses who first swore to one thing recanted their entire testimony after being cross-examined by Pinkie Duvall.

"What about the mechanic?" the sheriff had asked."He says the priest showed up here yesterday dressed in ordinary clothes and asked how he could rig a hose to bust."

Pinkie drew the sheriff aside and pantomimed smoking a joint."Get my drift?"

The sheriff did and acknowledged that the testimony of the mechanic, a reputed pothead, might not be reliable. The woman who'd been paying for her gas when the incident occurred was also adamant about what she'd witnessed, but she, too, eventually wound up doubting her own eyes and ears. The clerk, confused by the alternative possibilities that Pinkie introduced, conceded that the priest had seemed more concerned about getting Mrs. Duvall away from the scene than about harming her. As for the rednecks who had tried to pursue them, they dispersed as soon as they returned and saw the sheriff's car at the Crossroads. Those remaining in the cafe didn't know nuthin' about nuthin' or nobody.

Pinkie Duvall was a living legend. The first thing the sheriff had said to him was, "A real honor, Mr. Duvall. I've seen you on TV."

Having one's face on TV worked powerful voodoo on the minds of common men.

He'd taken advantage of the sheriff's awe. The law officer's powers of deductive reasoning and sense of duty were outshone by the radiance of Pinkie Duvall's sun.

Pinkie had achieved the desired result to prevent an investigation and all-out manhunt but the exercise had been time-consuming.

Consequently, his wife's abductors had a long head start. He turned around to address Errol."Who were they?"

Errol swallowed hard and raised his meaty shoulders to his earlobes.

"They were priests."

"Don't tell me they were priests," Pinkie said, speaking in a voice so soft it was sinister."Hasn't it penetrated that lump of shit that passes for your brain that these two men weren't who they claimed to be?"

Seemingly impervious to the insult, Errol said, "All I know is, they were the same two men who came to the house a few days ago."

"What do they look like?"

"Pr" He was about to say priests when he saw Pinkie's eyes narrow.

"Like I told you before, Mr. Duvall, Father Gregory is young and good looking. Slender. Dark hair and eyes. Faggy. The guy never shuts up. Father Kevin doesn't talk much, but he's the one in charge. No question.uv "What's he like?"

"Smart and shifty. Right off, I didn't trust him. He's the one I caught ... uh ..."

"What?"

Errol nervously glanced at Bardo. He wet his lips. He rubbed his hands up and down his thighs.

"He's the one you caught doing what?" Pinkie asked, enunciating each word.

"I, uh, was on my way to the bathroom. The one there by the front door?

And I ... I caught Father Kevin on the stairs. He was coming down."

"He'd been upstairs? He was upstairs at my house and you didn't mention it to me?"

Bardo whistled softly through his teeth.

"He said he used the bathroom up there cause the other one was out of toilet paper. I checked. The thingamajig was empty."

"You're a regular detective," Bardo remarked with a snort."You and Nancy Drew."

"Shut up," Duvall snapped."What does this son of a bitch look like?

Physically."

Errol described a man who was taller than average height, slim but strong, regular features, no visible scars or distinguishing marks, no facial hair.

"Eyes?"

"Hard to tell. He wears glasses."

"Hair?"

"Dark. Combed straight back."

The description fit a hundred men in Pinkie's wide circle of acquaintances, friends, and enemies."Whoever he is, he's not going to live long."

Nobody took something belonging to Pinkie Duvall and got away with it.

And this bastard had taken his most prized possession. If he touched her ... If he laid so much as a finger on her ... He relished the thought of killing this unnamed man with his bare hands.

Bardo interrupted Pinkie's murderous fantasy."Doesn't make sense, two priests, one of them a fag, kidnapping a woman. What do they want with her?"

"It's not Remy they want. It's me."

Pinkie had no proof of that, nor any viable reason on which to base that conclusion. But he knew it with certainty.

"Push, damn it."

"I am pushing."

Gregory was as useless at ditching a van in a bayou as he was at everything else. Burke admonished him to try harder. The two men attacked it again, putting all their strength into pushing the vehicle across the spongy ground. Finally, it rolled forward several yards.

Burke thought they had it licked. But then it became stuck in the silt on the bottom of the muddy creek and rested there only half submerged.

"Now what?"

"We leave it," Burke said curtly."They'll find it eventually. But by that time, Duvall will know who has his wife."