Fat Tuesday(83)

"Resigned? He's left the department?" He told her about Basile's gradual but steady decline. Dismayed, she said, "I didn't even know about his and Barbara's breakup. He didn't say a word to me about it."

"He didn't take it nearly as hard as he did Kev's death. That's still eating him up. Even I didn't realize how much until ... this."

"What's happened, Doug? What did you mean when you said he'd flown the coop? Do you mean he's disappeared?"

"Looks like it."

She raised shaking fingers to her lips."You don't think he'd harm himself?"

"No. It's not that, but anything else I say would be unfair to Burke because the details are still sketchy."

"Details of what? Has he ... done something?"

Pat hedged."I'd rather not discuss it, Nancy. There was an incident, but it isn't a matter of record yet because the other involved party wishes to keep it contained. But it's a volatile situation.

If I'm very lucky and locate Basile soon, I might be able to prevent a real disaster. If not, for all practical purposes, his life will be over."

Wringing her hands, she groaned."This is my fault."

"No, no it isn't. He was close to the edge and would have gone over even if you hadn't stopped his visits."

Far from convinced, she offered to do whatever she could to help.

"Tell me where he might have gone," Pat said."Did he ever mention a getaway to you? Some special place?"

"I don't know. A fishing cabin maybe, but ..." She massaged her forehead as though to stimulate her memory."If he ever said where it was, I don't remember. Barbara would know."

Pat's expression turned sour."I'd been trying to reach her at home, when I gave up and called the school where she teaches. She and her boyfriend took some personal days and went to Jamaica. They were already out of town before Basile disappeared. I'm sure she knows nothing about it."

Nancy looked forlorn."I wish I could help. I love Burke. He was a dear friend to Kev and to me. It tore me apart to ask him to stop coming around. But you understand my reasoning, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. And I'm sure he understood, too." He touched her hand in farewell and apologized for keeping her from the pizza party.

Moving away, he said, "If you think of anything, call me."

"Have you spoken with his brother?"

Pat stopped."Brother?" ...

Burke was unconscious for only a couple of minutes, but in that brief amount of time Remy Duvall had managed to row the boat twenty or thirty yards out. She was struggling to start the motor.

He crawled to the end of the pier and called her name. Rockets of pain exploded behind his eyeballs, and he wondered what she had hit him with, and how a woman that slender could have put that much power behind the blow.

She was headed toward land in the direction that he'd indicated to her earlier, when actually the old pier was on the opposite side. He had deliberately told her wrong."Mrs. Duvall, even if you make it to solid ground, you'll die out there. You'll get lost and never find your way out."

Giving up on the motor, she retrieved the oar and began to row again.

Burke considered jumping in and going after her. In some parts of the swamp the water was no more than knee deep. But here it was at least over his head. Ordinarily that wouldn't pose a problem. Swimming, he could cover the distance to the boat in seconds. But he was dizzy and nauseous and unsure he could remain conscious if he tried to swim.

He might drown. Then both of them would perish, because, damn it, he'd meant it when he warned her of the dangers awaiting a person alone and lost in the swamp.

There was only one choice left to him, and it was a bitch.

But, seeing no other way to stop her, he forced himself to stand.

He swayed on his feet and had to close his eyes for a moment while the horizon rocked itself back into its rightful position. When the Worst of the dizziness passed, he stumbled toward the cabin in a listing gait that he thought must look like a poor imitation of John Wayne.

The pistol was where he'd hidden it.

Moving as quickly as his distressed equilibrium permitted, he returned to the end of the pier, cupped the pistol in both hands, and aimed it at the small boat."Turn around and come back, Mrs. Duvall." She ignored him."If you don't, I'm going to shoot holes in the boat and sink it."

She looked back at him and saw the gun, but it didn't faze her.

"No you won't, Mr. Basile."

"Why not?"

"Because gunshots would alert someone that we're here, and you don't want that."

"Ever hear of silencers?"

That got her attention. She dropped the oar."You're no murderer.

If you sink the boat, I'll drown."

"Pick up the oar and start rowing back."

She did neither."Remember, I told you I can't swim."

"And remember I told you that I'm not stupid."

He fired the pistol, deliberately missing her, but lining up a row of perfect holes in the side of the boat an inch below the waterline.

Later, it occurred to him that she didn't scream as one might expect.

Or if she did, he didn't hear it above the squawking of birds that had already roosted for the evening in their nests in the upper branches of surrounding trees. They staged a noisy protest. Even with the silencer, the spitting sounds of the gun had seemed loud in the cottony silence of descending night.