“What a fuck-up,” Roland now muttered to himself. On top of everything else, this was all they needed.
But what really worried him was that Oz might forget thatthis audacious but reckless plan had been his, not Roland’s. When even the slightest hiccup occurred within the operation, it was never Oz’s fault. Blame was laid on someone else. A ghosting convoy trundling through East Texas was more than a hiccup.
Roland shook two antacid tablets into his mouth, then took his rosary beads from the drawer. He’d just finished the Fatima prayer when his chef came to his office bringing what amounted to a grocery list for Roland’s approval. He scanned the categorized list hurriedly.
“Looks okay. But tonight I’ll go to the meat locker myself and check on the inventory of veal and beef. I’ll let you know tomorrow how much to order.”
Just as the door was closing behind the rotund man, one of Roland’s phones dinged. It was Barbara Nix. “Tell me something good.”
Speaking sotto voce, she said, “Haskell’s father-in-law in Lafayette had a heart attack this morning. Wasn’t fatal. He’s in the hospital.”
“How’d you get this?”
“Same way. Clarence, village idiot and the CAP unit’s grapevine. He delivered a cup of coffee to Bowie in his office. He was on the phone with his wife, telling her about it, said that Mitch may not be in for the next few days.” She paused for breath. “He’s got to go see his ailing father-in-law, right?”
“How many hospitals are there in Lafayette?”
“I took the liberty of doing some research.”
She had called around until she’d isolated the one in which Mr. Henry Duvall had been admitted.
“How’d you know his name?”
“Haskell’s personnel file. After his parents, Duvall was listed as next of kin.”
She had then dispatched one of their dealers in Lafayette to cruise the hospital’s parking lot looking for Haskell’s truck, for which she had gotten the make, model, and license plate.
“He drove ’round and ’round. It wasn’t there.”
“Maybe he missed it.”
“He couldn’t have. It’s obnoxious. I’d also given him the Duvalls’ home address and suggested he also look there. But no truck and seemingly no one at home.”
“You’ve been mighty busy,” Roland remarked.
“I also drove past Dylan Reede’s house again. No sign she’s been there. Package is still on the front porch. Her office is closed today.”
Roland sat thinking, turning his ring.
After a time, Nix said, “Haskell’s son lives with the in-laws. If we wanted to bring Haskell to the surface quickly, we could put the fear of God into—”
“No,” Roland declared in a manner that brooked no argument.
The baby in the crib.
He’d debated doing just as Haskell’s wife had fearfully conjectured: that regardless of his promise, he would kill the baby after she was dead. He had climbed the stairs with that intention. He’d stood over the sleeping child.
But there he’d paused. What if the baby hadn’t been baptized yet? He would be responsible for condemning the boy to hell. That might be an unforgivable sin. No matter how many times he petitioned Fatima to spare him hell’s fires, for killing an unsanctified baby, he might burn for eternity.
So, he’d left the kid sleeping, and now, he said to Nix, “Don’t act on that. Not yet anyway.”
“All right. Get back to me if you change your mind.”
Nix was good. She was eager. During the years he’d had her inside the Auclair PD to keep an eye on Haskell, she’d had little to do because Haskell had been such a washout. It had hardly seemed worthwhile to keep a spy of her caliber in that backwater. But with the unwelcome surprises coming in rapid succession over the past few days, she’d been invaluable.
However, it occurred to Roland now that she might be too clever for comfort. If she ever put two and two together and figured out that he and Haskell shared Dr. Reede…
Perish the thought. He had successfully gotten around that hurdle with Oz by giving him that embroidered account of last night’s events. But the energetic Nix could unwittingly—or possibly not—discover his secret. If she did, what would she do with it?
