Iris Johansen: Bonnie

“Good, I want to get back to the house.”

“You said you heard the motorboat. Did you see him?”

“Yes, but he was halfway across the bayou, then he was lost in the fog.” He glanced at the truck. “Have you searched it?”

Catherine shook her head. “No, I called Venable, and he’s going to arrange to get a forensic detail out here. Though I don’t know what our chances are of getting prints.”

“Nil,” he said flatly. “Maybe trace evidence.”

“You seem very certain,” Eve said.

“Do I?” He got to his feet. “As certain as I can be under the circumstances. I’d judge he wouldn’t leave a trail.”

“We may not be able to ID him from prints, but Catherine saw him. I may be able to do a sketch from her description. Could you help? Did you get a good look at his face?”

“No, sorry. You think there’s a good possibility that you’ll be able to get a close enough resemblance?” He glanced at Catherine. “You’ll remember him?”

“I’ll remember him,” she said quietly.

He looked away from her face, and his gaze traveled up and down her body. “You look almost dry.”

She shrugged. “I took my clothes off and wrung them out. You should do the same.”

He shook his head. “I’ll change when I get back to the house.” He turned his head toward the road. “I think I hear Quinn.”

Eve nodded as the car came around the bend of the road. “That’s Joe.” She watched Joe park on the side of the road and called to him as he walked down the slope toward the bank. “Gallo heard the motorboat, too, Joe, but it was moving out of sight when he got to the inlet.”

“That’s convenient.”

Gallo stiffened. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“He saved Catherine’s life, Joe,” Eve said quietly. “I think we can do without antagonism and accusations.”

“Yes, he saved her life.” Joe’s gaze met Gallo’s. “But why did he wait until he had to target the hand instead of another part of the body? That was an incredibly difficult throw. If he’d missed, it could have been all over for Catherine.”

“Perhaps he’d just arrived on the scene,” Catherine said. “Gallo wouldn’t have deliberately chosen to-”

“Gallo was standing in the water watching his approach,” Joe said flatly. “I saw him while I was moving in the brush to take my shot. He was watching, not moving, not lifting his knife. He acted as if he were frozen.”

“I took him out,” Gallo said.

“Barely,” Joe said. “A knife between the shoulder blades would have been a hell of a lot more efficient.”

“And would have run the risk of leaving him dead and unable to be questioned. Ask Eve how she would feel about that.”

“You’re saying that you deliberately risked Catherine on the altar of leaving that killer alive to tell us what we need to know.” Joe shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think you had another agenda.”

“And that would be?”

“I don’t know yet.” He paused. “Of course, you could have been going to let Catherine be killed, but when you saw me on the bank, you decided you had to make a token effort.”

“No way,” Catherine said. “You’re reaching, Joe.”

Joe’s gaze never left Gallo’s face. “But you still left that bastard alive and able to escape. Then you stayed in the bayou for hours, supposedly searching for him, but came up empty. Even when you were close enough to that inlet to hear the motorboat. A picture seems to be emerging. I’m wondering why you would do all that.”

“Keep wondering.” Gallo turned away and moved toward the trees. “I’m not defending myself to you, Quinn. I’ll see you all back at the house.”

“Get in the car, Gallo,” Catherine said. “I’ve been through that brush. It’s hell on bare feet.”

But Gallo had already disappeared into the palmetto shrubs.

“Okay.” Catherine turned to Joe. “You’re saying that Gallo didn’t want Jacobs’s killer caught. Why? Are you still thinking that Gallo had something to do with Bonnie’s death? That maybe he didn’t kill Jacobs himself but he had an accomplice do it?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit until I find out why Gallo didn’t throw that knife when he had a better chance of taking out his target.” He turned away and started up the slope. “And I don’t regard any argument you can give me as credible.”

She stared at him. “Why the hell not?”

He looked back over his shoulder. “You’re being emotional. You’re not thinking as clearly as you usually do.”

“He made the throw. He saved my life. I was with him in that house, and I know he didn’t set Jacobs up to be butchered.”

Joe didn’t answer as he got into the driver’s seat.

Eve could sense the frustration Catherine was feeling. She was feeling a similar frustration, mixed with uneasiness. Yes, Joe’s suspicion could be based on his history of distrust of Gallo. But Joe was smart and cool and seldom let anything interfere with his logic. “Come on.” She took Catherine’s arm and nudged her toward the slope. “Get in the car. I don’t want you getting angry and stomping off into the brush like Gallo. After looking at the soles of your feet while we were sitting on the bank, I’m surprised you can walk.”

“I’m all right.” Catherine started up the slope. “But I won’t let Joe make me pissed off enough to hike back.” She added through set teeth, “I’m not credible? I’m too emotional? Screw him.”

“He used the wrong words,” Eve said.

“You bet he did.”

“But you wouldn’t be this upset if you didn’t think that there was some truth in what he said.”

Catherine’s gaze flew to her face. “Do you believe Gallo was going to let me die?”

“No.” She smiled. “But I’m emotional, too. I don’t think nearly as logically as Joe. As we’ve already discussed, sometimes gray seems white to me.” Her smile faded. “And there may be a good deal of gray in this scenario. Gallo may not be pitch-black, but he could be bordering on charcoal.”

Catherine shook her head. “He saved my life. He wouldn’t have let me be murdered.” She got into the backseat of the car. “And that’s not an emotional judgment.”

“No,” Eve said as she climbed into the passenger seat. “It’s more like faith.”

“HOW ARE YOUR FEET?”Gallo stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his gaze on Catherine, who was sitting in a chair by the stove, her bare feet soaking in a pan of warm water. “I’m glad you’re taking care of them. Salt water?”

“Yes.” She met his gaze across the room. “I always take care of myself.”

His lips twisted. “Quinn wouldn’t agree with you.”

“Joe thinks I’m ‘emotional.’” She looked at his feet, encased in boots. “You tore your feet up, too, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You deserve it. You were stupid. I had no choice. But you could have just kept quiet and let yourself be driven back to the house.” She sloshed her feet in the water. “Did you bandage your feet before you put on those boots?”

“Yes, I take care of myself, too.” He came toward her. “Where are Quinn and Eve?”

“They’re calling Jane MacGuire. Eve promised to keep in touch with her.”

“And Eve always keeps her promises.” He took the towel draped over the chair next to Catherine’s. “Did you call Venable again?”

“No, but he called me and said he’s on his way here. He asked a favor of New Orleans Police Department, and the forensic team should be here anytime to check out that truck.”

“He’s moving fast.” He fell to his knees, took her left foot out of the water, and enveloped it in the towel. “It’s not that urgent, is it? Not to the CIA.”