Шарлин Харрис - Dead and Gone

“Oh, no,” I said, and my knees folded.

Antoine, the cook, and D’Eriq, the busboy, were suddenly on either side of me, pulling me up. D’Eriq’s face was tearstained, and Antoine looked grim, but the cook had his head together. He’d been in Iraq and in New Orleans during Katrina. He’d seen things that were worse.

“I’m sorry, Sookie,” he said.

Andy Bellefleur was there, and Sheriff Dearborn. They walked over to me, looking bigger and bulkier in their waterproof quilted coats. Their faces were hard with suppressed shock.

“Sorry about your sister-in-law,” Bud Dearborn said, but I could barely pay attention to the words.

“She was pregnant,” I said. “She was pregnant.” That was all I could think about. I wasn’t amazed that someone would want to kill Crystal, but I was really horrified about the baby.

I took a deep breath and managed to look again. Crystal’s bloody hands were panther paws. The lower part of her legs had changed, too. The effect was even more shocking and grotesque than the crucifixion of a regular human woman and, if possible, more pitiful.

Thoughts raced through my head with no logical sequence. I thought of who needed to know that Crystal had died. Calvin, not only head of her clan but also her uncle. Crystal’s husband, my brother. Why was Crystal left here, of all places? Who could have done this?

“Have you called Jason yet?” I said through numb lips. I tried to blame that on the cold, but I knew it was shock. “He would be at work this time of day.”

Bud Dearborn said, “We called him.”

“Please don’t make him look at her,” I said. There was a bloody mess trailing down the wood of the cross to the ground at its base. I gagged, got myself under control.

“I understand she cheated on him, and that their breakup was pretty public.” Bud was trying to be dispassionate, but the effort was costing him. Rage was in the back of his eyes.

“You can ask Dove Beck about that,” I said, instantly on the defensive. Alcee Beck was a detective for the Bon Temps police department, and the man Crystal had chosen to cheat with was Alcee’s cousin Dove. “Yeah, Crystal and Jason had separated. But he would never do anything to his baby.” I knew Jason would not have done such a horrific thing to Crystal no matter what the provocation, but I didn’t expect anyone else to believe me.

Lattesta walked over to us, Agent Weiss following close behind. She looked a little white around the mouth, but her voice was steady. “From the condition of the body, I believe this woman was a . . . werepanther.” She said the word as if it was hard to get it through her lips.

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am, she was.” I was still fighting to gain control of my stomach.

“Then this could be a hate crime,” Lattesta said. His face was locked down tight, and his thoughts were orderly. He was composing a mental list of phone calls he should make, and he was trying to figure out if there was any way he could take charge of the case. If the murder had been a hate crime, he had a good shot at being in on the investigation.

“And who might you be?” Bud Dearborn asked. He had his hands on his belt, and he was looking at Weiss and Lattesta as if they were pre-need burial plot salesmen.

While the law enforcement types were all introducing themselves and saying profound things about the crime scene, Antoine said, “I’m sorry, Sookie. We had to call ’em. But we called your house right after.”

“Of course you had to call them,” I said. “I just wish Sam was here.” Oh, gosh. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and pressed his speed-dial number.

“Sam,” I said when he picked up. “Can you talk?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding apprehensive. He could already tell something was wrong.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in my car.”

“I have bad news.”

“What’s happened? Did the bar burn down?”

“No, but Crystal’s been murdered in the parking lot. Out back by your trailer.”

“Oh, shit. Where’s Jason?”

“He’s on his way here, near as I can find out.”

“I’m sorry, Sookie.” He sounded exhausted. “This is going to be bad.”

“The FBI is here. They’re thinking it might be a hate crime.” I skipped the explanation of why they’d happened to be in Bon Temps.

“Well, a lot of people didn’t like Crystal,” Sam said cautiously, surprise in his voice.

“She was crucified.”

“Dammit to hell .” A long pause. “Sook, if my mom is still stable and nothing’s happening legally with my stepfather, I’ll start back later today or early tomorrow.”

“Good.” I couldn’t begin to pack enough relief into that one word. And it was no use pretending I had everything under control.

“I’m sorry, cher ,” he said again. “Sorry you’re having to handle it, sorry Jason will be suspected, sorry about the whole thing. Sorry for Crystal, too.”

“I’ll be glad to see you,” I said, and my voice was shaky with incipient tears.

“I’ll be there.” And he hung up.

Lattesta said, “Ms. Stackhouse, are these men other bar employees?”

I introduced Antoine and D’Eriq to Lattesta. Antoine’s expression didn’t change, but D’Eriq was completely impressed that he’d met an FBI agent.

“Both of you knew this Crystal Norris, right?” Lattesta said mildly.

Antoine said, “Just by sight. She come in the bar some.”

D’Eriq nodded.

“Crystal Norris Stackhouse,” I said. “She’s my sister-in-law. The sheriff’s called my brother. But you need to call her uncle, Calvin Norris. He works at Norcross.”

“He her nearest living relative? Besides the husband?”

“She’s got a sister. But Calvin’s the leader of—” I stopped, not sure if Calvin had endorsed the Great Reveal. “He raised her,” I said. Close enough.

Lattesta and Weiss huddled with Bud Dearborn. They were deep in conversation, probably about Calvin and the tiny community out at the bleak crossroads. Hotshot was a group of small houses containing lots of secrets. Crystal had wanted to escape from Hotshot, but she also felt most secure there.

My eyes returned to the tortured figure on the cross. Crystal was dressed, but her clothes had ripped when her arms and legs had changed to panther limbs, and there was blood everywhere. Her hands and feet, impaled with nails, were crusted with it. Ropes did the work of holding her to the crossbar, kept the flesh from ripping free of the nails.

I’d seen a lot of awful things, but this was maybe the most pathetic. “Poor Crystal,” I said, and found tears were rolling down my cheeks.

“You didn’t like her,” Andy Bellefleur said. I wondered how long he’d been out here, looking at the ruin of what had once been a living, breathing, healthy woman. Andy’s cheeks were patched with stubble, and his nose was red. Andy had a cold. He sneezed and excused himself to use a handkerchief.

D’Eriq and Antoine were talking to Alcee Beck. Alcee was the other Bon Temps police detective, and that didn’t make the investigation look too promising. He wouldn’t be too regretful about Crystal’s death.

Andy faced me again after he’d stuffed his handkerchief in his pocket. I looked at his weary, broad face. I knew he’d do his best to find out who’d done this. I trusted Andy. Square-built Andy, some years my senior, had never been a smiley kind of guy. He was serious and suspicious. I didn’t know if he’d chosen his occupation because it suited him, or if his character had altered in response to his occupation.

“I hear she and Jason had split,” he said.

“Yes. She cheated on him.” This was common knowledge. I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.