The Little Death

Chapter Twenty-five

The first thing in the morning, Louis and Swann went to the county jail to see Reggie. When the guard brought him into the visiting area, Louis’s heart sank.

Reggie had an ugly purple bruise on his cheek. Other details registered as Reggie dropped into the chair on the other side of the Plexiglas-a cut lip, a bandaged wrist, and vacant eyes.

“Kent?” Louis said.

It was a full ten seconds before Reggie raised his head.

“Oh, Christ, Reggie, what happened?” Swann said.

But Louis knew. Someone had beaten the shit out of him.

“Kent, listen to me,” Louis said. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

Reggie’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I can’t do this,” he whispered. “I can’t stay here.”

What could Louis say? He knew the only way to survive in these places was to be a power broker. But Reggie had no currency here, unless he was willing to provide drugs or sex. Reggie had no connections for the first, and from the looks of it, he had drawn the line at the second. If they didn’t get him out soon, he’d be dead.

Louis glanced at Swann. He looked like he was ready to kill someone.

“Margery said she’d send a lawyer,” Reggie said. “No one has come.”

Louis had called Margery that morning. Her lawyer, Harvey, had been delayed on the murder case he was working in New York. She was frantic to get Reggie out somehow and had threatened to show up at the jail again. Louis had managed to talk her down off that ledge. He didn’t need to be worrying about Margery getting arrested for creating a disturbance.

“We’re working hard to get you out of here, but you can help us,” Louis said.

“How?” Reggie whispered.

“I need to ask you some questions,” Louis said.

Reggie bowed his head and ran a shaky hand under his nose.

“Kent, listen to me,” Louis said. “You have to help us here.”

He finally looked up and nodded.

“We found out who Mark was seeing,” Louis said. “I need to ask you about them, but you can’t tell anyone the names. Do you understand?”

Reggie nodded again.

“One of the women was Carolyn Osborn,” Louis said. “Did he ever mention her?”

“The senator?” Reggie whispered. “Mark was… with the senator?”

“Yes. Did he ever talk about her?”

Reggie looked stunned as he shook his head slowly. “No, no, he never… he never even escorted her anywhere. Neither did I. She… she wasn’t really part of our set. I mean, people liked her, but she was always in Washington. She just didn’t go to the parties and things.”

“You’re sure?”

He nodded numbly.

“What about Tink Lyons?”

“Tink? Good Lord…”

“What?”

Reggie just shook his head, shutting his eyes. “She’s… she’s… I just can’t imagine Mark with her. No, it’s just not possible. No, no…”

Reggie was too kind to say what Louis was thinking. What did it take for a young man to bed someone like Tink Lyons? How much money was enough?

“I need to ask you something else,” Louis said. “I found a humidor in Mark’s room. Do you know how it got there?”

Reggie’s pale face was a blank. “Humidor? Mark hated cigars.”

“And you’re sure you never saw that sword before the day the police searched your house?”

Reggie managed only a tired nod.

Swann leaned in toward the glass. “Reggie, what about the boots?” he asked. “Do you know where Mark got them?”

“Boots?” Reggie asked softly.

“The boots Barberry took from your house,” Swann said. “You remember the boots?”

Reggie closed his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Did they belong to Mark?”

“I don’t know… I just don’t know.”

Swann looked at Louis in frustration, then back at Reggie. “What size shoe do you wear, Reggie?”

“What?”

“Shoes, what size are you?”

“Eight.”

Swann looked at Louis. “The police report said the boots were a size eight and a half.”

“That’s close enough for Barberry,” Louis said quietly.

“Reggie,” Swann said, “do you know what size Mark wore?”

“I… Mark had big feet,” he said. “I think he wore a ten.”

Again, Swann looked at Louis. “The boots were custom-made. If they were a gift from someone, why weren’t they made in Durand’s size?”

Louis was quiet. The boots were the most damning piece of evidence in Barberry’s case. As long as those boots were tied to Reggie, Louis would never be able to prove he was innocent. But even now, as he looked at the pathetic man on the other side of the Plexiglas, Louis couldn’t help think that Reggie Kent was still holding something back.

The guard who had been standing back against the wall came forward. “Time’s up,” he said.

“One more minute,” Louis said. “Please.”

The guard took a long look at Reggie and backed off.

“I need you to think,” Louis said. “We were able to trace two of the women Mark was with by the things he had in his bedroom. If there are more women, we need to find them, too.”

“But I told you he never mentioned anyone by name.”

“I know,” Louis said. “But I need you to think really hard about anything Mark might have had that struck you as too expensive.”

Reggie was still shaking his head, staring blankly at his hands. Louis glanced at Swann, then at the guard, as they waited for Reggie to reply. The guard tapped his watch.

“I’m sorry,” Reggie said. “Except for that one time when I found the watch, I stayed clear of his room. He was very adamant after we… separated, that I respect his privacy.”

The guard came forward again and touched Reggie’s shoulder. Reggie looked up at him, fresh tears filling his eyes. His entire body seemed to wilt, and he could barely get to his feet.

Before Louis could ask anything else, the guard pulled Reggie away, and the two of them disappeared behind the steel door.

Louis and Swann left the jail, both silent until they were outside. Louis stopped walking and looked up at the jail. Then he let his eyes drift toward the boxy section of the complex where the sheriff’s department was housed.

“Reggie will be dead in another week,” Swann said.

“I know,” Louis said. “You up to a visit to the Barbarian?”

Swann followed Louis’s gaze toward the checkerboard of dusty windows. It had been only twenty-four hours since they had seen Barberry in Hendry County, and so far, it seemed he had kept his promise not to expose Swann’s involvement to Swann’s boss. But promises from Barberry were only as good as his mood, and Swann didn’t need to aggravate that.

“I’ll go up alone,” Louis said.

“No,” Swann said. “I’ll go with you.”

Barberry made them wait in the lobby for more than an hour. Louis paced for a while, then took a walk around the building, trying to get the image of Reggie’s battered face from his mind. Every cop knew what happened when backs were turned and the lights went out in a large, understaffed county jail.

Not that Louis felt sorry for most of the bastards who inhabited the zoo. Most belonged there. But Reggie Kent didn’t. And it seemed beyond depraved to keep him there.

“Louis, Barberry’s ready for us.”

Louis turned. Swann was standing outside the door, waving him inside. They found Barberry standing near his desk, working a wad of gum. He wore a polyester forest-green sports coat and a pea-colored tie.

“You got two minutes, Kincaid.”

“You need to get moving on this case, Detective,” Louis said. “Kent’s getting kicked around pretty bad, and every day you waste gets him closer to getting killed.”

“Well, jail ain’t supposed to be The Breakers,” Barberry said. “Maybe someone should tell him that.”

“You have more than enough information to talk to your prosecutor,” Louis said. “You know Reggie Kent didn’t murder Durand or either of the other two. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Barberry said. “I’m still looking into those other two guys, the bartender and the Mexican, like I told you I would. An investigation takes a lot of time. You know that.”

“Have you even talked to your prosecutor about the possibility of a serial killer?” Swann asked.

Barberry turned to Swann. It was clear he still hadn’t forgiven him for playing double agent between the sheriff’s office and two rogue PIs.

“I ain’t had time,” Barberry said.

“Have you talked to anyone?” Swann asked. “Your chief of detectives? Your sheriff, for God’s sakes? This is not just a routine homicide anymore.”

Barberry glared at Swann, his jaw grinding hard on the gum. A small twitch fluttered the loose skin under his eye.

“You haven’t told a soul, have you?” Swann said.

Barberry held Swann’s eyes for another second or two, then turned slowly to his desk and picked up the phone. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said.

Swann crossed his arms and looked away. Louis wondered who the hell Barberry was calling right in the middle of a conversation. Then, just as he heard a muffled male voice on the other end of the phone, it hit him.

“Yes, Chief Hewitt,” Barberry said. “I appreciate you taking my call. I thought I should let you know that one of your officers has been wasting your department’s time hanging around over here, trying to elbow his way into a homicide case we’re trying to work.”

Swann spun back to Barberry. A red flush crept up his neck as he listened.

“Swann,” Barberry said. “Andrew Swann, that’s right. Yeah. It’s about that guy Reggie Kent. Yeah. Yeah, right. Well, I would appreciate it if you’d have a word with him.”

Barberry held out the phone. Swann seemed frozen, the red in his neck now coloring his face.

“Your chief wants a word with you, Andrew,” Barberry said.

Swann took the phone. Barberry didn’t even give him the courtesy of some privacy. He stood close as Swann lowered his head and listened.

“Yes, sir, I understand. Yes, sir… yes, sir… yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Swann hung up and, without a word, left the squad room. Louis looked at Barberry, who was unwrapping a stick of gum.

“You son of a bitch,” Louis said.

Barberry laughed. “Yeah, well, like that little spic in Hendry County said, ‘Don’t come over here and fuck with me on my turf.’ If and when any charges are dropped against Kent, you’ll be the first to know. Now, go away and let me do my job.”

Louis found Swann in the parking lot, leaning against the Mustang, head bent and arms crossed. He looked up when he heard Louis’s footsteps. His cheeks were still bright with color.

“You okay?” Louis asked.

“I’ve been suspended,” Swann said.

Swann made no move to get into the car. For a second, Louis couldn’t read Swann’s expression. Then he realized he had seen it once before, ironically on the face of a woman. He had been called out on a domestic abuse, and the woman had been sitting there, her face bloody, tears in her eyes, as she watched them haul her husband away. She said she had finally gotten up the nerve to leave him, and it was all there in her face-anger, humiliation, and relief.

“Come on, Andrew,” Louis said. “Let’s go home.”