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"I'm not making connections here," I said.
"The store owner watched the man with the candy box through the window. He said just before he pulled out of the parking lot he threw the candy box in the ditch. In the morning the old fellow went out and found it in the weeds. The cellophane wrapping was gone." She watched my face. "What are you thinking?"
"Did he see the man pick up the girl?"
"He's not sure. He remembers the man was in a dark blue car and he remembers the brake lights going on in the rain." She continued to watch my face. "Here's the rest of it. I looked around on the back shelves of the store and found another candy box that the owner says is like the one the man in the blue car bought. Guess what tint the cellophane was."
"Red or purple."
"You got it, slick," she said, and leaned back in her chair.
"He wrapped it around a spotlight, didn't he?"
"That'd be my bet."
"Could the store owner describe this guy?"
"That's the problem." She tapped a ballpoint pen on her desk blotter. "All the old fellow remembers is that the man had a rain hood."
"Too bad. Why didn't he contact us sooner?"
"He said he told all this to somebody, he doesn't know who, in the Vermilion Parish Sheriff's Department. He said when he called again yesterday, they gave him my number. Is your interagency cooperation always this good?"
"Always. Does he still have the candy box?"
"He said he gave the candy to his dog, then threw the box in the trash."
"So maybe we've got a guy impersonating a cop?" I said.
"It might explain a lot of things."
Unconsciously I fingered the lump behind my ear.
"What's the matter?" she said.
"Nothing. Maybe our man is simply a serial killer and psychopath after all. Maybe he doesn't have anything to do with Julie Balboni."
"Would that make you feel good or bad?"
"I honestly can't say, Rosie."
"Yeah, you can," she said. "You're always hoping that even the worst of them has something of good in him. Don't do that with Balboni. Deep down inside all that whale fat is a real piece of shit, Dave."
Outside, a jail trusty cutting the grass broke the brass head off a sprinkler with the lawnmower. A violent jet of water showered the wall and ran down the windows. In the clatter of noise, in the time it takes the mind's eye to be distracted by shards of wet light, I thought of horses fording a stream, of sun-browned men in uniform looking back over their shoulders at the safety of a crimson and gold hardwood forest, while ahead of them dirty puffs of rifle fire exploded from a distant treeline that swarmed with the shapes of the enemy.
It's the innocent we need to worry about, he had said. And when it comes to their protection, we shouldn't hesitate to do it under a black flag.
"Are you all right?" she said.
"Yeah, it's a fine day. Let's go across the street and I'll buy you a Dr Pepper."
That evening, at sunset, I was sprinkling the grass and the flower beds in the backyard while Elrod and Alafair were playing with Tripod on top of the picnic table. The air was cool in the fading light and smelled of hydrangeas and water from the hose and the fertilizer I had just spaded into the roots of my rosebushes.
The phone rang inside, and a moment later Bootsie brought it and the extension cord to the back screen. I sat down on the step and put the receiver to my ear.
"Hello," I said.
I could hear someone breathing on the other end.
