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"That's the guy."
"Geri and I stopped at a convenience store and I saw him do a U-turn down the street and park in some trees. I strolled on down toward a pay phone, but he knew I'd made him."
"You get his tag number?" I asked.
"No, there was mud on it."
"Can you get hold of Holtzner?"
"If I have to. The guy's wiring is starting to spark. I smelled crack in his trailer today."
"Where's Geraldine?"
"Where's any hype? In her own universe. That broad's crazy, Dave. After I told her we were being followed by the guy with the tattoo, she accused me of setting her up. Every woman I meet is either unattainable or nuts… Anyway, I'll try to find Holtzner for you."
An hour later he called me back.
"Holtzner just fired me," he said.
"Why?"
"I got him on his cell phone and told him the Canadian dude was in town. He went into a rage. He asked me why I didn't take down this guy when I had the chance. I go, 'Take down, like cap the guy?'
"He goes, 'What, an ex-cop kicked off the police force for killing a federal witness has got qualms?'
"I say, 'Yeah, as a matter of fact I do.'
"He goes, 'Then sign your own paychecks, Rhino Boy.'
"Rhino Boy? How'd I ever get mixed up with these guys, Dave?"
"Lots of people ask themselves that question," I said.
THE EX-PROSTITUTE NAMED JESSIE Rideau, who claimed to have been present when Jack Flynn was kidnapped, called Helen Soileau's extension the next day. Helen had the call transferred to my office.
"Come talk to us, Ms. Rideau," I said.
"You giving out free coffee in lockup?" she said.
"We want to put Harpo Scruggs away. You help us, we help you."
"Gee, where I heard that before?" I could hear her breath flattening on the receiver, as though she were trying to blow the heat out of a burn. "You ain't gonna say nothing?"
"I'll meet you somewhere else."
"St. Peter's Cemetery in ten minutes."
"How will I recognize you?" I asked.
"I'm the one that's not dead."
I parked my truck behind the cathedral and walked over to the old cemetery, which was filled with brick-and-plaster crypts that had settled at broken angles into the earth. She sat on the seat of her paint-blistered gas-guzzler, the door open, her feet splayed on the curb, her head hanging out in the sunlight as I approached her. She had coppery hair that looked like it had been waved with an iron, and brown skin and freckles like a spray of dull pennies on her face and neck. Her shoulders were wide, her breasts like watermelons inside her blue cotton shirt, her turquoise eyes fastened on me, as though she had no means of defending herself against the world once it escaped her vision.
"Ms. Rideau?"
She didn't reply. A fire truck passed and she never took her eyes off my face.
"Give us a formal statement on Scruggs, enough to get a warrant for his arrest. That's when your problems start to end," I said.
