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Tell Purcel to finish the job.
Next time cap the cocksucker.
Helen tapped on my door.
“Come in,” I said.
She sat sideways in a straight-back chair. She was wearing dark blue slacks and a white shirt with her gold badge on the pocket. I felt like I was in a filmstrip that had just shifted into slow motion. Her face was composed, her eyes neutral.
“Labiche isn’t pressing charges,” she said.
“I see.”
“You’re not surprised?” she said.
“He wants to look stand-up.”
“Why’d you do it?”
I told her what he had said to Alafair.
“You should have come to me,” she said. “I would have done something about it.”
“How bad is Labiche hurt?”
“It’s probably not felony assault. That doesn’t mean it’s acceptable.”
She waited for me to say something. I didn’t.
“I talked to the barmaid,” she said.
“Babette?”
“She said you backed off. That Purcel didn’t need to drag you outside.”
“Could be.”
“Were you drinking?”
“No, ma’am.”
“You think Labiche set you up?”
“Probably.”
“The prosecutor’s office will be looking at you again. You know that, don’t you?”
“Here’s the rest of it,” I said. “In front of Victor’s, he told Alafair there was a guy wearing red tennis shoes down by the bayou. Alafair said Labiche seemed spooked, but he didn’t want to check the guy out.”
“Like he already knew who the guy was?” she said.
“That was Alafair’s opinion.”
Helen gazed into space. “What’s your take on all this?”
“Labiche was probably on a pad for some dealers in Miami. He had ties there to Penny. I talked to a retired detective in Dade County. He said Penny got out of Raiford on appeal after some drugs disappeared from an evidence locker. The detective said Labiche was a suspect in the disappearance of the drugs.”
“So maybe our man in the red tennis shoes is a hitter from Florida who knows Labiche?”
