“That scene is about failed love, about the coming of death, isn’t it?”
“For me it’s about the conflict between light and shadow. Each seeks dominion. Neither is satisfied with its share.”
I looked at him. I didn’t try to follow his line of thought. “I saw the picture at the Evangeline Theater in 1946. My mother took me.”
He nodded.
“I think a scene like that could almost take a guy over the edge,” I said.
“I never heard it put that way.”
“It’s strange what happens when a guy gets too deep into his own mind,” I said.
“Maybe you think too much,” he said.
“Probably.” I reached down and picked up the burning cigarette Butterworth had thrown in the flower bed. I mashed it out on the horn button of the Subaru and stuck it in Butterworth’s shirt pocket. “We’re heck on littering.”
Butterworth grinned. “In Louisiana?”
The pair of them drove away, the sunlight spangling on the windshield.
I couldn’t get the still shot of Wyatt Earp and Clementine out of my mind. I could almost hear the music from the film blowing in the trees.
• • •
I HAD ANOTHER SURPRISE waiting for me at the rear entrance to city hall. Travis Lebeau was slouched against the brick wall, in the shade, picking his nails. “Hey.”
“What’s the haps?” I said.
“Need to bend your ear.”
“Come upstairs.”
“How about down by the water? I’m not big on visiting cop houses.”
I looked at my watch. When it comes to encouraging confidential informants, there is no greater inducement than a show of indifference. “I’m under the gun.”
“I’ve got a bull’s-eye on my back,” he replied.
I walked down the bayou’s edge and let him follow. “Say it.”
/>
“There’s a couple of AB guys who know where I am. Give me five hundred. I’ll give you Tillinger.”
“The same guy you stood up for?”
“I’m in a spot,” he said, his eyes leaving mine. “He liked to drop names.”
“People Lucinda Arceneaux knew?”
He looked sideways and blew out a breath. “Yeah, people she knew.”
“Which people?”
“How about the money?”
“You haven’t given me anything, Travis.”