“You think his friend Butterworth is mixed up with Lucinda Arceneaux’s death?”
“There’s no evidence of that, except he denied seeing her body through the telescope. But he’s one of those guys.”
“Which guys?”
“There’s a malevolent joy in their eyes. They feed off Kryptonite. They love evil for its own sake.”
“That’s pretty strong.”
“If you underestimate a guy like that, you usually pay the price for the rest of your life.”
“Why would Desmond Cormier associate with him?”
“The same reason everyone else does. Money.”
She looked at her watch. “I’ve taken too much of your time.”
“I was going over to Victor’s for coffee and a piece of pie,” I said. “Doing anything right now?”
“I’d love that,” she said.
Three uniformed deputies passed us as we walked down the hallway to the stairs. I heard one of them say something under his breath to the others. One of the words began with the letter C.
“Wait for a minute,” I said to Bailey.
I caught up with the three deputies. One of them was short and muscular and had a face that reminded me of a hard-boiled egg with a smile painted on it. His name was Axel Devereaux. He had been charged with abuse of prisoners during the previous administration but had been found not guilty.
“You didn’t make a reference to my partner, did you, Axel?” I said.
“Not me,” he replied. The other deputies looked away.
“So who were you talking about?” I asked.
“Search me. My memory is awful.”
“Let’s don’t have this conversation again, okay?”
His teeth were the size of Chiclets when he grinned. “You’re full of shit, Robicheaux.”
“Probably,” I said. “Want to talk later? After hours?”
“Fuck off,” he said.
I rejoined Bailey at the top of t
he stairs, and the two of us walked down to the first floor and out the door into the sunshine. The wind was blowing in the live oaks by the grotto, the bamboo swaying, the air sprinkled with the smell of rain. We went to Victor’s and had coffee and pie. I believed people were staring at us. Under the circumstances and at my age, that’s a strange and degrading feeling.
“Are you uncomfortable about something, Dave?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “Let’s take a ride.”
“Where?”
“I know where our Hollywood friends are shooting today.”
“Is that a good idea?”
“The movie people are involved in Lucinda Arceneaux’s death. I can’t prove it, but I know it.”