Robicheaux (Dave Robicheaux 21)

“Take another look, Babette.”

“I don’t need to.”

“That’s the guy?”

“People look different in the daytime than they do at night. Has this guy done some bad t’ings?”

“A few.”

“I don’t want to lie to you, Mr. Dave. I just don’t want to say no more. I don’t never talk about people.”

I closed the folder and put it under my arm. “You don’t need to say any more, Babette.”

“What if he comes back?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” I patted her on the arm.

“I’m all mixed up,” she said. “You’re giving me your word, ain’t you? Ain’t nothing gonna happen?”

“You’re not involved.”

“What do you call this?” she said.

* * *

AT FOUR-FIFTEEN THE same day, Jimmy Nightingale was in my office. The top of my desk was littered with photographs from a hit-and-run fatality on the four-lane south of town. There were bags under Jimmy’s eyes, a funky smell in his clothes. “You got to help me out, Dave.”

I was about to have another lesson on the number of manifestations that can live in the people we think we know best. “Have a seat.”

“Can you talk to my cousin Emmeline?”

“I heard she was your half sister.”

“I’m not sure what she is. My father’s penis roved over five continents. Tell her I didn’t do it. You’ve known me all my life. I don’t rape women, for God’s sake.”

“People do things when they’re drunk that they would never do sober.”

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

“You were drinking and took a married woman on your boat, in this case one who obviously had the hots for you. You think things wouldn’t get out of hand in a scenario like that?”

“I know what I did and what I didn’t do. She was plastered. She fell down outside the lounge. I had to pick her up and put her in the car. I didn’t want to take her back to her car; nor did I want to dump her drunk at her house. So we drove do

wn to Cypremort Point, and I showed her my boat and tried to get some coffee down her.”

I thought about the bruise inside Rowena’s thigh and the scratches on her hip and wondered if Jimmy was providing a fabricated explanation for them.

“I think you ought to get a lawyer,” I said.

“I have a half dozen of them. I don’t want this going into a courtroom. I want to work it out.”

“By denying you didn’t do anything wrong?”

“Right now I just want you to talk to Emmeline.”