“Why would a broken leg stop him?” I asked.
His face clouded. “Because he died the next day during surgery to put a pin in. He had a history of atrial fibrillation, and it was concluded that the accident triggered an attack.”
“Ah.” I felt a small pang of regret. I hadn’t known Ron Burnside well at all, but I’d been in court with him numerous times. He was a public defender—genial and good-natured, with a quick smile and a firm handshake—who did what he could for the crap clients that he had. Unlike a lot of cops, I didn’t view all defense attorneys as evil incarnate, and most certainly not public defenders. They had an essential place in the system. It wasn’t a perfect justice system, but it was what we had, and I knew that if I was ever arrested I’d want the chance to have someone defending me.
I fisted my hands in my pockets and frowned. “I remember him being a nice guy. But I don’t think he would have had a chance of beating Roth. I mean, I don’t know much about politics, but it seems as if it would be pointless to run against a sitting judge unless there’s some big scandal or something.”
“You’re right,” Ryan agreed. “But Roth would still have had to mount a campaign.”
“Which would have cost him major bucks,” Jill finished, nodding knowingly.
I couldn’t help but feel a little stupid as I looked back and forth between them. “How do you two know so much about politics? And how much money are we talking about?”
Jill grinned. “My dad used to be a councilman down in New Orleans. And I’d be willing to bet that a campaign against even a crap opponent in this little parish would cost, oh, maybe a hundred grand or so.” She gave Ryan a questioning look. “You agree?”
He folded his arms across his chest, gaze skimming the crowd again. “That sounds about right.”
I closed my dropped jaw. “A hundred grand? Are you kidding? For a piddling parish election?”
“A judge has a lot of power,” Ryan reminded me. “And costs add up in a campaign. If you add in television, it gets even more expensive.”
“Right,” Jill said. “Now, that’s not all out of his own pocket—a majority of that is from campaign contributions—but anyone who runs for public office has to be prepared to shell out a fair chunk of change. Of course, a sitting judge is going to have an easier time getting contributions.”
I caught movement from the corner of my eye, and I stiffened. I almost didn’t look at the pair approaching me, then changed my mind. No, I was not going to let those two moronic detectives intimidate me. I took a deep breath, then turned to look straight at Pellini and Boudreaux as they came up to me, steeling myself for another of their obnoxious comments about my funeral. At least I have Ryan and Jill beside me.
But instead of making a snide crack, Boudreaux stopped in front of me and stuck his hand out. I looked down at his hand for a heartbeat, then looked up at his face, perplexed. What the fuck was he up to now?
“Kara,” he said, voice quiet and earnest, “I wanted to let you know that I’m glad everything worked out for you with the Symbol Man case. You did the department real proud, and I’m glad you came through it safely.”
I continued to stare at him. Who are you, and what the fuck have you done with Boudreaux? I wrenched my gaze over to Pellini, but his expression was as open and earnest as Boudreaux’s. Boudreaux still stood there with his hand extended, and after another few heartbeats I was able to lift my own hand to his. He smiled and shook it, then stepped back. Pellini shook my hand next, and for an instant I thought he was going to pull me into a man-hug, but instead he merely gave me a smile that was amazingly close to being nice. Good thing, too, because I was pretty sure that if he’d tried to hug me, I might have kneed him in the crotch out of pure reflexive instinct.
They walked out, leaving me to stare after them in absolute shock. I turned to look at Jill and was relieved to see a similarly stunned expression on her face.
“What the fuck happened to those two?” she asked. “Did we slip into an alternate universe?”
I gave a baffled shrug. “That’s the most reasonable explanation I can think of.” I shook my head. “Too fucking weird. Hell, it’s probably a setup for some nasty joke. Oh, well, I’m ready to get out of here.”
Jill glanced at her watch, grimacing. “I need to dig out too. Shitload of work to catch up on.” She gave me a quick hug, then headed out the door.
“C’mon, Fed Boy,” I said to Ryan, then saw that he was staring off into the distance again. I snapped my fingers in front of his face. “Yo, Ryan. Time to go.”
He pushed off the wall, then winced and put a hand up to his head.
I seized his arm as he swayed. “Are you all right?”
Straightening, he brushed his hand over his face and gave me a shaky smile. “I’m all right. I think I have a migraine coming on. Must be the heat in here.”
His voice was steady, but his eyes were like hollow pits in his face. “Do you want me to bring the car around?”
“I can make it to the car. I’m all right. I just need to close my eyes for a few minutes.” He shrugged and smiled, but I could see it was forced.
I walked with him to the car, trying not to look like I was hovering over him. To anyone else it probably looked like he was merely walking slowly, but I had the unnerving impression that he was struggling to stay upright. I’d never had a migraine, but I couldn’t imagine that the bright sun and south Louisiana heat were helping matters any.
Ryan climbed into the car and practically collapsed into the seat, pulling the door closed and then leaning back against the headrest. I started to slide into the driver’s seat, then paused, narrowing my eyes at a car on the other side of the parking lot. How many bright red Mercedes convertibles can there possibly be in Beaulac? And I doubt that Davis Sharp is driving his. I hadn’t seen Elena Sharp inside the auditorium, and I was fairly certain that I would have noticed had she been in attendance. So why would she be out in the parking lot now?
As I watched, the red Mercedes thrummed to life and then sped off in a roar of quality German engineering. I caught a quick glimpse of the driver—she was wearing sunglasses, but I was still fairly convinced that it was Elena Sharp.
I shrugged it off for now and got into the car, cranking the engine to get the AC going. “Put your seat belt on. Are you all right?” I asked again.