A Stained White Radiance (Dave Robicheaux 5)
“What do you want him for?”
“He’s part of an investigation.”
“You don’t have to look far, then. He’s right here.”
“What?”
“We had lunch together just a little while ago. He’s out back painting some furniture for our secondhand store right now.”
“How long has he been there?”
“He came in this morning.”
“I think he tried to take your brother’s head off last night with a piece of piano wire.”
“Get real, Dave. He’s a wino, a bundle of sticks. He has to wear lead shoes on a windy day.”
“Tell that to Weldon.”
“I already talked to Weldon. He says it was a Joey Gouza hit.”
“Believe me, Lyle, Joey has no desire for more trouble in Iberia Parish.”
“So if it wasn’t Gouza, it was probably one of the walking brain-dead who follow Bobby Earl around. But no matter how you cut it, it wasn’t the old man. Good God, Dave, what’s the matter with you? Weldon could beat that poor old drunk to death with his shoe.”
“Why do you think Bobby Earl might be involved in it?”
“He’s bad news, that’s why. He stirs up grief and hatred among the very people that’s sitting out there in my flock—poor white and black folk. I’m tired of that character. Somebody should have stuffed his butt in a garbage can a long time ago.”
“That may be true, Lyle, but that doesn’t mean he’s trying to whack out your brother.”
I waited for him to say something, to offer me the linkage to Bobby Earl.
“Lyle?”
“Well, anyway, in my opinion the old man’s harmless. You gonna arrest him?”
“No, I don’t have enough for a warrant.”
“Then what’s the big deal?”
“I’ll be over there later today or at least by Monday to talk to him. Tell him that for me, too. In the meantime you might ask yourself why he’s shown up after all these years? Does he seem like a man of goodwill to you?”
“Maybe he wants to atone but he hasn’t learned the words yet. It takes awhile sometimes.”
“Like we used to say out in Indian country, don’t let them get behind you.”
&nb
sp; “That’s what somebody said at My Lai, too. Give all that Vietnam stuff to the American Legion, Dave. It’s a drag.”
“Whatever you say, Lyle. Hang loose.”
“Hey, I’ll get back to you with a date for that dinner. I want your butt there, with no excuses. I’m proud to be your friend, Dave. I look up to you, I always did.”
What do you say to someone who talks to you like that? In order to get a jump-start on the day I used to go on dry drunks that were the equivalent of inserting my head in a microwave for ten minutes. I had come to learn that a conversation with any one of the Sonniers worked just as well.
IT WAS FRIDAY afternoon, and it was too late and I was too tired for a round-trip to Baton Rouge to interview Vic Benson, who was probably Verise Sonnier, particularly in view of the fact that I had no tangible evidence against him and talking to him was like conversing with a vacant lot, anyway.