A Thin Dark Line Read Free Page B

Rodriguez?” Annie asked.
    “Come on, Broussard,” he murmured with a sly smile. “You want me. You’re always looking at me. Am I right or am I right?”
    “You’re full of shit and you’re kind of hard to miss in that getup. So where were you during all the fun? You been working the Bichon case as much as Fourcade.”
    He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, glancing out into the hall. “Nick’s the primary. I had to go to St. Martinville. They picked up my meth dealer on a DUI.”
    “And that required your personal attention?”
    “Hey, I’ve been working to nail that rat bastard for months.”
    “If they had him in their jail, what’s the big hurry?”
    Stokes flashed his teeth. “Hey, no time like the present. You know what I’m saying. The warrants came out of this parish. I want Billy Thibidoux on my résumé ASAP.”
    “You left Fourcade swinging in the breeze so you could have Billy Thibidoux in your jacket. Yeah, I’d want to be your partner, Chaz,” Annie said with derision.
    “Nicky’s a big boy. He didn’t need me. And you . . .” His eyes hardened a bit, even though the smile stayed firmly in place. “I thought we’d already covered that ground, Broussard. You had your chance. But hey, I’m a generous guy. I’d be willing to give you another shot . . . out of uniform, so to speak.”
    I’d rather mud wrestle alligators in the nude
. But she kept the remark to herself, when she would have readily tossed it at any of her other co-workers. She knew from experience Chaz didn’t take rejection well.
    He reached out unexpectedly and pressed his thumb against the darkening bruise along the crown of her left cheekbone. “You’re gonna have a shiner, Broussard.” He dropped his hand as she pulled back. “Looks good on you.”
    “You’re such a jerk,” she muttered, turning away, knowing she was the only one in the department who thought so. Chaz Stokes was everybody’s pal . . . except hers.
    The door to the sheriff’s office swung open and Fourcade stormed out, his expression ominous, his tie jerked loose at the throat of his tan shirt. He dug a cigarette out of his breast pocket.
    “We’re fucked!” he snapped at Stokes, not slowing his stride.
    “I heard.”
    Annie watched them go down the hall. Stokes had worked the Bichon case when Pam was alive and claiming Renard was stalking her. He had missed the homicide call, but had worked the murder as Fourcade’s partner. They weren’t being held up to public scrutiny and ridicule as a team, however. It was Fourcade’s name in the papers. Fourcade, who had come to Partout Parish with a checkered past. Fourcade, who had come up with the ring. Stokes wouldn’t be raked over the coals after today’s court ruling. He had assured that by making himself scarce.
    “Billy Thibidoux, my ass,” she grumbled under her breath.
     
    A nnie stayed late to finish her report on the Davidson incident. When she came out of the building at 5:06, the parking lot behind the law enforcement center was deserted except for a pair of trustees washing the sheriff’s new Suburban. The day-shift deputies had split for home or second jobs or stools in their favorite bars. The press had taken Smith Pritchett’s brief official statement on Hunter Davidson’s situation and gone off to meet their deadlines.
    A sense of false peace held the moment. Any stranger walking through Bayou Breaux would have remarked on the lovely afternoon. Spring had arrived unusually early, filling the air with the perfume of sweet olive and wisteria. Window boxes on the second-floor galleries of the historic business district were bursting with color and overflowing greenery, ivy trailing down the wrought iron and wood railings. Store windows had been decorated for the upcoming Mardi Gras carnival. Down on the corner, old Tante Lucesse sat on a folding chair weaving a pine-needle basket and singing hymns for passersby.
    But underlying the veneer of peace was something