the whole case throwed out."
"Thrown out?" Hannibal set down his cup, disbelief scraping in his voice. "I know I was never cut out for a lawyer, but could you explain that piece of legal reasoning to me?"
"And does he have an explanation for why he was chopping a hole in the bottom of that keelboat?" demanded January. "Letting in a little fresh air? He didn't know those three people were sodden-drunk on opium in the hold? It never occurred to him that if they drowned he'd get off without a stitch of evidence against him, thank you very much? Or doesn't he think anyone else noticed?"
"Well now, Maestro, that's another matter." Shaw spit again on the bricks, and scratched absentmindedly. "Fact is, Roarke's claimin' he ran down to check on those poor unfortunates he was carryin' out of the town for their own good, when you came crashin' down into the hold, grabbed the ax, and started hackin' through the floor of the boat. When he tried to stop you, you attacked him with a knife."
Hannibal let out a yelp of laughter, instantly stifled behind his hand, "Sorry," he said. "Sorry. There's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark but he's an arrant knave!"
"Shut up," said January, cold and soft, and returned his eyes to Shaw. He kept his words level, almost conversational. "And what does Chief Tremouille say about this version of events?"
"Not anythin' yet. 'Ceptin' that the Chief called me on the carpet for lettin' you have a weapon, which is a clear violation of the city's code. Roarke's countersuin' you -and the City Guards-and havin' me prosecuted personally for conspiracy to cause a slave uprisin'."
For a moment January could only sit, openmouthed with disbelief, while Shaw scratched under his shirt again. "Tremouille," the policeman added, "is not real pleased." The man's long, almost lipless mouth was relaxed as if he spoke of the antics of somebody else's rogue horse, but January could see the queer chilly light that burned far back in the gray eyes. "Whatever Tremouille thinks about Roarke's storytellin' abilities, the fact remains that when I came in it was to see you chargin' him with a knife, and the ax stuck in the wall. And there's also the fact that we don't know the names of most of the victims-and those whose names we do know of course Roarke's claimin' he couldn't tell from Adam's off ox and they was never within a thousand yards of the Jolly Boatman or St. Gertrude's Clinic or Mr. Liam Roarke, so there. We don't have one flyspeck of evidence of any specific person bein' there."
Slow flame started in January's belly. "What about the people on the boat?"
Shaw reached thoughtfully down to the table, to turn the blue porcelain bowl of jambalaya a quarter-turn.
"They say they'd rather not testify."
The flame condensed to a core, cold now, like a fist of lead under his breastbone. "Just like that?"
"Just like that." The gray eyes met his. Under the water-colored mildness he saw the distant, steely glint of anger to match his own. "I just come from seein' 'em. There's a good deal of feelin' down along the levee-some was even talkin' of marchin' on the Cabildo an' organizin' a jail delivery. Not that Mr.
Loudermilk had anything to do with that. He's a Christian and he thought it'd be right Christian to buy all them filibusters free liquor. And I'm sure he had legitimate business earlier this afternoon up on Marais Street, where the Grilles live... The Grilles bein' the folk that can't remember now whether they were ever on that keelboat or not. Edouard and his brother, Robert, and their sister, Manon. A gal sellin' berries off'n a tray saw him, she thinks."
"And have you," asked January, surprised a little at the cold conversational tone of his voice, "told Monsieur Tremouille about this yet?"
"No." Shaw turned the bowl another quarter-turn. "No need for the Chief to know about it 'fore the trial.
If there's a trial." He shrugged. "Seems Roarke's feelin' poorly, with all the to-do last night. I'm thinkin' it might - so be he needs to be bled."
You could have dropped a picayune-bit into the silence, thought January, and heard the splash it made in Paris. The stillness went on, as much of the heart as of the air. He was aware of Hannibal's eyebrows going up, considering the idea; of the anger still alive in his breast, but cold now, like poison; of Shaw watching him beneath those