The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,196
crawling across her face.
The victims were laid out with their heads toward the north. They were arranged in order of age, and the killer had taken the cord he’d used to tie them up, just as at the earlier crime scenes. But he’d been far less careful. Either that, or some of the family members had struggled against the binding, for at least two of them had dark bruises on their wrists or ankles. The father was the first body lined up in this montage of mortality, and the pistol lay by his right hand. Then, in order, the grandmother, the wife, two teenagers, and a child. A violin had been left against the wall, just beyond the mother’s head. Amaia took out her mobile phone. It showed no connection, but it was still working, because she’d recharged it at the Cajun camp. She took several photos, gesturing silently to instruct Charbou how to light the scene.
Jackson Square was jammed. Crossing it, they saw that the cathedral’s main door was open. Candles at the altar provided the only illumination inside. The flickering light was sufficient to make the elaborate gold decor gleam and reveal the flags of Spanish Castile, England, and France flapping slowly near the door, the Stars and Stripes at the fore. That chronological display honored the colonial settlers of the land. Hundreds of people were inside, completely filling the cathedral.
Charbou saw the direction of her gaze. “Do you want to go in?”
She suddenly felt uncomfortable. “No, no—why would I?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just that I saw you praying for that murdered family.”
“Travis,” she corrected him.
“What?”
“The family’s name is Travis. I hadn’t planned to pray, but I think it was because I knew their name. I was trying to make peace with them, to say goodbye to them, to preserve their name. To keep them from being reduced to anonymity.”
“I meant no disrespect. Praying was the right thing to do, there’s nothing stupid about it. Maybe I’m the one who should go in there to give thanks. The bullet that hit Johnson was meant for me.”
Surprised, Amaia stopped and stared. “You say that because he was hit while turning around?”
“I’m saying it because it’s true. The shooter was a police officer. I’m sure of it.”
Amaia’s jaw dropped. She could hardly believe her ears. She took his arm and pulled him over to the stairs so they could sit down.
“You remember what Robin Hood and his boys told us the other day?” Charbou said. “They said armed groups were shooting at black folks.”
“You think they were targeting you because you’re African American?”
“The boys weren’t just making it up. I’ve been hearing the radio reports. It’s true. Gunfire aimed at unarmed people, always black, on bridges and elevated highways.”
“This city is in pure anarchy. But you were between Johnson and me. They could have hit any one of us.”
“There was something strange when I radioed it in. Before the ops center responded, someone else cut in, somebody who knows us well enough to assume the white man down was my partner Bull.”
“You think they were gunning for the two of you?”
“No idea. Dominic said police officers were members of Samedi. He couldn’t have been talking about beat cops. They’d have to be more senior.”
Amaia looked up at the sky. It was just past seven in the evening, and the sunlight was nearly gone. “We’re close to the hotel, and it looks as if the French Quarter’s hardly been touched. You think the city’s oldest bordello is still open?”
The sky was purplish blue when they got to Dauphine Street at twenty past seven. The big green doors to the hotel were shut, and the flag display across the balcony had disappeared.
Amaia went to the main entrance and squinted through the crack in the door. It swung open suddenly, and she found herself face to face with one of the sisters who owned the hotel.
Without a word, the woman rushed out and enfolded her in a mighty embrace. “Oh, thank the Lord! I’m so glad you’re okay—where your other friends at? I got really worried when y’all didn’t come back.”
“They’re fine, all things considered,” Amaia managed to reply.
The proprietress released her and hugged Charbou just as heartily. “But y’all come on in!” she said when she let him go. “I got to lock up. They’s people out there who would cut our throats just to get in.” She hauled them inside and bolted the door.