One Blood

Chapter Fifty-Three

“Shit!” This was going to be all over the news within the hour. “Any casualties?”

“Four dead and two injured, but that’s not all.”

Bill swallowed. “Go on.”

“Sheila says there’s a white girl that looks an awful lot like Karen Lafitte sitting in the hospital parking lot…”

* * * * *

Lake City, LA

“So after the fat guy grabbed that nurse you shot him once at point blank range,” Officer Jeff Abshire said. He stared at the slack mouthed, skinny, black kid slouched over before him.

Jeff heard footsteps running down the hall and wondered what the hell else had gone wrong. It was like martial law had broken out in the city. There were barricades everywhere; cruisers and fire trucks were racing from crisis to crisis. Half the city was on fire.

This must be what it’s like to be one of those big city cops in New York City or something.

He turned his attention back to the skinny black kid they’d apprehended at the hospital. He was up to his neck in this, but hadn’t said a word. Even though there was no way the kid could possibly have been in all those places at the same time, the Chief was trying to pin all the murders on him. Sixteen and counting. Abshire had been charged with the impossible task of securing a confession, but the kid wasn’t talking.

Karen Lafitte was in the Chief’s office. They’d found the blond-haired, living skeleton in the hospital parking lot behind the apparent getaway car, crying and scratching at her biceps like a heroin addict. She wasn’t talking either.

“Is he dead?” the kid asked, finally breaking his vow of silence.

“You shot him from less than a foot away. What do you think? You were definitely trying to kill him. Make it easy for yourself and tell me what the hell happened out there.”

The kid grumbled again.

Jeff slammed his fist on the table. “Take the goddamn marbles out your mouth and speak the fuck up, Goddamnit!”

The kid recoiled and drew his lips tight.

Jeff sighed. “Listen, kid, I’m sorry for yelling. But you’ve got to give me something or you’re gonna leave me to draw my own conclusions.”

Their eyes met. The kid gave him a look that said, who are you kidding, you’re gonna do that anyway.

Jeff rubbed his forehead in frustration. Why do I always get the shit assignments? He was far from being the most experienced interrogator in the department. Stokes, Landry, and Boudreaux were all better choices, but they were on special assignment. The same kind of special assignment that led to so many cop deaths back at Simmons Park ten years earlier.

“So what’s it gonna be, kid? We’re almost out of time here.”

No reaction.

“Okay, fine. I’m gonna leave you here and check out those hospital surveillance tapes. I’m also gonna take the statements of the dozens of eyewitnesses who can place you at the scene of sixteen murders and one kidnapping. Then we’re gonna lock you up and throw away the key, and  you can explain your side of the story to the other killers on the inside. I’m sure they’ll be sympathetic.”

The Chief burst in with Captain Morgan in tow. Jeff was ushered roughly into the hall as Captain Morgan approached the kid and unclipped his service revolver.

* * * * *

Monday

New Roads, LA