Page 90 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

“That was fast,” Aidan said.

“It has to be: no matter how tragic a death is, you can’t afford to leave cases sitting around open. When I asked about Boyle, he said he’s currently listed as suspended with pay, and that the ongoing investigation in New Orleans was officially closed this morning.”

That, finally, was news. “By whom?” Walsh asked.

Daniels shook his head. “He’s trying to find out, but he’s hitting roadblocks.”

“The point is,” Nowitzki said, with a pained sigh, and a slumping of her shoulders, “whatever Boyle’s doing, it isn’t on the books. And your nephew,” she said, turning to Aidan, “isn’t on the FBI’s radar at all.”

“No one’s investigating his disappearance?”

“No,” Daniels said. “I gave him the name and date of birth myself, and he plugged it into the system. According to the Bureau, Remy Lécuyer isn’t missing.”

There was a bitter sort of satisfaction in Aidan’s gaze as he sat up straight and glared at Nowitzki. “Do you believe me now?”

Before she could answer, Daniels stayed her with a gesture and said, “We believe that something…unusual…is happening in Quantico.”

“I’ll say,” Walsh said. “Murders, kidnappings, under-the-table investigations.”

Daniels frowned. “I have a call in to New Orleans field agent Isabella Duet. Her partner said she was in the hospital – she got shot on the job – but she’s apparently going to be fine.He said he’d have her call me back. We’re going to ask her about Boyle. And look in to Remy’s disappearance.”

“That’s a good idea,” Walsh said, lazily, and the two of them shared an unhappy look.

“We’ll be in touch,” Daniels said.

Walsh saluted them with his water glass, and they headed for the door.

When they were gone – and a check of the security monitor behind the bar proved their car was backing away from the front of the clubhouse – Walsh downed the rest of his water, steeled himself, and turned to Aidan. “Round up the others. We need a church meeting. Immediately.”

Aidan looked curious more than anything, but nodded. “Okay.”

Walsh felt certain “okay” wasn’t going to be the consensus by the time they took a vote.

~*~

Tina ducked into the gift shop when they walked into the hospital, and came back out with a tidy little arrangement of orange and yellow lilies in a fake-jade vase.

“Mom, you probably didn’t need to do that,” Alex said, feeling warm in the face and awkward for some reason. It wasn’t like it washisidea to buy flowers.

Tina sighed as she adjusted the arrangement in the crook of her arm and started for the elevator bank. “See, hon, this is your problem when it comes to women. You’re polite, yes, and Lord knows you’re good-looking enough, but you can’t commit. Not to a woman herself, and not to a gesture, even one as innocent as flowers.”

He sighed as he stepped into the elevator with her. “Okay, for the record, the flowers are from you: your idea, your gift,nothing to do with me. Second, Isabella is a colleague, and not someone I’m trying to date.”

“Sure, honey.”

“Hey.”

Duet had called while he was still standing on the porch with Colin, Mercy, and Ava. She’d heard from two agents who might know something, but she didn’t want to talk over the phone. She’d suggested they meet at Café du Monde again, but when he learned she hadn’t been discharged from the hospital, he’d said he’d come to her. A purposeful, withdrawn look had overcome Mercy and Ava, and Alex sensed they were rapidly running out of time before the two of them stole off to handle things alone without leaving word of their whereabouts. He’d asked his mom – more or less hiding out in a clubhouse dorm – if she wanted to come along, and she jumped at the chance.

Now, she’d bought flowers.

When they arrived at the appropriate room, they found Duet on her feet, shifting her weight and staring up at the wall-mounted TV which was playing nationally syndicated news. TWO FBI DIRECTORS DEAD IN 24 HOURS the ticker read at the bottom of the screen, beneath an aerial shot of what looked like an LP gas station, tank after tank lined up on a gravel lot. There was a small, tin-roofed shed off to one side, and that was where field techs milled in their white coveralls and paper booties.

Alex spared the screen a single look – he already knew the real story there, as incredible as it would have sounded to him mere months before – and focused instead on Duet. She’d stripped down to her white tank top, injured arm heavily swaddled with bandages. She held it carefully, her elbow crooked, her hand dangling limply, and her good hand was propped on her hip, nails rapping at her belt in quiet agitation.

Carl was sitting in a plastic chair inside the door, and glanced up with a quiet “hey.” He did a double take when he caught sight of Tina.

“Carl, this is my mother, Tina Bonfils,” Alex introduced, and at sound of his voice, Duet whipped around.

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