The Client

XV - Smoke or Fire

Sarah is safe.

That's what I told myself each time my mind wandered back to what happened in the upstairs room of the yellow house on that narrow street in New Orleans.

I had to. He was dangerous. He had a gun.

Did you see a gun?

No. He reached for it, but his pants were in the bathroom. That's where it was.

You weren't in immediate danger, were you?

No, but -

Couldn't you have left and called the police?

That sick bastard took my daughter. He deserved it.

The wall looked like one of those carnival splatter paintings you did as a kid.

I remember those.

Do you have blood on you?

I haven't checked. Maybe.

If you get arrested, they'll find gunshot residue on your sleeves.

I'll burn the suit.

What about the gun?

I'll get rid of it.

What is Sarah going to think of you?

I hope she knows I love her and I did what I had to do to protect her.

At least she's safe.

At least she's safe.

When I'd almost convinced myself, I'd start back over at the beginning—pure torture, like Sisyphus and his damn stone. It went on like that in my head, round and round in circles, for the entire drive back to Coles Creek. I drove straight through without stopping, not wanting anyone to see me, especially in the state I was in. Then I realized I'd already told Judge Stone and Paul Maxwell I was going to New Orleans. The court staff would know too.

When I finally made it back, I drove straight out to Lake Baldwin. I guess it was fitting I found my way back there, counting on the dark waters of the lake to hide my secrets.

The gravel parking area was bathed in the light of the full moon. There was just enough light streaming through the windshield for me to break the pistol down into several pieces. I'd seen too many movies where the killer kept the murder weapon longer than he should. Hell, I'd seen it in my own cases, too. I looked around one last time and then crept out silently, closing the door so I wouldn't be betrayed by the light. One by one, each of the pieces went into the middle of the lake.

My suit was next. The jacket, pants, and shoes went into a barrel along with some twigs and moss. Using a couple crumbled up pieces of paper from the back of my truck as starter, I lit the pyre with the cigarette lighter from my truck and in ten minutes any evidence that could tie me to Ronald's murder was reduced to ash. Well, that's what it was, right?

Murder. No matter how many ways I tried to justify it. If it had happened in Coles Creek, I probably would have taken my chances with Paul Maxwell. Attorneys typically take care of their own and I'm quite sure the District Attorney's office would have declined to prosecute, considering the circumstances. Attorney defends daughter against man who kidnapped her. Now that's something Coles Creek could get behind. Hell, I'd be a hero. But it didn't happen that way. I could take my chance with a jury in New Orleans, but would most likely find myself in the same position Lester had—stuck in a jail cell awaiting trial. I'd lose my daughter all over again, and I couldn't let that happen. Not for anything.