It didn’t matter. Ignacio had already made his decision.
Through the classroom window, Amaia saw Ignacio in the schoolyard. She knew her aunt would be waiting for her at the gate, but she was glad to see him. Serious and immovable as a boulder, he stood under the gentle zirimiri. He wore a marine-blue windbreaker and a tilted black beret on which tiny raindrops shone like silver. Ipar was seated at his side, patient and alert. Amaia lagged behind after the school bell rang, letting the crowd of noisy children get out first. Some approached Ignacio, and a couple of them even reached out to try to pet Ipar.
“He bites!” Ignacio gravely warned the most audacious of them.
Amaia smiled at how quickly they snatched back their hands, thinking the dog really was going to attack. When Amaia arrived, Ignacio leaned down to speak to her. “How is your hand?” he asked, studying the gauze pad taped across it.
“Oh!” she exclaimed apologetically. “My aunt took care of it.”
Ignacio gestured to the dog. Ipar advanced and started sniffing her. After circling her several times, he went back to heel by the shepherd.
The girl held out her hand and let Ipar sniff the bandage.
“Amaia, this is Ipar. He’s a border collie, the best type of dog for sheep herding. These dogs have been in my family for four generations, so Ipar is the great-great-great-grandson of the first Ipar. His nose and ears are extremely sharp. He’s always alert. Nothing escapes him, and he’s very brave. From now on, Ipar is your dog. He’s going to take care of you.”
Amaia’s face lit up and her eyes widened in astonishment, but then she appeared to have misgivings. “My aunt . . . ?”
“Your aunt agrees. I’ll be walking you to and from school for a few days. You can play with Ipar, but don’t let the other children touch him. Amaia, Ipar can’t have friends. These dogs obey only one person, and you’re going to be his mistress. Keep him close always, because as long as he’s with you, nothing bad can happen. Ipar wouldn’t hesitate to take on a wolf, and he will do whatever is necessary when it comes to defending you.”
Amaia looked at Ipar’s compact frame and then at Ignacio, and he knew what she was thinking. She’d never seen a wolf. For her a wolf was a savage creature in nature documentaries, as foreign as a Bengal tiger or an African lion. She wanted a better guarantee, so he told her what she needed to hear. “And if the witch comes back, he’ll kill her.”
“Really?” He heard the plea for reassurance in her voice.
“He’ll finish her off once and for all, I give you my word.”
The girl didn’t smile. She knew this was deadly serious. She put her bandaged hand onto the dog’s head and spoke to him. “Let’s go, Ipar.”
46
SKINLESS
Charity Hospital, New Orleans
Morning, Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Amaia saw Johnson beckoning to her from the door of Dupree’s room as he concluded a conversation with a man she didn’t recognize. She headed in that direction without releasing Jacob’s hand.
“Do we know anything yet?”
Johnson looked back in frustration at the closed door. “Still nothing. People have been in and out, but they’re not telling me anything. I called you over because I have a couple of things to share.”
Amaia studied Johnson’s face. He was unnaturally pale, despite the heat. His complexion was stark white. Even his mustache, the most distinctive feature of his face, seemed sadly reduced. He was worried about Dupree, and she didn’t blame him. It was clear the two were close. Despite Johnson’s obvious disapproval of the behind-the-scenes machinations of Bull and Dupree, his devotion to his boss was absolute.
Johnson looked her directly in the eyes, perhaps to interrupt her scrutiny of him. “Did you see that guy I was talking to? That was Lorenzo.”
She frowned, perplexed.
“Phil Lorenzo, from Rescue Me. They’re based here, remember? They were here yesterday when we contacted them by radio.”
She suddenly got it. “Brad Nelson’s partner! What did he say?”
“Well, a whole lot, to tell you the truth, but I don’t know if any of it is useful. A lot is still unclear. On one hand, he confirms Nelson left the group early once and arrived late another time. In fact, he admitted he covered for Nelson one time, telling Chief Meigs that Nelson was with him, when in fact the man had peeled off early.”
Amaia gave him an inquiring look. Were things starting to click into place?
“But he also said Nelson had problems in his marriage, a lot of family matters he had to deal with. Lorenzo likes to think of himself as an understanding guy, says he was drinking a lot ten years ago and his own marriage almost went down the tubes. He got through that, but when he looked at Nelson, he saw his former self. Figured his partner needed protection. When Lorenzo was having a hard time, he was ashamed to own up to his problems. Used to sneak off to Alcoholics Anonymous. Wanted nobody to know, so he made up all sorts of excuses. He admitted that for a long time, he was lying to practically everybody. He claims that’s a phase, one you can overcome once you’re ready to face reality. ‘You take things you’re ashamed of and make them things you can be proud of’ is how he expressed it. He showed me a lapel pin commemorating a full decade of sobriety.”
“So he thinks Nelson has problems with booze?”
“Seems he never asked Nelson directly,” Johnson said ruefully. “Just part of being an understanding guy, I guess.”
“Oh, that’s terrific! So we’ve got a partner who covers for Nelson because he likes him and assumes he’s an alcoholic. That certainly doesn’t give us anything new to work with, does it? Except that Brad Nelson had problems with his family, he thought he had to resolve them, and he used that as a pretext to be absent from work. At critical times! And nobody except his benevolent partner knew.”
“You still don’t believe Nelson’s the Composer?”
“Fits of anger correspond much better with the profile of someone with a drinking problem, in my opinion. Alcoholics Anonymous often has meetings in churches. Remember, Captain Reed told us he saw Nelson sneaking into a church, even though absolutely no one thought he was religious.”
“Okay. Anyway, I told you I had more than one piece of news,” he said, patting the canvas sling with the walkie-talkie at his hip. “There’s still no cell phone service, but it seems the hospital’s computer system is functional. A nurse told me they have Internet. It’s spotty, but they’re receiving emails. I got hold of the system password and picked up several emails. It’s as slow as molasses; took me practically twenty minutes. One is addressed to you.” He took out his BlackBerry and showed her the screen. “It’s from a Virgil Landis, general manager of the American Insurance Association.”
Johnson steadied his PDA on his forearm so she could read as he summarized the contents. “He goes into detail about the way the association works and what their adjustors do. He confirms that adjustors have access to all the data submitted for policies reinsured by the AIA and that they visit the disaster scenes to assess damage and approve payments. I have to say he was really helpful. The only information he doesn’t include is the extract from the personnel files you requested. He can’t send that via email because of privacy concerns.”