I nod, because yes, I do understand. The smoker I thought was out there. The one who didn’t answer when I called out. He’s real.
“Don’t tell her I asked you about Gerald Gibson, okay?”
“I won’t tell her anything. She may be worried about you, but it doesn’t change how my hackles go up anytime she’s around. There’s something not right about her.”
I don’t answer that but when she leaves, I go out to the patio and sit in the cool, fall air. I’ll wait for someone to come and escort me back to my cell as I search the woods for the red light of a cigarette, not sure if he’s friend or foe.
40
Jericho
“Are you sure? There can be no doubt,” I repeat.
Dr. Rosseau sighs. “There is no doubt. This evidence will stand up in any court of law, including The Tribunal.”
I find I can’t quite smile at this news although it is good news. Exactly what I was hoping to find. But there’s also bad news.
“And on the DNA?”
“That’s not my area of expertise, as you know, but I trust my team and have used them multiple times. The boy is Carlton Bishop’s son.” And the rightful heir.
I nod, eyes on the autopsy report. “The previous coroner was quick to rule it as cardiac arrest. Why?”
“Unless he knew to search for specific traces of any number of poisons, he wouldn’t find it. And that’s one of the beauties of Oleander. It’s as undetectable as it is deadly. The makings for a perfect crime.”
I look up at him. Santiago referred me to Dr. Rosseau. He is a specialist in poisons and a member of The Society. He saved Santiago’s life a few years back. And this evidence will destroy Julia Bishop.
“Although considering Carlton Bishop was in excellent health, it should have raised some flags.”
“Are you suggesting he was incentivized to draw the cause of death as quickly as he did?”
“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort. I wouldn’t, of course. But knowing what we know, it’s a question.”
“And the miscarriages Bishop’s wives suffered, is there any way to know if they weren’t purely natural occurrences?” I ask. I know I’m pushing.
“That I can’t tell you.” He sits back, studies me. “But you should have enough evidence to draw Ms. Bishop to the negotiating table at least.”
“I won’t be negotiating,” I say, standing. I check my watch. “The files?”
“All in your inbox but you’re welcome to take these as well. They’re yours,” Dr. Rosseau says, standing. He tugs at the sleeve of his shirt. He’s dressed elegantly with diamond cuff links, a Rolex watch, a custom-made suit. His office is opulent, lavish, as is the rest of his home.
“Thank you, Dr. Rosseau,” I say, collecting the folders and extending my hand.
He shakes it. “You’re welcome, Mr. St. James. And I’ll of course be available should Hildebrand or any of the Councilors need my testimony.”
“I’m betting it won’t come to that.” For Isabelle’s sake but also for the little boy’s. Matthew Bishop. Matty. No four-year-old needs to see his mother dragged off to prison, or worse, for murder.
I haven’t seen Isabelle since the night I left her locked in her room. Since she told me about her nightmare. Since she told me she loved me. I wonder if she’s had the dream since, but I stop my mind from wandering there. I can’t think about that. About her.
“Home, sir?” the driver asks as we merge onto the highway. He’s new. A young guy.
“What’s your name?”
“Anthony, sir.”
“Anthony.” I vaguely recall the name Dex mentioned. His replacement for the time being. “No, not home.” I check my watch, reread the text Zeke sent not half an hour ago. The one about the grieving Julia Bishop. “Take me to the cathedral.” He knows which one.
“Yes, sir.”
I text Dex to check in on Angelique and my mother. He sends back a photo showing me they’re more than fine. Enjoying the indoor swimming pool at the house I rented in the Adirondacks. Angelique apparently loves it. Loves the fall colors and the adventures she’s having with Dex on their daily hikes. She should be having those with me. But instead, I’m in New Orleans dealing with a pariah who murdered her lover and who knows how many others. Who attempted to run over my wife and gave her the means to end her pregnancy.
Isabelle’s words come back to me. She loves me. How can she hurt a part of me? Her face is next. Her eyes. Too often wide and frightened. Too often of me. And yet she loves me. And what have I done but make her life hell?
“Sir, we’re about five minutes out.”
“Thank you.” I start to put my phone away but change my mind and type out a text to my brother.
Me: How is my wife?
The dots appear as Zeke types his reply: She’s a prisoner. How do you think she is?
Shit.
Me: I’m almost to the cathedral. Is the boy there?
Zeke: She sent him home a while ago. It’ll be her and the priest. I’m on my way to visit the coroner. I’ll let you know what I learn as soon as I can.
Me: Thank you.
The driver takes me to the front entrance of the cathedral where Mass was just said for Carlton Bishop’s soul to be welcomed into Heaven. Best I can hope for him is that he’s burning in hell, but at least she gave him what he deserved. He’d have suffered in the days leading up to his heart attack. It’s not enough for what he did to my family but it’s all I have. As I step out into the cool fall night, I know it has to be enough because there are more lives at stake now. And I can’t bury another woman I love.
Two IVI guards stand sentry at the cathedral doors. They open them upon my approach and I’m happy to see Zeke was right. The place is cleared out apart from Julia Bishop and the priest, with whom she’s speaking as she adjusts the lilies decorating Carlton Bishop’s coffin.
The door closes loudly and my steps echo making them both turn, the priest’s face a mask of equilibrium. Julia’s flashes with surprise, then anger.
She faces me fully, folding her arms across her chest, standing between me and the coffin as if to keep it safe from me. Bishop’s dead. I don’t have to desecrate his corpse. It’s her head I want now.
“Am I late?” I ask, stopping a few feet from them.
The priest clears his throat. “The ceremony is over, but the body will remain until the morning for burial.”
“Then I can pay my respects,” I say, only glancing at the priest. “A word, Ms. Bishop.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“But I have something to say to you. And I believe you will want to hear it.” I glance to the priest. “Alone.”
She studies me. I smile faintly although nothing about this is making me happy. Because no matter what, Isabelle will be hurt. So will an innocent child. And he doesn’t deserve that even if he is a Bishop.
The priest looks nervously between us. “Ms. Bishop, I can stay—”
“No, thank you,” she says, turning to smile to him. “I’ll be fine.”