Of course he’d let it get to him-Brenda lying pale and shattered in the hospital. In his work Jim Tile had seen plenty of blood, pain and heartache, yet he’d never felt such blinding anger as he had that first day at Brenda’s bedside. Trusting the justice system to deal with her attacker had struck the trooper as laughably naive, certainly futile. This was a special monster. It was evident by what he’d done to her. The guy hated either women, cops or both. In any case, he was a menace. He needed to be cut from the herd.
Now, upon reflection, Jim Tile wished he’d let his inner rage subside before he’d made the move. When Brenda remembered the tag number off the Cherokee, he should’ve sent it up the chain of command; played it by the book. Turning the governor loose was a rash, foolhardy impulse; vigilante madness. Brenda would recover from the beating, but now Jim Tile had put his dear old friend at dire risk. It would be damn near impossible to call him off.
“I need to ask you something,” Brenda said.
“Sure.”
“A detective from Metro Robbery came by today. Also a woman from the State Attorney. They didn’t know about the black Jeep.”
“Hmmm.”
“About the license plate-I figured you’d given them the numbers.”
“I made a mistake, Bren.”
“You forgot?”
“No, I didn’t forget. I made a mistake.”
Jim Tile sat on the edge of the bed and told her what he’d done. Afterwards she remained quiet, except to make small talk when a nurse came to dress her wounds.
Later, when she and Jim Tile were alone again, Brenda said, “So you found your crazy friend. How?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“And he was right here, in this room, and you didn’t introduce me?”
Jim Tile chuckled. “You were zonked, darling.”
Brenda stroked his hand. He could tell she was still thinking about it. Finally she said, “Boy, you must really love Jne, to do something like this.”
“I screwed up bad. I’m sorry.”
“Enough already. I’ve got one question.”
“OK.”
“What are the odds,” Brenda said, “that your friend will catch up with the asshole who got my mother’s ring?”
“The odds are pretty good.”
Brenda Rourke nodded and closed her eyes. Jim Tile waited until her breathing was strong and regular; waited until he was certain it was a deep healthy sleep, and not something else. Before leaving, he kissed her cheek, in a gap between bandages, and was comforted by the warmth of her skin. He felt pretty sure he saw the trace of a smile on her lips.
Skink’s forehead was propped on the windowsill. He hadn’t made a sound in an hour, hadn’t stirred when Augustine left to get the guns. Bonnie Lamb didn’t know if he was dozing or ignoring her.
“This was the baby’s room. Did you notice?” she said.
Nothing.
“Are you awake?”
Still no response.
A yellowjacket flew through the broken-out window and took an instant liking to Skink’s pungent mane. Bonnie shooed it away. From across the street, at 15600 Calusa, came the sound of dogs barking.
Eventually the governor spoke. “Oh, they’ll be back.” He didn’t raise his head from the sill.
“Who?”
“Folks who own the baby.”
“How can you be sure?”
Silence.
“Maybe the hurricane was all they could take.”
“Optimist,” Skink grumbled.
Glancing again at the drowned teddy bear, Bonnie thought that no family deserved to have their life shattered in such a harrowing way. The governor seemed to be reading her mind.
He said, “I’m sorry it happened to them. I’m sorry they were here in the first place.”
“And you’ll be even sorrier if they come back.”
Skink looked up, blinking like a sleepy porch lizard. “It’s a hurricane zone,” he said simply.
Bonnie thought he ought to hear an outsider’s point of view. “People come here because they think it’s better than where they were. They believe the postcards, and you know what? For lots of them, it is better than where they came from, whether it’s Long Island or Des Moines or Havana. Life is brighter, so it’s worth the risks. Maybe even hurricanes.”
The governor used his functional eye to scan the baby’s room. He said, “Fuck with Mother Nature and she’ll fuck back.”