Devils redemption, p.22
Devil's Redemption, page 22
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.”
He glances at me once more before nodding and walking toward a small door at the back of the cathedral. His steps echo in the cavernous space and I wait to speak until the door is closed.
“Are you satisfied with yourself? Delaying his service? His burial?”
“I could give a fuck,” I say, walking around her to look at the stupid face of Carlton Bishop in the framed photograph. I pick it up, study it. “Was he your puppet all along?” I ask, slowly turning back to her.
She’s cold as ice, this one. Doesn’t break a sweat. “I don’t know what you mean. What I learned the other day…” she drops her gaze, her forehead creasing, eyes sufficiently wet when she turns them back up to me. “It broke my heart to learn he had anything to do with Isabelle’s brother’s death. Shattered me to see her face when I told her the truth.”
“M-hm.” I put the photo down. “The boy is his. Congratulations. That was well-played.”
She lifts her head, tilting it a little, any false sadness gone. Replaced by a cool, unreadable beauty.
“I wasn’t playing at anything. I loved him. Matty is a product of our love.”
“Oh, I almost believe you.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I think you’re a liar, Ms. Bishop.”
“Go to hell, Mr. St. James.” She turns to walk toward the front pew where her coat and purse are. “I’m going home to my son.”
“Oleander,” I say. She stops dead. I watch her narrow shoulders stiffen. “Clever, again. Undetectable. Unless you know what you’re looking for, that is.”
She resumes walking, albeit stiffly, toward the pew.
“And of course, he’d suffer first. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? For him to suffer at least a little?” She bends to pick up her purse and coat then straightens to face me. “All those visits to the Cat House must have hurt.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I take two steps toward her. “I’m not stupid, Ms. Bishop.”
“No? I’m not sure I agree.” She grins. Bitch. “I mean, taking the inheritance out from under your nose wasn’t that hard. And poor Isabelle. Pregnant with your spawn.” Her lips curl making her ugly as she looks me over. “I tried to fix that for her, but she’s not very smart either. Never was.”
Blood rushes in my ears and every muscle in my body tenses.
“Or maybe it was just the sex that turned her head,” she says, studying me, licking her lips seductively. She lets her gaze move over my shoulders, my chest, lower. “I mean, I get it.” Her eyes meet mine. “I’m sure you’re a good fuck and if it was the Bishop fortune you wanted, well, Isabelle was your only option. But things can change, Jericho,” she says, reaching out a hand to adjust the lapel of my suit, letting it linger on my chest. “In fact, they have.”
“You make me want to vomit, Ms. Bishop. Isabelle is a hundred times the woman you could ever be.”
Her face contorts, her guard down for a moment. “Well, isn’t that romantic.” She drops her arm and narrows her eyes. “I had him cremated you know. The body’s gone.”
Cremated? I glance at the coffin.
“Just ashes in there. I mean, what does it matter, burying ashes or burying a body that will turn to ash in time anyway?” She walks around me toward the coffin, picks off a lily, dropping several to the floor in the process. “And oleander,” she starts, turning to me after tucking the flower into the pocket of her mourning dress. “Well, that’s a bit far-fetched, don’t you think? I mean, what year is this?”
“Tell me something,” I start, standing in the middle of the aisle to block her path. “Did you kill the babies?”
She blinks, surprised, and although I have no proof, I think she did. I think she must have. Miscarriage after miscarriage, wife after wife.
“Those miscarriages, awfully convenient. And here I thought it was Bishop’s faulty sperm.”
“Get out of my way.”
“The Tribunal will hang you,” I say, and watch her face lose a little color. “He was a Sovereign Son. And at least two of those children were male. You know how important a male heir is to The Society. Pure blood and all, as old-fashioned as the idea is. As old-fashioned as poison which our members do seem to love.”
“There’s no proof. Your word against mine. I have an autopsy report.”
“So do I. And a coroner who was bribed.” I don’t know that for sure but I’m willing to bet on it. Zeke will confirm soon enough. From the way her eyes shift between mine, I know I’m right. “You’ll hang, Julia.”
“You’d destroy Isabelle.”
“Tell me something, did you pay Gerald Gibson to run her over? And when he fucked up, did you drop by to rip him a new one the night you gave my wife those abortion pills? Or was it to devise another attack?”
She blinks hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No? Well, I’ll ask you an easier question then. The pills. How many did you give Isabelle?”
She doesn’t answer right away and there’s that mask again, that arrogance. That cold, calculated snake rearing its ugly head. “Didn’t she tell you? I thought you two love birds would have no secrets from each other.” She steps toward me so I can smell the stench of her perfume. “Although a man like you will always keep secrets, won’t he? Like why you were in Mexico on that ill-fated trip to meet with the leader of a cartel. Your poor fiancée. Did she have any idea?”
My hands fist at my sides and it takes all I have to fight the urge to wrap them around her neck and commit murder here on this sacred ground. Blood pumps so hard it’s a wonder I can hear her at all over the rush of it.
“Wrapping up work for dead daddy, isn’t that right? I mean, isn’t the cartel where you made at least a chunk of your fortune? It was when he was alive.” She smiles wide, shifts her weight to set her hand to her hip. “I have all the paperwork. I could share it with you if you weren’t sure. Hell, I could share it with all the world, the work you were doing down there while playing doting husband to be, daddy to be. And poor, poor Kimberly. That was her name, right? As gullible as Isabelle. You have a type. But—”
I whip my arm out, clutch her throat, and walk her back so fast one of her shoes falls off her foot. The coffin almost tips off its pedestal when I bend her over it backward. I lean into her face.
“For Isabelle’s sake, for your son’s sake, I’m going to give you an out. One chance, Ms. Bishop. Walk. Away. Disappear. Take the boy and go. And none of this comes to light. And you don’t hang. Because whatever you think you can do to me, you are the one who will swing at the end of a rope. And when you do, I’ll take that boy of yours and raise him as my own. I’ll make sure to erase any memory of you. For his own good, of course. You have three days to decide. Three days. Do I make myself clear?”
Her hands are around my forearm trying to tug me off. I’m pretty sure I could kill her right here. Right now. I remember how I’d held Isabelle in a very similar fashion days ago when I thought she tried to kill our baby. Something heavy and dark settles around me, inside me. How could I have done that to her? How could I have hurt her like I can hurt this pariah. Because Julia Bishop isn’t lying about my visit to Mexico. I was there doing business. I knew who Felix Pérez was. And I completed one final deal on my father’s behalf with him.
I can tell myself it was my duty to my father as long as I want, but I chose. I chose to go. Even before I knew what he’d done to Zoë. Before I knew what a vile human being he was. I’m still the one who flew to Mexico to meet with Pérez in his name. To ensure one last transaction with men my father never had any business dealing with and close that chapter of St. James history.
I’m still the one who took Kimberly. I’m still the reason Angelique never knew her mother. Never even saw her face.
“Six,” Julia gasps out, her eyes red and huge, popping out of her head.
I blink, come back to the present.
“Six. Pills,” she manages.
I loosen my grip around her neck. Six pills. It’s how many I counted when I confronted Isabelle. She wasn’t lying. She never took them. And still…what I did to her. Fuck. How I keep hurting the people I love.
Angelique’s sweet face floats into memory. Her growing up with a bodyguard instead of her own father. My innocent baby girl. What will I do to her? How badly will I damage her?
Julia drops to her knees the instant I release her. I don’t bother to stop and look. I don’t bother to do anything but walk to the door, my steps echoing, loud, drowning out her gasps for breath. But not loud enough to drown out my guilt. My very real knowledge of who I am. What I am.
A devil.
41
Isabelle
I’m woken in the middle of the night by something falling to the floor near me. Startled, I bolt upright, my eyes taking a minute to adjust to the darkness. A shadow bends to pick up the violin case. Set it against the wall. Then straighten.
“Jericho?”
He turns to me and from the little bit of light filtering in between the curtains, I see his face and know something happened.
“What is it?” I ask, pushing the blanket off to get up and go to him. I smell the liquor before I’m close. When I reach him, he looks down at me and sets one hand at my lower back.
He says my name and sways a little.
“You’re drunk, Jericho.”
“No.”
“Yes.” I take his hand and lead him to the bed, switch on the lamp on the nightstand and sit him down. I push his suit jacket off his shoulders. It’s wrinkled and looks like it’s been through a very long day and a longer night. I toss it aside and look at him. He sits there looking up at me. His hair’s messed up like he’s run his hands through it a thousand times. I’m not sure when he last shaved. The five-o’clock shadow is fast becoming a beard.
“Isabelle.” He reaches up to touch my face, caresses my cheek then the length of my hair before letting his hand come to rest at his side again.
“What’s happened?” I ask again as I kneel to unlace his shoes and slip them off one by one, then his socks. I straighten, start to unbutton his shirt. He just sits there and watches me. Every time I look at his eyes, I see a sadness that seems eternal.
“Why are you good to me?” he asks, sounding tired. Worn out. “After everything I do to you.”
I tug his shirt out of his slacks and open it, touch the skin of his chest, then cup his cheek. “I already told you that. Don’t you remember?”
His eyes flutter closed then open again. I shake my head and pull the shirt off his arms.
“Tell me what happened,” I say, then pause, alarmed. “Are Angelique and your mother okay?”
He appears confused, then nods. “Fine. She’s having fun with Dex. He’s more a father to her than I am, you know that?”
“That’s not true. Lie down.”
He does without a word, and I look at him with his head on my pillow, big body on my double bed. His is a king. He looks like a giant here. And at the same time, he looks vulnerable. Because I see his exhaustion.
