The Devil's Laughter Read online

  They were also the first to say the cops weren’t doing enough to get drunk drivers off the road and that we should all do something about the lack of morals among the kids of this generation.

  “I didn’t appreciate that series of articles you did, Donovan,” Ford said. “I didn’t appreciate them at all.”

  Link had written that one way education in Louisiana might be vastly improved was to stop putting ex-coaches in as principals and superintendents of schools and to hire professional educators who were better trained and, in all likelihood, more qualified than most of those who now held the jobs statewide.

  “You mean you actually read something other than Field and Stream, Ford?” Link asked, amazement in his voice. “Hell, man, there might be hope for you yet.”

  Charlie Ford had once boasted that he had not read a book since leaving college.

  “What makes you an authority on education, Donovan?” Ford asked, getting angry. “I believe you busted out of college, didn’t you?”

  “Nope. I joined the army. But then, unlike you, Ford, my major wasn’t P.E.”

  That really pissed the man. “I don’t have to take that crap from you, Donovan.”

  “You want to go out in a cornfield and settle it, Ford?” Link asked easily. “Just you and me. No witnesses.”

  Ford might not possess the mental capabilities needed to even adequately fulfill his job description, but then neither was he a fool. He was only a few years older than Link and in good physical condition; however, he lacked one important thing that he knew Link Donovan possessed: the icy cold mind that produced the killer instinct.

  Link had been a sniper in the Army. He was credited with over fifty kills. Cold-blooded, carefully planned, and perfectly carried out assassinations. Ford had seen Link fight. Once. Link had been back in town less than a month when a local big mouth pushed him over the line and took a swing at him. Link jabbed his fingers into the man’s eyes, rammed stiffened fingers into the man’s throat, then reached out, hooked his fingers into the man’s lower lip, and tore it off. He casually tossed the bloody flesh to the ground and walked over to the sheriffs office and turned himself in.

  It still made Ford queasy at his stomach every time he thought about that very short and brutal fight.

  The superintendent met Link’s steady gaze and walked away from him, the challenge hanging in the air.

  The D.A. did not charge Link with anything, since witnesses came forth stating that the loudmouth had both verbally and physically assaulted Link, who could not retreat and had had no option but to defend himself.

  Link Donovan was not a man to take lightly. He just didn’t think nor act like other folks.

  He picked up his mail from the box and drove over to the sheriffs office. Ray had wisely handed the investigation over to the state but still kept one of his men on the case. Link knew, without asking, that the man would be Gerard Lucas.

  He surprised Ray when he said, “I’ll take you up on that deputy sheriffs commission, Ray. If the offer is still open.”

  “Yes, indeed, it is, Link.”

  Link was quickly sworn in at the clerk of court’s office. He signed all the necessary bonding forms at the sheriffs office, and then Ray called him into his office. He handed Link a small blue box.

  “I had that made up when you came back to town to settle down, Link. Go ahead, open it.”

  It was a personalized gold star.

  “Why’d you change your mind about it, Link?”

  “I don’t really know, Ray.” He then told him about his experiences at the Romaire Industries site.

  “And the doors were all locked?”

  “Yes. And the broken windows boarded up.”

  Ray looked surprised. “Boarded up? Well, who did that? They weren’t the last time I was out there looking for some runaways.”

  Link shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Ray smiled. “You showed me that elaborate lock-pick set of yours one time, remember? According to the laws of Louisiana, Link, any time a commissioned officer of the law feels there is animal abuse going on, he or she may enter a building without a warrant.”

  “Is that right?” Link didn’t push it; he could read between the lines as well as the next person. “Strange about the Stern house burning down, isn’t it, Ray?”

  “Yeah,” the sheriff said sourly. “Damn strange. And damn strange that Judge Jackson and that witchy wife of his decided to take a vacation at this moment. They left for Vermont about two hours ago.”

  “Why do you call her witchy, Ray?”

  “’Cause she looks like a damn witch, that’s why. Haven’t you noticed?”

  “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen the woman.”

  “Well, that’s entirely possible. She never socializes. Never has parties out at their home. Home, hell! It’s a mansion. She sometimes stays out there for months at a time without ever leaving. Unless she does it in the middle of the night.”

  “What does she look like, Ray?”

  “Tall and thin. Sort of a sharp-faced woman. Pointy chin. Piercing eyes. Jet-black hair; dyed now, I’m sure. She’s one of the spookiest-looking women I have ever met.”

  “Money of her own?”

  “Tons of it. When her family disowned her, they couldn’t touch the trust her grandfather had set up for her. She met Judge Jackson in college, they married shortly after that, and then moved up here about fifteen... eighteen years ago. I keep forgetting that you were gone from here for years; no way you would know any of this.”

  “How long has he been the district judge?”

  “Oh ... let’s see. He just started his third term. He’d been back about three years when he ran for office. Against Judge Velmer. You remember him, don’t you? Thought you would. Velmer committed suicide right in the middle of the campaign. Nobody else was running, so Jackson just walked into office and has been there ever since. He’s a good judge. Keeps getting elected. He’s political, but so are most elected judges.”

  “Yeah,” Link said dryly. “Tell me about it.”

  Ray laughed at the expression on Link’s face. “You’re still sore because you lost in the civil suit. Hell, Link, you tore Masterson’s lower lip off!”

  “He attacked me, Ray. Something is wrong with the system when a person is attacked, defends themself, and then has to pay the attacker’s medical bills.”

  “I’m in complete agreement, Link. It’s wrong. But the jury said you inflicted too much physical damage against the man. He wasn’t armed, Link.”

  “I was. Think what would have happened if I’d shot the bastard.”

  “You’d probably be in prison.”

  “What a wonderful system we have.”

  “It’s water over the dam, Link. No point in staying hot about it.”

  “And Masterson still works for Jack Matisse.” It was not a question.

  “Yep. And he’s just as much a thug as he ever was. And word I get is that he still says that someday he’s going to kill you.”

  “Yeah. I heard. He threatens my life and he’s still walking around a free man. What a system.” He met Ray’s eyes. “Ray? Word is going to get out that you commissioned me. That’s going to cost you a lot of votes.”

  Ray smiled. “I’ve been a cop since I was eighteen, Link. With the exception of three years of college and two years in the Corps. I just got reelected and they will be my last four years behind a badge. Same with Gerard. We’re both pulling the pin after this term. I don’t give a damn what people think and neither does Gerard.”

  Link knew that Gerard and Ray had both carefully invested their money over the years and that they owned bits and pieces of this and that. They weren’t wealthy men, but they were comfortable. The parish would miss them both when they hung up their badges.

  “What do the state investigators say about the Stern boy?”

  “That it was one sick son of a bitch who did it. Link? You’re walking around something. I told Gerard when you came back h
ere to live that you had all the natural instincts of a good cop. Now what’s on your mind?”

  “Just a gut hunch or two, Ray. Nothing concrete and nothing that makes any sense at this time. It’ll probably never make any sense. When – or if – I get it firmed up, I’ll sit down and hash it out with you, okay?”

  “Suits me.”

  “Can I ask you a question about this department?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you have complete confidence in all your deputies?”

  “No,” Ray was quick to respond. “Waldo Brown is one of the dumbest bastards I ever met. But he’s very careful not to do anything to anybody that would give me an excuse to fire him. He hammers on heads, but they’re not important heads. You know we have a trashy element in this parish; Waldo handles them. It works, but I don’t have to like it. Ed Westcott has the morals of an alley cat. But he’s good at what he does, and like Waldo, he’s careful not to step too far over the line. The rest of my people are young, and most of them are college educated and do a damn good job. And they do it by the book, which is the way it’s supposed to be done. Like Tom Halbert, to name just one. You have a reason for asking that, Link?”

  “No. Nothing firm. Waldo and Ed don’t much care for me; that’s part of it, I guess.”

  “Don’t worry about it. They’re both friends of Masterson, you know?”

  “Oh, yes,” Link said. “I know that very well.”

  “CPA’s and ribbon clerks and bank tellers don’t make good cops, Link. You’ve got to have just a touch of rogue in you to be a good cop.” Ray smiled. “Like you and me and Gerard, Link. But it’s a very fine line.”

  Link returned the smile. “One more thing, Ray: Judge Velmer committed suicide in the middle of the judge’s race. How did he do it?”

  “Why . . .” Ray hesitated, his coloring paling just a bit as he made the connection. “He hanged himself. With a length of barbed wire.”

  Chapter 4

  Link left Ray sitting behind his desk and wearing a very curious expression. He drove to a local supermarket, with Deputy Tom Halbert right behind him. Link locked his car and got in with the young deputy.

  “What’s going on, Tom?”

  “Congratulations on your commission, Link. The sheriff doesn’t give out too many of those full commissions. Mostly just the card that entitles the person to carry a concealed weapon. You got the full treatment.”

  “I’m honored. And I’m not being flip. I mean that.”

  “Level with me, Link?”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s going on in this town?”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean. You talking about the Stern boy?”

  “He’s part of it. The rest of it is intangible. It’s just a feeling I have. You remember when you were a kid and you had to walk past a graveyard at night? You wanted to whistle part of the way and then run like hell. That’s the way I’ve been feeling for a couple of weeks.”

  Link remembered the strange emotions he had felt out at the old Romaire Industries complex. “I know what you mean, Tom. I had the same sort of feelings a couple of hours ago.”

  “But yours passed, right?”

  “For the most part, yes.”

  “Mine mostly stay. I’m beginning to think I need to see a psychiatrist.”

  “Oftentimes a shrink is just someone who will genuinely listen to you. Most people hear you, but they don’t listen. Try me, Tom. I listen.”

  “Well, try this one on: Judge Jackson called the office and said he and his weird wife were going on vacation. They supposedly left for Vermont about two... three hours ago.”

  “Yeah. Ray told me. So?”

  Tom shook his head. “They didn’t go anywhere. I had to serve some papers out their way about forty minutes ago. I thought I saw them walking near the woods in the back of their house. I got out my binoculars and checked it out. I parked at that spot just above their property. It was them. I got back into town and called out there from a pay phone. The live-in help of theirs answered the phone. Said the mister and the missus was out of town for two weeks.”

  “That’s . . . weird, Tom. Why would he lie about it?”

  The deputy shrugged his shoulders. “A lot of weird shit going on in this parish, Link. People acting funny. People that used to be nice, easygoing folks are liable to snarl at you now.” He grinned and looked like a kid. “Maybe it’s something in the water, huh? Why don’t you talk to your old CIA buddies up in Washington, Link? Tell them we need some help down here.”

  Link smiled and got out of the car. “Now, you know I don’t know a soul up there, Tom.”

  The deputy was still laughing as he drove away.

  When Link came out of the supermarket, Waldo Brown was leaning up against his Bronco. Waldo was probably the worst deputy Link had ever known. He was a huge man, but unfortunately for the general population of the parish, his brain had not matured along with his body. He had graduated from high school only because the local football coach and some extremely ignorant fans (including the then superintendent of schools) had intimidated the teachers into passing Waldo and keeping him eligible to star on the gridiron.

  Waldo went to college for about twenty minutes. The sheriff at that time, a football fan, had hired Waldo, who became a cruel and incompetent jailer. When the age of computers in jails came along, Waldo was put out into the field, mostly serving civil papers and knocking heads in redneck honky-tonks.

  “Get off the fender, Waldo,” Link told him. “Before you crush my vehicle.”

  “Very funny, Dunovon,” the deputy said.

  “Donovan, Waldo. Donovan. Are you lost? The courthouse is that way.” He pointed.

  Waldo pointed a finger at him. “Someday, buddy-boy, me and you are gonna dance some. And when we do, I’m gonna stomp your goddamn guts out. And if you run and tattle to the sheriff, I’ll swear you’re a liar.”

  Link set the grocery bag on the hood and faced this poor example of a humanoid. “Waldoo, do you have any idea what I would do if you ever swung at me?”

  “Waldo. Not doo. No. What?”

  “I’d kill you, Waldoo. I’d shoot you so many times you’d have enough lead in you that your stinking carcass could be used for a ship’s anchor. Now get off my Bronco, you goddamn ape!”

  Waldo got off the fender and towered over Link. He glared down at him. “You ain’t scared of me, are you, Donovan?”

  “Not a bit, Waldo.”

  The big man shook his head. “Then that makes you pretty damn stupid.”

  Link smiled at him. “No, Waldo. I’m just a man who is very, very sure of himself.”

  Link could feel Waldo’s eyes on him as he drove away. He thought: Now what the hell brought all that on?

  And what comes next?

  Back at his home, Link put his groceries away and glanced out the kitchen window. The sun was going down, casting fall shadows around the land. He had critters to see to. Link worked for an hour, changing the bandages on those animals who had been wounded, either by car, bullet, BB gun, or trap. Link hated even the thought of trapped animals. He fed and watered them, then saw to the animals who roamed the five-acre compound.

  He wondered how Karen Broussard was taking the news of her young man’s murder. He wondered about a lot of things as he fixed his dinner and listened to an hour of classical music, stretched out on the couch, half asleep. Most of all, he wondered if there was a devil’s coven operating in this parish. And how many dumb-ass, demented, and sadistic people belonged to it? If there was a coven, did the members have anything to do with the Stern boy’s death?

  He finally got up and went to bed. Maybe things would look better in the morning.

  Kat woke him up in her usual manner: lying across his chest and purring. It sounded like an idling tank in bed with him.

  After a shower and shave and breakfast, Link checked his critters and locked things up. At the hard-top, he turned toward the new vet’s place. When he got there, he was glad
he’d gone that way.

  The lady was standing at the edge of the drive. Link parked and walked up to her. One of those classic beauties: Faye Dunaway/Catherine Deneuve types. Blond hair, green eyes, and a cool, reserved look about her. Link pegged her to be in her late thirties, maybe forty. But still able to look very nice in blue jeans.

  “I’m not open for business,” she said. She had a throaty, husky voice.

  “This isn’t business. Just neighborly. Or nosy,” he added with a smile.

  She stuck out her hand and Link took it. “Anne Brooks. I have three heathens who, thank God, are in school, or I’d never get anything done around here. Chris, Billy, and Betsy.”

  “Link Donovan.” He watched her face carefully for signs of shock and dismay. None appeared. Obviously, no one had yet warned her about that “goddamn Link Donovan.” “I live about a mile or so south of here.” He pointed. “Me and my zoo.”

  “Your . . . zoo? I wasn’t aware that any roadside zoos were in this area. I don’t approve of them,” she added very coolly.

  “Neither do I. No, Anne, I just have a lot of pets, and I take in stray dogs and cats and all sort of hurt critters that good-hearted people drop by my place.”

  “But more often just dump out,” she said bitterly.

  “Yes. Unfortunately, that’s true. There are a lot of jerks in this world.”

  She smiled, the curve of her lips genuine and filled with warmth at meeting another human being who really cared about animals. “How many animals do you have at present?”

  Link grinned. “Oh, about thirty dogs and cats, a raccoon, an ocelot, a hawk, two goats, a burro, and I don’t know how many critters with broken wings and busted legs and various other cuts and scrapes and bullet wounds.”