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But he hadn’t pulled back. He had been accelerating as the Toyota skidded sideways, and his cruiser had sailed off the road because he had miscalculated.
It was an easy mistake to make, she thought, recalling her own attempts at the pit maneuver when she’d been in training. You had to hit the target car in just the right spot. Too far forward and you could roll them. Too far back and they might be able to control the skid and keep going. Danny Perry had miscalculated, and the result had landed him in an ICU in critical condition.
She shouldn’t have reacted, she told herself. She should have kept a poker face when Grant had been laying out his theory of the accident, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself from reacting in front of Dewey. She had no way of knowing what Rivette’s connection to any of this might be. She had no way of knowing yet if his story about giving Robbie money as an informant was true at all. He and Danny and Robbie could have all been up to their ears in something illegal.
What a mess.
She checked her rearview mirror as a car came up fast behind her, then checked its speed and dropped back a few yards. She couldn’t see the driver. Was it Dewey following her? She could have called in to check the tags, but she didn’t. She’d know soon enough if it was him. They were on a busy highway going to a busy hospital. Even if he’d had the cojones for it—which she doubted—Dewey wasn’t going to try anything here.
The car stayed behind her as she left the highway for surface streets in Lafayette, navigating her way to the sprawling campus of the Lafayette General Medical Center, but kept going when sheturned in at the parking area for the orthopedic hospital. Danny Perry would be in the ICU down the street in the main building. Annie had no need to go there. She wouldn’t have been allowed to see him even if she’d thought she might get something out of him, anyway. And she had no doubt the waiting area would be populated by off-duty BBPD officers who would not welcome her intruding on their tribe.
She checked the directory as she went into the building and took the elevator to the floor where Dr. Robert Fontenot II had his offices. Several people were waiting in the chairs, reading old magazines and watching Food Network quietly playing on the television. Annie went up to the reception desk with a pleasant smile.
“Hi, I’m Detective Broussard with the Partout Parish Sheriff’s Office,” she said softly. “I need to see Dr. Fontenot.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
Annie held up her badge. “This is my appointment. I’m so sorry to interrupt your day, but I need to speak to Dr. Fontenot regarding his son. And this needs to happen sooner rather than later. I promise it won’t take long.”
The receptionist’s eyes went round. She popped up from her desk and disappeared down the hall behind her, returning a moment later to open the door.
“Thank you,” Annie whispered as they walked toward Dr. Fontenot’s office.
“I didn’t know he had a son,” the woman confessed in a whisper.
Annie just smiled.
“Dr. Fontenot will be right with you.”
Annie glanced around the office as she waited. It looked like any other—a nice desk, a cushy executive’s chair, a pair of generic armchairs for visitors, framed diplomas on one wall, and another wall with a gallery of photos presumably of patient athletes. On closer inspection, a fair number of the photos were of Dr. Fontenot himself participating in athletic events as a runner and a cyclist.
Annie had looked him up on the web. He was soap operahandsome with chiseled features and black hair shot through with just the right amount of silver. Tall and lean, defying his age with athletics and a much younger girlfriend. As attached as she had become to B’Lynn, Annie had taken an instant dislike to her ex just on principle. There was B’Lynn all these years, struggling with Robbie and his addiction. And there was Dr. Bob, riding bikes in Italy and drinking wine with a honey twenty years his junior. Asshole.
The office door opened, and Bob Fontenot walked in looking annoyed and full of himself.
“Dr. Fontenot,” Annie said. “I’m Detective Broussard with the Partout Parish Sheriff’s Office.”
He didn’t offer to shake her hand, just gave her a look and walked around behind his desk. “You could have made an appointment and not disrupted anyone’s schedule.”
“And you could have returned my phone calls and spared me the trip up here, but here we are,” Annie said bluntly.
He arched a dark brow. “Does Gus Noblier know how rude his detectives are?”
“Why don’t you call him and ask?” Annie suggested. “I’m sure he’d be thrilled to hear from you. He had so many interesting things to say about you when I spoke to him about your son’s case.”
“As did my ex-wife, I’m sure,” he said. He took a stance with his feet apart and his arms crossed over his immaculate white coat.
“She hasn’t really had much to say about you at all, to be honest,” Annie said. “I gather she’s well used to having no support from you in a crisis. How many years have you been divorced?”
He didn’t like having a woman clapping back at him. Robert Fontenot was the kind of man used to being treated like a prince. She could see him struggling already with his temper.
“Seven years. Not that it’s relevant. I’m sure B’Lynn has told you, Robbie and I have no relationship, and haven’t had in many years.”
“She did tell me that,” Annie said. “I thought maybe she was just trying to paint you in a bad light.”
He looked away with a tight forced smile, a muscle working inhis jaw. There was no comeback that didn’t make him seem like an even bigger asshole.
“I’m not sure how I can help you here, Detective.”
