Bonnie - Iris Johansen [17]
“No way,” Catherine said. “You’re reaching, Joe.”
Joe’s gaze never left Gallo’s face. “But you still left that bastard alive and able to escape. Then you stayed in the bayou for hours, supposedly searching for him, but came up empty. Even when you were close enough to that inlet to hear the motorboat. A picture seems to be emerging. I’m wondering why you would do all that.”
“Keep wondering.” Gallo turned away and moved toward the trees. “I’m not defending myself to you, Quinn. I’ll see you all back at the house.”
“Get in the car, Gallo,” Catherine said. “I’ve been through that brush. It’s hell on bare feet.”
But Gallo had already disappeared into the palmetto shrubs.
“Okay.” Catherine turned to Joe. “You’re saying that Gallo didn’t want Jacobs’s killer caught. Why? Are you still thinking that Gallo had something to do with Bonnie’s death? That maybe he didn’t kill Jacobs himself but he had an accomplice do it?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit until I find out why Gallo didn’t throw that knife when he had a better chance of taking out his target.” He turned away and started up the slope. “And I don’t regard any argument you can give me as credible.”
She stared at him. “Why the hell not?”
He looked back over his shoulder. “You’re being emotional. You’re not thinking as clearly as you usually do.”
“He made the throw. He saved my life. I was with him in that house, and I know he didn’t set Jacobs up to be butchered.”
Joe didn’t answer as he got into the driver’s seat.
Eve could sense the frustration Catherine was feeling. She was feeling a similar frustration, mixed with uneasiness. Yes, Joe’s suspicion could be based on his history of distrust of Gallo. But Joe was smart and cool and seldom let anything interfere with his logic. “Come on.” She took Catherine’s arm and nudged her toward the slope. “Get in the car. I don’t want you getting angry and stomping off into the brush like Gallo. After looking at the soles of your feet while we were sitting on the bank, I’m surprised you can walk.”
“I’m all right.” Catherine started up the slope. “But I won’t let Joe make me pissed off enough to hike back.” She added through set teeth, “I’m not credible? I’m too emotional? Screw him.”
“He used the wrong words,” Eve said.
“You bet he did.”
“But you wouldn’t be this upset if you didn’t think that there was some truth in what he said.”
Catherine’s gaze flew to her face. “Do you believe Gallo was going to let me die?”
“No.” She smiled. “But I’m emotional, too. I don’t think nearly as logically as Joe. As we’ve already discussed, sometimes gray seems white to me.” Her smile faded. “And there may be a good deal of gray in this scenario. Gallo may not be pitch-black, but he could be bordering on charcoal.”
Catherine shook her head. “He saved my life. He wouldn’t have let me be murdered.” She got into the backseat of the car. “And that’s not an emotional judgment.”
“No,” Eve said as she climbed into the passenger seat. “It’s more like faith.”
* * *
“HOW ARE YOUR FEET?” Gallo stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his gaze on Catherine, who was sitting in a chair by the stove, her bare feet soaking in a pan of warm water. “I’m glad you’re taking care of them. Salt water?”
“Yes.” She met his gaze across the room. “I always take care of myself.”
His lips twisted. “Quinn wouldn’t agree with you.”
“Joe thinks I’m ‘emotional.’” She looked at his feet, encased in boots. “You tore your feet up, too, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You deserve it. You were stupid. I had no choice. But you could have just kept quiet and let yourself be driven back to the house.” She sloshed her feet in the water. “Did you bandage your feet before you put on those boots?”
“Yes, I take care of myself, too.” He came toward her. “Where are Quinn and Eve?”
“They’re calling Jane MacGuire. Eve promised to keep in touch with her.”
“And Eve always keeps her promises.” He took the towel draped over the chair next to Catherine’s. “Did you call Venable again?”
“No, but