Page 33 of Oleander

“Clean it up. All of it. Send the cars and the men into the river. No signs of having ever been here. Wipe the cameras.”

“Yes, sir,” said one of the men. He’d spent a lot of money on these men, they’d better be worth it.

“Mrs. Martin left a statement that was on one of the agents,” said one of the men. “She left it with a prosecutor and asked that you be allowed to read it before questioning.”

He handed him one sheet. Dorothy’s signature appeared at the bottom, unchanged by illness. The statement contained no accusation, only a chronology: warnings received, decisions made, lives placed beneath cost. At the end she had written.

Hollis will say the company required it. The company was the name he gave his appetite so other people would feed it.

He read the sentence twice. Beyond the warehouse walls, dawn widened over the Gulf.

He thought of Imperium waiting at anchor, lights blazing across empty decks, its crew preserving the illusion that he might return to a life untouched by consequence. The yacht had been his answer to Dorothy’s refusal: if she would not share his world, he would build one that could leave shore. But a vessel was not escape. It carried its owner’s weight wherever it went.

“I’m going back to the boat,” he said to the head man.

“What do you want us to do about Voss’s body?” he asked.

“Leave it. He deserves to die in there.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Looks like Collins is tightening the collar on Burton,” said Jill at breakfast the next morning. “Unfortunately, he had a hit squad waiting for agents that were going to corner him. His head of security was shot twice.”

“Is he alive?” asked Cam.

“He is. He’s in our hospital in protective custody,” said Jill.

“Ours? Why? Why are we protecting him?” asked Luke.

“That’s what you’re going to have to ask him. He won’t speak to anyone except you guys,” she smiled. “I’d say that a good sign for us and a bad sign for Burton.”

Cam, Luke, Hex, and Eric went to the front of the property, entering the hospital through the back emergency door. On the third floor, in a corner room, two of the new men brought on when Grayson retired guarded the room.

“Morning, sirs,” said Brunson. Luke rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“Morning, sirs,” repeated Rowe.

“One time. I’m only saying this one time,” said Luke. “We’re not sirs, we’re not lieutenants or captains or master sergeants. We are just Luke, Cam, Eric, and Hex.”

“Yes, sir,” said the men in unison.

“Luke, give it up,” laughed Eric. He looked at the two men. “It’s cool brothers, just try to remember we’re all equal here.”

“Sir, there is not a world that I’ve lived in where we are equal to all of you,” said Rowe.

“We promise,” said Cam, “we’re all equal. Has he said anything?”

“Not a word. He just kept asking to speak to one of you. He’s not fighting, not asking for a lawyer, nothing.”

“Now I’m really curious,” said Hex opening the door. The man in the bed appeared pale and obviously in pain. According to Jill, he’d refused all attempts at pain medication until he could speak with them.

“Lyle Voss?” asked Luke. He nodded. “I’m Luke Robicheaux. This is Cam Dougall, Eric Bongard, and Hex Vernon. We understand you wanted to speak with us.” He nodded again as the men took a seat on the chairs lining the wall.

“I was head of security for Burton Drilling for almost twenty-three years. Ms. Martin was one of the kindest, sweetest women I’ve ever met. She paid for me to complete my master’s degree, she sent me gifts on my birthday, at Christmas, even sent Easter baskets to me.”

The men just stared at him quietly waiting for the story to conclude.

“When Platform Nine happened, she asked if we could meet privately. I spent my day off driving to Baton Rouge to meet her. She wanted to be sure no one saw us together. She was worried about me, not herself.