The Night He Died

by Stacy Green

  “Thanks for leaving the door cracked open.”

  “You tried to tell me. The doubloons are Carson’s. Did you know the whole time?”

  “I wasn’t sure until last night. I’d hoped I was wrong, but I kept putting off asking. I didn’t want to know the truth.” She dabbed a tissue at her swollen eyes and winced. “But Carson isn’t a murderer. His wife’s the world’s coldest bitch, and he’s miserable. I’ve caught him out cheating before. But I thought he was done with all of that, for his kids’ sake.”

  “Is he still in contact with her?”

  “He paid her once, in cash. She saw the doubloons hanging in his office and demanded those as well.”

  “Zoey?” Bonin asked.

  “Layla,” Ginger said. “She was Layla at the time. Happened a few months ago. He wouldn’t tell me any more.”

  “Please tell me he has contact information.”

  “She just showed up at his office sometime after he paid the other girl for information.”

  “Amy must have given Layla a name to prove she had a big fish to bring in,” Bonin said.

  “That’s the only contact he had with them. What about the girl he paid? He swears her phone is disconnected but if you have—”

  “She’s dead,” Bonin said. “Overdosed shortly after her encounter with Layla at Fatbacks.”

  “We need a warrant for Fatbacks,” Cage said.

  “First off, there’s no ‘we’ right now. Secondly, we don’t have enough for a warrant. We’re going on Lyric’s information. And Zoey moved on to other bars after Fatbacks. She must have just made rounds in the busiest places.”

  “I thought the other places were owned by the same shell,” Cage said.

  “Sold by Fatbacks’s owner a couple of years ago.” Bonin chewed her lip. “Picking Fatbacks makes sense. It’s constantly busy and draws a big variety of people. After Masen shows up, they decide to reign in her territory to safer havens—the bars they own.”

  “We need to find out who owns the shell corporation. Let’s go after Leighton. He knows who—”

  “No way, especially after the shit you pulled last night. Judge will never sign a warrant.”

  “Then ask George Leighton nicely.”

  “Just ask Carson,” Ginger said. “He can get the information for you.”

  Cage shook his head. Carson Hughes had misled him right out of the gate.

  “He will,” Ginger said. “He knows I planned to tell you, and he doesn’t want to go down for murder. He’s expecting to hear from you.”

  “Why didn’t he just call me today?” Cage asked.

  “Pride, I guess.”

  “Can you give us anything more about this woman?” Bonin asked. “Tall? Short? Fat? Built?”

  “Wirey,” Ginger said. “Lean. And fast. I’m pretty sure she’s swept people’s legs before. She never hesitated, like it was a specific routine.”

  “Someone familiar with martial arts, maybe,” Bonin said. “Did you notice shoes?”

  “A pack of cigarettes fell out of her pocket. She picked them up and started kicking me.” Ginger’s throat sounded more raw by the minute.

  “We’ll let you rest,” Bonin said.

  “Cage, stay for a minute. I want to talk to you about something.”

  Bonin nodded. “I have calls to make. See you in a few.”

  Cage waited until the door swung shut. “I’m sorry for the way I handled things. I wish you would have told me about the mask, but you were right. I’m all twisted up.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “If I’d just been honest from the beginning, things would have been different. But I wanted to protect my psychic persona, and I didn’t want it getting out that I bought the mask from Shana’s uncle.”

  “Why would you want it back?” Her actions from last night—not to mention her casual dress compared to the rest of the ball attendees—should have been enough to convince Cage she meant it about her disinterest in the family legacy. He needed to know why she went out of her way to get it back when it could have made her a murder suspect.

  “Because my great-grandfather killed that girl, and he was never held accountable for it. My original intent was to ask permission to start a scholarship fund for impoverished girls. But I knew Katrina had taken a terrible toll on Shana’s uncle. And I just knew this is what Dotty would have wanted.”

  “Your family knew he’d pushed her?”

  “Everyone did. Philip was the epitome of a spoiled brat. His wife and my grandmother never forgave him, either. Family gossip always said he also supported at least one love child. After he died, no one was allowed to discuss it, which meant everyone had theories. They just didn’t bring it up to Nana or to her mother.”

  Ginger’s cracked lips stretched into a smile. “Philip said Dotty haunted him—that she’d never set him free. Then, just days before Fat Tuesday, he falls down the stairs in the very home I grew up in. Died instantly.”

  The hairs on the back of Cage’s neck stood up. “Did Dotty’s spirit push him?”

  “I’d like to say she did, and that freed her spirit to cross over. But I’ve never sensed her. Great-grandma and Nana got on with their lives. My mother was in Atlas’s junior court being groomed to be Carnival queen in a few years, just like Nana and plenty of other Redmund females.”

  “The family celebrated Fat Tuesday right after he died?”

  “That’s the New Orleans way. And Carnival is like a bloodline all on its own.” Her bandaged knuckles fumbled with the water cup. “Even Katrina couldn’t knock any sense into them.”

  Cage held the cup for her. “What did you see for me that first day, when you gave me the root?”

  She winced, reaching for her ribs. “Blood. Like a flowing river. And a woman’s voice, demanding you to stay with her. Had I been able to see more, I would have given you the information.”

  Chills broke over his arms. “I wouldn’t have believed you.”

  “True. My God, my head is killing me.”

  “You took a hard hit.”

  “It’s not that,” she said. “Hospitals are the worst place for someone like me. I feel everything that’s happened, and I can sense the souls who linger. Blocking it out gives me headaches.”

  He wasn’t sure if he believed her, but Ginger meant what she said. “Ask for more pain meds so you can pass out.”

  She looked straight at him. “Then they find me in my dreams.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t talk about that yet. I will, I promise. Just not now.”

  “I have one favor to ask you,” she said. “Please trust Carson. He’s a cheater and a liar, but he’s not a murderer. Don’t try to pin this on him.”

  “Relax,” Cage said. “I don’t think your brother killed anyone. Since he’s a lawyer, I’m going to assume he wasn’t dumb enough to leave the doubloons that could be traced to him.”

  Doubloons worth thousands of dollars. The killer wanted to make a statement about Atlas. Not money.

  “Carson is always in the office by seven a.m.,” Ginger said. “No one else will be there.”

  Cage found Bonin pacing in the hall. He shook his head at her inquiring look. “Nothing to do with the case.”

  “No one mentioned Zoey being a smoker,” Bonin said.

  “Doesn’t mean she isn’t. Carson’s in the office by seven in the morning. Pick up me at six thirty.”

  Maybe he could get a few hours of sleep, but he’d more than likely lay awake, listening for the sound of someone breaking in.

  “I’m already sick of playing chauffer,” Bonin said. “Start calling you Ms. Daisy.”

  37

  Leighton and Hughes operated in the heart of the Central Business District, on the fifth floor of a modern eyesore of an office. Security grumbled about letting anyone in before regular hours but finally relented when Bonin threatened obstruction charges.

  The law office’s windows facing the elevator were still shuttered, but light streamed from beneath. Cage ban
ged on the office door.

  “Hello?”

  “Cage Foster.”

  Carson peeked through the closed blinds before opening the door. He looked like he was recovering from a three-day bender. “I assumed I would see you yesterday.”

  “Nursed a hangover and then spent half the night in the hospital with your sister.” Carson likely hadn’t been involved in the attack, but Cage enjoyed the shock on his face.

  “What? Is she okay?”

  “Someone jumped her in her driveway last night and roughed her up pretty good. She’ll be all right, but her face is going to be purple for a while.”

  “Jesus Christ. Why didn’t she call me?”

  “I asked her not to.”

  Carson suddenly looked like a younger version of his raging father. “How dare you—”

  “Cool your jets,” Bonin said. “Ginger didn’t have a problem with it. How much did Layla get from you?”

  He chewed the inside of his cheek and finally stepped aside. “Come into my office. I want to finish before the staff comes in.”

  “Fifty thousand.” Carson sank into his leather chair. “Every day I pray my wife doesn’t check the stock portfolio.”

  “Let’s make sure we’re all on the same page,” Cage said. “You heard about The PhoeniX and paid your friend Amy to get information. You assumed she stiffed you, but she died of an overdose just the day after talking to a woman allegedly working with The PhoeniX.”

  “Amy’s dead?”

  “Presumably because she knew too much,” Bonin said. “How’d you find out about The PhoeniX?”

  “Amy wanted to find the place, maybe get a job. She had the blue book.”

  “And you wanted some new flavors?”

  “No,” he said. “I’ve given that up.”

  “Doesn’t look like it. Why did you want to find it then?” Bonin asked.

  Carson’s shoulders slumped. “Can you leave my grandmother’s name out of it? She did nothing to deserve any embarrassment.”

  “What does your grandmother have to do with The PhoeniX?” Cage asked.

  “Everything,” Carson said. “How much do you know about her father, Philip Redmund?”

  “He pushed Dotty down the stairs and got away with it,” Cage said. “Had a love child, his wife hated him, so did your grandmother. Ironically died of falling down the stairs.”

  “My great-grandmother knew he was paying for another family. Nana heard many arguments when she was a little girl about ‘that Storyville whore JoJo’s kid.’”

  “As in JoJo who worked in the same brothel as Dotty Jean?” Had Sanders’s grandfather been right about JoJo opening a brothel the police never busted?

  “I have no idea if we’re talking about the same woman, but that name was a plague around my grandmother. When I saw the book, I immediately wondered.” Carson unlocked his top desk drawer. “I tried to buy the book from Amy, but she refused. Then she wanted money for photocopies.”

  Cage flipped through the copied pages. “Looks like the one Masen had. Amy say where she got it?”

  “Stole it from a client,” Carson said. “Look at the circled entry. Fourth page.”

  “The secret madam learned her trade at Valentina’s brothel during Storyville’s heyday. And saw firsthand how powerful family name could be, right down to getting away with murder. Valentina went along with it, because she had no choice. The secret madam never forgot what happened. She started her own business years later, and that’s when her chance to get revenge for her friend’s death happened. The same man came looking for a ‘fresh girl.’ The secret madam knew she couldn’t use the truth to blackmail him. So, she seduced him and used the child he fathered instead. The secret madam’s operation continued well into the sixties, lasting longer than Norma Wallace’s. You won’t find her name in the history books, because she was too smart to become famous.”

  Cage hadn’t noticed before because the secret madam’s story had been typed in a similar old-fashioned font, but the writing style showed it definitely didn’t come from any of the original blue books. Had JoJo really opened her brothel like Shana’s grandfather believed?

  “You think this madam is talking about your great-grandfather,” Bonin said.

  “I’ve gone over all of the original blue books. JoJo isn’t mentioned. So where did this come from? Why was it added?”

  Carson ran his hands through his hair. “I gave Amy money to find the place because I want to get the truth. Nana refused to speak of it after Philip died. Her illegitimate half-sister supposedly demanded a big payment to stay out of the family’s life. Nana paid it, and that was it. We all believed JoJo was just one of the working girls. When I saw this, I realized that might not be true.”

  “This is a family embarrassment,” Cage said, “and your father can’t stand that sort of thing. Not to mention your cheating. Why risk bringing this all into the open?”

  “Because I’m miserable and need some other outlet than stepping out on my wife. I had this foolish thought that I could find out the truth. If we have a whole other family out there, I want to meet them.”

  “They could make a claim for the Hughes fortune.”

  “Maybe they should. They’re entitled. It would be nice to shake things up.”

  Cage finally understood why Ginger did so much to separate from the Uptown life. Tradition and wealth trapped Carson into a tiny box.

  “So that’s my story,” he said. “I’m a philandering jackass with a soft spot for family.”

  “Only part of it,” Cage said.

  “Right, the doubloons.”

  “What’s the significance of four?” Cage had wanted to ask Ginger, but he’d badgered her enough.

  Carson smiled. “I knew I was screwed the second you mentioned finding four. What I told you about officers and legacy families receiving the doubloons is true—each received a set. Philip died in 1964. He was given a pair, along with his son, Thomas.”

  “I’ve never heard of him,” Bonin said.

  “Because he ran off with a man after Philip died,” Carson said. “The family pretended he didn’t exist and moved on.”

  “Your father’s doubloons came from Philip, then?” Cage asked.

  “My grandpa Hughes. He was also a London Club member. When I became a member, Nana gave me her father’s doubloons—Philip’s—and her brother’s. He’d given them to her before he ran off. Bloodline was everything to her. She didn’t want them to go to my father because he wasn’t a Redmund by blood.”

  “Why didn’t Ginger get any?”

  “Women aren’t allowed in the London Club,” Carson said. “My grandmother would sew her hands together before she gave them to a nonmember.”

  Cage had been staring at the empty nail to the far left of Carson’s desk. He drew the evidence bag of doubloons from his pocket and walked over, placing them flat against the empty space.

  “That’s where they were displayed,” Carson said. “She went up and studied them while I wrote her a check. Then she raised her demands.”

  “She knew they were worth money?”

  “A reasonable assumption for someone familiar with Atlas with a good eye. It’s clear they’re a heavier silver.”

  “It’s clear now,” Cage said. “But in the case, didn’t they look like regular coins?”

  Carson opened his phone. “I took a picture before she left with them. Pray to God I never come face-to-face with Nana in the afterlife.”

  As Cage suspected, the doubloons were pressed into soft velvet. They appeared old but not necessarily hefty silver. “No year.”

  “Surely you’ve noticed the lack of date on them?”

  “It’s not listed on the case.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  Bonin apparently did. “I only knew they were vintage because they were silver and heavier. Not by sight.”

  “I’m not sure Layla knew until the woman with her pointed them out.”

  “She brought someone with her?
” Cage said. “You didn’t tell Ginger that.”

  “I told her the bare minimum.”

  This family and their roundabout way of getting to the truth would end up giving him a stroke. “Who was the girl with her?”

  “I don’t know her name.”

  “Security footage,” Cage said. “Get it.”

  Carson opened his laptop. “They came in three or four months ago. I’m not sure how often the office cameras are scrubbed.”

  “Just check.” Was the girl with her the smoker who’d attacked Ginger?

  “Hang on,” Carson said. “I think this is all we have. It’s a mashup of still shots from around the office and in the hallway.”

  He rotated the computer, and Cage’s heart jabbed his dry throat. Despite the grainy quality, he was certain he knew the woman walking next to Layla, their arms linked. “That’s Shana Sanders.”

  Layla … stole my world … going to make the bitch pay.

  “That doesn’t look like a kidnap victim to me.” Shana had left willingly with Layla. Did Masen know, or had he assumed Layla forced her into The PhoeniX?

  Bonin vibrated next to him. She pointed to a different still shot. “That’s Suzette Masse getting out of the elevator with them. Fatbacks’s owner who supposedly sold the other businesses in the shell corporation.”

  Carson turned the computer back around. “Mrs. Masse? Yes, she had an appointment just after the girls.”

  “I thought she was George’s client,” Bonin said.

  “He was on vacation and she needed some tax paperwork done.”

  “She was the person in your office before Layla and Shana?”

  Carson nodded. “They must have come early and shared an elevator ride.”

  Or Suzette Masse was involved, and Bonin’s instincts about Fatbacks had been spot-on. If Shana went willingly, why did she hide from her uncle? And why risk blackmailing Carson for the doubloons just to stick them in a dead guy’s pocket? What message were she and Layla sending, and where the hell were they now? Had Shana attacked Ginger?

  “How did Layla know you were a member of the London Club?”

  Carson’s neck turned red. “I may have bragged to Amy after too much whiskey, but she only knew my first name. I have no idea how Layla tracked me here.”