by Hunter, Neil
‘Yes, Inspector.’
‘Keep your head over this, Kelso. No heroics. I want you to remain out of sight and keep watch on George Kenworthy. Keep this between the two of us.’
‘Is Kenworthy in trouble, Inspector?’
‘That’s what I want to find out. Kelso, this is important. If what I’m about to do proves correct then I will find out that what I suspect is true. If I’m wrong no harm will have been done. Watch for Kenworthy leaving the station. Follow him and observe. Nothing more for the present, just see where he goes. To be on the safe side, make sure you’re armed. A precaution you understand.’
‘You can depend on me, Inspector.’
‘Remember that this must be kept between ourselves.’
‘Anything I should know, Inspector?’
‘I especially want to hear if Kenworthy visits The Creole Queen. I am hoping my suspicions are confirmed over this. Do you know the place?’
Kelso smiled. ‘Let’s say I’ve heard about it. Not somewhere I could go myself, Inspector. Too expensive on my pay. Is this to do with Mr. Lacroix? Wasn’t he hear earlier?’
Noonan nodded. The young officer was sharp. Didn’t seem to miss a thing.
‘I’ll let you know later. First follow my orders and we’ll take things from there if things work out.’
When Kelso had gone Noonan sat behind his desk and considered his next move where Brand was concerned. The man hadn’t given much away on where he was going. Noonan couldn’t help wondering how far Brand trusted him now it was obvious there was someone within the police station who was giving out information. And after the incident that had almost led to Brand’s death Noonan didn’t blame him. The Inspector had to own up to the fact his department had not progressed very far where the case was concerned. That fact alone worried him and embarrassed him. Noonan was not upset by the fact Brand had been sent to New Orleans. The only thing that did matter was solving the crimes and preventing further murders.
The name that kept bothering Noonan was Victor Lacroix.
Was he linked to the abductions? To the death of Netta Delacort?
The inescapable fact that Jake Durant was somehow involved hadn’t escaped Noonan’s thoughts either. The man worked for Lacroix. He had dubious connections with the fringes of the criminal society of New Orleans and Brand had picked up his name from the men who had attacked him.
And whether he liked it or not, Lacroix appeared to have been informed about Brand’s presence in the city. Too quickly for Noonan’s liking. That fact alone only increased the Inspector’s suspicions about an informer somewhere with the ranks of the police. It angered him there was an individual leaking information – it also saddened him that somewhere within the ranks of police officers there was a traitor. The word came to his lips unbidden. Noonan wasn’t naïve enough to see the world as free of corruption, even within the police force, yet it still hurt as he realized that it existed within his own building.
Noonan knew he had to find the culprit. Expose him and deal with him.
Sometime later with Kelso ready to follow his instructions Noonan put his plan into action. It seemed a simple-enough solution. He just hoped it would work.
Taking a sheet of paper Noonan wrote a brief few sentences down, folded the sheet and slipped it into his pocket. He took his police revolver from the desk and checked it was loaded, tucking it in the holster that rode high on his belt, hidden beneath his coat. He stepped out of his office and made his way downstairs and out of the building. He walked for a while until he reached a bar where he knew he could find one of his informants. The man he was looking for was seated at a table, nursing a beer. When he saw Noonan the man barely acknowledged him. Noonan picked up a beer for himself and carried it across to there the man sat.
Caleb Lamar was a middle-aged Mulatto, his skin tone denoting his mixed-race heritage. He earned his living buying and selling information and Noonan had used him on a number of occasions. Lamar, despite his occupation, was a man of principle as far as he could practice. Noonan respected the man and trusted him.
‘What may I do for you today, Inspector?’ Lamar asked. He always spoke in a quiet tone, never raising his voice.
‘I want you to send a telegram to me,’ Noonan said. He smiled at the puzzled expression that crossed Lamar’s face. ‘I have my reasons but the less you know the better for us all.’
Lamar took a swallow of his beer. ‘Not for me to question your motives, Inspector. This is official business I understand?’
Noonan simply inclined his head. He took the folded paper from his pocket and slid it across the table. He also added a twenty-dollar bill.
‘Should cover the costs of the telegram and leave some for your trouble.’
Lamar slid the paper and the banknote out of sight.
‘How soon do you need me to send the telegram?’
‘In about a half hour,’ Noonan said. He drank his beer. ‘Enough time for me to walk back to the station and sit behind my desk.’
Lamar nodded. ‘One day perhaps you will be able to explain the reason for this,’ he said.
‘One day I will, Caleb. That’s a promise.’
Noonan stood and walked away without hurrying and took his slow walk back to the station, retracing his earlier steps. As he crossed the street to enter the building he gave a brief nod to Kelso who was nearby, with his face hidden by a newspaper. Back in his office he shed his coat and sat behind his desk, reading through reports he needed to catch up on. He called for one of the constables to bring him a mug of coffee and placed it on his desk while he continued checking the reports.
Donald Noonan was not given to anxiety but he found himself checking the wood-cased clock on the wall of his office. Almost an hour had passed since his return. He was hoping his subterfuge would bring a positive result. His concern was eased when a tap on his door announced a visitor.
‘Come in.’
Noonan kept his expression neutral when his door was opened and a uniformed constable stepped into his office because the man was the one he had been hoping would show up.
George Kenworthy, the telegrapher.
Kenworthy, a balding, lean man in his thirties, wearing steel-rimmed spectacles, held a folded sheet in his hand.
‘This came for you, Inspector.’
‘Thank you, Kenworthy.’
Noonan took the paper and scanned it. The message was word for word as he had written out for Lamar to dictate.
‘Do I need to wait for a reply?’ Kenworthy asked.
Noonan displayed a casual demeanor, shaking his head.
‘No. This is just something I’ve been waiting for. All the information I require to advance my investigation. Thank you, Kenworthy.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The man turned and left. Noonan waited a moment then stood at the part-closed door and watched the man walk quickly to the top of the stairs that led to the ground floor. Maybe he was mistaken but Noonan was sure Kenworthy looked nervous.
~*~
Noonan kept checking from his office window. He could see Kelso waiting across the street. The young man was remaining at his post. Noonan figured the officer would stay on watch as long as it took. It was almost an hour later when Kelso moved, casually crossing the crowded street and turning away from the station. When Noonan leaned forward to see what had alerted Kelso he caught a glimpse of George Kenworthy. He checked the time and saw it was Kenworthy’s lunch break. The man had hurriedly left the building and was making purposely away from it. As Noonan watched, he saw Kelso follow the telegrapher and disappear from sight. Noonan experienced a degree of satisfaction. It seemed his ploy might be working. All he could do now was wait for Kelso to report what Kenworthy was up to.
~*~
It was not difficult for Kelso to keep Kenworthy in sight. The man took his time, making no efforts to conceal his direct approach to The Creole Queen, the establishment owned by the man called Lacroix. Kenworthy walked to the alley beside the building and dow
n it until he came to wooden gates that led to the delivery area. Kelso had paused at the head of the alley so he was able to observe Kenworthy’s actions. Once the man had gone in through the gates Kelso made his way to them. He paused, uncertain how to proceed. Inspector Noonan was hoping to gain information of Kenworthy’s business and the fact he had come to The Creole Queen was proving he was on the right track. Kelso decided he had to follow this through. If Kenworthy was making contact with Lacroix, there had to be an important reason. Kelso touched the revolver under his coat to reassure himself. The eased himself through the gates and made his way across the yard. He was making for the loading ramp and the door that would give him access to the main building. He was nervous. He understood the risk he was taking but his need to prove himself to Inspector Noonan overrode caution.
He stepped up onto the loading bay and moved to the door. It stood ajar. With his hand on his revolver Kelso eased the door open and went through. The interior was shadowed, the place obviously a storage area.
And George Kenworthy was standing a few feet away, facing Kelso.
‘What are you doing here, Kelso? Are you spying on me?’
‘Maybe with good reason,’ Kelso said.
‘Noonan. It was Noonan who sent you.’ Kenworthy’s face flushed with anger as he realized he had been found out.
A large, dark bulk materialized from the shadows and pushed past Kenworthy. It was Jake Durant, his broad face creased by a brutish grin.
‘Sonofabitch copper,’ he mouthed. ‘Sneaking around where he shouldn’t be.’
‘If Noonan sent him, he must be figuring things out,’ Kenworthy said.
‘Is that right, bucko? Durant said.
Kelso grasped his revolver and started to pull it from under his coat. It was a futile move. Durant, big as he was, closed the gap between them in long strides. His left hand closed over Kelso’s, crushing his fingers against the butt of the gun. Before Kelso could react, Durant’s massive left fist swept in and slammed against the side of his face, the impact knocking Kelso off his feet. Helpless from the powerful blow Kelso dropped, slamming onto the floor with force enough to scramble his senses. Kelso had the taste of blood in his mouth, pain erupting before everything went black …
~*~
Brand rode past the gates to Victor Lacroix’s large house, standing in its own expansive grounds. He made little show of his passing, but mentally retained what he had seen. Depending on how things turned out he might have to pay a second – discreet visit. One thing did catch his attention. A man seen through the bars of the main gate. He was making no attempt to conceal the shotgun carried in the crook of his arm. Not an unseen sight. Just Lacroix securing the safety of his property.
Maybe.
Or because he had something to hide.
A question that needed an answer.
~*~
Noonan was starting to get anxious. George Kenworthy had returned to the station but there was no sign of young Kelso. Something was not right. A feeling of guilt edged Noonan’s thoughts. Had something happened to Kelso? He had sent the officer to trail Kenworthy and now he seemed to have disappeared. If Kenworthy had returned to the station there was no reason why Kelso should not have come back as well.
So where was he?
The afternoon was coming to an end. Once darkness fell it would be difficult to locate Kelso if Noonan went looking for him.
Noonan glanced at the clock on the wall. Kenworthy’s shift would be ending shortly. The Inspector decided it was time he did something useful like following Kenworthy and confronting him.
When Kenworthy left the station, Noonan was waiting. He fell in behind the man and kept him in sights as Kenworthy moved quickly through the busy streets. He realized Kenworthy was not walking in the direction his rooms lay. In fact, he was going in the opposite direction, taking them into a shabbier part of the city.
Was he going to meet someone?
Or leading Noonan into some kind of trap?
The answer revealed itself as Kenworthy scuttled down a trash-littered ally and was waiting when Noonan followed.
‘Why are you following me, Inspector Noonan?’
Noonan faced the man, his hand under his coat near his holstered weapon. Even in the fading light Noonan could see a gleam of sweat on Kenworthy’s face. He had taken off his spectacles and was wiping the glass with a kerchief from his coat.
‘You look nervous, Kenworthy? Why is that? Is it something to do with Officer Kelso?’
‘I don’t why would it be about Kelso.’
‘Maybe because he followed you earlier and when you came back he didn’t.’
‘What has that to do with me?’ Kenworthy’s words came out in a rush. ‘He shouldn’t have made …’
‘He was doing his job. On my orders.’
‘What right do you have following me? I shall make a complaint, Inspector Noonan.’
‘Fine with me, Kenworthy. Let us do that. We’ll go back to the station and sit down with the Superintendent and discuss the matter …’
Kenworthy made a sound that might have been a protest. At the same time he thrust his hand under his coat and produced a short-barreled revolver. His eyes were wide and staring as he pushed gun at Noonan and pulled the trigger. Noonan felt a solid thump against the left shoulder, the impact pushing him against the alley’s grimy wall. He closed his hand over his own revolver, drawing it with surprising speed and as Kenworthy stepped forward, lining up his weapon for a second shot, Noonan fired, cocked and fired again. The .38 caliber police issue revolver flamed as it sent the two slugs at Kenworthy. They hammered his chest, knocking Kenworthy back and down, his body slumping to the floor of the alley, his pistol bouncing from his hand.
Leaning against the wall Noonan fished out his police whistle and used it to summon help before the pain in his shoulder robbed him of being able to do very much else.
~*~
By the time Brand arrived back in New Orleans, the shooting between Noonan and George Kenworthy was the talk of the station. Noonan, after being treated by Doc Marcellus, had insisted on returning to speak with his superiors. Brand was directed to the senior officer’s office on the top floor, where Noonan sat facing the grim-faced Superintendent, his wounded shoulder bandaged and his arm in a sling.
‘I have to say I am disturbed by what has taken place,’ the uniformed man said. ‘It is a bad day when officers under my command indulge in gunfights.’
‘As I have already reported,’ Noonan said, ‘my intention was to talk with Kenworthy over a suspicion I had over his behavior. There was no intention to engage in a shooting. I was simply defending myself.’
The Superintendent – a man named Wallace – glanced at Brand.
‘It appears you have something of a bad luck streak as well, Mr. Brand. Noonan has apprised me of the attempt on your life. Your appearance in New Orleans seems to have unleashed an epidemic of violence.’
‘Seems to me my showing up has rattled someone. When I’m almost offered up as alligator bait I tend to take it personally.’
Wallace sighed, leaning back in his seat.
‘I understand how this has become a far-reaching matter. Hiram Delacort has lost his daughter and is naturally distraught. Two other young woman have also gone missing and we, as the New Orleans Police Department, have failed to a degree in finding out the perpetrators. I cannot deny that. Delacort asked for higher help and the President deemed it the right way to go. Can’t say I’m overly happy with that, but politics aside, the matter concerning those young women is paramount. If bringing an outsider to assist will pacify those involved …’ Wallace shrugged. ‘… then we must abide by the decision.’
‘Even if you don’t like the idea? I told Inspector Noonan I’m here to help,’ Brand said. ‘Nothing more. Have to admit Lacroix showing up at Noonan’s office the way he did kind of interested me.’
‘The man has an inflated image of himself as beyond our reach,’ Wallace said. ‘His influence in the
city makes him feel invulnerable.’
‘Perhaps we should let him know that influence doesn’t affect us,’ Brand said.
‘Noonan mentioned Victor Lacroix. Is there a suspicion concerning him?’
‘Coming to my office was little more than bravado. And a chance to face Jason because he’d been warned of his coming.’
‘Superintendent, he’s already slipped up. We’ve identified Jake Durant as being in his pay,’ Brand said. ‘And Noonan’s faked telegram, naming Lacroix was enough to send Kenworthy running.’
‘You’ve heard nothing more about Officer Kelso?’ Wallace asked.
Noonan shook his head. ‘I regret sending him. I may have put him in danger. I’ve assigned as many men as I can to keep an eye out for him.’
‘I may have something here that could help,’ Wallace said. He picked up papers from his desk. ‘It seems the appropriate moment to let you see these. I have been debating what to do but now seems the moment.’ He passed the papers to Brand. ‘Lacroix has been under suspicion for a while of being involved in illegal activities. We’ve haven’t had anything definite to use but now, with current matters, it seems we may have chance to gain something solid. To be honest, pointing the finger at Lacroix is difficult. He is, shall we say, a slippery customer. And he does have the ear of very influential people.’
‘So I keep hearing,’ Brand said. ‘But my influence reaches as high as you can get, so no need to be coy here.’
‘The last section came to light a couple of days ago. Henry Dalton, Jerome Cortland and Cyrus Buckman. They all seem to have disappeared.’
Brand waited until Wallace spoke again.
‘All three are prominent businessmen in New Orleans. Buckman actually owns a bank. He’s extremely wealthy.’
‘The connection?’
Wallace cleared his throat.
‘They have all been associated with Victor Lacroix. Been seen at his casino, The Creole Queen. Eyewitnesses have seen the three regularly sitting in on high stakes poker games. Large amounts of money have been seen on the tables. The three missing men are well known to each other. In their businesses they are all pretty staid, men who abide by the conservative rules of their work.’