A Dark Horse

by Cooper, Blayne

  “Come near the suspect again, Officer Morrell, and I will arrest you.” Turning, she pointed an angry finger at Officer Hobson. “Call an ambulance. Why isn’t Homicide here?”

  “He doesn’t need an ambulance,” Morrell insisted. “He’s in this shithole brewery passed out drunk half the time, and nobody sends him to the hospital then.”

  Officer Hobson drew a nervous hand over his chin, unable to pull his eyes away from Detective Lejeune’s harsh glare. “We only got here a few minutes before you did, Detective. I was just getting ready to call this in.” He swallowed with a loud gulp. “Umm…I’ll go and call…I’ll just go.”

  Hobson practically bolted from the room.

  Adele trained her flashlight on Crisco again to make certain his chest was still rising and falling. She caught sight of something that made her do a double take: a large, bloody, red brick covered with bits of skin, hair and general gore. She changed the angle of the flashlight. Blood was also caked onto one of Crisco’s limp, outstretched hands and formed a broken droplet trail that led back toward the victim. Footprints smeared the trail, hopelessly breaking up the natural pattern.

  The fire in Adele’s belly burned even hotter. “Christ, Morrell, you’ve totally ruined the crime scene by stomping through the splatter with your muddy boots!”

  With a quieter boom, the thunder seemed to finally be heading somewhere else. After a few seconds’ delay, lightning filled the sky. The rain, however, still lashed relentlessly against the brewery.

  “Maybe. But it won’t matter,” Morrell said confidently, adjusting his utility belt with both meaty hands. He bent and picked up his hat, which had fallen off during Crisco’s beating, and settled it back on his shaved head, cocking it a bit to the side. “We found the murder weapon clutched in Crisco’s grimy ole paw. And when I questioned him—”

  “You mean when you beat him.”

  Morrell had the nerve to look offended. “When I questioned him, he confessed to tryin’ to rob that junkie kid before killing him. Case closed. Next.”

  “Kid?” Adele’s ears pricked and she swore under her breath as she carefully navigated her way over to the body. “Why didn’t you mention that before?”

  Morrell snickered. “He’s not young enough for the kiddie police to care about.”

  “Asshole. We’re not done here.” Taking extreme care where she stepped so as not to further disrupt the crime scene or trip on something sharp, Adele finally squatted in front of the body. She swung her flashlight up to get a good look at the unlucky victim’s face.

  Adele immediately clamped her mouth closed to stop the bile that shot up from her stomach from spewing forward, though she couldn’t prevent the overwhelming, coppery scent of blood from clinging to her nostrils. A large chunk of the victim’s head, starting at the hairline at his temple, had been crushed. Gray matter and blood had spilled down the young man’s forehead and formed grisly, red rivulets that carved crooked paths down his face. “Jesus Christ.”

  Morrell sniggered darkly. “Feelin’ a little less sorry for Crisco yet?”

  Adele brushed off his words as her gaze traced the victim’s thin cheeks. Both his eyes were open and fixed, and his dark hair was longish, dirty, and as unkempt as his scraggly beard, which was also matted with sticky blood. Adrenaline made it hard to keep her hand steady as she moved the beam of light down bare arms covered in track marks. The victim was young and a mess and there was no way to tell for certain whether he was a juvenile by looking at him.

  Adele wanted to reach into his pockets, but the scars on his arms made her think better of it. She wasn’t willing to have a chance encounter with a dirty needle. “ID on the vic?”

  “Nope. I had Billy-Boy check. And no library card either.”

  “Why are you even here? You work the Tremé neighborhood, unluckily for them.”

  She spoke absently as she continued to examine the body without touching it. An uneasy feeling that went beyond general queasiness over the gruesome gore on display began to overtake her. Her pulse, which was already clipping along at a fast walk, climbed to a vigorous trot.

  “An anonymous tipster called in a disturbance. We’re on nights this week and were on the way to Betsy’s Hole-in-the-Wall for dinner. We were nearby, so I said we’d check it out. I never expected a goddamned corpse. Or to miss my dinner. This—”

  But Adele had already tuned him out, her stare riveted to the victim’s ruined face, recognition warring with the doubt and fuzziness that comes from the passage of time. She couldn’t quite place the face…but… Then she focused on his blue eyes and a memory plucked a chord inside her so loudly that she felt a little unsteady on her feet. Her pulse rate exploded into a full gallop.

  Adele had seen those eyes before, just on a prettier face. Realization crashed like a tidal wave, and her mouth dropped open. “Oh, no. No. No. No. Shit.”

  “What?” Morrell stepped closer, his voice eager. “You know who the druggie is?”

  “Shut. Up.” But her roiling gut had already answered with a resounding, terrible yes. This was Joshua Phillips. The teenager from Wisconsin. The one she couldn’t find. Guilt settled over her, cloying and heavy like a wet blanket.

  Now Adele had only one thought. How in the hell am I going to tell his sister?

  * * *

  “Why are you doing this?” Detective Landry Odette’s voice was nearly a shout as he paced around an interrogation room that held him and his wife.

  They’d sequestered themselves in the small room for privacy, but their raised voices made the matter moot. Luckily, the squad room was mostly empty.

  Landry sat down at the table across from Adele with a tired sigh. It was nearly four a.m. He’d been assigned to the murder at the Dixie Brewery and after dropping Logan off at his in-laws, visiting the crime scene, and having a short conversation with Crisco in the hospital, he met a seething Adele at the police station. “Ella?”

  She sniffed and even after all these hours she swore she could smell the faint, metallic scent of blood. “What?” she snapped, profoundly hurt that he was trying to talk her out of doing what was right.

  “You know nothin’ will happen to Morrell in a case like this. Let it go.”

  Adele knew exactly what he was trying not to say. Crisco was a loser bum with no money and no family connections. His injuries, while painful, weren’t life threatening. And he was accused of murder. If ever there was a case where the brass would look the other way, especially after the years of fallout over police brutality in the wake of Katrina, this was it.

  “Yes, Crisco has a broken jaw and nose and a few missing teeth, that were already rotten, I might add. But otherwise he’s fine,” Landry went on. “At least now he’s getting food that doesn’t come in the form of a Budweiser, and he won’t be sleeping in piles of garbage. Whether that dickhead Morrell roughed him up or not, Crisco still killed that boy. Crisco told me he did it…well, more like mumbled it. His jaw is wired shut.”

  Adele’s lips turned up in a disbelieving sneer. “Are you seriously trying to get me to believe that what happened to Crisco was for the best? And dammit, Landry, since when do you call an eighteen-year-old a boy? When it’s someone who is a suspect in one of your cases, that’s a grown man.”

  Landry avoided her eyes and instead looked down at his hands, which were resting on the table.

  “I won’t be manipulated, especially by you.” Her gaze turned beseeching. “I need to trust you.”

  “Oh, my God! You can trust me.” His entire body began to vibrate with frustration. “That’s why I’m trying to stop you!”

  Furious. That was the only way to describe how she felt at this second. Full of fury. “Crisco is afraid of Morrell. Morrell practically threatened him not to recant right in front of me. You can’t believe what he says now. That confession was literally beaten out of him.”

  Landry reached for one of Adele’s hands, but she snatched it out of his way. Rejected, he curled his hands into fists. “Why ar
e you taking this so personally?”

  “Why aren’t you? We can’t torture suspects to get them to talk. You didn’t hear him tonight.” Her stomach twisted at the memory. “Crisco was screaming like a cat frying on an electric fence.”

  “Crisco confessed again in the hospital to me.” He jerked his thumb toward his chest. “Me. Morrell was nowhere in sight.”

  “Don’t you get it? Morrell doesn’t have to be in sight because he already threatened Crisco and showed him what he can do to him if he doesn’t abide by the threats.”

  “You told me yourself that what Morrell actually said could be interpreted to mean anything!” Landry threw himself back in his chair, the metal groaning, his face flushed. “You’re talking about going against one of our own for someone you don’t even really know.”

  Adele shot to her feet and stared at her husband as though he was a total stranger. “It’s not just about Crisco. I can’t believe you’re going to ignore what happened. And you want me to ignore it! Since when don’t you care about justice? You’re not that kind of cop!” You’re not that kind of man.

  Landry shook his head and bolted upright just as quickly. He slapped his palms down on the table between them. “Don’t make me the villain!”

  The sound reverberated so loudly in the small space that it reminded Adele of the night’s merciless thunder.

  He glared down at his wife, challenge etched into every line on his face. “You can’t ignore that Crisco committed murder. And not only did he confess to the crime, the murder weapon was found in his goddamned hand. He did it, Ella.”

  She closed her eyes. “Probably. But—”

  “What Morrell did was wrong, dead wrong, but what do you want to do? Go after him officially and get Crisco’s confession tossed out? That could cost us the conviction of a guilty man if this goes to trial.” He threw his hands in the air. “You already went to the hospital and told Crisco to lawyer up. You believe in justice so much? Where’s the justice for the victim or his family in any of that?”

  Adele felt the sting of her own words being thrown back at her. “We can’t rely on Morrell when he says he’d Mirandized Crisco. I went to the hospital to help. Despite what you think, I don’t want our case thrown out. But it should be based on real evidence.”

  “Hobson backs up Morrell’s version of what happened.”

  Adele rolled her eyes. “I checked. Hobson’s been out of the academy for all of eight weeks. He almost peed himself in that factory tonight and doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going.” She decided not to mention the fact that she was lucky the rookie hadn’t accidentally put a bullet in her. “If Morrell told him to jump off a bridge, the only question Hobson would ask is whether he could lick his partner’s boots before taking the plunge.”

  Landry crossed his arms over his thick chest. “You know you can’t prove what you’re alleging.”

  “That doesn’t make it less true.”

  “Ella,” he bellowed, scrubbing his short, rain-dampened hair with both hands. “Do not throw a grenade into our case and turn yourself into a rat in the process! You’ll ruin your career.”

  “I’ve already talked to my lieutenant.” Dejectedly, she leaned against the wall with one shoulder. That had not been a pleasant phone call. Her eyes were tired and gritty, and she blinked painfully as she wrapped her arms around herself in mute comfort.

  Landry frowned, visibly torn between scooping up Adele and holding her close or strangling her.

  Their eyes met, and Adele ached to lose herself in the comfort and safety of his sturdy embrace, and feel his lips murmur against her forehead that everything would be okay. But not while they were so far apart on this. Not when she could barely recognize the man she went to bed with every night.

  Landry lowered his voice and reined in his emotions. He perched at the edge of the table. “I take it the conversation didn’t go the way you wanted?”

  Adele chuckled humorlessly. “He gave my current caseload away and told me to go home, to take a few days of vacation to cool off. Said that he’d talk to Morrell’s lieutenant and that they’d deal with it internally and in a way that wouldn’t compromise the case.” Her boss had given her the verbal equivalent of a pat on the head, and it galled her to the core.

  “I’m sorry. But he’s right. Just…Let me drive you home. You’ve been up for nearly two days.” Landry finally opened his arms to her, but once again she skirted his grasp.

  Jaw set, he didn’t try again. Instead, he lashed out, his own hurt on display. “Your pretty face shouldn’t look so wounded. I never took you for naïve, Ella. Did you really expect anything different from the brass?”

  Bitterness filled her mouth. “I expected more from my boss, but I deserve more from you.”

  Landry’s spine stiffened at her words.

  “I need you with me on this.” She hated that she sounded so needy, as though she was pleading, but why couldn’t he see how important this was? She didn’t want to just look the other way. She wasn’t sure she even could.

  Landry let out a slow, defeated breath. “I can’t support this. I won’t. We’re supposed to stick together.”

  It was clear the “we” he was referring to was not the two of them, but their brothers in blue. Landry had been a marine before he joined the NOPD. Semper Fidelis was in his blood. Always faithful. And she loved that about him. But for the first time in their marriage, Adele was forced to wonder where exactly she sat in the pecking order when it came to that unshakable allegiance. “We,” she gestured between them, “are supposed to stick together too.”

  Her eyes glittered with unshed tears and Landry had to turn away, his own eyes glassy. “At least take some time to think about what you’re doing, Ella. Promise me.”

  Reluctantly, she gave him a quick nod, the anger inside her warring with the hurt.

  “Do you want me to contact the victim’s family for a positive ID?”

  “Right now, Landry, the only thing I want or need from you is the one thing you’re unwilling to give.” Sickened and her heart aching, she strode out of the interrogation room and into the larger squad room. With a violent kick she sent the first wastepaper basket she encountered sailing across the room, crumpled paper and empty coffee cups flying in all directions. “And don’t you dare make that phone call!” she shouted without a backward glance.

  * * *

  A light groan came from the naked body lying nestled in a tangle of baby-blue sheets next to Natalie. “Who would call at this hour, babe?” A whimper. “It can’t be morning.” It was still dark out and they’d stayed up so late. “Even if it is, I’m not teaching today.”

  “Shh…” Natalie drew her fingers through the redhead’s long hair before reaching over her bedmate to the nightstand to retrieve her phone. “Go back to sleep,” she breathed, her voice little more than a sleepy whisper. Distracted by miles of skin, she kissed a slender, bare shoulder, her lips lingering there for another shrill ring of the phone before she grabbed it.

  Natalie’s own skin felt hot and hypersensitive, the tender flesh between her upper thighs still damp from her night with Hannah. She didn’t bother to cover herself as she groggily stumbled out of bed and pressed the phone to her ear over a shock of messy chestnut hair. “M-Mom?”

  “Ah…no. Is this Ms. Abbott?”

  Still half asleep, an unconscious smile stretched Natalie’s face as that soft, barely there accent rolled over her in a sensual wave. She moved to the open living room window and peered lazily out into the quiet night, her eyelids already starting to droop again, the faint sound of crickets in the yard barely registering. “Wh-who is this?”

  A pause.

  “This is Detective Lejeune with the New Orleans Police Department. I’m the detective that—”

  Natalie snapped awake so quickly she had to reach out and grab the windowsill for balance. She cleared her throat. “I-I remember you, Detective. Of course. I’m sorry.” She held the phone out in front of her, glaring at it
as though it would give her a preview as to whether this was the call she’d prayed for or had been dreading for the past two years. She made her way to the sofa on wobbly legs, her heart pounding against her ribs. She placed the phone back against her ear. “Have you found him? Josh, I mean?”

  “I believe so.”

  A split second of shining hope was replaced by a stunned look as Natalie listened to Detective Lejeune speak, her face growing more and more ashen with each passing second.

  “A young man was killed in the Dixie Brewery tonight. I’m so, so sorry, but I believe the victim was your brother.” Detective Lejeune’s voice was gently authoritative and calm, but still audibly upset.

  Natalie didn’t remember sitting down.

  She had no right to feel shocked. How could she? Even if Josh was the type of kid to run away, he wasn’t the type to simply disappear and stay gone. Even if he didn’t want to come home, he loved his family and would have reached out eventually, even if only to touch base or ask for money. Horror tinged with disbelief swept over her, swamping her senses. “I-I see. How?”

  “It looks like he died from massive blunt force trauma to the head, though we won’t know that for sure until the autopsy results are in.”

  “What does that mean? He was k-k-killed? Like an accident?”

  “I—No. Murdered.”

  Silence.

  “Natalie?”

  The sound of her own heartbeat roared in her ears. “I’m still here. Was—OhmyGodohmyGod…was he alone?”

  “Misty wasn’t with him, if that’s what you’re asking. Natalie, we need a family member to identify the body. I can call his mother or father instead, if you’d like?”

  Natalie looked skyward with pleading eyes. “No.”

  “Okay, then. I-I also wanted to say again, from me, that I’m so sorry.”