“Interesting,” Jessie says.
“Why is that interesting?” Juanita says before Beau can signal her – he’s not sure how – to quit while she’s ahead.
“The way you two have been checking each other out.”
Juanita tries to keep her face from blushing and Beau covers his mouth, starts coughing, enough for Jessie to reach around and pat his back and get the hint.
On their way out, Jessie takes his hand.
“Call when you can, Darling.” She brushes his lips with hers and he walks her to her charcoal gray Buick. She climbs in, pulls the front of her dress up to flash him her white panties and blows him a kiss before closing her door. Beau takes a step back and bumps into Guevara who got a good look at Jessie’s panties as well.
Guevara raises his shoulders and says, “She looks like a handful.”
• New Orleans Marina, 10:22 p.m.
“So what’s this offer you can’t refuse?”
Beau’s in bed after taking care of Stella. He used to worry about her being cooped up alone in the cabin. But this is the only world she knows and seems content, so long as he plays with her, pets her, lets her toy with him until she’s had enough. She’s at the foot of the bed, straightening her fur after a little wrestling match with his left hand. Beau has learned to keep his gun hand away from her claws and teeth because the little girl sometimes gets carried away.
“In a minute,” Jessie says. “How’d your canvass go?”
“Nada. Nothing. Like she was invisible. And there’s no local police in Canberra, just the Australian Federal Police. Turner had a chief inspector on speakerphone. They’re gonna research this Angelina Goolime who died here as Angel Goode. If she has a police record, family.”
“The offer,” Jessie says, “is to oversee the family assets. The Louviers are one of the wealthiest families in the city, maybe the wealthiest, and Lizette’s father is retiring since his son is now in high school.”
Alexandre Louvier had managed to talk his parents into allowing him to go to Archbishop Rummel, where LaStanza went. The caveat was that LaStanza has four years of high school and four years of college to talk the boy out of becoming a cop. Alexandre is supposed to take over the family fortune. One day.
“It’s an odd business structure,” Jessie says, her voice low and distant. “Lizette and Alexandre have their own trusts and are part owners in all of the banks, but their parents own majority interests and property all over New Orleans, in France, Luxembourg, Liechtenstein and Switzerland, including banks there as well. They have managers, accountants and lawyers running everything but someone needs to oversee it all and I’m the only person in the extended family with a Business Management degree and I’ve been treated like a daughter since my cousin married Lizette.”
“What are you worried about?”
“I sound worried?” She lets out a long breath. “I don’t know. I can’t even screw it up with all the checks and balances, including the distant relatives in France. Apparently the Louviers and the Raveneauxs, that’s Lizette’s mother’s maiden name, are what the Europeans call Quiet Tycoons.
“Do you think you’ll get bored?”
“No. I love numbers and I’ll be flying to Europe every few months. I’m tired of surveillance work.”
“So why are you hesitating?”
“I don’t know. I never pictured myself as an executive. Like a CFO. It’s a big responsibility.”
Beau laughs and she clears her throat, obviously not amused.
He tells her, “I’ve only known you a week and what, three days, but I know there isn’t a damn thing Miss Jessie Carini can’t do if she puts her mind to it.”
“Or her body.” Her voice is low now and sexy.
Wednesday
• New Orleans Marina, 5:02 a.m.
“You up yet?”
It’s Rothman calling. Beau takes in a deep breath. “No. What the fuck is it?”
Stella decides Beau’s left foot under the sheet needs to be attacked.
“Well, I got a working girl here in stable condition.”
“What? What are talking about?”
“Let me see,” Rothman’s voice rises. “Oh, yeah. Ochsner Hospital. ICU. She was garroted.”
Beau sits up, pulls his foot from Stella’s love bites. Love bites because she not drawing blood.
“You’re not making sense. Garroted means she’s dead. You said stable condition.”
“OK. OK. It was an attempt garrote. Her larynx was almost crushed but she’s breathing, big eyes blinking at me. She can’t talk for the moment, but the doctors say she’ll live.”
“Don’t leave her alone. We’ll be right there.”
“Bring me some decent coffee, will ya’?”
Beau wakes up Juanita with, “You’re not gonna believe this.”
• Jefferson Highway, 5:52 a.m.
Ochsner Foundation Hospital, sitting next to the giant Mississippi River levee in Jefferson Parish, a little over a mile from New Orleans, had survived the big flood of Katrina while every hospital in the city, including big Charity, was inundated. Several hospitals are back but Ochsner is still it.
Two Third District NOPD patrol officers stand in the hall outside ICU with Tim Rothman who’s in a black polo shirt and khaki tactical pants. JP Detective Joe Guevara is there in a white shirt, red tie and blue dress pants. Beau, freshly shaved and in a short sleeved, navy blue Taclite button shirt, also made of RipStop material and khaki tactical pants, passes Rothman a cup of coffee from the PJ’s coffee stand at Carrollton and Claiborne.
Juanita, in an olive green polo shirt and black tactical skirt, hands the extra coffee she bought to Guevara and now Beau knows why she bought two. Damn that’s quick work.
“How is she?”
“Still stable.” Rothman takes a sip of coffee. Beau fixed it like his, milk and equal.
“Who is she?”
Rothman shrugs.
“Where did this happen?”
“Two hours ago, she stumbled in front of a cab on Carrollton near City Park. Got a statement from the cabbie.”
Beau looks at Juanita who says, “Are there are any hotels near there?”
“No. Jesus, was it a house? Did it happen in the park?”
He steps to the door and Rothman says, “The nurse’ll just run you out.”
“Which bed is she in?”
“Second one on your right.”
Beau steps in first with Juanita and sees six beds with patients and four nurses in blue scrubs moving between them, four more nurses and a man and woman in green scrubs standing behind a counter with assorted medical devices beeping and making other pinging noises.
Their victim has a tube in her mouth and IVs in her right arm. She blinks wide brown eyes at them as they step up, her dark brown hair appears damp. She looks Latino to Beau.
He introduces himself and Juanita, holds up a small pad and pen. “Can you write answers if we ask questions?”
“Excuse me,” a sharp female voice snaps behind Beau who turns and tells the nurse she’s excused, turns back to the victim and tells her, “Inspector Cruz has some questions for you. It’ll be very helpful if you can answer.”
The nurse grabs his elbow. “Excuse me, you can’t come in here.”
Beau looks at the hand holding his elbow and the nurse lets go and pinches his arm. Actually pinches him and he almost laughs.
“You have to leave.”
“Send this young lady’s doctor over. I’ll speak with the doctor.”
“I’m Nurse Ratling, Head ICU nurse and I’m instructing you to leave.”
It occurs to Beau for a moment, if he gets shot, this nurse may be in charge of his recovery. He’ll chance it. Hell, he’d been in this very room after he tangled with the Brown Raven but the nurse then was a lot nicer.
“Get the doctor.” He turns back and Juanita says she isn’t talking.
“Try Spanish.”
“I did.”
Beau softens his voice. “Miss. We�
�re here to protect you. We want to catch the man who did this to you.” He notices she won’t meet his eyes.
Juanita offers the patient her the small note book. She looks at Juanita, takes the pen with a shaking hand and writes on it. It’s in Spanish. Juanita leans to Beau and says, “No men.”
Beau nods, touches Juanita’s elbow, nods to her as footsteps arrive behind and he turns to see an exotic looking woman, one of the two in green scrubs, step up with Nurse Ratling. He steps their way, extends a hand to the physician.
“I’m Chief Inspector John Raven Beau. NOPD. This woman is under our protection.”
“She is under my care.” The doctor has that sing-song Indian accent, sounding like one of the cast of Slumdog Millionaire. She doesn’t shake hands, nodding to Beau now. “I remember you, Mr. Beau. I treated you when you were shot up. I’m Doctor Shukla. You have three minutes.”
The doctor turns away. Nurse Ratling shakes as she stands, looks from the doctor to Beau, back to the doctor then follows her. Beau looks back at Juanita who steps toward him as the patient writes in the note book.
“Her name’s Mandelina Moore.” Juanita goes back to the patient.
Dr. Shukla is behind the counter now with Nurse Ratling. Beau gets her attention, moves to the counter and says, “Inspector Cruz will remain in here. Officers will be outside.”
The doctor starts to open her mouth.
“There’s no negotiating this, doctor. That woman and everyone in this IC Unit are in danger. The inspector will not get in your way but this girl escaped murder and she’s under my personal protection. You and your personnel as well.”
The doctor nods.
The nurse leers at him. Beau can’t resist, as he backs away, pointing to the nurse’s large nose, “Loved you in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.”
“That was Nurse Rachet!”
Dr. Shukla hides her smile. Beau stops between the nurse’s station and Juanita as the patient. passes her the note pad. Juanita reads it, passes it back and asks another question. Beau waits. A couple minutes goes by and he goes to the door and peeks out. Rothman and Guevara lean against the wall. The patrol officers are still down the hall.
“Can you stay?” He asks Rothman.
They both nod.
He goes back in and eventually Juanita nods him over.
“Actually, it’s Nurse Ratched,” Juanita says. “I read the book. Everyone makes that mistake.”
Beau’s about to tell her and the patient he’ll be in the hall when Juanita flips through the notes. “It happened at Ida B&B.”
“Bread and Breakfast?”
The patient nods but still won’t look at him.
“Orleans Avenue,” Juanita adds. “Wasn’t a John. She woke up and he was in the room. She shot him with a .22 pistol. Then she got away.”
“Was he dead?”
“He stumbled out of the room. She shot him in the belly.”
“Room have a number?”
Mandelina Moore holds up two fingers.
“What happened to the pistol?”
Juanita hands the note book to Mandelina who writes on it, hands it back. The note reads: ‘I dropped it.’
Beau backs away. “Inspector Cruz is going to stay right here with you.”
He tells Juanita he’s heading to the B&B and will keep men outside ICU.
Beau moves into the hall and spots a heavy-set NOPD uniform sergeant standing with his two men. Beau asks Guevara if he can stay with Juanita until he returns and gets a nod.
“I’m taking Tim with me.”
The NOPD sergeant steps up, opens his mouth but Beau cuts him off. “Good you’re here. I’m commandeering you and both your men. I want three uniforms out here indefinitely.”
“The fuck you do.”
Beau’s seen him around. Third District sergeant named Preston.
“I’m taking my men.” The sergeant’s right hand clenches in a fist, which he bounces off his leg.
Beau pulls out his cell, fishes for the right number, punches it.
“Captain Jefferson? This is Chief Inspector Beau. Did I wake you, sir?”
“You sure did.” The voice is gravelly and low.
“Good. I’m certain you received Chief Féroce’s standing order 13-0132.”
“I am aware of your exalted status. That why you woke me?”
“I have an angry sergeant named Preston here who – ”
“Just put him on the line, OK?”
Beau passes Preston his cell and the sergeant turns his back to Beau and grunts a few replies to his captain, hands the cell to one of the patrol officers to return. Beau punches in another number, steps away.
“Curtis?”
Curtis Edwards sounds groggy.
“Did I wake you?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s Beau.”
“I know.” Edwards’s voice is waking up.
“Need you to send a BOLO – that’s Be On The Lookout.”
“I know what it is, sir.”
“Cut out the ‘sir’ shit. We’re partners in this experiment.”
“OK.”
“Send a BOLO to law enforcement agencies and coroner’s offices in Louisiana, Texas, Arkansas, Mississippi, Alabama and Florida for any white male with a gunshot wound to his abdomen.”
“Can do.”
“Tell the chief we have a live one. Our killer tried to strangle a working girl who had a handgun handy.”
“What was that?”
Beau explains in plain English.
“OK. Can the BOLO wait until I get in the office?”
“Anytime this morning. Thanks.”
On their way out, Beau and Rothman notify the ER if they get a gunshot wound, tell the cops outside ICU immediately.
• Orleans Avenue, 6:47 a.m.
The Ida Bread and Breakfast was once a mini-mansion with a slave quarters building behind at the intersection of Orleans Avenue and Ida Street, several blocks from Carrollton and City Park. Beau assembles four uniform officers outside the wrought-iron gate of the small fence outside the B&B, jotting their names in his notebook: Ling, Gaudet, Walker and Jones. It’s Howie Jones. Chestal, himself, who grins at Beau.
“Say, what it is, man?” Chestal says.
They bump fists.
“Who’s got the search warrant?” Gaudet, the youngest one asks no one in particular.
“Crime scene,” Rothman answers. “Don’t need one.”
Beau tells the officers he wants one outside the front door, points to Gaudet and wants one outside the back door and two going in.
“We find the room, check for a body and blood,” Beau tells them. “If it is a crime scene, we roust everyone and put them in a main room and search. Any questions?”
Beau leads the way up the six wooden steps to a brick gallery, pushing the doorbell of the wooden building painted pale yellow. Well-trimmed bushes and a manicured lawn are matched by the neatly placed plants hanging beneath the balcony over the front gallery. He pushes the bell a second time and a woman in her sixties opens the door. She’s in a long print dress straight out of one of those old paintings of the depression, a white apron, what looks like rubber shoes.
“Police,” Beau says, showing his ID. “We need to come inside.”
The woman hesitates but Beau gently pushes the door in and she backs away.
Rothman takes her aside as Beau asks, “Room Two?”
She points beyond the staircase down a small hall. “Last door.”
Beau moves past a vacuum cleaner, withdraws his Glock and sees Chestal pull out his weapon. The room’s door is cracked open, no light inside. Several drops of blood dot the tan carpet in the hall, more blood drops beyond toward the back door of the place. Beau presses against the wall, reaches a leg around and eases open the door. Chestal goes in low and Beau goes in high, each moving quickly to opposite sides of the room that smells of lemon cleaner. Ambient light through the curtains and the open door shows a dresser on the left, an ope
n door beyond and a bed in front of Beau.
There’s a closet to Beau’s right and he opens it cautiously. Two dresses on hangers.
Ling eases in and checks the bathroom. Chestal peeks under the bed. Beau steps over and flips on the light with his Glock before holstering it. The mattress of the queen size bed is naked, the dresser top glistens and Beau sniffs it. Lemon smell.
Rothman steps into the doorway, reads from his notes, “Old lady is the owner. Delores Amlo. Three clients. Two are here. Everyone’s in the front room now.” Rothman’s eyes dance. “One’s in a nightie.”
“What?” Beau shakes his head. “Go let her change.”
“I offered but I think she likes walking around in her nightie.”
“She worth scoping out?” Chestal says.
“She’s maybe a six.”
“Bring apron lady here, OK?”
Beau calls for the crime lab on his radio.
The woman comes into the doorway, Rothman standing behind her, and Beau asks what happened to the bedding.
“It’s in the washer. There was blood on it.”
He sees wet spots on the carpet now. “Did you clean the rug too?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You always clean up this early?”
“A noise woke me. Couldn’t get back to sleep. The door was open.”
“Noise? Like popping? Firecrackers?”
“Now that you mention it.”
He looks closely at her small eyes, says, “Did you find a gun in here?”
“Yes, sir.” She points to the dresser. “I put it in the top drawer with two empty bullet thingies. They were on the floor next to the bed.”
The bullet thingies are two shell casings, the pistol an old Astra Cub, pocket-sized .22 short semiautomatic, blue steel with plastic grips. The finish looks worn but shines.
“Did you clean off the pistol?”
“Yes, sir. There was blood on it. I wiped it clean.” The woman’s smile fades as she sees Beau’s reaction.
“You vacuumed in here too?”
“Yes, sir.”
Beau looks at Rothman and talks through gritted teeth.
“Take her into another room and find out if she saw the man who was shot and what else she did to the crime scene. Impress upon her the felony she just committed. And no one step on the blood trail in the hall. It’s all we got left.”
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