Gumbo Justice

by Holli H. Castillo

  “If you’re trying to earn some brownie points with my dad, hotshot, you might want to note that he’s not around to hear you.” She indicated to the back seat of the car. “Kissing booty only works if the booty is actually close enough to feel the smack. And how did we get from the tattoo on my ass to my daddy’s antiquated ideas about how young ladies should dress to look at dead people?”

  “The tattoo is on your ass?” He paused, seeming distracted. A second later he shook his head. “Well, anyway, I don’t think you realize the impression people get when you dress like you do.”

  “There is nothing wrong with my outfit. And what people are you referring to? The stiff on the floor?” She was getting annoyed. While the T-shirt and sweat shorts wouldn’t earn her any fashion awards, the clothing was far from revealing.

  “I’m thinking about the patrolmen.” He turned left onto St. Charles. “Do you have any idea how some of the guys talk about you?

  Ryan pretended to be excited. “Really? Which ones?”

  Shep gave her a deprecatory look. “Sisko and Malette. I think I have their phone numbers, if you’re interested.”

  She smiled. “I’ll pass. But everyone’s entitled to an opinion, even about me. Last month I overheard Henry Cooper saying I was so mean he bet my vagina had teeth. Of course, he’s so crude he called it a snatch instead of a vagina, but it was still pretty funny.”

  “I can’t begin to tell you how wrong it is that you don’t seem to be the least bit offended by that comment. And how do you think your dad would feel if he had heard Cooper?”

  Ryan could feel her nostrils flaring. “It’s none of daddy’s business. Or yours, for that matter. Why do you care so much about what daddy thinks anyway?” She poked him in the arm. She was surprised when he stopped the car in the middle of St. Charles Avenue and grabbed her finger.

  “If you were my daughter, and I overheard somebody that worked for me making those kind of remarks, especially in front of my other men, I’d have his job and his ass.” A car pulled up behind them on the single lane street.

  “Well, good thing you’re not my daddy then, huh?” The car behind them honked. Ryan jerked her hand from Shep’s grasp.

  “You know, you really are a spoiled brat.” He ignored the honking and stared at her, an expression on his face Ryan couldn’t interpret.

  “Would you please just drive?” she asked, pointing to the street, uncomfortable with his level of attention.

  The car behind them seemed to get the message and the honking stopped. Shep finally shifted his focus back on the street ahead and drove forward again. “I don’t think you even realize how lucky you are to have a family that cares so much about you, in spite of all your crap.”

  “That’s really none of your concern,” Ryan replied. “Why don’t you worry about your own family, and let me worry about mine.”

  He drove the rest of the way in silence.

  In front of her house, Ryan started to get out of the car. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Personality.”

  Shep grabbed her arm and waited until she looked back at him to speak. “Not everybody respects the fact that your father is a police captain. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

  She pulled away and ran up the front steps of her apartment, slamming the door behind her. She watched out of the window as he sat in his car for several minutes, and then finally drove away.

  JACOB

  Jacob watched from his vantage point in the St. Thomas apartment. He was concerned when he first arrived. A patrol unit was parked right outside the complex. If the police stayed all night, he would be unable to proceed. And then he finally relaxed as the car drove off.

  He dialed a number. When the man on the other end answered, Jacob simply said, “It’s time. Go.” He knew within minutes the plan would be in action, and unsuspecting Jeremy Jeremiah would be victim number two.

  Jeremiah, like most people, had no idea just how precarious life was. He likely wouldn’t realize it until the second before he died. Jacob wondered if Ryan would be the same, unsuspecting until the moment of death.

  Jacob had spent a long time on his plan, and thought it would be a shame if Ryan only realized the immanency of her own death for a second. As much as he had suffered because of her, it wouldn’t be fair. And after all, he had given her ample opportunity to prove she didn’t deserve to die.

  Jacob focused the binoculars on the crime scene, watching Ryan in anticipation. The maximum magnification brought her so close, he could see each perfect white tooth of her barracuda-like smile. A slow, painful death would most definitely suit her.

  Enjoy yourself now, bitch. You won’t be smiling for long.

  5:00 P.M.

  Ryan hid in the hallway near the restrooms while the press rolled into the seminar room. When it looked as if most of the reporters and cameras were jammed into the room, Ryan walked out of the shadows and sat in the waiting area. She needed a few seconds to focus.

  The day had been a whirlwind. She had been in meetings for the first part of the day, discussing the press conference with the D.A. and his First Assistant. Then she had to speak at length with a rape victim who wanted to dismiss the case against her attacker. Ryan thought she had succeeded in talking the woman down from the ledge, but couldn’t know for sure until the woman actually testified at trial in three weeks.

  Throughout her day, Shep’s words from the previous night kept intruding on her thoughts. Why should he even care about what the other cops thought? And then she had started to wonder if he might be right, if she should be more concerned with how the officers viewed her. After all, if she believed Devon Jones, a bad cop lived pretty close to home.

  She had eventually decided to dismiss Shep’s concerns. Whoever killed Smith had nothing to do with her. She was in no more danger from officers like Sisko and Malette than she was from Shep.

  She directed her attention to the press conference, rehearsing in her head how she would answer any questions that were thrown at her. She knew she wouldn’t get much air time, being as the D.A. enjoyed the limelight even more than she did, but Ryan had several prepared responses, just in case.

  She was distracted from her task by Bo Lambert stepping out of the elevator.

  She tried to think of a way to duck back into the hallway without having to talk to Bo, but couldn’t figure out how to accomplish it without being obvious.

  Bo smiled as he approached, pushing the glasses up on his nose. “Congratulations on the death penalty. I’m really happy for you.” He seemed sincere, but Ryan refused to let her guard down.

  “Thanks,” she said, giving him a fake smile.

  Competing with Bo wasn’t the only thing that bothered Ryan. Something about his appearance also annoyed her. His suits were expensive and tailored, his brown hair always meticulously cut and styled. He looked like all of the other prosecutors who came from money. Except for the large, black framed glasses that were always sliding down his nose. With all of his money and attention to detail, Ryan wondered why Bo would wear such ill-fitting glasses, or better yet, why he didn’t just wear contact lenses instead. She suspected the glasses weren’t even prescription, thinking Bo may have worn them to make himself look smarter.

  “I heard you were at L’Roid Smith’s crime scene,” Bo said. “You’re so lucky you got the uptown district.”

  Ryan listened for any hint of malice in his tone, but unexpectedly heard none.

  “I haven’t had any murders,” he continued, disappointment filling his voice. He looked around and then lowered his tone. “I heard that Kellie hasn’t bothered to show up for any of the crimes in her district.”

  Ryan wasn’t surprised. Kellie Leblanc was the type who would decide to simply ignore the D.A.’s orders. And then she’d try to sleep with him to get out of trouble for not doing her job. Ryan refused to comment, knowing anything she said would likely make it right back to Kellie. “I guess that’s between her and Peter.”

  Bo nodded. “
She also said if she had a police escort like you have every night, she’d be more inclined to show up at the crime scenes.”

  “I’m sure she’s banging some patrolman in the Third District who would give her a ride.” The words popped out almost involuntarily.

  Bo just laughed. “Without a doubt. But if she gets caught ignoring the D.A., she could be out of the running for Strike Force.”

  Ryan wondered if that was Bo’s way of dropping a hint that she ought to tattle on Kellie.

  “As long as her skirts are easy access and her favorite word is yes, Rick will consider her anyway.” Rick Martin was the Chief of Trials, and was the person primarily responsible for doling out promotions. Ryan hadn’t planned on discussing the Strike Force spot with Bo, but she couldn’t stop herself from criticizing Kellie.

  Bo shook his head in disgust. “You and I work our asses off. Kellie hardly ever goes to trial because she gives everybody deals. I don’t think she would even be able to handle a Strike Force case.”

  Ryan nodded in agreement, but was still wary, wondering why Bo was being so nice to her.

  He looked over her head and pushed his glasses up again. “Here comes your press conference.”

  Ryan stood up as the D.A. walked up and shook hands with Bo, and then put his arm around Ryan’s shoulder.

  “Showtime,” he announced, a big smile plastered on his face, and Ryan followed him into the seminar room.

  The captain watched the small TV set in his office at the station, waiting for Ryan to speak at the press conference. He was proud of his daughter, no question about that. He just sometimes wished he didn’t have to worry about her so much. The five o’clock news cut live to the conference. The captain recognized the local reporters, as well as a guy from CNN and another one from Fox News. Ryan was making the big time.

  Peter Berkley spoke at length about the significance of his office getting Louisiana’s first death penalty on a rape case, interrupted frequently by the press. The conference was almost boring, until an unexpected question came from the back of the room.

  “I have a question for Ms. Murphy. Can you confirm that you have a link to both of the homicides in the St. Thomas this week?”

  The camera closed in on Ryan, looking toward the back of the room, a vaguely interested look on her face. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I got your name.”

  “Chance Halley, WDSU TV.”

  The captain frowned at Chance Halley through the TV set.

  Ryan smiled brightly. “Mr. Halley, the focus of this conference is the Johnnie Lee death penalty. And as I’m sure you are aware, assistant district attorneys are precluded by statute from discussing any pending case or investigation. Perhaps your questions would be better addressed to the New Orleans Police Department.”

  The D.A. nodded his approval and ended the conference.

  The captain called Shep from the doorway and indicated for him to sit.

  “Chapetti, were you watching the press conference?” The captain reached into his desk and pulled out a stress release ball.

  Shep nodded.

  The captain started torturing the rubber ball while looking at the framed photographs on his desk, focusing on one of Ryan. She was fifteen years old at the time, dressed up for her first high school dance. He recalled the argument they had gotten into about her curfew right after the picture had been taken, moments before her date had arrived. As his children got older, it seemed he simply traded in one set of worries for another one.

  The captain looked up at Shep, trying to gauge his reaction. “What do you think about what that Halley kid said?”

  “That Ryan might be linked to the two murders? That’s a bunch of bullshit.”

  The captain paused for a moment. “She did prosecute both of the victims. And lost both cases.”

  “She didn’t actually lose the cases,” Shep pointed out. “They were dismissed.”

  “Same thing to her.” The stress ball flattened in the captain’s grip.

  Shep scratched his chin. “Cap, are you saying you think she had something to do with the homicides?”

  The captain slammed the ball on the desk top. “Chapetti, don’t be an idiot, of course she didn’t have anything to do with them.” He put the ball back in his desk drawer and blew out a long-drawn breath. “My mother had a stroke. I’m leaving for Grand Isle tonight. I don’t like being out of town with Ryan still going to these crime scenes. And I particularly don’t like leaving knowing that a pretty-boy reporter is trying to connect up dots that don’t connect.”

  Shep shifted in his seat. “I think Halley may have just been trying to get Ryan to notice him. He asked about her the night of Smith’s murder.”

  The captain looked at him sharply. “Why didn’t anybody mention this to me?”

  “It was no big deal,” Shep answered quickly. “Sean and I handled it.”

  “Yeah, I can see that by the way Halley pointed the finger at her on TV. I just don’t like him for some reason.” The captain’s caustic expression faded into a look of solicitude. “Chapetti, do you think I’ve got something to worry about with this punk?”

  “I doubt it,” Shep said, shaking his head. “But with Ryan, you never know. She could find trouble at Sunday mass.”

  The captain had to smile at that. She could. And he would take whatever steps necessary to keep her safe, regardless of whether Ryan liked it or not. “Chapetti, find out where Halley’s getting his information. And make sure that little prick stays away from my daughter.”

  Shep shifted in his seat again, obviously uncomfortable with the requested task. “Uh, Cap, I can dig around a little on Halley, and I have no problem keeping an eye on Ryan at the crime scenes, but are you asking me to interfere with her personal life? I mean, what I am supposed to do if he asks her out?”

  The captain picked up the dance picture. “Make sure he doesn’t. Give him a friendly warning to stay away from my kid. And don’t mention this to Sean. He’ll handle Ryan all wrong and she’ll end up doing the exact opposite. You got this?”

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  The captain returned the picture to its original spot, and pulled the stress ball out of his desk again. He wondered if it would work better if he chewed on it. Shep stood up and turned toward the door. The captain squeezed the ball as hard as he could. “And Chapetti, you do know better than to try anything with my daughter, don’t you?”

  Shep nodded. “Absolutely, sir.”

  After the press conference, Ryan was on her way out of the office when she was called to the office of the Chief of Trials.

  Rick Martin didn’t wait for her to sit before he held out a large expandable file and said, “If you want the Gendusa case, it’s yours.”

  Ryan nearly snatched the file from Rick’s hand. “Of course I want it. But what about Christina?”

  “Don’t worry about Christina. The case is yours,” Rick said and sat down, offering no further explanation. “If there’s not too much on your plate already.”

  Ryan shook her head vehemently. “I’m good.”

  Rick leaned back in his black leather chair. “What do you think about cochairing with Bo Lambert? He’s got the time on his hands now that Smith fell through, and he asked for the case as soon as he heard we were reassigning it.”

  “Bo knew before me?” The expression froze on Ryan’s face.

  “You know the rumor mill.” Rick seemed unaware of the effect his answer had on Ryan.

  She tried to keep her expression impassive. “I don’t have a problem with Bo, but you know, Judge Jackson doesn’t really care for him that much.”

  Rick looked surprised, obviously unaware that Ryan was lying. “I didn’t know that.”

  “I think it has something to do with Bo’s father.” At least the lie was credible. A whole lot of people didn’t care for the elder Lambert’s courtroom style. “I think Mike could use the experience. And the judge really likes him.”

  Rick nodded. “You can have Mike,
then.”

  Clutching the file to her chest, Ryan started to walk out of the office.

  Rick stood up. “Who knows, if everything goes well, Gendusa might just wind up being your first Strike Force trial credit.”

  She paused in the doorway. “Really?”

  “Nothing official yet, of course, and it’s a really close call. You’re one of three still in the running, but so far, you’re ahead. I’d say it’s looking pretty good.”

  Ryan walked out of the building and to her Jeep, deep in thought. She didn’t like that part about being one of three. One of two she knew. One of three could only mean that Kellie Leblanc was still in the running, not that Ryan had much doubt about what Kellie was doing to stay in the race.

  She pushed the thought aside. Kellie couldn’t possibly compete with her and Bo. And between Ryan and Bo, Ryan should win.

  Her thoughts bounced around in her head like Mexican jumping beans as she drove home. She had just been handed the Gendusa case. She was moving to Strike Force. And she couldn’t even tell anybody, because it wasn’t official. She wondered how long Bo had known Gendusa was up for grabs. Not that she would have expected him to mention the case. After all, he was trying to steal it from her. All that talk about the camaraderie he felt with her was all a bunch of crap. She was glad she had never trusted him.

  Five minutes later she pulled into her driveway and found Sean parked in front of her house.

  “Jimbo doesn’t believe we’re related,” Sean said without so much as a hello. “You need to talk to him for me.”

  Ryan gave him a smug look. “I’m kind of busy right now.”

  “Ryan, don’t make me call dad,” Sean warned. “I’m sure you don’t want him to know about that tattoo.”

  “You don’t even know about my tattoo,” she said, and realized too late she had just provided him the ammunition he needed.

  “I do now,” he said with a laugh. “Come on, I’ll buy you a Coke when we’re finished.”

  She reluctantly got in his car, annoyed that she didn’t at least get the chance to make Sean beg a little.