Nat stared at him for seconds before saying, “Either way he wouldn’t be rushin’ to help us out.”
They forked crabs onto their plates. Guy put a small one in his mouth whole and dropped his fork. “Ho-hot,” he complained, grabbing for water. “But so damn good.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Dwayne said. “What happened to Zinnia Sedge is horrible. What’s your take, Guy? Did she die so she couldn’t talk to you and Mr. Mouthy here? Or for some other reason?”
For once Nat didn’t grin at a derogatory reference.
“I don’t know,” Guy said. Neither of them had laughed much since they found Zinnia. “It’s easy to jump to conclusions and think we were the cause, but until we find the building caretaker I’m not going to know.”
“Come again?” Dwayne said.
“The caretaker of the building where Zinnia lived. Cyrus and I met her the first time we tried to find Zinnia. Miz Trudy-Evangeline Augustine. The lady wasn’t there today, but yesterday morning she called Cyrus and told him Zinnia was back if we still wanted to see her. Question is, did she let someone else know Zinnia was likely to have cops coming around?”
“No one deserves what happened to her,” Dwayne said.
Jack dropped sugar cubes into a tall mug of coffee. Slowly, rhythmically, the cubes plopped as if he’d forgotten what he was doing, but he stopped at last and started stirring. Guy watched, fascinated, while the other man filled the bowl of the spoon with melted sugar and ate it. He grimaced and shook his head.
Nat said, “Who knows if the lady talked to someone other than Zinnia? Who’s psychic?”
A glossy picture came sliding across the table from Jack. “I’m hoping this helps,” he said. “At least it puts a face to a name. And there are some out there who would like to forget both. It’ll get their attention.”
The photograph looked like the kind they took for high school yearbooks. A girl with a round face, young-looking, braces on her teeth. Mouse-brown hair flipped carefully back with a curling iron and lipstick applied with too heavy a hand. A white net stole was supposed to make the subject look starry-eyed and sexy. This girl just seemed like a child posing as a grown-up. Nice smile. Nice brown eyes that tipped up a bit at the outer corners. Clear olive skin. Not quite ready to be a swan.
“That was Paula Hemp, the girl who was seen at Jazz Babes, then found dead,” Jack said. “Got it from a friend.”
“You have a lot of friends,” Guy said neutrally. He stared at the girl with fresh interest and Nat leaned closer to see.
“I think she was sixteen there,” Jack said. “From what little I can find out—and I’ve got a nasty feelin’ the word’s out someone’s askin’ questions again—but that’s probably when she was around sixteen. She was dead before she made eighteen. We’re going to publish the shot and ask for the original informer to make contact. If you still think that’s what you want. There’ll be a reward.”
Guy thought about it and nodded. “Yeah, that’s what we want.”
“Yeah,” Nat echoed. “There’s a good chance someone involved at the time could be scared into making a mistake.”
“Good,” Jack said. “It’s set for tomorrow and it’ll be seen in major cities and a bunch of small ones here in Louisiana. I figure other small-time rags will pick it up. It won’t take the media long to trace the ads to a little public relations firm where they’re experts at discretion. The media will want interviews. How do we handle that?”
“You stay out of sight.” Dwayne waved his fork. “You don’t know if some leftover Giavanelli soldier is still lookin’ for an opportunity to take you down. I could go on as a spokesperson and give ’em a line about Paula having been the daughter of a friend who isn’t in any shape to deal with any of it but wants to find the person who contacted him right before the kid died.”
“The kid would have been around twenty-eight now,” Guy pointed out. He raised his eyebrows at Jack, asking for his reaction to Dwayne’s suggestion.
Jack nodded slowly. “Dwayne should have gone on the stage, anyway. He’ll be convincin’ and he’ll sure put my wife’s mind at rest. And he’s not exactly lyin’, except we don’t even know if there’s really a parent who still gives a damn about Paula Hemp. Small detail.”
Guy thought it a big detail and felt the stir of shock at the idea that he still wasn’t hardened enough not to care that a young girl died and someone had gotten away with the crime so far.
“That’s settled then,” Dwayne said. “Any calls get referred to me.”
“Let us know if someone gets in touch,” Guy said. “We should run through our message. We should do that, anyway.”
“You gotta admit they’re convincin’,” Nat said, his face turned away. “Beautiful, even. If you met one of them anywhere else you’d probably put the make on her…him.”
“What are you talkin’ about?” Guy asked.
Nat indicated the stage.
Guy looked at the accomplished lip-synching cast dancing and striking poses. “I’d call them amazin’,” he said, and barely touched the contents of his glass to his lips. Sobriety wasn’t a choice tonight. “But I know what a woman smells like, even in the dark.”
“They’re transvestites,” Nat commented. “I guess that just means gay in women’s clothes.”
Guy inclined his head and watched an Asian performer produce a strand of pearls, apparently from a place that shouldn’t exist.
Tapping a single fingernail on the table, Dwayne said, “As you can see, there are gay and heterosexual transvestites. Mostly gay but not all. Just folks who like to dress up and make it an art form. Are you enjoying the show?”
Guy shrugged. “That was quite a party trick. She’s a knockout.”
A storm of hoots and applause made it impossible to respond. A creature with a flawless face, wearing white feathers and crystals, swung on a trapeze. Guy noticed her expression never changed, as if the performer wore an incredible plaster mask that didn’t move.
“Is she wearing a mask?” Guy said when the noise died down a bit.
“No mask,” Dwayne said. “The makeup, the preparation, can take hours. It’s a discipline for those who are the best. Some are smilers, but facial expressions can spoil the perfection.”
Guy turned from the stage and leaned toward Dwayne. Nat did the same. “Sounds like you heard all the details about Zinnia?” Guy said.
Dwayne nodded. “Evil bastards. Jack and I have been busy. Brick walls everywhere but we’re not giving up. This woman’s murder is a blow.”
“It was a blow to us, too,” Nat said. “I’m kicking myself for waiting too long to go into her shop. Preliminary reports suggest she died before we arrived there. But I think the killer almost certainly heard us and he got out fast. A window was open to a fire escape.”
Guy nodded slowly. “If there’s anything useful, the lab will find it. You should have seen the ton of brown sacks going out of her place. Photographers did a good job.”
“Makes me wish we’d taken a look around the first time we were there,” Nat said.
“Just what we’d need,” Guy said. “Unlawful search, and don’t think they wouldn’t have traced it back to us.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time we took a little heat, partner,” Nat said.
Guy made sure what he was feeling didn’t show on his face. The thumbscrews were getting too tight. Nat was special, and he trusted Guy—and held on to the hope he’d come back in the fold permanently. No matter the direction Guy’s decisions took him, someone got hurt—including Guy Gautreaux.
“Listen up,” Jack Charbonnet said. “Felix Broussard manages Jazz Babes. Has for as long as I can remember. There’s no love lost but we go back a long way.”
“Felix has been there a long time,” Dwayne said. “That club is his baby and he’d get nasty if he thought it was threatened.” He seemed ready to say more but met Jack’s eyes and changed his mind.
“Dwayne already mentioned the Giavanelli connection,”
Jack said.
Guy nodded. A lot of people not only knew the name Giavanelli, they had reason to remember it with fear. Guy couldn’t get past the bizarre notion of Jack having been connected to the Family, even if only through his dead father.
“The club in question was theirs. It’d be easy to put two and two together and come up with five, but those people were out before this started. And they didn’t have enough to reorganize with after we had that little war. Sure, there are some diehards with grudges, but forget them in our current equation. Felix may not even know who he works for, but it surely isn’t for any of the relatives. In my opinion, we aren’t goin’ anywhere fast till we get a line on the owners who took over after the Giavanellis. And Felix is a follower, not a mastermind.”
“They still got the big poker games there?” Guy asked.
“You bet. Deep pockets come and go and they aren’t hangin’ out in the bars.” Dwayne nibbled the legs off a soft-shelled crab. “Hell, of course they’re still playin’. Look, Pip owned that whole building where Zinnia still lived in a few rooms. I couldn’t prove it, but someone could—he lost the lot. Not all at once, but just steady. Word had it someone was fond enough of Zinnia to set her up in part of the place after Pip was out.”
“As in, she had a thing with someone who could do that?” Guy asked.
Jack’s face hardened. “Maybe. Stay away from Jazz Babes, Guy. You, too, Nat. Rely on Dwayne and me. We’ve got people we can trust to go in, people who won’t be recognized. Even if Felix Broussard didn’t recognize either of you, he’s been in the business long enough to get a rash if a cop comes within a mile.”
“We’ll be goin’ in, anyway.” Guy put his hands flat on the table. He felt as if he were running in deep water and he needed to get somewhere fast. “Just friendly drop-ins and we’ll help keep Felix’s mind busy enough he may be less likely to notice anyone else lookin’ around. What I’m dreamin’ about is one of Paula Hemp’s parents showin’ up—and some other phone contacts, of course. The very least we need out of this publicity is the ID of the informer. Meanwhile, my friend here and I will keep busy.”
He and Nat avoided eye contact. They knew what they had to do. Oliphant knew something, even if it was only that Fleet kept the Hemp case to himself.
Nat got up and walked quickly outside.
“What’s that about?” Dwayne asked.
“He’s got a call coming in,” Guy murmured. “If we need another meeting like this, I’ll let you know where. We all understand not to hesitate to get in touch if there’s any news?”
“Uh-huh.”
Wearing the kind of wide-awake expression Guy recognized, Nat returned and dropped into his chair.
“What you got?” Guy asked, knowing that at the least Nat had a useful crumb.
“They took casts from some tire tracks the night Jilly tried to help that woman in the Garden District. In the graveyard. Guess the woman had a good reason for going in there. That’s where she’d hidden her transportation. Perfect match, including soil samples.”
Guy spread his fingers on the table, ready to push to his feet.
“The tracks are from Zinnia Sedge’s scooter.”
31
Miz Trudy-Evangeline Augustine made a slow circle around the statue of the Fuglies on the back lawn at St. Cécil’s rectory.
The sun wasn’t completely up and gray mist still hung close to the ground.
“Why’s she out there?” Guy said. He’d just entered the kitchens with Goldilocks and had seen the woman through the windows. “Shit, someone’s going to see her.”
“She went out to smoke—said that’s the only way she can think,” Cyrus said, starting for the back door. “Is that a problem?”
Guy passed by Cyrus and strode outside with Goldilocks lolloping along as if expecting some great game.
“Miz Trudy-Evangeline,” Guy said, bearing down on her. “I must ask you to come inside at once.”
She squinted at him through cigarette smoke. “Keep your wig on, you. What’s the hurry?”
“I thought I heard you came here for protection, ma’am,” he said when he reached her. “Not a whole lot of protection out here.”
She shrugged, but looked all around and hugged her ample arms across herself. “You got a point there.” Trudy-Evangeline stubbed out her cigarette on one of the Fuglies—with visible relish—and plodded uphill toward the house. Cyrus stood ready to usher her inside and Guy closed and locked the door behind him.
“How did you get here?” he asked the woman.
“By bus. Late last night. I been visitin’ my sister, but when I got back I saw all the action, the TV cameras and such. And someone told me it was poor Zinnia who got murdered in that flat of hers. All alone and killed by some maniac.”
Guy rested a hand on her shoulder and felt her tremble. “That had to be a terrible shock for you.”
“Yessir. Particularly when…well, I imagine someone wanted somethin’ from Zinnia.”
Guy smiled but didn’t interrupt.
“I wasn’t goin’ to interfere, not me,” Trudy-Evangeline said, and swallowed loudly. “I already had my bag with me, so I took off. Father Cyrus was the only good person I could think of to head to. I need to be hidden just till they get that killer.”
“Do you know why Zinnia Sedge was killed?” Sometimes the shock approach worked.
She frowned. “Could be. I got to have time to think what I want to do.”
“You think the killer wants you, too?” Guy said, catching Cyrus’s outraged eye.
“Well, could be.” She looked terrified. “But I want that killer punished for what he did to Zinnia. If I gotta take a risk, I’ll do it. Makes sense to be careful, though, so I got more thinkin’ to do.”
He heard footsteps behind him and looked over his shoulder. Jilly approached looking as angry as Cyrus. Well, they’d just have to disapprove of his interrogation methods. They didn’t understand he had a job to do and this lady might be right, she could be in deep trouble. How did they know for sure that she wasn’t? He did admire her guts.
Goldilocks, whose midsection had grown even heavier, descended gleefully on Jilly, who bent to scratch the dog between the ears. Promptly, Goldilocks kissed her face, whimpering with joy while she doled out a good face wash.
“You must be the lady from New Orleans,” Jilly said to the newcomer. “I’m Jilly Gable. Cyrus let me know you’d be coming. I’m afraid I fell back asleep.”
Trudy-Evangeline wasn’t too scared to look from Jilly to Cyrus with deep suspicion. “You live here?” she asked Jilly. “Under the same roof with a priest.”
Cyrus shook his head.
“Cyrus is an angel,” Jilly said. “He and his housekeeper make sure there’s always a room or two made up for strays in need. I was there when Zinnia was found and last night I was in need so I was allowed to stay here.” She looked directly at Guy and he knew he didn’t imagine that she was troubled.
“You poor girl,” Trudy-Evangeline said. “I need to look into burying Zinnia, too. I don’t think there’s a family, or not any she ever mentioned.”
“We’ll help,” Cyrus said, then he added with some urgency, “Lil will be coming. I’d better put her off today given the circumstances.”
“Shall I make the call?” Jilly asked. “Lil won’t have left yet. Madge can get back to her when she arrives.”
“Lil and Madge?” Trudy-Evangeline said, her eyes screwed up.
“Cyrus’s housekeeper and assistant,” Guy said.
“A call to Lil would be a good idea,” Cyrus told Jilly. “Will you fill Madge in when she gets here?”
“Surely will,” Jilly said, leaving the room with Goldilocks.
“Excuse me for a few,” Guy said, following. He caught up with Jilly and went with her to Madge’s office, where he stood by and listened to her tell Lil she had the day off and no, Cyrus hadn’t said why, only that Madge would be in touch later.
“Good job Cyrus remembered abou
t Lil,” Guy said when Jilly hung up. “All we need is Lil and Ozaire Dupre talking about a visitor from New Orleans. Whatever it takes, we’re going to make sure no one else finds out she’s here. She’s got information we need.”
Jilly studied Guy’s tense features. He was all business. “How do you know she’s got useful information?” she asked.
“Why else would she be afraid enough to look for a place to hide?”
“Could be she’s just shaken up by a murder happening in her building.”
“Not when she’s hinted at knowing why Zinnia died. Looks like she’s the only lead we have, or she may be.”
“You deliberately made her more frightened than she already was,” Jilly said. “I suppose you’re used to doing those things so you didn’t care if she’s quite old and probably can’t take too much more.”
“Sometimes we do what we have to at the moment,” Guy said. “I’m in a tough business. We prefer to be kind but we’re not employed to hold hands.”
Jilly felt he’d put her in her place. Her face stung. “So you probably wouldn’t care if she was murdered, too, as long as you got your information first.”
He turned away from her and shoved his hands in his pockets. His shoulders rose and fell with the deep breath he took.
“I just overstepped myself,” she said. “I’m sorry for that, but you sounded so cold.”
“I haven’t been to bed since the night before last and this case is breaking. These are tough times. I’m not up for coddling people’s feelings.”
Certainly not mine. “I understand,” she said. “Why don’t you get back to your work? I’ll wait here for Madge.”
Without answering her, he walked out and she listened until the sound of his boots faded.
Guy would go back to the force.
Jilly couldn’t swallow. Her hands felt clammy and they shook. He was in his element doing what he’d been trained to do. He cared for her, maybe even loved her in a way—he’d said he did—but he loved being a homicide detective more.
Cyrus put a cup of coffee in front of his guest, and a plate of toast. When she didn’t look interested, he said, “Eat up. You need to look after yourself.”
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