"You forgot?" He voice rose an octave. "All the time I spend trying to get you into auditions and you forget to show up. I thought you wanted to be someone. I can't do this job by myself."
"I'm sorry. I know how hard you're working for me, and I really wanted that job." She felt the sting of fresh tears. "Something awful happened. That's why I forgot."
She told him about Geneviève being murdered and finding the body and just getting so upset that the doctor put her under sedation and she slept practically around the clock and woke up too groggy to think. And yesterday morning, she finally calmed down enough to talk to the police, but talking about what happened got her upset all over again, and she forgot about the audition.
"How come I didn't see anything about this on the news?" Danny broke in. "Sorry, dumb question. Who cares about an old lady in a nursing home?"
"I care. I know some people said she was a B I T C H, but they didn't know her. She was beautiful and smart and funny, and we were friends from the first day we met." Iris told him how Geneviève understood and encouraged her and how she knew lots of important people. "She used to have a salon in New Orleans just like Gertrude Stein did in Paris, and all the famous artists and writers hung out there. She was married to an artist and before that to Roger Devereux, they're one of the richest families in New Orleans."
"Wait a minute, Iris." Danny cut her off. "I'm sorry to upset you, baby. Tell me again. Who was your friend who got murdered married to?"
"Roger Devereaux. And I think I saw the killer. I might be the only witness."
"Whoa. Really?" Danny whistled. "We could have something here. Where are you, baby?"
"Home. I just got off work."
"Well hustle on over to my office. I hear opportunity knocking."
Danny was on the phone when Iris arrived. She waved to him and sat down to wait. She couldn't help overhearing what he was saying and then listening because she figured out that he was talking about Geneviève.
"The victim was married to big money," he said. "I'm surprised no one else has picked it up." The person on the other end said something Iris couldn't make out, and Danny said, "Still you got the connection. What makes it fresh and great for TV is the witness. The only person who actually saw the killer is a beautiful young woman. S E X Y."
"Danny," she whispered. "What are you doing?"
"Of course, you can't reveal her real identity until the cops have arrested the killer, but as soon as this afternoon, you can do an interview with her face in the shadows. A mystery witness, you gotta love it. She'll wear her nurse's uniform, show a little leg, half the guys in the audience will fall in love."
"But Danny, I can't." She spoke louder this time.
He held one hand up like a traffic cop and kept talking into the phone. "Hey man. I'm not going to tell you how to do your job, but you can run with it. Anything involving the Devereux family is news in this town. How about a follow-up interviewing the scared old rich folks at this Sunny Gardens place. Toss in something on the local murder rate. Then when the cops get the guy, you can do another interview with the beautiful young witness, showing her face this time. The camera is in love with her. Trust me. And she loves the camera."
Bad as she felt, Iris couldn't help smiling at that, but she had to let Danny know that she couldn't do an interview this afternoon. She wrote him a note and held it in front of his face.
He waved her back to her seat. "I'm a friend of hers. She's understandably nervous, and so she asked me to call you. Put yourself in her shoes. The last thing she wants is for the killer to find out who she is. The cops aren't giving her any protection." He paused, listening, then said. "She wants the killer brought to justice. I told you. The victim was her friend. And she's upset that the cops aren't giving this case any kind of priority."
Iris nodded her head. She was upset for sure, except the police really did seem to be concerned.
"No one is asking for a dime, and you get the television exclusive, but I'll be honest with you. She's an actress, just starting out. She wouldn't mind the exposure. Three o'clock at the studio? See you then." He hung up the phone and grinned at her.
Iris held up her note. "I can't, Danny, not this afternoon. I'm meeting Detective Washington at police headquarters. I told her about maybe seeing the killer and —"
"Iris, listen to me. You're talking to the paper at two and TV news at three. You can talk to the detective tomorrow. If you talk to her first, she might tell you not to talk to anyone else, and all my hard work will be for nothing."
"She already told me not to say anything."
"Don't give her a chance to tell you again. Look, Iris. Do you want big-time exposure or not? Opportunities like this don't happen every day."
"I don't know. It doesn't feel right."
"Baby, when this is over, everyone in New Orleans is gonna know who you are. I can see you getting a regular spot on the morning show."
"You don't think this is doing something wrong, like using what happened to Geneviève." Iris felt herself wavering. Getting a spot on the morning show would be fantastic.
"Didn't you just tell me how she encouraged you to go after what you want?"
"And not waste time worrying about what other people think." She finished the sentence. "You're right. I'm doing what Geneviève would want me to do."
CHAPTER 18
Judy Boaz called Claire's office, burbling with excitement and "absolutely dying" to talk to Jim Burke's son.
"I remember him, a cute little kid. Jim was crazy about him. Tony, that's his name. I guess he's all grown up now."
"He is indeed."
"Tony Burke." There was silence from the other end then a shriek. "Tony Burke. Oh my gosh, Tony Burke. It's been so long, I never put it together. Oh. My. Gosh."
Claire held the phone away from her ear while she waited for the squealing to stop.
"Tony Burke, the racecar driver. That's him?" Judy had become coherent.
"Yes, and if you'll give me your phone number, I'll pass it on. Tony has several appointments today, and I don't know when I'll be able to reach him. It might be tonight or even tomorrow before he calls, but, I promise, he's anxious to talk to you about his father."
"I'll be home all day, sitting by my phone."
"Are you still in touch with any of Jim and Geneviève's old friends?"
"I don't know anyone who was friends with both of them. It wasn't the world's happiest marriage if you know what I mean."
"Do you keep in touch with any of Jim's friends?"
"Not in years. I kind of dropped out after I got married, back in '63. It was a wild crowd, and my Bill was the jealous type. He made me stop modeling, said he didn't want any other man seeing me in the altogether, especially not Jim Burke." Judy giggled. "Jim was a rascal, a lady's man with a silver tongue and a weakness for fine whiskey." She giggled again. "From what I've read about Tony, the acorn didn't fall too far from the tree."
"I'll give him your number." Claire found herself anxious to end the call. Judy Boaz rubbed her the wrong way.
"You know, Jim's art had started to sell, and I heard he was finally going to leave her. But he died first, a car wreck. It was a real tragedy."
"Tony has fond memories of his father." And I hope you're not going to say anything to tarnish them.
When Tony checked in, she told him that Judy might not be the source of information they'd hoped for and warned that she'd made the connection and was giddy with the excitement of meeting Tony Burke. "There's something off about her. I wouldn't necessarily believe everything she says."
"Thanks for the warning. I'll call her when I get back to the dealership. She might have caller ID, and I don't want this number to get out."
"While I have you on the phone... Jack says the old heart pine floor in your kitchen can be salvaged. I think it would look better than tile." Tony's vision for his kitchen was pure Italian villa. "Where are you? Can you stop by and take a look."
"I'm up by Tulane Hospital. I just gave them a
DNA sample."
Tulane Hospital, she used to go up there all the time. Tom was a resident. He'd worked long hours and some days she dropped by to say hello during his breaks. Sometimes she'd bring food, and they'd have a picnic.
"Claire, are you there? Have I lost you?"
"I'm here." She pushed memories aside and said the first thing that came to mind. "How do you give a DNA sample?"
"What are you imagining, young lady?" Tony chuckled. "You'll be disappointed to learn that all they did was run a swab inside my cheek."
"Oh." She felt herself blushing and was glad he couldn't see.
"Your friend Mike Robinson says he wants to be sure the skeleton was my father. I half believe him."
"Why only half?"
"I suspect he wants to check me against evidence they found in Geneviève' apartment. If so, he's wasting his time. I was there helping her move in. I didn't kill her."
"I know you didn't."
"Go ahead on the wood floor. I'll stop by later this afternoon if I have time."
She passed Tony's decision on to Jack, and spent the next hour negotiating with subcontractors. It looked like coordinating the two projects would save even more than she'd hoped. By the time she finished the paperwork for the subs, it was five o'clock and she still hadn't called the police about Fast Eddie. She dialed police headquarters and asked to speak to Detective Washington. A click said the call was being forwarded.
"Robinson here," Mike's voice.
"It's Claire Marshall," she said. "I'm trying to reach Detective Washington."
"She's here in my office. Just a minute, please." No "Hello Claire, no why are you calling?" He acted as if they barely knew each other, and maybe he was right.
"Hi Claire. What's up?" Bea said.
"I'm calling about Geneviève Burke."
"Let me put you on speakerphone. That way, I won't have to tell Mike what you said." Another click and then shuffling background noise. "Okay, go ahead."
"Do you know that Geneviève rescued Tennessee Walking Horses that had been abused? She retrained them and sold them to good owners. That's how she made her living." Kyle's words, not hers, but he was in a position to know.
"We're putting together information on her life," Mike said. "We didn't realize that you knew her."
"I met her once. We both like horses, but that's not why I called." There was silence from the other end, and she said, "I was at her farm Monday afternoon, helping exercise her horses."
"Monday, after we questioned Burke at your house?" Mike's voice again.
"Yes." More silence. She could imagine Mike and Bea exchanging puzzled looks, possibly passing notes. She cut to the chase. "Geneviève's most valuable horse is missing, and her trainer is pretending it was never there. I think you should talk to him. His name is Kyle Winslow."
"Are you sure a horse is missing?" Bea this time.
Claire relayed Geneviève's story about buying Fast Eddie for pennies on the dollar and the previous owner wanting him back. "'Over my dead body' were her exact words. And now she's dead and the horse is gone."
"Have you ever seen this horse?" Mike said.
"No, but Geneviève described him. Before I left, I checked the barn and both pastures. No horse there fit her description. Three or four horses are out on approval, but he's not one of them either."
"Is there any reason you think there's a connection between her murder and the apparent disappearance of this horse?" Mike again.
"The timing and the fact that Kyle lied about him." Even as she spoke, Claire doubted that Kyle would steal. He seemed too proud, too self-contained, but he had something on his conscience. She was sure of that. "The horse is a three-year-old black stallion with a white blaze. He's eighteen hands, tall for a horse." She gave them the phone number for the barn.
"Do you think the original accident could have been an attempt on Geneviève's life?" Bea said.
"I don't know." This was a new thought. "But Fast Eddie is the horse that threw her. It could have been an attempt to make her sell him."
"We'll talk to the trainer," Bea promised.
"Rescuing Tennessee Walking Horses was important to Geneviève. I feel as if I owe it to her to help find her horse. I know you consider Tony a suspect, but..." She left it there.
"We don't have any suspects yet, just people of interest, and he is one." Mike interrupted. "However, you might want to maintain a bit more distance."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Claire, the last time I saw you, it was ten o'clock in the morning and Burke was taking a shower in your bathroom."
"Perhaps you should stop minding my business and concentrate on finding Geneviève's killer. And Fast Eddie is not apparently missing. He is missing." Claire slammed down the receiver, mad at Mike for his assumption and outraged because he hadn't listened. Fast Eddie had been important to Geneviève, someone had stolen him, and no one cared.
* * * *
"Not cool, boss. Not cool at all." Bea was biting her lip but she couldn't keep the laughter from her voice.
Mike glared at her.
"There's nothing wrong with being human," she said. "I've been wondering about you and Claire ever since we went over there. You both played it cool, but I'd heard rumors."
"As you already know, Claire and I met last year when she was kidnapped by a psychopath. Like many victims, she blamed herself. I kept in touch because I was concerned about her and felt some responsibility for what had happened." Even to his own ears, he sounded like a pompous ass. He amended his statement. "You're right, I like her, but there's nothing between us."
In the weeks since their last date, he'd thought several times about calling her. He'd picked up the phone more than once but never dialed her number. They'd reached a turning point in their relationship, and he wasn't sure either of them wanted to proceed. Claire still carried a lot of baggage from her marriage, baggage he didn't want unloaded on his doorstep. His marriage had died a slow death. From neglect, his wife had said. She'd accused him of being married to his job. He wasn't sure the new job had changed that. Claire would need a man who paid attention.
He picked up Tony Burke's file. Smith and Monroe had uncovered a history studded with arrests for DUI, public drunkenness, drunk and disorderly, assault and battery. The arrest reports painted the picture of a young man with a drinking problem, an anger management problem and a good lawyer. Thanks to Paul Gilbert, there'd been no convictions.
"I've read it," Bea said. "Penny ante stuff and nothing recent."
"Would you want your sister to go out with this guy?"
"Both my sisters are happily married. But if Tony Burke offered to take me round the track at two hundred miles an hour, I'd hop right in his car."
Mike's double take caught her wide grin. She was laughing openly this time, and he had to laugh with her. Working with this young woman was a breath of fresh air. All his previous colleagues had been men, in the military and here in the homicide division. When he started, he'd worked most closely with an old cop on his way out the door. Detective Beatrice Washington was a lot smarter, and much better company.
"Burke also has a juvenile record," he said, "which has been sealed. We could seek a court order, but I can't think of a valid reason, not yet anyway, and we know enough without it. Trouble is his middle name."
"Trouble on a small scale, and nothing for the last decade. It looks like he grew up."
"Do you believe that or are you playing the devil's advocate?"
"Both. Murder is a long way from getting drunk and fighting over women, which is what he used to do." She pulled a granola bar out of her pocket and unwrapped it. "Want some?"
"No thanks but go right ahead." She was right, but he pushed on. "Burke's adult record shows a tendency to violence when he's been drinking heavily, which he admits doing during the relevant timeframe. We also have a motive, revenge for his father's death."
"Tony's not the least bit stupid, and these files," Bea pointed to the papers spr
ead over his desk, "show that he's all too familiar with the criminal justice system. Yet he tells us that he believes his mother killed his father. He tells us he doesn't care that his mother was murdered. He tells us he was drinking or sleeping it off during the time she was strangled and hours on either side. And he agreed to give us a DNA sample."
"He could be taunting us, or he could be innocent. I'm reserving judgment." He was a good cop and good cops don't let personal animosities shade their investigations. "If it's Burke's skin under the victim's fingernails, I'll be convinced he's our killer."
"Yes, sir." She put the last of the bar in her mouth and tossed the wrapper into his wastebasket. "Two points."
Maybe she really did play basketball. Someday, he'd ask her.
CHAPTER 19
Walt Smith was waiting for him, leaning against the wall, a newspaper in his hand and a smirk on his face. Smith had been sulking since Vernon's tongue lashing. He'd taken the assignment to search old records with bad grace, seeing only the punishment and not the opportunity for expiation. But something in this morning's paper had made him happy enough to come in early and lie in ambush. Mike braced himself for bad news.
"Looking for me?" he waved Smith into his office and toward a seat. "Nice job tracking down Burke's old arrests. Want a cup of coffee?" He began making a fresh pot. Both of them could see the morning newspaper lying unopened on his desk and the message light blinking on his phone. "It's not great, but it's better than the swill they sell downstairs."
"Aw, man, it's not your fault," Walt said.
"What's not my fault?"
"Vernon. It's not your fault he tore me a new one. Sorry, Mike. I'm leaving." He poked the unopened newspaper. "Read it before you check your messages."
When Walt closed the door behind him, Mike unfolded the paper. A headline halfway down the front page read Socialite murdered at ritzy retirement home. Geneviève Burke had been worth a short paragraph buried deep inside Monday's metro section and a slightly larger article in the Sports Section Tuesday when the connection to Tony became known. Today, Geneviève Devereux Burke made the front page.
Secrets, Lies & Homicide Page 12