Love Power

by Martha Reed

  “Unfortunately, the Forensics supervisor needs to sign off on it before it can be released from the pound. He took a week’s leave. We’re looking at sometime next week.”

  “Well, that sucks for me.”

  “Let’s take my bike tomorrow night, Gee,” Jane offered. “It’ll be easier to park.”

  Carter hunched forward. “Shoot for eight o’clock. We want to maximize our window of opportunity.”

  “P.M.?” Gee snorted. “Sugar, most folks will still be waking up from their naps. The Club Femme Du party doesn’t even get lit ‘til after midnight.”

  “Midnight?” Jane remembered her shift responsibility. “Hold up. I’ll need to call off sick.”

  Gee smiled brilliantly. “I’m proud of you, girlfriend. You’re finally catching on. Everyone in NOLA who works Saturday night calls off sick. The only ones working are the bar backs and the strippers.”

  “Let’s plan on midnight then for surveillance,” Mayas stated, desperately. “Could you both get to the club by midnight?”

  “For you, sugar? It’s a date -”

  “Shit, Silverback.” Carter pointed at his tablet. “I got a Yahoo alert. The media just christened the killer.”

  Mayas leaned across the table. “What name did they pick?”

  “The Crescent City Slasher.” Carter started punching his keyboard, his racing fingers a blur. “We need to get on this. How’s that press release coming?”

  “Still with Legal.” Mayas pulled out his phone. “I’ll send you my draft.”

  “I wish they wouldn’t do that,” Dupree stated. “De-humanizes these monsters. Makes them seem bigger than they are. Turns this all into some kind of game.”

  “Sells newspapers.” Carter kept typing.

  “Sells advertising.” Mayas corrected. “I swear people are sheep.”

  Dupree stood. “And we’re the sheepdogs standing between them and the wolves. You two?” Crossing the room, he unlatched the door and held it open with one hand. “Leave them to it. Don’t forget your envelopes.”

  Gee shrugged into her jacket. “Dupree? Should we say we talked to the FBI or keep it on the down low?”

  “Mention it as part of a normal conversation.” He ushered them into the lobby. “The killer knows you’ve been here if he has been watching you.”

  “Agreed,” Jane said. “We need to act normal, Gee. Like those special agents said.”

  “I’ll try,” she offered dubiously. Suddenly, she froze.

  Jane heard it, too. Two male voices in animated conversation. She caught Detective Bordelon’s milder mid-range tone and she flinched as Ryan Embry turned the corner. Ryan was walking with his usual loosed hip grace. Jane was shocked to see that he wasn’t cuffed or under any type of restraint. Ryan slowed to a full stop as a wide toothy grin split his face.

  “Lookee who we got here.” Raising his hands, he waggled all ten fingers at them. “Bye-bye, bitches. Seems like you got nothing on me.”

  Giving them a cocky, two-fingered salute, he spun on his heels, sauntering toward the exit with an exaggerated casualness.

  “Where’s he going?” Gee crumpled the envelope in her fist.

  “No reason to hold him.” Bordelon grimaced, massaging his thumb. “Had an alibi.”

  Dupree raised both eyebrows. “How solid was it?”

  “Rock solid.” Bordelon wiped his mouth on his hand. “Waived his right to privacy. Delta’s time stamp showed Embry worked a full shift yesterday in the Garden District from 9:17 a.m. until just after six p.m. We have his electronic signature on all seven service calls.” He sighed tiredly. “He even showed me a receipt for the shrimp Po’Boy he ate at Lulu’s for lunch. Paid cash, but it’s time stamped, too.”

  Hold up. No alibi is ever that solid. Jane’s training alert lit up like a Christmas tree. Her mind darted from logical point to point, seeking holes and framing objections. “Who keeps their lunch receipt?”

  “Evidently, Embry does.” Bordelon rubbed his nose.

  Jane recalled her basic rule number two: follow up and follow through. “Are you gonna do an old school door-to-door? Walk his photo to those seven stops? Confirm Ryan’s the tech who actually serviced those calls, that it wasn’t someone else?”

  “Seems redundant with the GPS from the service van confirming that Embry was there.”

  Jane kept drilling. “GPS confirmed that the van was there. How about subpoenaing Ryan’s phone and confirming the GPS record against that?”

  “What do you think I do with my day?” Bordelon snapped, suddenly looked puffy and ill.

  “Easy, Pard.” Dupree dropped his hand on the older detective’s shoulder. “She doesn’t know how thorough you are.”

  “This case is squeezing the juice out of me.” He listlessly adjusted his glasses. “We didn’t need to subpoena Embry’s phone. He voluntarily surrendered it. The ‘frequent locations’ setting matched Delta’s GPS and the seven service calls he said he made.” Lifting his head, Bordelon stared out the plate glass window, his face bleak. “Embry’s not our killer. We need to keep looking. He’s clean.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “Six-minute warning.” Gee stood perched on the curb. “Uber’s on its way.” Hooking her finger under the envelope flap, she tore it open.

  “You’re reviewing that now?”

  “Oh hell, yeah. Don’t you want to know how much we’re gonna get paid?”

  Jane felt a flicker of surprise. For the first time in years, I’m actually more interested in the job than in the money.

  Gee scanned the laminated card. “Federal pay grade G10-B, ‘non-service associated independent contractor.’ Pays 27 bucks an hour. Sweet!” She squealed, hugging the document to her chest. “I finally found a job I like! Getting paid to party!”

  “Getting paid to catch a killer,” Jane stated firmly.

  “That too,” Gee agreed, roughly stuffing the documents back in the envelope. “I like working with the FBI. That Agent Mayas friend of yours is smoking hot.”

  A-ha. Jane smiled. I thought I noticed a little something smoldering there. “He’s forty something, Gee. Almost old enough to be your father.”

  “Hello, Daddy.” She grinned wickedly. “I like ‘em mature. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a decent date. I’m gonna start working on him.”

  “Gee?” Jane blurted. “How does that work?”

  She looked perplexed. “How does what work?”

  “The sex.” Jane carefully stepped through her question. “You’re biologically male and Cesar’s hetero as far as I know.”

  “You’re worried because I don’t have a vagina?” Gee dropped her arms to her sides. “It works like anything ever works, Jane. When people are interested in each other they figure it out.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jane blushed. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “Who taught you there’s only one way to love?” Gee tapped her lips. Her voice rose. “And if they did, why are you still listening to them? Did’ya ever think that maybe they’re wrong?” She started pacing the curb. “If you were attracted to Carter back there and he asked you out, would you say ‘no’ to him because he’s black?”

  “No! Of course not.”

  “Then what’s the fucking difference? Why is my gender identity any different than the color of my skin?”

  “I’m not sure why.” Jane confessed. “There’s just something about it that bothers me. I guess it’s the way I was raised.”

  Gee pointed her finger. “That’s an excuse but at least you’re being honest. Jane? You’re a smart cookie. Use your noodle. Think it through. You’re a grown woman. Why are you still giving ‘them’ that power over you? Why are you letting ‘them’ make your decisions? Shit. I thought you were smarter than that. You sure come off that way.”

  I do?

  “Back there with Bordelon you really showed your stuff. Mayas was smiling. Even Carter looked impressed.” Gee tucked the envelope under her arm. “How solid do you think that GPS shit i
s?”

  “It’s technology.” Jane frowned. “It could be manipulated.”

  “Ryan’s an electrician. Do you think he’s smart enough to do that?”

  “You tell me. Is he a gamer? I’d think it’d be more of a programming kind of thing.”

  “I know Ryan plays games with that cotton-picking buddy of his. He’s got that garage tricked out like a man cave.”

  “Which buddy?”

  “That Tyler Shank peanut head.” Gee nodded grimly. “Ryan’s changed. He used to be more outdoorsy. Hunting, fishing, I know he had a lease camp in St. Bart Parish. Doesn’t go there much. I heard Cheryl complaining about it to Maman the other day. Still paying the lease on it. She said his arsenal was collecting dust.”

  She cocked her thumb. “Inside the lobby just now? Ryan scared me. I know how he gets. When he starts acting all cocky it’s because he thinks he knows something secret, something special.” She thumped her chest. Hooking both thumbs under an imaginary pair of suspenders, she lowered her voice an octave. “He knows something that makes him a big, important man.”

  Sweeping her hair back, Gee laughed before checking her phone. “Two minutes. I hate not having wheels. Uber’s getting expensive.”

  Was that a hint? “I said I’d pay you back half.”

  “Sure, but you never said when.” She shrugged. “Most friends Venmo me right away.”

  “I don’t have Venmo. I’m off the grid.” Swinging her backpack off her shoulder, Jane dug for her wallet. “What do I owe you?”

  “Right now? Total? You’re sitting at about fifty, all in.”

  “Here’s fourteen.” Jane proffered her cash. “I’ll pay you the rest when we get back to the house.”

  Gee raised her hands. “I don’t want to leave you with nothing.”

  “Take it, Gee. Seriously. I can get more from my stash before I leave for work.”

  “If you’re sure.” She slowly tucked the money away. “Thanks. My wallet was getting thin.” Swiping her phone to unlock it, she quickly tapped out a text.

  Who’s Gee texting? Jane felt uneasy. It wouldn’t be the Uber driver, that’s done through the app. She wrestled with the irrational paranoia that still seemed to rear up at every opportunity. Stop it. Gee has other friends, besides Fancy and Dee. Not everything is an out-to-get-me conspiracy.

  She heard tires squeal and automatically stepped away from the curb as a white Delta Electric van swung around the landscaped median. Peering through the skeletal crepe myrtles she tensed as she recognized Ryan Embry hunched behind the wheel.

  “Head’s up, Gee” Jane warned.

  Ryan spotted them standing on the sidewalk. Deliberately slowing the van to a crawl, he lowered the passenger window, grinning. “Here bitch, bitch, bitch,” he crooned. “Look at that fine pair of cunts we got standing there. Wanna ride, bitches?”

  Gee leapt off the curb, arms swinging. “Get outta that van, Ryan. I’m gonna fucking take you apart!”

  No, Gee! Don’t push his buttons. Jane’s hand automatically swept for her side arm and came up empty. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.

  “Sorry about what happened to your pussy girlfriends.” Ryan hissed. “It’s killing you not knowing who done it.” Popping his open mouth with his palm, he mocked Gee with a war cry. “Woo-hoo-hoo. Scalping’s a bitch.” Cocking his thumb and finger at Jane like a gun, he silently mouthed: “You’re next. You. Yes, you. Next.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” He floored the accelerator as Gee snatched at the door. Howling, he sped away, leaving them choking on a plume of oily smoke.

  “See what I mean?” Gee coughed repeatedly. “Tell me he’s not involved in this!”

  “You’re right. I don’t care what that GPS said.” Jane’s sinuses burned at the rubbery stink hanging suspended in the air. “Ryan Embry knows something.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Piddles started howling even before Jane slid her key into the lock. How does he know to do that? It’s not like I make a lot of noise walking across the courtyard. Tugging the door open he bounded outside, hopping on his hind legs and pawing the air in his delight to see her.

  “Dog? You are a fool.” Jane laughed. “Glad to see you, too, Mr. P.”

  She gave him a minute to spritz Leslie’s garden before stepping inside the apartment. She felt exhausted, bone weary, but it was the good kind of tired, the feeling you got when you overworked your brain with thinking and not the logy version that hung off your shoulders like a soggy blanket from depression. Jane raised her chin. I forgot how good it feels to be engaged in an active investigation even with the FBI withholding information. It’s invigorating.

  She tossed the FBI documents on the upholstered chair before stripping off her backpack and her jacket. Her ever ready inner critic immediately snarked a reminder that she should hang her jacket up or it would wrinkle. Recalling Gee’s remark about letting other people make her decisions, Jane wondered: Whose voice am I hearing now? Mom’s? It’s my jacket and I’m going to ignore it. When you’re busy with real life you don’t have time to listen to that perfectionist bullshit. She tested her decision and it held firm. The interior voice remained silent without a follow up rebuke. Jane realized with surprise that it was because she felt justified in her actions and happy. “Is that what this is, Mr. P?” She whispered, almost afraid to say the words out loud in case she jinxed them. “Happiness?”

  He cold nosed her palm impatient at her delay. She headed into the pantry to get him a treat. The kitchen clock read 11:42. Plenty of time for a run before I grab some sleep. Her muscles felt stiff and she relished the thought of loosening up. “What do you think, Mr. P? Run to Crescent Park before our nap?”

  The pantry door hung open. Folding it back, Jane paused. That’s odd. I always make sure this door is secure to keep Piddles and the other critters out. I’m getting careless in my old age.

  She fed Piddles his biscuit and returned the cardboard box to the shelf, straightening the dish rack as she passed. How did that get knocked off kilter? I didn’t leave it that way. My OCD would’ve kicked in immediately until I straightened it.

  Not wanting to trail crumbs through the apartment, she waited for Piddles to finish crunching his treat before heading upstairs with the contented dog at her heels. Kicking off her shoes, Jane stripped out of her T-shirt and jeans, tossing them into the overflowing laundry hamper. She stood for a moment in only her bra and panties, enjoying the brush of cooler air against her bare skin. Her running gear hung on a hook on the back of the bathroom door. Pushing the door open, she reached in.

  Piddles leapt onto the bed, circling the mattress twice before pawing the comforter into a soft nest as Jane slipped into her Lycra running shorts. Fool dog. She smiled. And he’s been sleeping on the bed again while I’m out. Look how he’s messed up the pillows. Trust a dog to think I wouldn’t notice. She tracked his previous effort. Up the stairs and straight to the bed. No surprise there. She relaxed. The rag rug is still thumbtacked exactly as I left it.

  She struggled to pop her head through the thrift store nylon top. That offer from Carter could change my life and I liked seeing Mayas again. Coming up for air, Jane checked her feelings. Funny how when I wanted to work for FBI it got denied and now here it is again. She paused. I could still learn a lot. And maybe I made too big of a thing out of never going back to Nantucket. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she laced up her left shoe. I’m not ready to do that right this red-hot second, but I might go back for a quick visit someday. Don’t close any doors, right? I’d like to see my old crew again. Might not be so awful checking in with them.

  Switching her feet, she laced up the other shoe. It’s kinda funny that Gee likes Mayas. Poor bastard. She chuckled. Doesn’t know the tsunami is coming for him. Good luck stopping Gee when she sees something she wants. He’s such a ladies’ man and she’s some new kind of lady. I can’t wait to see how this plays out.

  Cricking her neck, she stood, shaking her shoulders loos
e. And Special Agent Carter is one good-looking man. You can tell he really works at staying in shape. She warmed at the thought. He seems totally on point for someone his age. It’s impressive. You can tell he never fucked up his life. “Ready to go, Mr. P?” Jane turned, jolting to a full stop. “What are you eating?”

  Piddles immediately stopped chewing. He gazed at Jane with the soulful look of certain guilt in his eyes as he slowly licked the black and brown specks off his chops.

  What is that? A stick? She reached for the wet twiggy bundle. What has he got into? Jane recoiled in horror as her brain made sudden sense of what she was seeing. The hoodoo doll sprang into sharp focus, a rough bundle of peeled bark sticks bound together with a scrap of red bandanna. A three-inch long dressmaker’s pin painted lipstick red pierced its neck.

  “Shit!” She flung the doll across the room, repeatedly flicking her damp fingers. It thumped off the planked pine floor and skittered to rest against the dresser. Mr. P leapt up and barked, wagging his tail and willing to play this exciting new fetch game.

  “No, Piddles! Leave it!” Jane shouted. “Don’t.”

  Grabbing a T-shirt out of the hamper, Jane picked up the crude homemade doll. It had a fierce pointed Sharpie marker face with tiny, pale half-moon fingernail clippings glued to the blunt end of each stick arm and leg. A twisted clump of blonde hair capped its head. A cold creeping horror chilled her bones. Where the hell did they get my fingernails and my hair?

  Striding into the bathroom, she threw open the particleboard door beneath the sink. Shit. The Dollar Store plastic bag was missing from the bucket. They stole my trash. Straightening, she dug her fingers through her makeup bag before searching the folded towels on the toilet tank. Not here, either. Spinning around, Jane scanned the bathroom. They stole my hairbrush.

  She plopped down on the lidded toilet, feeling queasy and violated. Someone’s been in my house and I don’t know who it was. A line of cold beaded sweat popped along her hairline. Reaching up, she swiped it away with her hand, slowly grasping the invasion’s deeper meaning as she started to shake. It’s more than that. Piddles didn’t freak out about letting them in. He knew the intruder was a friend.