“My place is right at the entrance so I can see what kind of characters are coming and going and I’m a light sleeper. My ma’ said that’s because I’m a worrier. I worry a lot.”
“She bring any friends over?”
“Only two I know of. There was this little black dude that came over a few times and there was this white loser that came by once that I saw.”
“Little black dude? Like a kid?” I asked.
“Like a thug.”
“And the white kid was a loser? Why?”
His head swayed as if it got his brain moving. “Raggy, baggy clothes. Didn’t get a look at his face. Can’t help you there. It was dark, but he was young, brown hair. They hugged and kissed like they knew each other. Like I said, though, she was hardly ever here.”
I turned to the door with my partner. “Open it up, please.”
#
Haley Robicheaux’s miniscule apartment lacked any meaningful clues. It had none of the charm of an intimate French Quarter residence. A flophouse actually came to mind. After inspecting each drab room, we quickly ruled it out as being the location of her murder, considering the voyeuristic landlord and where the body was disposed. The landlord Porter had said she only moved in with a suitcase, using the furniture of the previously evicted tenant. At least Tara and I could stop saying River Doe, small comfort as it was.
Dr. Jerry arrived with his crew of two: Julia Sawyer his assistant and Freddie Boucher, the photographer. The small apartment suddenly became cramped.
“Hey y’all.” Julia’s blonde hair hung in a ponytail covered with a Saint’s cap.
“Did Dobson threaten to pull you off the case, being that girl’s sister and all?” Dr. Jerry surveyed the place.
“Not yet. And she better not.” I watched Freddie take general shots around the room.
Dr. Jerry put on a pair of gloves. “Don’t give her a reason. You didn’t touch anything in here, right?”
“I vaguely recall that from my procedure manual.”
“Leave my man alone, Jerry,” Tara held up her fist and shook it comically.
“What you guys got?” he asked, switching gears.
“A messy twenty-something that didn’t spend much time here. Not much in the fridge. Some beer and take out. Basic toiletries in the bathroom. This wasn’t a home, it was a place to sleep. We still need to talk to the family out in Manchac. There’s a hairbrush in the bathroom. You’re going to run DNA off it to compare to the body?”
“I seem to remember that from forensic school.”
I held up both palms to him. “Just had to say it for my own piece of mind.”
He ignored me and spouted off instructions to Julia. Tara and I left forensics to do their job and headed out the door. Manchac was our next destination. We preferred not to invite the State Troopers to accompany us on this one. The fewer cops seeing me power through this, the better.
It took an hour and ten minutes as we traveled over calm water and tree lines full of moss worthy of enough to be painted. Getting to Manchac was one thing, finding the physical address proved to be another. Tara had checked the paper map every time the GPS voice told us to turn, thinking we’d end up in the bayou. She loved technology, but always expected the glitch.
“You’re nervous.” Tara stated.
“No. I’m just dreading this. I can’t imagine their reaction.”
“I hope I don’t hear any Coon-ass banjos,” Tara said.
“Same old bayou jokes. Listen, try not to be too black out there with those rednecks, okay? No shizzle my nizzle.”
Tara cocked her head, and then spit flew with a burst of laughter. “Alright, Peyrizzle. Let me get my jar of mayonnaise. I can be as cracker as the next cracker.”
“You’re more like a Trisket.”
“Shit, your last name’s Peyroux. I hope you speak Cajun. You gotta protect me.”
“You better hope your ass can run faster than me.”
I parked where the grass met road. My stone legs pounded up the gravel path with a folder in my hand. The immediate front of the house was on land and the rest extended over the water. I took my sunglasses off, making sure my firearm was holstered and our badges were visible. The locals were sure to be armed with shotguns and suspicion. I knocked and seconds later an extremely attractive face peered through a crack in the door. It was hard not to imagine a red stream flowing from her throat.
Her eyes lit up. “Detective Lucas!” The door swung open and Cozy latched her arms around my waist. “About time you come see me.”
“Cozy. You look good. How are you?”
“Great, now.” She let go. Her scar made my stomach pinch. “Detective Tara, I remember you from the hospital.”
“Good to see you again. Is your mother home?”
Her eyes looked from Tara to the folder. “Wait, this ain’t about seeing me. Is this visit about Haley?”
“Maybe you should get your mother for us.”
“My momma’s right inside. Come on in.”
The front room was decorated for function and comfort. Native American items occupied shelves. Old Pictures of Native Americans hung on white and gold fleur de lis wallpaper, an eclectic clash of cultures. Small, Indian-patterned throw rugs covered most of the floor and the occasional alligator head kept watch over the room.
She led me into the kitchen. “Here, sit,” she said, offering us chairs at a chrome-rimed Formica table. Tara and I didn’t sit just yet, which made Cozy frown.
She yelled towards the screen door leading out back. “Momma. Detective Lucas is here about Haley.”
Aponi Robicheaux stepped through the flimsy screen door with a single glance toward us and then leaned over the sink to wash her hands. Cozy sat on her knees with her elbows on the table, staring as if I was going to burst into flames. Her mother turned, dried her hands and then approached, assessing us from under lazy eyelids.
She shook my hand with confidence. “How are you, Ms. Robicheaux. This is Detective Gray.”
“I’ve told you before, call me Aponi. So, you have news on Haley. Please sit, Detectives. Can I get you some tea? Water?”
“No, thank you.” I inhaled the intoxicating aroma of crab boil.
“That was a long ride,” Tara said. “Can I use your restroom?”
“That way to the left,” Cozy pointed.
Aponi sat rigid with her hands on the table while watching Tara disappear into the hallway. A tilt of her head told Cozy to sit properly in the chair. Aponi addressed me. “I imagine it can’t be good news.”
“I’m afraid not. Maybe we should speak in private.”
“That’s quite alright. You go on.”
I hesitated. “But, Ms. Robicheaux - Aponi…”
Cozy stood and the chair kicked out. “I’m not leaving.”
Aponi motioned for her to sit back down. “Whatever happened, she’s going to find out anyway.”
My eyes fell on Cozy’s and I couldn’t protect her yet again. “We pulled a female from the Mississippi River. Haley’s cell phone was found on her person.”
“Oh, God,” Cozy said.
“So, Haley drowned?” Aponi never flinched.
“Actually, the victim had been killed prior to being left in the river.”
“Victim?” Cozy repeated.
“We’re not a hundred percent positive it’s Haley. The body is unrecognizable.”
Cozy’s voice cracked. “Then, maybe it’s not her. You could get her address from the phone, right?”
I nodded. “We did, but Haley hasn’t been at the address for days.”
“So, it’s likely my daughter.”
“No, Momma.”
“Did she have any tattoos?” I asked.
Aponi and Cozy both shook their heads. Tears drew to Cozy’s eyes. “She hated tattoos. She made me promise never to get one. She said if I was in a room with six friends and they’re all tatted up and I’m not, then who are the followers? I liked the idea of being a rebel by not conforming.
”
“Any scars?”
“I don’t know of any,” Aponi said.
“Me, either,” Cozy agreed. “She wasn’t a risk-taker and my father never left her with anything but bruises and small cuts.”
Aponi slowly turned her head to face her daughter.
I broke the deadly silence. “Bodies have been found with different identification on them before. It would help if we could get her dental records and any personal items that might help us.”
“We have nothing left of Haley’s here. I threw it all away.”
“You didn’t box anything up in case she came back?”
“You kidding me?” Cozy interrupted. “Momma was fixin’ to burn it all until I told her she’d have the fire department out here.”
“I will not apologize.”
“Take me to her,” Cozy demanded. “I can tell if it’s her.”
“We need more than a visual for this one. I have photos, but they’re quite graphic.”
“I don’t need to see those.” Aponi never faltered.
Cozy’s arm shot out like a Cobra strike and peeked into the folder. Quickly, she ran out the back door with her hand covering her mouth. Aponi’s entire face folded into an exhausted, disappointed look while following her daughter. I watched through the screen while she held Cozy’s hair as she threw up into the bayou. Steam rose from the boiling pot behind them. After several minutes, they came back inside and Cozy disappeared into another room.
Aponi continued, “Haley don’t have any dental records. She hadn’t seen a dentist in over five years.”
“I guess we’ll just have to wait on results from the hairbrush we found at her apartment.”
“Anything you find you can just throw away.”
I made an effort to keep my voice even. “Is there anything you can tell me about what she may have been into in New Orleans?”
“It’s been over two years since she left.”
“I know this must be really difficult for you, but…”
She pushed the folder of pictures toward me. “Haley made her choice and it wasn’t us.”
“Aponi.” I reached out to touch her arm as Tara ventured back from the bathroom.
“I have to prepare supper. You’re welcome to stay for the crab boil, Cozy would like that, but there will be no further talk of Haley. Otherwise, please see yourself out.” She left quickly.
Tara leaned to me. “Stay for the boil?”
I collected the pictures, watching as she returned to a large pot outside with a face of stone. The fact that she wasn’t comforting her one remaining daughter shocked and saddened me.
“Go out to the car for a minute. Let me check in on Cozy, see if she can offer anything else we can use without her momma around,” I said.
Tara smiled and lightly slapped my face with a squeeze. “I don’t know why Dobson was worried. You’re going to be alright.”
“Tara.” I held her hands and leaned into her ear. “I think I hear banjos.”
“Bitch.” She backed away to leave. “Good luck with her.”
Watched by several gator heads, I entered a short, dark hallway decorated with oil paintings and portraits. Soft crying emanated from the back room, so I approached the doorway slowly. Cozy was lying in the fetal position, her face wet.
“Cozy.” I waited a minute while she sniffled and straightened herself. “That’s an interesting name. I wanted to ask you about that at the hospital.”
She dabbed under her eyes and sat upright, cross-legged on the bed. “My mom’s Native American. She said when I was born; I looked cozy in the blanket. They went with it.”
“Are you okay? Your mom…”
“She may seem cold, but she doesn’t show emotions…” Her blue-gray eyes found mine. “…she thinks you swallow it down and continue on no matter how bad you’re hurting.”
“You sure she’s not Irish?” I took an unobtrusive look around the room.
“I know, right? My father used to drink like an Irishman.”
“I could tell from the pictures on your wall that you and your sister loved each other.”
“Momma wanted to throw those pictures out, but that was the last straw for me. I told her I’d leave if she did. I threaten to leave a lot.” Cozy laughed through her tears. “Haley was all I had. I feel so alone here. Everyone in town already calls me snut behind my back.”
“Snut?”
“Nut and slut. A couple years ago, I got drunk at a party and was raped by three guys. I don’t remember it. Hell, if they had dressed me and kept their mouths shut, I probably wouldn’t have been sure about it. But the traumatic part for me was that they told everyone.”
“You know them?”
“Yeah, Tray, Joe, and Eric.” She rolled her eyes.
“Are there pictures or video?” I sat on her bed with a few feet between us.
“Not that I know of, and believe me, I’d know. They’re too stupid to keep that under wraps.”
“If you can prove anything, get any witnesses, the statute of limitations hasn’t ended on it yet.”
“I can’t prove it. I can’t even be sure I didn’t start it all. I always got a little touchy-feely when I drank, but I’ve never blacked out before. It’s really just my word against theirs and everyone at the party says I was dancing with Tray.” Her eyes waited as if searching for something poignant from me.
“At this point, it would be a tough case to win, but at least you would have a moral victory.”
“Moral victory? Get real. I’d get labeled a liar and have to live under the stares and accusations of these hypocritical Catholics who judge me despite living under God’s rule of ‘thou shall not judge’.”
“Those kinds of people are ignorant.”
“Thanks, but they’re my people.”
I got up, indicating I’ve stayed long enough. “Anyway, I’ll help you if you ever want to go forward with that.”
“Maybe one day. You still feel guilty about shooting me?”
I sucked in a breath, choosing not to answer. “Your mother is pretty stubborn about Haley.”
“Yeah, things were weird between them even before Haley left. She doesn’t believe that my father used to beat her. Did she invite you to stay for the boil?”
“Yeah, she did.”
“Manners and appearances are very important to her. Even out here.” Cozy broke down again and buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry.”
“I was hoping you could give me a recent picture of her.”
She regained composure and opened her dresser where a picture presented itself. She handed it to me with a slight smile.
“Can I get one of Ash, too?” I pointed to one.
“Sure. Why?”
“We’re going to question him and want to scan it for the file.”
“You’re lying, Detective Lucas.” She wiped under her nose.
“I think you can just call me Lucas.” I leaned against the door frame.
“Lucas.” She almost smiled. “I know Ash has nothing to do with this.”
“We have to check so we can say so in court.” I slipped the pictures into the folder.
“What’s going to happen to her body?”
“If it turns out to be Haley and she isn’t claimed, she’ll be cremated and put in storage.”
“I’ll talk to momma about bringing her back here. Was she wearing an alligator pendant when you found her?”
“No. No jewelry or clothes.” A half-second too late, I cringed at my mistake.
“No clothes? She was naked? So, where was her phone?”
She was quick. I swallowed hard and felt the room become pressurized, or maybe it was my head. “You don’t want to know.”
“Oh. Oh, my God.” A fresh stream of tears cascaded down her cheeks. “That’s sadistic.”
“We think she may have done it herself, so she could be identified. That would make her very smart.”
“That’s her, pretty smart.”
&n
bsp; “We kept that fact from the press because it helps us weed out the crackpots who claim they have information.”
“Can I follow you to her apartment? I can collect her things.” Cozy stood with renewed vigor.
“Sure. It’s near the station. I can drive your car and Tara can follow us.”
“Okay, but it’s a piece of crap Civic from the stone age.”
“That’s fine. What about your mother?”
“She wouldn’t want to come.”
“No, I mean will she let you go?”
She looked to the side as if she could see through the wall. “She won’t want me to go, but she knows she can’t stop me. Wait for me outside.”
Cozy was seventeen and didn’t need her mother’s permission, so I waited on the porch as she instructed. Ashton Bergeron, who I remembered meeting for a brief second from the hospital, could wait to be questioned. Bringing Cozy to Haley’s apartment seemed like a much better idea at this point.
Chapter 9
My partner extended a fair amount of trust in letting me handle Cozy, but maybe that was the plan to get me over the hump. Tara also understood that Cozy was more likely to open up to me than anyone else. We drove out of the bayou and into Kenner as if changing a channel. The unremarkable city turned seamlessly into Metairie until passing over the beautiful Metairie Cemetery and the New Orleans skyline came into view. We switched cars at Headquarters in order to drop Tara off, and Cozy followed me into the French Quarter.
Cozy and I arrived at Haley’s apartment located three blocks off the infamous Bourbon Street. I let Cozy dial in Haley’s four-digit code to enter the confines of the gated courtyard, inundated with plants and uneven bricked walkways. I lugged Cozy’s empty suitcase up a rickety wooden staircase that hugged a brick wall with bad tuck-pointing. The short, damp hallway leading to her door smelled of mildew.
“Here it is,” I said.
Cozy’s hands trembled as she inhaled. She nodded to indicate she was ready, and we entered a room that appeared meager and abandoned. Worn, outdated furniture depressed the ambiance, but no personal touches made it feel like someone’s home. Her rigid body remained still like a statue just two feet inside the doorway. I put my arm around her shoulders to gently guide her further inside.
Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel Page 5