by King, Leo
“The police think what the real killer wants them to think,” said the Lady in Red. “Nothing more and nothing less.”
The Lady in Red folded her arms and stared straight into Richie. “You know, you’re lucky as hell that Marcello owns this place, that he has the security cameras turned off when he’s here, and that he pays off the police to stay away from it. Otherwise, Richie, you’d be in serious trouble.”
Biting his bottom lip, Richie nodded, then asked, “So, if you all aren’t behind the murders, but someone is using your name, then… ”
Richie’s voice trailed off, and then hurriedly he said, “That is why you asked me to try to solve this murder! Someone is framing you all!”
The Lady in Red gave a sexy smile, leaned in, and pressed her lips over Richie’s. The taste was like strawberries, the scent like exotic fruits, the feeling like silk. There was no emotion to the kiss, just the physical act. When she parted from it, she said in a low, sexy voice, “I knew you were the right pick, Richie.”
Stepping away, the Lady in Red was approached by the big Cajun-sounding man who had initially saved Richie from his attackers. “Madam, we’re done here. We’re clearing out.”
“Good,” replied the Lady in Red, who then looked back to Richie. “We’ll be watching you, Richie. I’ll be watching you, like I have for a long time. Solve this case, Richie. And be careful.” The Lady in Red’s pouty lips frowned. “It’s imperative that Sam stays alive until this is over. So watch out for yourself, and keep Sam safe.”
“I will keep her safe,” Richie replied, looking down at the ground. “I care for her. We’ll solve this together. Thank you.”
Richie looked up, and the Lady in Red and her companions were gone. He muttered, “I hate it when she does that.”
A few minutes later, Richie was standing outside, looking at the nearly vacant parking lot of the Riverwalk. Only the car that had brought him, along with the Marcellos’ limo, were still there. No one else was around.
Sitting down on the stairs leading up to the Riverwalk, Richie started to feel his emotions surge forth and his psyche start to melt. Despite having kept himself together during a meeting with a cutthroat lawyer, an interview with two detectives, and an interrogation with a mob boss, this was too much.
For a long time, Richie sobbed into his hands, rocking back and forth and feeling wave after wave of anxiety run through him. Over and over again, he thought the same thing: What the hell am I supposed to do now?
Chapter 24
Mending of the Ways
Date: Friday, August 7, 1992
Time: 10:00 p.m.
Location: Sam Castille’s Townhome
Uptown New Orleans
By the time Rodger drove up to Sam’s house, it was pretty late. Sam, who had fallen asleep, was easily roused, and Rodger helped her inside. As she turned on the lights in the hallway, then onward leading to the kitchen, Rodger looked in the front hall’s grandfather clock and took out Edward’s gun.
When Sam came back, Rodger was looking over the gun, a wistful smile on his face. He looked up and saw Sam looking at him, a mixture of amusement and annoyance on her face.
“Your father’s service revolver,” Rodger said, looking at the gun with a fondness that only a memory could bring. “He always kept it in this clock, right here in the hallway, when he wasn’t at work.”
He opened the barrel of the gun and, seeing six bullets, said, “You keep it loaded. Are those the same bullets he had in his gun twenty years ago?” Recalling the report of Edward Castille’s murder, Rodger knew that Edward’s gun was found without a single shot fired.
Sam took the gun, politely but firmly, from his hands. She closed up the barrel and put the revolver back in place. “Yes. And now I keep it here for protective purposes. I’d like to think that my father’s spirit is watching out for me in that gun.”
Rodger put his hands in his coat pockets and nodded. “Maybe it is, Sam. Your father thought the world of you. You should know it. You should remember it.”
“Yeah, I know,” was Sam’s reply as she latched the grandfather clock’s door closed. “It just seems so distant to me, my memories of Dad. I know it sounds awful, Rodger, but I have much better memories, especially lately, of Grandfather.”
Sam leaned against the wooden and glass frame of the grandfather clock. “It’s like, I don’t know, it’s like he’s the one watching over me and not my father. Isn’t that creepy? That a monster like Vincent Castille would be my guardian angel, keeping watch over me from beyond the grave?”
Rodger rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder, saying, “Sam, your grandfather is nowhere near you. You and I both know that if there is an afterlife, he’s burning in the lowest levels of it—pardon me for saying that.”
“No, it’s okay,” Sam said, shaking her head, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “Grandfather was a monster. I hope that he is burning in hell.”
For a few moments, neither said anything. Then Sam, with a chuckle, detached herself from the grandfather clock and said, “Well, this is a morbid conversation.” She pointed back at the kitchen with her thumb. “I was just making some coffee. Richie should hopefully call and check in soon. Did you want some coffee while we wait for Michael?”
Rubbing his chin, Rodger replied that coffee would be wonderful.
An hour and some Chinese takeout later, Rodger was sitting in Sam’s study, enjoying his second cup of coffee, and feeling very relaxed. Sam, who had gone upstairs to take a shower, still hadn’t come back down. There was no sign of Michael or Richie, and Rodger was beginning to wonder if he’d need to give the precinct a call and inquire as to where his partner had gone.
Rodger’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the front door. Looking around and realizing that he was the only person on the first floor, Rodger got up and went to the front door.
“Just a minute,” he said gruffly before unlatching the front door and opening it up.
Michael was standing there. For only a moment, Rodger could see the most pissed-off look on his partner’s face. Then Rodger’s vision was obscured by Michael punching him directly in the nose.
Stars and fireworks went off in Rodger’s head as he stumbled back, landing on his ass, his vision momentarily blurred from the pain of the blow to his nose. Above him, he could hear Michael, his voice low but trembling. “You son of a bitch. Why didn’t you tell me?”
As Rodger’s senses came back, so did a rush of anger. Who the hell did Michael think he was to hit him like that? Getting back on his feet, Rodger shook off the pain and looked at his younger partner.
Seeing Michael moving to grab him, Rodger, more out of instinct than anything else, dropped his shoulders and punched Michael twice in the gut. His own voice was much angrier, much louder, as he said, “What the fuck is your problem, Michael?! Tell you what?”
Rodger couldn’t figure out what had his partner so angry, but that thought was quickly spinning into oblivion as the white-hot anger of being coldcocked in the face was taking over. Moving to put his partner in an elbow lock, Rodger was a moment too late in seeing Michael’s head rise up. The top of Michael’s head struck the underside of Rodger’s chin.
Rodger saw red stars.
Stumbling again, Rodger fell flat on his back. Michael, who was panting and grabbing his gut, limped to stand over the fallen older man. His voice was still angry as he said, “Sam’s father. Your partner. Edward Castille. Same damn guy. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Lying there on the ground, Rodger felt fear at Michael having figured out that he had still been keeping a major secret from him, even though he had sworn not to tell. However, as he felt Michael grab his collar to lift him up, that fear was replaced by anger at being assaulted. Rearing his head back for the second time in two days, Rodger head-butted Michael in the face.
Michael stumbled back against one of the walls of the front hall, while Rodger, who got to his feet with considerable trouble, fell back against the other wall. For
a long moment, Rodger, who was both exhausted and had a bloody nose, just tried to catch his breath.
Finally, when he could speak, he said, “I guess it’s too late to apologize, eh?”
Michael glared back at him, blood coming from his mouth, and said, “Yeah, a bit late.”
Nodding, Rodger asked, “Will an explanation do?”
“Maybe,” was Michael’s response.
Blood was trickling down the back of Rodger’s throat from his busted nose, but he ignored it. Instead, he began to explain. “It’s really simple, Michael. I’ve felt ashamed for letting Edward go off alone to confront Vincent, which, of course, led to him getting killed. I’ve been beating myself up over it for twenty years. That’s why.”
To Rodger’s surprise, Michael laughed some, shaking his head. “You really are a stupid ass, Rodger. Don’t you realize that this one piece of information could destroy the entire investigation?”
Rodger shook his head. “How the hell could that possibly derail everything?”
Michael’s tone was bitter. “Because you’re making it damn near impossible for me to trust you or your motivations. You’ve withheld so much information from me, it’s like you’ve been purposefully impeding the investigation. And now this? You know that Sam is a suspect, but you withhold who her father was. It makes it look like you’re protecting her. And since I can’t see Ouellette not knowing, it looks like you and he are in this together. How can we work together if I can’t trust you?”
Rodger continued to glare at Michael. Shaking his head, he said, “It’s not what you think it is, Michael. We all kept that quiet because of Edward’s dealings with the Marcello family. We—”
Rodger stopped midsentence when he heard some footsteps coming downstairs.
“What the hell is going on?” Sam said, stepping down to the bottom of the stairs and looking around. She was freshly showered, her still-wet hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Standing there, still bleeding from his nose, Rodger decided it was better not to try to make up a lie just for appearances’ sake. “Michael and I had, well, a disagreement,” he said, nodding his head at his partner. “We were just working our differences out.”
“Sounded like the two of you were beating the hell out of each other,” said Sam as she reached the bottom step, shaking her head at both men. “What the heck is happening? Is the stress of this investigation getting so bad that you are all starting to fight like you and Father did, Rodger?”
Rodger didn’t say anything at first, aware that Michael was, once again, glaring at him. Looking at Sam, who was standing at the base of the stairs, arms folded, staring back at him with a look of concern and exasperation, Rodger suddenly felt very old, like he had lived past his usefulness long ago. Michael didn’t seem to be saying anything, and Rodger wondered if his partner would say anything to Sam about what the fight was really about. However, as the seconds passed, and no such comment came, Rodger realized that Michael wanted him to respond to Sam.
“It’s that and some other problems,” Rodger said, giving a small nod to Sam. “Michael and I have some talking to do, and I have a lot of explaining to do.” He looked over at his partner.
Michael didn’t give much of a nod, but it was enough to show Rodger that, indeed, there would be an uncomfortable conversation forthcoming.
“I see,” replied Sam as she moved forward to look at Rodger’s nose, going so far as to tilt his head up to look at the injury. As much as he wanted to stop her from fussing over him, the pain in his nose was pretty intense, having turned into that kind of throbbing pain that lingers.
“Let me clean the two of you up,” said Sam, who started heading toward the kitchen, motioning for both men to follow her.
Rodger followed Michael and Sam into the kitchen, thinking, We’ve fought before. But not like this. He must be seriously pissed off.
Rodger didn’t say anything as Sam fixed him up, stopping the bleeding in his nose and making sure it wasn’t actually broken. Once Sam determined everything was okay, she tended to Michael, who was equally banged up. As she finished up, the phone rang.
“Crap, I bet that’s Richie,” said Sam.
She hurried up front. Rodger could barely hear Sam say “hello” before her voice dropped too low for him to hear. Not wanting to eavesdrop, he soon refocused his attention on his partner.
Michael was standing and looking at a piece of artwork on the wall. Rodger had a good view of his partner’s back, and Michael seemed to be keen on making sure that was all of him that Rodger saw.
Rodger spoke in a low voice. “Okay, I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to keep this kind of tension up. I’ve had too much happen lately, and my old ticker can’t handle it. So, what do I need to do to make this right?”
Michael’s reply was hushed and sharp. “Tell me every goddamn thing you’ve been hiding about this case, about Edward, and about you.”
Rodger inhaled slowly through his mouth, the throbbing pain in his nose still prevalent. “Right, so after we leave here, we’ll go somewhere and I’ll tell you everything. That’s fair?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” replied Michael. As Michael didn’t say anything else, Rodger figured that the matter, for the moment, was done. He knew he still had a lot to get through, though. This was turning out to be a very uncomfortable day. I’m not used to being this emotionally worn out.
Sam returned. “Richie’s not coming over tonight,” she said, a tone of regret to her voice. “He has apparently had a rough day, too. He said he’d catch us up on it tomorrow, and that he’s got some major news.”
Rodger shook his head, just as Michael did, not sure that Richie was someone to take seriously. One look at Michael, and he was sure his partner felt the same way. Richie is completely out of his element.
Michael said, “That’s just as well, Sam. Rodger and I need to get going. We have to compare notes and get ready to meet with Commander Ouellette tomorrow morning.”
Immediately, Rodger felt his blood pressure rise at the mention of meeting with Ouellette, especially since there was no advance notice. Rodger started to wonder if that meant he and Michael just got put on the hot seat.
One look at Michael, who seemed completely composed, and Rodger suspected that it was just a story by Michael to give them an excuse to go have their “talk.”
“It’s okay, really,” Sam said. “I need to get some more coffee and then start on the second chapter in my story. Lord knows, with the details of the last murders identical to my story, I’m halfway considering not writing anything at all.”
Before Rodger could say anything, Michael spoke up. “Actually, Sam, don’t do that. Write the story just as you intended, especially if there is another murder in chapter two.”
Sam nodded, saying, “There is. Do you want me to tell you who gets killed?”
“No,” was Michael’s reply. “Telling us about your next victim will only make me want to search a city filled with hundreds of thousands of people for a single person based on nothing more than a description.”
“Michael’s got a good point,” Rodger, who had been feeling left out of the conversation, said. “Your last character victim didn’t have the same name as the actual victim. So it wouldn’t help.”
Michael went on, “So what I need you to do, Sam, is create a list of everything you do, from the moment you finish typing the manuscript, to the moment you drop it off at the Times-Picayune. Every little thing you do, no matter how insignificant, you need to list. Then, when you have that list, give it to me.”
That made Rodger experience two different feelings. First, it made him grumpy that Michael was blatantly cutting him out. Second, it made him feel hopeful that Michael had an actual plan to crack this case. The look in Michael’s eyes, for that moment, eerily reminded Rodger of Edward.
Sam nodded and said, “All right. I can do this. I’ll give you a detailed list of what I do tomorrow. Also, I won’t allow myself to be sidetracked.”
/> “Thank you,” Michael said in reply, then turned to Rodger. “Are you ready to leave, Rodger?”
“I am,” replied Rodger, who was starting to feel tired. The day had been long, and this was after the hell that had been Mad Monty. While he knew the value of getting everything with Michael out in the open, Rodger really just wanted to go back to his apartment, have a whiskey, and go to sleep.
Rodger followed Sam to the foyer while Michael got his jacket. Out of earshot of his partner, he gave Sam a brief hug and said, “You be careful, Sam. Remember, you are still a suspect.”
Sam, who seemed all too pleased to hug Rodger back, replied that she would be very careful. By the time Michael came out of the kitchen, Sam was unlatching the door to let both men out.
“Good night, you two,” Sam said, closing the door behind them.
As Rodger heard the latches slide back in place, he felt that she would indeed be safe.
“You want to drive, Rodger?” Michael asked as they walked to the squad car.
“Honestly, I really don’t,” Rodger said, taking a moment to enjoy the warm night air. “Do you mind?”
“I don’t care,” was Michael’s reply, the cold way he said it giving Rodger a shiver.
As Rodger got into the passenger seat, his partner was struggling to get the latch on the driver’s side safety belt to catch.
“This stupid belt hardly works,” Michael briskly commented, finally getting the seat belt to stick.
“It is a piece of shit, partner,” Rodger said, the passenger seat belt easily catching. “I’ve told Ouellette about it several times. I’m sure when the next quarter budget gets approved, we’ll get it fixed.”
“Probably not,” Michael said as he started up the car. “But we’ll see, I suppose.” He put the car in Reverse and pulled out of the driveway of Sam’s townhome. “So, where to for conversation?”
“The usual place,” suggested Rodger, who wasn’t feeling too adventurous after such a long day.