by Greg Herren
I couldn’t blame Taylor, really. If I didn’t already have the two most perfect boyfriends on the planet, Blaine would turn my head.
*
They took us straight down to the Eighth District police station on Royal Street, putting us into the back of Venus’s black SUV. I asked about my Explorer on the way, and Venus radioed in, asking someone to get ahold of the Placquemines Parish sheriff’s department and have them go out and look for the Explorer, as well as to check out the place where AFAR had held us hostage. She also put out an APB for that bitch Diana Killeen, without really asking a lot of questions.
It is nice to have a good relationship with the police.
Before the questioning started, I asked for permission to call Frank and also for a phone charger. Venus passed me her cell phone and rolled her eyes before going to get me the phone charger. He answered his cell phone on the second ring. “Venus? What’s up?”
“Hey, Frank, it’s me, Scotty,” I replied. “My phone’s dead, and Venus is letting me use hers.”
“Where are you?” He sounded relieved but still a little panicked. “I’ve been worried sick about you and Taylor. Are you both okay?”
“Yeah, we’re fine, it’s a long story, though, and I’m going to have to answer some questions.” I smiled at Venus as she returned to the interrogation room with an iPhone charger in her hand. “I’m at the Eighth District station house, Taylor’s here, too, and there’s nothing to worry about right now. Thanks, Venus, for the charger.”
“Still no word on Dad,” Frank said. “And no word from the kidnappers, either.”
“Okay, I’ll call you as soon as I can.” I disconnected the call and passed her phone back to Venus. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”
She smiled. “No problem. Now, do you want to explain to me how the hell you and that kid and Mike ended up on that boat needing rescuing by the Coast Guard?”
I spent the next three hours being grilled by Venus—I assumed Blaine was interrogating Taylor. I hoped Taylor had the presence of mind to not spill the news about Dad being kidnapped—while it was pretty safe to assume the kidnappers wouldn’t know if we told the cops, I didn’t want to take that risk. We went over everything, over and over again. She knew I wasn’t telling her everything—she’s pretty sharp—but as much as I wanted her help in finding Dad, I couldn’t tell her.
Finally, she leaned across the table, that look I’ve come to know so well on her face. “Scotty, I know you’re lying to me about why you went over to Barney Fleming’s in the first place.” She peered at me, her gaze intent. “Why all the sudden interest in Huey Long?”
I just shrugged. “It was just a hunch that didn’t pan out.”
“It didn’t pan out, but you decided to follow him out to Placquemines Parish and put Frank’s nephew’s life in danger.” She leaned back in her chair, a suspicious look on her face. “And somehow I’m supposed to believe all of this?”
I sighed. “I told you, Venus, Frank and I are looking into Veronica Porterie’s murder. You know the Baton Rouge cops think her daughter was involved in stealing Mike. We’re trying to help her clear her name, and I told you, Mom had known Veronica her whole life. I thought it might have something to do with Huey Long—the deduct box thing has come up a couple of times. Why wouldn’t we check with an expert on Long?”
“And you just decided to watch his house and follow him?”
I hadn’t mentioned Rev Harper because I wasn’t entirely certain he wasn’t behind kidnapping Dad—and I knew it sounded lame. “Venus, both Taylor and I got the sense he wasn’t telling us the truth, and he was trying to get us out of there as fast as he could.” A little white lie never hurt anyone, after all. “And so we figured it couldn’t hurt to watch his place. And sure enough, less than ten minutes after we left he took off. We followed him, and he led us right to AFAR’s hideout, where they took us prisoner, and well, you know the rest. They set us adrift at sea with a tiger on the boat and no way of calling for help.” I shrugged. “Sounds to me like they had more than a little to hide besides stealing Mike. Why wouldn’t they have killed Veronica?” I didn’t think Diana Killeen and her posse had killed Veronica—but Taylor and I could have easily died at sea. Payback’s a bitch, Diana—and so are you. “Probably a falling-out over the tiger-napping, who knows? But clearly they don’t have any respect for human life. Or animal life, for that matter. And Barney Fleming was clearly working with them—he led us right into their hands. So what was he doing out there? What’s the connection?” I ran my fingers through my dirty hair. I really needed a long, hot shower. “Veronica’s grandfather was a close associate of Huey Long’s. Barney Fleming is an expert on Huey Long. You do the math.”
“We’re checking into Barney Fleming.” She shook her head. “You’ll be interested to know that the place AFAR held you burned to the ground this afternoon. It was definitely arson—I suspect they burned it to destroy any evidence that they were behind kidnapping Mike.” She leaned back in her chair. “We’ve issued warrants for their arrest, for kidnapping and grand larceny, but I’m sure they’re long gone. If it were up to me, they’d be charged with two counts of attempted murder, too.” Her eyes hardened. “Probably couldn’t make that stick in court, though. I’m pretty sure they were the ones who tipped off the Coast Guard. No one else knew you were out there.”
“Yeah.” I could hear Storm’s voice: You never charge people with anything you aren’t positive you can convict them on. That’s just asking for a hung jury or an acquittal. That call to the Coast Guard could very well be seen by the jurors as remorse, and any lawyer worth a shit would keep hammering that point home to the jury. We can convict them on kidnapping for sure, so why muddy the water? “I’ll be more than happy to swear out a complaint, if you need one. And I’ll be more than happy to testify against them.” The thought of being on the stand while Diana Killeen was sitting in the courtroom next to her defense attorney brought a smile to my face.
It was really amazing how much I hated her.
“I’ll have your statement typed up.” Venus pushed her chair back and stood up, her face unreadable. “And for the record, even if they did make the call to the Coast Guard, they also couldn’t be sure they would get there before you both died. Or that the tiger didn’t get loose and eat the two of you.” Her lips narrowed into a tight line. “Not to mention the bomb threat to the LSU campus—Homeland Security wants in on that one. Domestic terrorism.” She clicked her tongue. “I sure wouldn’t want to be Diana Killeen when they catch her ass.”
It was around two thirty when she gave Taylor and me a ride back home in her black SUV. Taylor looked like he was barely able to keep his eyes open, poor thing. Seeing him stagger with sleepiness when we got out of the SUV made me realize that he was the reason I wanted to fry Diana Killeen so badly—not because of what she’d done to me, but because she’d put his life in danger. This is what it feels like to be a parent, I mused as I unlocked the gate, and the thought made me even angrier at Taylor’s parents.
How could you just turn off your feelings for your child like that?
What kind of people can do that? And call themselves Christians?
As we climbed the back stairs, I wished for a moment that the Christian afterlife would turn out to be true—but only if I could be there when his wretched excuse for parents tried to get into heaven so I could see the looks on their faces when St. Peter denied them entry and sent them to hell for eternity.
And I’m not proud to say it brought a grim smile to my face.
Once Frank let go of him, Taylor collapsed onto the couch and was asleep within a matter of minutes. I got a blanket and gently covered him with it, and watched him sleep for a few minutes before going back to our bedroom with Frank—who had the decency to let me shower before peppering me with questions about what had happened.
I was up for another good hour until I could finally collapse into bed and sleep.
And now I’d slept in, while every second th
at passed made it more and more unlikely we’d find Dad.
I pulled on a pair of Saints sweatpants and walked down the hall into the kitchen. I started a pot of coffee and checked to see if Taylor was still sleeping on the couch. He wasn’t there, so I had to assume Frank got him upstairs after I fell asleep. I logged into the computer while the coffee brewed and checked some of the local news sites…and sure enough, Mike the Tiger’s rescue was the big lead story on every one of them. There were some pictures of me and Taylor, but they’d been taken from a distance and were fuzzy, and unless you knew it was us, you’d never guess. None of the articles carried our names—which was an enormous relief. I didn’t want to have to deal with the press.
But every article clearly stated that AFAR was behind everything, including kidnapping us and setting us adrift at sea. They also stated that both Homeland Security and the FBI were now investigating AFAR, and probably the IRS would get involved, as well.
Which was good enough for them—as far as I was concerned, they all deserved much, much worse. Veronica was obviously the brains behind the entire operation. I had no doubt that without her running the show, AFAR would crumble and they’d be caught soon enough.
Likewise, AFAR was off the hook for kidnapping Dad. They had no reason to take him. I was also pretty sure Barney Fleming was a lot more involved than just working with AFAR.
Whoever had taken Dad thought we had Eugene Porterie’s diary, which meant they thought we knew where the deduct box had been hidden all these years. But I still couldn’t understand why the damned deduct box was so fucking important eighty years later—important enough to kill Veronica and kidnap Dad.
If Fleming hadn’t lied about everything, Governor Long had converted the money inside the box into state bearer bonds.
If that was true, wouldn’t there have been a record somewhere of the bonds being issued?
I pulled up a search engine, and typed in “Louisiana State Bearer Bonds.”
None of the links that came up had anything to do with what I was looking for—they were all explanations of bearer bonds.
So, if what Fleming had said was actually true, it would have been next to impossible to keep such a thing a secret for almost eighty years. From everything I knew about Huey Long—which, granted, wasn’t that much—this was completely out of character for him. Why would he do it? It didn’t make any sense. He was all about cash and not leaving records—so why the bearer bonds?
No, Fleming had to be lying.
But someone had tied him up—there was no way he could have tied himself up so tightly, and he’d had no idea we were coming by.
I got up and poured myself some coffee, leaning back against the counter and thinking. We could rule out AFAR from the deduct box; the only link between them and it was Veronica Porterie. She was the key to everything—but why now?
We had to talk to her mother.
I woke Frank up with a cup of coffee and a kiss, and while he took a shower, I got dressed. I called Hope’s grandmother. Mrs. Porterie didn’t sound too thrilled about the idea, but she agreed to talk to us—after I reminded her Frank and I were working to clear Hope’s name for the tiger theft.
I stuck a note for Taylor on the door, and we left.
Since the SUV had been impounded as evidence by the police, we had to take the spy Jaguar. Frank didn’t say anything as we walked to the car, and it wasn’t until we were heading up Esplanade that he finally said, “Honey, I know it wasn’t your intent, but you put Taylor into danger yesterday, and I don’t know how I feel about that.”
It was so incredibly unfair I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything and merely sputtered in my head.
He glanced over at me. “I know it wasn’t your fault—but I’ve been beating myself up over it ever since you two disappeared yesterday afternoon. And yes, I know, there was no way of preventing it. But given our lives—and what Colin does for a living—I’m not so sure it’s such a great idea to have a kid around us.” He held up a hand when I started sputtering out loud. “We never know when something’s going to happen. At any moment, someone Colin has pissed off could come after him here in New Orleans, and we’d all be in the line of fire. I know Colin keeps his personal life very separate from his professional life—but the Ninjas found him. If they could find him, anyone can.”
I took a deep breath and counted to ten as he made a left turn onto Claiborne Avenue. “First of all, the Ninjas found him quite by accident. They weren’t looking for him when they came here, it was all just an amazing coincidence.”
“Was it?” Frank tilted his head to one side. “A pretty big one, don’t you think?”
I started to answer but stopped myself. It was a pretty big coincidence. I leaned my head against the window. “Frank, don’t say things like that. It’s really important to me to think that Colin doesn’t lie to us that often, and if that wasn’t a coincidence, it means Rhoda and Lindy lie to us, too. I don’t want to believe that.”
He patted my leg. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. But you have to admit, this may not be the best place for Taylor to live.”
“Well, what are you suggesting?”
“I don’t know.” He bit his lower lip. “Maybe we could send him to LSU? Or find him an apartment closer to campus if he wants to go to Tulane here. I just can’t imagine what I’d say to my sister if anything ever happened to him.”
“I’d say that’s what you get for throwing him out,” I replied sourly. “I mean, I appreciate the sentiment—she is your sister—but as far as I’m concerned she and her husband have lost whatever rights they had to worry or be concerned about him. If they gave a shit about him, he wouldn’t be in New Orleans in the first place.”
“I know, I know, I know you’re right.” He exhaled with an enormous sigh. “You know, I never knew what it was like to be a parent…but when you two disappeared yesterday and weren’t answering your phones, it was horrible. Absolutely horrible.” He shuddered as he turned left onto Napoleon Avenue. “I mean, I thought I used to worry about you.”
“Thanks, I think,” I replied sarcastically. He winked at me, and I put my hand on his thigh.
The Porterie house was just below Prytania on Napoleon, past St. Elizabeth’s and Sophie Wright Middle School. It was a classic Gothic revival house, probably built in the late nineteenth century. It was three stories tall, flanked by live oaks, with a big gable peak in the center of a slanted roof. Red brick chimneys rose from the roof on either side of the gable’s peak. The front gallery ran the width of the front of the house, and a short wrought iron railing ran on its top, turning the gallery’s roof into an uncovered balcony. The house was painted coral, with black trim. All the shutters on the second-floor windows were closed, but the ones on the first floor windows were open. The steps up to the gallery led to a beautiful set of double doors with diamond-shaped glass lights above them. The lawn was immaculately trimmed, and a statue of an angel stood to the left of the front walk with its wings spread and its hands clasped in front, the head turned up to face the heavens.
Frank pulled over next to the curb and we both got out. “Nice,” he whistled. “Hope wasn’t doing too badly.”
I opened the gate and went inside. Other than the cars passing by on Napoleon, it was weirdly silent. Frank’s opinion notwithstanding, the house wasn’t that big or spectacular; if anything, it was understated. Given how wealthy Eugene Porterie had been—and how politically connected—I had assumed the place would be much more grand and pretentious. I rang the buzzer. On the other side of the beveled glass I could see a form approaching. The door swung open, and an older woman glared at me through her tortoiseshell glasses. “Scotty Bradley?” she said with a well-bred sniff.
I gave her my warmest smile, the one that always used to get the guys in the bars to open their wallets and stuff money in my G-string. “Yes, and this is my partner, Frank Sobieski. We really appreciate your taking the time to see us, Mrs. Porterie. May we come in?”
&nbs
p; She nodded and stepped to one side, indicating with her hand that we were to go into the first door to the left.
She was older, probably in her seventies, but she looked older than both of my grandmothers. She was wearing a pair of sensibly heeled black leather shoes and a silk flowered print dress that reached her knees. She was slender, and her skin seemed fragile. Her hair was completely white and pulled back from her face into a tightly secured bun in the back. She was wrinkled and had a bit of wattle hanging from her chin—but I respected that she hadn’t had any work done, unlike so many of her peers. She wasn’t wearing any jewelry other than an enormous diamond ring attached to her gold wedding band.
The room was tastefully decorated with heavy Victorian furniture. An enormous mirror in a gilt frame hung over the fireplace. The shutters on the side windows were shut, so the only light came from the front window. On the antique table next to her chair a rather large martini glass rested on a coaster, a couple of olives sunk to the bottom. She took a drink from it before sitting down again.
She didn’t offer us a drink, but sat down in a wingback chair that looked sort of throne-like. She crossed her right leg over the left at the ankles and folded her hands primly in her lap. She blinked balefully at us until I cleared my throat and said, as politely as I could, “I’m really sorry about your daughter.”
“As far as I am concerned, Mr. Bradley, my daughter died a long time ago,” she replied stiffly, a vein in her neck twitching. “That woman who was murdered several days ago was most definitely not my child. No child of mine would ever callously murder an innocent man or commit the crimes that creature did.” The corners of her mouth were turned down so far they almost reached her chin. “I wondered for years what we did wrong to turn out such a monster,” she spat the words out at me, “but finally realized that sometimes it’s just not the parents’ fault. She was just born bad. Once I came to terms with that, I was able to live with myself again.” She took a drink from the martini glass. Her hand shook a little, but her face remained set and grim.