Jodie slid her hand into her purse and wrapped it around the handle of her Beretta, her index finger sliding over the trigger. The gun's safety catch was already released in anticipation of this moment.
Reaching the BMW, Dominici pushed a button on his remote and the trunk lid rose, trunk light revealing a marble heart. Dominici stepped between Drummond and the trunk, after all, this was a criminal transaction and certain protocols had to be followed. Drummond pulled an envelope from his pocket and let Dominici see the thick stack of hundred dollar bills inside. Dominici moved aside while Drummond examined the marble heart with a high-intensity flashlight. Convinced this was the genuine article, Drummond passed the envelope to the thief, who stuffed it in his back pocket and said, “If the count is low, I'll find you."
In single, fluid motion, Jodie pulled out the Beretta, stepped back, and aimed it at both men. “Hands up, both of you. You're under arrest."
Sirens howled and a flash of blue preceded two NOPD squad cars careening around the intersection. Four officers exited the cars with deliberate confidence and .40 caliber Glocks.
Dominici muttered an invective and said, “I knew I couldn't trust you bitches."
"Yeah,” Jodie said. “Where'd you get the BMW, ass hole?"
"In my grandfather's day,” added Drummond, “when you bought a cop, they stayed bought. What has happened to integrity?"
* * * *
Jodie led Dominici straight into one of the small windowless interview rooms, took off the cuffs, and told him to have a seat. The tiny room was little more than a closet with a small table and two chairs, the one behind the table for the interviewee had its front legs sawed down a half inch so the suspect would have to struggle to keep from leaning forward, keeping him off balance. A lone telephone had to go through the desk sergeant. The only sign on the pale green wall was a big NO SMOKING sign.
Jodie went back out to where Drummond stood next to her desk, took off the cuffs, and said, “Coffee?"
He narrowed his eyes, a slight smile curling his lips. “That was good. Not telling me didn't give me a chance to play-act it wrong."
She laughed. “Thought you were really under arrest, didn't you?"
"You're very convincing."
To Jodie's surprise, the registered owner of the BMW was Dominici.
They moved to the coffee pot where Jodie poured three cups before asking him to take a seat while she talked with macho-man Dominici. She took two coffees and a cassette recorder into the interview room. When she advised him of his rights again, telling him he was under arrest for possession of stolen things valued in excess of five hundred dollars, a felony, he shrugged. Dominici didn't blink when she added he was a suspect in the first degree murder of Hal Dean Wilson.
At first he never heard of Wilson, had no idea how the marble heart got in the trunk of the car, had no idea what Jodie was talking about. She moved her chair to the side of the desk, eliminating the barrier between them, and pushed on. Eventually Dominici recalled Hal Dean Wilson but seemed to know more about Maria St. John-Smythe.
"They hated each other,” he said. Adding he had no direct connection to the cemetery thefts, though he knew Hal and Maria were both boosting the stuff. “Word on the street is they got several runners doing it.” Both were hurting for money. Rents along Royal Street were astronomical.
That he knew the word “astronomical” surprised Jodie, who assured him he was going to be booked and she would have a nice long talk with the A.D.A. handling the case. “You roll over on Maria, the D.A. might listen. But if you had anything to do with the murder, there'll be no deal."
She took another half hour on the murder, but Dominici had a pretty good alibi. He was in jail, picked up as a DUI in Jefferson Parish. She knew that already, having checked him out on the police computer, but she pretended she didn't, hoping he might have an idea who slid the knife into Hal Dean Wilson. She left him in the room, saying she'd check his alibi.
Drummond sat in the chair next to her desk. She refilled her mug before sitting behind her desk. “He has an alibi for the murder. In jail. DUI in JP. But he gave up Maria St. John-Smythe and Hal Dean Wilson as the movers behind the cemetery thefts."
Moving her chair back she crossed her legs, the wrap skirt opening almost to her waist. She watched Drummond's eyes, almost daring him to take a look as she said, “Now you're going to volunteer to wear a wire for us, aren't you?"
The eyebrows furrowed and she could see his mind clicking. “Okay,” he said, “Maria St. John-Smythe. That's why the fake arrest. Dominici'll make a call, and she'll think I'm dirty too."
"Exactly. We're going to nail her for these thefts."
"I'll do it under one condition."
She raised her chin.
"I want the marble heart right away. Lock it up here. Log it into evidence. Photograph it, videotape it, whatever, but I want to get it to my client right away. Deal?"
She nodded as her phone rang, reached for it, uncrossing her legs, and caught Drummond sneaking a peek. She had to chuckle.
"If you know how to work it, sometimes it falls in your lap,” said Jodie as they walked up Royal Street from where they parked her unmarked car. She pulled out a warrant to show Drummond. “We found two nice fingerprints on the sheath of the murder weapon."
He looked at her with wide eyes.
"Maria St. John-Smythe."
Drummond passed the warrant back. “Maria has a record?"
"She was in the army."
They stopped a few doors up from St. John-Smythe Antiques, and Jodie fixed Drummond's tie, although he didn't need it. She slipped the earpiece into her ear and flipped on the recorder in her purse.
"Say something."
Drummond said, “Something.” No cliche shall go unused.
Jodie nodded. The wire worked. She waved Drummond forward and watched him go in the antique shop.
* * * *
Drummond went straight to the back of the place and handed Maria her reward for turning him onto Dominici. The big woman grinned as she counted the money.
"Glad you're happy,” Drummond said, “but I have a problem."
"What?"
"I was with Dominici when he was arrested for killing Wilson."
"Wilson?” Maria seemed genuinely surprised, then grinned even broader. “That's good news. Once the police arrest someone for a big rap like that, they won't mess with the case. The sap walked right into it. Let him fall."
"They'll try to link me to him and he'll probably sing on us both."
Maria laughed. “Like they're going to use him against us. They need to use us against him. Understand?” She raised a finger like a schoolteacher. “Why muck up a murder case with thefts from dead people?” She actually bounced on her toes. “Let's you and I expand this little operation. Make some real money."
The bell over the front door rang and they turned as Detective Jodie Kintyre stepped in with two uniformed officers. Maria stuffed the envelope with her money into a desk drawer, then moved out to meet the detective who was holding up a legal-sized sheet of paper.
"We have a search warrant,” Jodie said. She nodded to one of the cops who was also a woman. “Search and cuff this lady.” Then Jodie moved up to Drummond and took out her handcuffs.
"You're both under arrest.” She turned Drummond around and cuffed him, then told the other officer, a man, to search Drummond.
"What's the charge?” Maria protested.
"The money Mr. Drummond just paid you off with. It's marked and we'll find it."
Jodie read Maria her Miranda rights in the stuffy confines of a tiny interview room in the Detective Bureau, the same room Dominici had occupied with the uncomfortable chair with the short front legs. Maria St. John-Smythe signed a waiver of rights form and said, sure she'd talk with Detective Kintyre.
"I got the stuff from Danny Dominici. I didn't know it was stolen. No indication."
"You know the law,” Jodie said. “RS 14:69, Illegal Possession of Stolen Thi
ngs."
Maria leaned forward. “And that law reads that if the offender knew or had good reason to believe the object was stolen I can be charged. I had no reason to believe any of that was stolen."
Jodie smiled. “Pictures of the objects we seized from your shop were in the paper and on TV."
"I didn't see them.” Maria folded her arms in a typically defensive posture. Her strong perfume was giving Jodie a headache.
Jodie switched tack. “Tell me about this Burleigh Drummond."
"He's a real slimy character. Smooth with his expensive suits and antique watches, fancy cars. If Dominici was the cemetery thief, then Drummond was his puppetmaster, the one pulling the strings."
Jodie jotted what Maria said in her notes. She looked up and said, “Drummond was at Wilson's murder scene. We have him on videotape."
Maria's eyes lit up and she went on about Drummond. After ten minutes, Jodie left her in the small room for a while. Drummond sat in the chair next to her desk. Jodie poured herself a fresh cup of coffee before sitting at her desk.
"Anything yet?” Drummond asked.
"She says you're a slimeball."
He gave her that smooth grin. “I can live with that."
* * * *
A half hour later, Jodie went back into the interview room with a cup of coffee for Maria and a cassette recorder.
"Hope you like it black."
Maria took a hesitant sip as Jodie put the recorder on the table.
"Burleigh Drummond just implicated you in Wilson's murder."
Maria screwed up her face and said, “You believe him?"
Jodie turned on the recorder and started with the date and time before reading Maria her Miranda rights again. Maria agreed on tape to give a statement, and Jodie started the questions with Maria's background, education, business experience before getting to the stolen items, then the night of the murder. Maria reaffirmed she knew nothing about the stolen items nor about the murder of Hal Dean Wilson.
"You need to grill Burleigh Drummond and Danny Dominici about that."
Jodie asked, “When was the last time you were in the rear room of Wil-son's shop?"
Maria leaned back but answered after she saw the tape was running. “Never."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure.” Maria's voice was lower now.
"Did you ever use the back door of the place, the one that opens to the alley behind Le Petit Antique Shop and your shop?"
"The alley runs though the whole block, and no, I always used the front entrance.” Maria's voice rose now.
"Do you know what a kaiken is?"
"No."
"A Japanese dagger from the Shin Shinto period."
"No."
"Did you ever touch a knife in Le Petit?"
"No."
"What about its sheath?"
"No."
Jodie showed Maria a picture of the murder weapon and its sheath. Visible in the picture was the black fingerprint powder on the knife and its curved sheath.
"You ever touch this?"
Maria blanched, sat back, and did not respond.
Jodie leaned closer to the recorder. “I'm showing Maria St. John-Smythe a photo of the Japanese-made kaiken knife and its sheath. They were found in Le Petit Antique Shop, the knife removed from the chest of Hal Dean Wilson by the pathologist at Wilson's autopsy."
Back to Maria. “Did you ever touch either the knife or its sheath at any time?"
Maria's eyes darted frantically. Jodie wished she'd used a video camera for this statement. She gave Maria another cold smile and said, “So if you were never inside the back room of Le Petit, how did your fingerprints get on the inside door knob?"
Maria just stared back.
"And we found your prints on the murder weapon's sheath."
Still nothing from Maria.
"Don't you watch TV? CSI? Stuff like that."
Maria put her arms on the desk and buried her face in them and Jodie described her actions for the recorder, adding, “I've never seen anyone do this, except in old noir movies."
Jodie went out and handcuffed Drummond to his chair before bringing Maria out. She sat Maria in the other chair in front of her desk, then went to the coffeepot to brew some fresh coffee and chicory.
Brushing tears away from her eyes with her free hand, Maria snarled at Drummond. “She said you tried to pin this on me."
"She said you pinned it on me."
"I can explain the fingerprints,” she added in a low voice. “I'll get a good lawyer and he'll say I was confused. I'll remember I touched stuff. It's just circumstantial.” She glared at Jodie. “I watch CSI and know it's just circumstantial."
Drummond had to grin at her. “You did it?"
Maria blinked twice and sat up a little straighter. “Didn't think this pudgy girl had it in her?"
Jodie was mixing the coffees.
"I'll tell you later.” Her voice lower now.
Drummond leaned closer. “No, you have to tell me. I've a newfound respect for you."
"So you can testify against me."
Drummond showed her his cuffs. He could see Maria's mind working behind her eyes as she looked at Jodie, then back at him. She leaned closer to him and said, “Hal wouldn't play along. Was gonna turn me in. I was examining the Japanese knife and then next thing.” She nodded to punctuate her point. “I stuck him good. Damn knife wouldn't come out. It was so quick."
Jodie started their way with three mugs.
Maria added in an excited whisper, “It was exhilarating!"
Jodie put a mug in front of Maria, then moved around to hand one to Drummond as she uncuffed him. Maria stopped her mug halfway to her lips. Drummond stood and pulled a mini-recorder from his front coat pocket and handed it to Jodie.
"Said she stuck him good. Damn knife couldn't come out and it was exhilarating!"
Maria dropped her mug and the coffee added to the stains already on the floor.
"You cheated!” Maria shrieked.
"Tell it to the judge."
* * * *
It was over a glass of sparkling Italian wine, a neat glass of Bolla Spumante, later in Carmen's Bistro just up Royal Street from the scene of the crime that Jodie couldn't stop laughing.
"What?” Drummond asked between sips of Loire Valley Cabernet Sauvignon. He had to ask three times before she got the laughter under control.
"My partner,” she said, taking in a deep breath. “Arrested the wrong man. Again."
"I thought you were happy to just be here with me,” he said.
She took a sip of Spumante and said, “As Louis told Rick in Casablanca, this could be the start of a beautiful relationship."
Drummond gave her that warm, sexy smile again. “Yeah? I just think you enjoy handcuffing me."
Copyright © 2009 O'neil De Noux and Kent Westmoreland
[Back to Table of Contents]
Department: THE MYSTERIOUS CIPHER by Willie Rose
Each letter consistently represents another. The quotation is from a short mystery story. Arranging the answer letters in alphabetical order gives a clue to the title of the story.
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—LCHMLCO OFDCTHT
CIPHER: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
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Department: BOOKED & PRINTED by Robert C. Hahn
The short, unhappy life of Edgar Allan Poe began two hundred years ago on January 19, 1809. It lasted a mere forty years, but his genius spawned the detective story, inspired horror writers, strongly influenced European poets, and affected the course of science fiction.
Poe's legacy is being celebrated on the bicentennial of his birth with two anthologies presented by the Mystery Writers of America, which named its highest honor after him: the Edgar Award. Michael Connelly has edited In the Shadow of the Master: Classic Tales by Edgar Allan Poe; Stuart M. Kam
insky has edited On a Raven's Wing: New Tales in Honor of Edgar Allan Poe, with twenty original stories. Both MWA volumes include very brief biographical sketches of Poe, but for those seeking more detailed information it would be hard to beat Peter Ackroyd's (Thames: The Biography) concise volume, Poe: A Life Cut Short (Doubleday, $21.95).
Ackroyd's assessment provides facts, analysis, and a minimum of speculation. “His fate was heavy, his life all but insupportable,” Ackroyd notes, and that conclusion is borne out by the details that emerge from Poe's own letters and from contemporary accounts of him.
Poe's father deserted the family sometime in early 1811, and his mother's death near the end of that year made him an orphan. Edgar Poe was taken into the family of John and Frances (Fanny) Allan and in 1812 was christ-ened Edgar Allan Poe. Indeed, Ackroyd attributes Poe's many unhappy relationships with women to these early tragic beginnings; he writes, “Poe possessed an unerring ability to choose frail, or in some way damaged, women, thus revisiting the experience of his fading mother."
The book also charts Poe's many failed ventures: his brief stint at the University of Virginia, his enlistment in the Army, his subsequent appointment to West Point, and his eventual court martial and expulsion. His peripatetic wanderings took him up and down the Atlantic seacoast—Boston, New York, Richmond, Baltimore, Philadelphia.
But mostly Ackroyd covers Poe's attempts to write and publish, to secure his place in the literary landscape of the United States. Poe also was a prolific critic and for a time a magazine editor (Graham's Magazine), and his body of work inspired a diverse group of writers such as Charles Baudilaire, Jules Verne, and James Joyce. The many reasons for Poe's failures and limited successes included his volatile temper, his drinking and gambling, and a life seemingly always on the verge of poverty. Ackroyd states, “It has been estimated that the total income from all of his books, over a period of twenty years, was approximately three hundred dollars."
* * * *
Poe's influence continues to resonate strongly with contemporary authors and Michael Connelly's volume, In the Shadow of the Master: Classic Tales by Edgar Allan Poe (Morrow, $24.95), drives that home in significant ways. Interspersed between the master's masterpieces, twenty contemporary mystery authors offer essays or appreciations of Poe's genius and influence.
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