by Polly Iyer
Hodge predicted trouble when Chenault told him what happened. There were only two reasons for Moran to send the photo to himself. One, he planned to send it to the authorities after Chenault left; or two, he blind-copied the email to someone else because he feared for his life and wanted to make sure someone would look into his death. The latter would lead back to Chenault and Alba.
Getting his hands on Moran’s phone still wouldn’t solve the problem. With Moran’s skills, his email would have ironclad protection. Even if Hodge hacked into the dead man’s account, he couldn’t stop whoever Moran sent the photo to from opening his email.
Hodge expected a detective to follow up on the smashed hard drive, but he didn’t expect Lieutenant Lucier. He remembered seeing Lucier and his girlfriend all over the media going into Moran’s house. The psychic gave him the willies.
After they exchanged greetings, Lucier pointed and said, “That Moran’s hard drive?”
“Yup. Normally, I’d work on a clone, but that’s not possible this time.”
“Could you recover anything?”
“Nada. The hard drive’s completely destroyed. Sorry, Lieutenant.”
“Damn,” Lucier said. “When was the last time you worked with Moran?”
“About a week ago. The department only called him in when there was something either out of our expertise or something outside department parameters. I’m not a hacker ― not that Keys was, mind you ― but he had specialties I don’t.”
“The last time he was here, did he work on anything that might have caused someone to take his life?”
“Moran sat in another office. A closed one. His work came from the higher-ups, and he was as tight-lipped as they come. I’m sorry someone killed him, but I don’t know anything about his murder.”
“What about friends? Lovers?”
“You’re kidding, right? Do you think I’d actually question him about his personal life? I knew he was gay, but what someone does in private is none of my business.”
“Just thought I’d check. Thanks for your time.”
“Not a problem.”
Lucier patted him on the shoulder and left. Hodge heard him talk to the other two techs before he left. They knew less than Hodge.
Much less.
He pulled a phone from his satchel, punched one number. Chenault answered on the first ring. “Lucier was here.”
“Lucier?”
“Yeah. I just finished degaussing the smashed hard drive when he came in.”
“Jesus. Of all people. He’s like a hound dog on a blood scent. Did you find anything on the hard drive?”
“If there was, it’s not there now. I’m turning it over to property.”
“One problem down.”
“You mean the forwarded email?”
Dead air lasted an uncomfortably long time. “Yeah.”
“I need Moran’s phone and yours too. Now. If by some miracle I can crack his email, I’ll know if he forwarded it to anyone. If he did, and I can hack that person’s email, I can delete it. Nothing I can do if it’s been opened.”
“That’s a lot of ifs.”
“Yup.”
“Which means whoever got the email will see it was forwarded from my phone and who sent it to me.”
“That is correct. Now quit yakking and bring the phones to my apartment. I’ll say I’m sick. I can’t work on them here.”
After breaking the connection, Hodge checked the hard drive into property, played sick with his boss, and drove home. Chenault was waiting when he got there with the two phones in a paper bag.
Hodge took the bag. “You deleted the photo off your phone, right?”
“I’m not stupid.”
“Did you delete it off your computer?”
“No, but I ―”
“The email might still open if you haven’t refreshed. So make sure you do it.”
“Okay, okay, but no one sees my email but me.”
“Do it.” Hodge took the two phones out of the paper bag. “Alba’s a loose cannon. What the hell was he thinking, sending that photo to your main phone?”
“He wasn’t thinking.”
“Have you told the boss?”
“No, and don’t you. You’re the only one who knows where I was when this happened. I want to keep it that way. Moran’s death has nothing to do with me, understand? I’ll talk to Alba.”
“If he forwarded the photograph from your phone, it has everything to do with you. The email puts you at Moran’s house the night he was killed.”
Chenault ran his fingers through his hair. “If my sex life is outed, I’ll say I dropped the phone when I took Moran home. We had a drink, and I left. Then you guys can alibi me for later.”
“Alba’s gotta go. Lucier puts the screws to him, and he’ll fold like an accordion.”
“I said I’ll take care of Alba, but I don’t like killing one of our own, even if he is dumbshit stupid.”
“He’ll send us all to death row. Do what has to be done. We’ll cover for you.”
“Shit.”
“And, Denny, tell the boss. Better to be up front than do something behind his back.”
Chenault sighed. “Okay, but Lucier will be all over this one.”
“It’s either Alba or all of us.”
“Find out who Moran sent that picture to.”
“I’ll do my best, but I can’t stop whoever received the email from opening it. I’ll be over to your place after your shift to delete the photo permanently from your computer. Be home. Now I’ve got work to do. Track down Alba and arrange a meeting, then call me. I’ll help you get rid of the body.”
Chenault exhaled a long breath. “Okay,” he said and took off.
With both Alba and Chenault’s names as senders, it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the rest, even without a body. Goddamn Alba. Goddamn Chenault.
Hodge pulled out his burner phone.
Chapter Six
The Chain Gang
Diana plopped onto the sofa when she got home. Seeing Keys dead had taken too much out of her, and the image of the dead guy with the silver eyes stripped whatever energy remained. She wanted to go back to bed and pull the covers over her head, and that’s exactly what she planned to do.
The one load of laundry she’d started before Lucier called sat wet in the washing machine. There were things she needed to do, and she didn’t feel like doing any of them. She hadn’t spoken to her parents in a week, hadn’t emailed them either. The last time she checked, a few emails awaited, but she hadn’t been in a mind to tackle them, especially the one from her father. If she read it, she’d have to call, and talking to Galen, who still tried to lure her back into performing, would drain her of any energy she had left. Not to mention his disdain for her “nigra” boyfriend. Not this afternoon, she decided. Maybe later.
Her head pounded. She put the wash in the dryer, tossed in a fabric softener sheet, downed a couple of aspirin, and crawled into bed.
* * * * *
On the way back to his office, Lucier thought about Moran’s last job for the department. The leaks involved every district, and Moran obviously hadn’t found the source, or it wouldn’t still be a priority. Maybe the leaker was afraid Moran was getting close. Was that enough to murder someone? Ha! Murders had been committed for far less. Right now, Lucier bet Moran’s death resulted from a lover’s quarrel.
He parked his car and headed inside, passing Halloran, Cash, and Beecher in the squad room on the way to his office. “Find anything out in Moran’s neighborhood, Mickey?”
“His neighbors liked Moran and were pretty shook up. He apparently had a lot of friends over on the nights he didn’t work at Miss Kitty’s. One neighbor played cards with them. He didn’t think they were boyfriends, just card-playing buddies. Also nice guys, he said. I got what he could remember of their names. Nothing I recognized, but we’ll check them out. No one saw him with anyone in particular. They did see him with a woman occasionally. Black, attracti
ve. Beecher can tell you more.”
“Sam?”
“The woman works at Kitty’s. Someone said Moran teetered between two worlds. Straight and gay. One of his buddies said he was bisexual. But you know what they say: if you boink your own sex, you’re gay, no matter you boink the opposite sex. Anyway, he favored guys. That’s what his friend said.”
Leave it to Beecher to be Beecher. “Any known lovers?” Lucier asked.
“Not openly. He wasn’t in the closet, but he wasn’t out there either, except in his act.”
“Keep digging, and find out who the woman from Kitty’s is.”
Willy Cash looked like he was about to jump out of his skin.
“What’cha got on our tattooed victim, Willy?”
“Thought you’d never ask. Mendez said the chain and padlock tattoo belongs to a new gang called, are you ready? The Chain Gang. You had to do time to belong, even if it was juvie. The minute he told me, I remembered one of the gang members walked a couple of years ago on a rape charge because the judge ruled it was the eleven-year-old girl’s fault for enticing him.”
“Asshole judge,” Beecher mumbled. “Protests outside the courthouse went on for days. Considered going there myself, then changed my mind.”
“I remember,” Lucier said. “Judge should’ve been removed from the bench. Got a picture of the gangbanger?”
“Yup, and you’re going to like it.” Cash handed a mug shot to Lucier. “What do you think?”
Lucier studied the picture. “Multiracial, mid-twenties, with eyes that glow from the photo. Can’t see his arm, but the tattoo’s listed in his description. Fits Diana’s description exactly. If he’s the same guy who raped the girl, someone did the city a favor.”
“He’s the guy, all right,” Cash said. “You think this is a vigilante killing?”
“No telling. Got an address?”
“Yup. Want me to track him down?”
“Wait until Diana gets here to confirm he’s the same guy.”
“Right,” Cash said.
He went into his office and called Diana. Her groggy voice set him on alert. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”
“Taking a nap.”
“Sorry I woke you, but I think Cash found your victim. Looks exactly how you described him, tattoo and all. You up for coming to the station?”
“Give me an hour. I’m a mess.”
“Take your time. I still have work to do. Oh, and dress for an evening out. After you check out the photo, we’ll hit Kitty’s Kabaret for a drink and some music, then have dinner.”
“And a little snooping?”
“What do you think?”
Chapter Seven
The Famous Kid Psychic
“Wow, Ms. Racine, you’re da bomb,” Willy Cash said when Diana entered the office. “You performing somewhere tonight?”
Diana laughed. “No, Willy, no more performing for me. After I check the picture you found, the lieutenant is taking me out for a little fun and then to dinner after.”
“He better not let you out of his sight or someone might snatch you away.”
She remembered the time someone did snatch her. Cash’s face flushed the color of watermelon. He remembered too.
“Um, I mean ―”
“I know what you mean. Don’t worry, I won’t let your boss out of my sight.”
Lucier joined them. “What’s this?”
“Nothing. Your detective was telling me I looked smashing and that you were a lucky guy.” She winked at Cash, whose cheeks had faded to pale pink.
“Right you are, Willy.” Lucier took Diana by the arm. “Come in the office.”
“Yes, lord and master.”
Lucier snorted. Beecher laughed out loud as he and Cash followed them in.
Slipping the photo from a folder, Lucier said, “Is this the guy?”
The man in the mug shot stared at her with eyes the color of silver. She lowered herself into the chair, weakened by the same static face of the dead man in her vision. “Yes, without the bullet hole in his forehead.”
“Mathieu Soulé. Twenty-three. Spent time in juvie for breaking and entering. He was accused of approaching a teenager in a lewd manner, but she wouldn’t press charges. She should have, because two years ago he was arrested for raping an eleven-year-old girl. A rape kit backed up her story, but the judge threw out the case, saying she asked for it because of what she was wearing.”
Diana swiveled to search Lucier’s face. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I wish I were.”
“My God. What kind of judge ―”
“A very bad one,” Beecher said.
“Should’ve bumped off the judge too,” Diana muttered.
Lucier narrowed his eyes. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Come on. Bet you thought the same thing.”
Lucier’s cheeks flushed.
“I knew it. You did.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Cash said, “because I followed up on this, and shortly after the trial, the judge disappeared. No one’s heard from him since.”
“Why didn’t I remember that?”
“I missed it too, Ernie,” Beecher said.
“Sounds like someone took them both out as a kind of payback,” Cash said, “and with a great deal of patience. Two years worth. Soulé for the rape and the judge for letting him off.”
“Backlash,” Beecher said. “They dealt with the judge right away. Waited for the kid.”
“There are consequences for one’s actions,” Lucier said.
“Or inactions.” Diana saw the men in the room staring at her. “Well, the judge did nothing. That’s inaction in my book.”
“Theories abound,” Cash said, “like the judge disappeared because his pending divorce would have cost him a fortune, but his bank account hasn’t been touched. Wife got everything. The DA couldn’t pin anything on her though.”
“What about the girl’s family?” Beecher asked.
“Dunno,” Cash said.
“If it weren’t for the judge disappearing, it could be gang-related. But the avenger, righting a miscarriage of justice, seems more plausible by the minute. If so, he’s committed murder.”
“How’s Soulé figure with Chenault?” Cash asked.
“Dunno, but there’s a connection somewhere. Cash, you and Halloran follow up on Soulé in the morning. Remember, Diana is the only one who’s seen him dead. We’ve no body, and no one’s reported him missing, so tread lightly. Track down gang members. One of them might know something. Beecher, go to the girl’s house to see if anyone had a big enough grudge and the balls to kill Soulé. Cross your fingers we get lucky.”
“Right, boss,” Cash said. “First thing tomorrow. Until then, you guys enjoy yourselves.”
“We will, thanks.”
“Just because you can’t find the body doesn’t mean there isn’t one,” Diana said as they left the building. “If I saw what I saw, and I did, wouldn’t his corpse have turned up by now? And how was Keys involved?”
“He might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And remember, if the judge is dead, his body is missing too. So far, my love, we have more questions than answers.”
“What if you get something of Soulé’s and let me ―”
“Not until I get a better handle on what we’ve got here.”
“Come on, Ernie. Finding the lost and missing is what made me the famous kid psychic.”
Lucier stared at her for a long time. “I’ll think about it.”
“What’s to think? You get something of Soulé’s; I see if it tells me anything. What could be simpler?”
“Not simpler. More complicated. I don’t want to put you in the crosshairs.”
“Then we keep my part a secret. Don’t even tell your team.”
“Can’t do that. I’ll have to get permission from his mother, the only person listed as family, since there’s no evidence of a crime.”
“Soulé’s body is evidenc
e. He’s dead. I know he’s dead.”
As they walked toward their destination in the French Quarter, Lucier put his phone on speaker and dialed. “Sam, when you’re out tomorrow, track down Soulé’s mother and get her permission to obtain an article of clothing from her son’s room.”
“Woo-hoo. Diana’s gonna ―”
“And keep this quiet. I don’t want the whole district to know what we’re doing. I’ll tell the rest of the team, but that’s all. I won’t even tell the captain right now. Diana’s cleared for consulting, and that’s what she’s going to do. Consult. Her way.”
“No one will find out from me,” Beecher said and clicked off.
“You can’t investigate a death without a body,” Diana said.
“I know, but I hate to use you.”
She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, hands on her hips, and faced him. “You’re not using me. Believe me, if I didn’t want to do this, I wouldn’t have said anything.”
“Okay. First, let’s see if Soulé’s mother gives Sam something for you to work with tomorrow morning. But right now, we’re going to Kitty’s Kabaret for drinks and information. At eight, we have a reservation at The French Table.”
“Oh, classy tonight, huh, Lieutenant?”
“Classy dinner with a classy lady.”
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. “You really are coming along nicely.”
Chapter Eight
Kitty’s Kabaret
Walking from the police district in the French Quarter, Lucier and Diana sauntered past a dozen fun shops and eateries almost to the end of Pirates Alley and the entrance to Kitty’s Kabaret. A gorgeous dark-skinned woman with a body to die for greeted them at the door. Diana felt like a child next to the statuesque beauty.
“Lieutenant, I rather expected you sometime today. You’re looking mighty spiffy, for a cop.”
“Nice to see you too, Miss Kitty. Love the dress.”
“This old thing? If you like it, I wore it just for you.” She turned to Diana. “And you must be Diana Racine. My little club is honored.”