But Jesse didn’t think that was the case. Given the fact that Gannon had been wearing Jesse’s shirt, had a baggie of what appeared to be the Russian’s LSD in his pocket, subterfuge didn’t seem to be the name of the game.
He stood there for several moments and then on a hunch, went into the bathroom. He partially closed the door, found a robe hanging from a hook on the back of the door.
And noted the sparkly red hanger.
His professional satisfaction over the fact that his hunch had been correct was overshadowed by a personal crisis. But after the barest hesitation, he yanked his phone from his pocket.
Brian answered on the second ring.
“I’m about to call Detective Portman,” Jesse said, “but I wanted to fill you in first. I stopped by to talk to Jillian this morning.”
There was a significant pause. “And?”
“And I told her the truth. As much as I could anyway.”
He could practically hear Brian rubbing his head. “She’s gonna kill me. And then Katie will grill my liver and serve it with a nice chianti.”
“For doing everything you could to protect them? I don’t think so. And besides, I took most of the heat.” As he should. Brian wasn’t the one who’d kissed a person of interest in an ongoing investigation.
But Brian didn’t need to know about that.
“That’s not why I called though.”
“Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like this?”
“Because you’re not. You know how we all looked yesterday to try to find Gannon’s Christmas decorations?” Which the man apparently didn’t actually have. Axelrod said his partner had talked about buying one of those little artificial trees, fully decorated, and calling it a day. “Well I think I know where the string of lights came from.”
“Don’t say it. Please don’t say you think they came from Katie’s house.”
“Sorry, man,” Jesse said, meaning it. “But I’m in Gannon’s bathroom staring at the sparkly red hanger labeled Christmas Lights right now.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I feel like Cindy Lou Who,” Katie said.
Shivering against the chilly air, Jillian slid a hand into Katie’s, too upset to formulate a verbal response. They sat on the bench in the back courtyard, waiting for members of the SCMPD to finish poking around in the basement. The cops had also hauled away several of their Christmas decorations, leading to Katie’s comment.
“This is bullshit,” Davis said from beside the bench, where he stood with arms tightly crossed and his expression radiating hostility. “I don’t know what makes them think they can just take your stuff.”
“A warrant,” Katie replied sourly. “But at least it was very specific as to the areas of the house they could search and what they could remove as possible evidence. Brian got us that much.”
“I’m sorry,” Jillian said quietly, and had Katie turning toward her.
“For what?”
“This is the second time that we’ve had our home invaded by the police. And both times have been my fault.”
“How do you get that this is your fault?” Davis demanded.
“I pushed the issue with Charlotte and Mike,” she told him. “I made enemies of a number of the cops. This is connected to that, somehow. Detective Gannon was friends with Mike.” She glanced at Katie. “I asked Sam. He said he was pretty sure the two of them had been tight. Plus, I let Jesse – Agent Wellington – in today. He had a really weird look on his face when he spotted the tub of Christmas lights. I don’t know why they’re important, but they obviously are. And now the house is full of cops who are stealing our roast beast.”
Katie laughed, but quickly sobered. “They’re not stealing our roast beast. If they try removing anything from my kitchen, there will be hell to pay. And it’s not your fault.” She gave Jillian’s hand a squeeze. “You did what was right. What I wish I’d had the courage to do, honestly. But I didn’t want to get involved in Charlotte’s business. As far as letting Jesse in today, I have to think that whatever evidence they’re looking for here would have come to light eventually – no pun intended.” She paused, her expression softening. “And thank you for believing me when I told you I had no idea that he worked with Brian.”
“How long have I known you? You can’t keep a secret worth a damn. There’s no way you could have – or would have – lied to me about that.” Jillian sighed. “Plus, you’ve been so busy getting your restaurant up and running over the past couple years that you can’t be expected to know all of your brother’s colleagues.”
Katie’s face returned to mutinous lines. “I’m going to kill Brian.”
“No, don’t.” Jillian had had time to think about everything, and she did understand what a difficult position Brian must have been in. He had to have been worried for Katie – and her. She’d seen him only briefly when he’d shown up with the cops, and the look on his face spoke volumes. She’d known him long enough to recognize that he was miserable but resigned to his duty. “We can’t fault him for doing his job.”
“Oh, fine,” Katie said, sounding like a child who’d just been told they can’t eat a cookie because it will spoil their dinner. “Have it your way.”
Jillian was trying not to fault Jesse, but was having a more difficult time being magnanimous. The fact that he’d eaten her cookies, revealed that he’d been lying to her, talked about carrying her upstairs and ravishing her and then calmly walked out and filed – or whatever the right term was – for a warrant for the cops to search her house was a bitter pill to swallow.
She couldn’t deny the attraction, but she also couldn’t completely set aside the feeling of betrayal. Especially since he wasn’t even here to face her ire.
A movement to the side caught her eye, and Jillian glanced over and saw the plantation shutters in the kitchen window next door opening a little.
“Great,” she said, crossing her arms as she turned back around. “Mr. Pratt is over there spying on us again. Probably has the binoculars out so that he can delight in my downfall.”
“Old fart,” was Davis’s opinion. “He’s like a caricature in a bad play. Grumpy Old Man. He even wears a cardigan.”
“At least he doesn’t have a huge social circle like Mrs. Franklin,” Katie said. “I bet she’s burned through the data plan on her cell phone just this morning. We’ll be the talk of the Baptist Church bingo room. And don’t say you’re sorry again,” she snapped at Jillian. “It might bring people in to the restaurant to gawk. You know how southerners love their scandals. Hell, the story of that antiques dealer who killed his male prostitute lover created an entire cottage industry.”
Jillian kissed Katie on the cheek, because her friend always made her smile. “I hope they’re finished soon,” she said afterward. “I have to get ready for the wedding.”
“Shit, this nonsense makes me wish I had a cigarette,” Davis muttered.
“You quit,” Katie reminded him.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still crave them from time to time. Here comes Brian,” Davis said, nodding toward the back door, through which Brian was emerging.
“Good,” Katie mumbled. “Maybe I won’t kill him,” she continued “but I didn’t say anything about maiming him a little.”
THE bell over the door jangled when Jesse walked through. The shop was filled with – to his mind, at least – some really bizarre pieces of modern art that were nonetheless all the rage of a certain set in Savannah.
A certain very wealthy set, he amended, as he checked out the price tag on a painting that looked basically like a Twister mat stuck on the wall.
He didn’t get it, but then he’d never been particularly concerned with what Jack referred to as culture. From where Jesse stood, what a lot of people considered culture was a bunch of overpriced nonsense.
“Can I help you?”
Jesse turned, and the eager smile on the face of the clerk melted instantly into an expression of distress
.
“What are you doing here?” the outrageously blond, immaculately coifed, entirely effeminate man hissed.
“I’m not allowed to shop?”
He made a sound caught between panic and derision. “Your idea of great art generally involves canines and black velvet.”
“Now that’s not true. Even I know that black velvet is tacky. Oil on canvas is the only adequate medium to capture the brilliance that is dogs playing poker.”
“You…” Feathers ruffled, the smaller man started to opine, but then glanced quickly around. Luckily it was almost closing time and they were the only two in the gallery at the moment. Jesse’d waited until he’d seen the last patrons leave. “Won’t you please step into my office?”
Amused by the officiousness despite the fact that no one was around to hear it, Jesse smiled as he followed the other man toward a frosted glass door etched with something that resembled a child’s monochromatic crayon drawing.
“I’ll never understand how you managed to convince people to pay good money for this stuff, LeRoy.”
LeRoy – whose real name was Buster Leonard Royce, but he refused to answer to that – sniffed as he flicked a hand toward a chair that looked like a spiny sea urchin.
“Are these… melted plastic pipes?” Jesse asked. “Like, for plumbing?”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to sit, either. Some of us don’t care to have our rotos rootered.”
LeRoy stared at Jesse over the top of his bright green cat’s eye glasses, which Jesse knew were fashion choice rather than necessity. “You really haven’t evolved since adolescence, have you?”
“Just remember that I was the one who repeatedly saved your adolescent ass.”
“Fine, fine.” LeRoy sighed dramatically. “Sit there.” He pointed at a far more normal looking chair, albeit one that appeared constructed from matchsticks. Jesse sat, tentatively, not entirely convinced that it wasn’t another piece of “art” that would crumble into kindling under his weight.
It held, and he turned his attention to LeRoy, who pulled a bottle of fancy water from the mini-fridge under the bar. “Beverage? No? Well I hope you don’t mind if I have one.” He splashed some of the water into a glass, followed with a healthy shot of chilled vodka. “My nerves are positively shot.”
“Well, I did warn you that long-term psychedelic use could have that effect.”
LeRoy sat his glass down, very carefully. “Luckily I don’t indulge in that habit anymore.”
Jesse snorted, and carefully shifted his weight forward. “LeRoy, as I told you the time I caught you indulging in that habit, I don’t particularly care what you put in your own body. I might be a federal cop now, but low-hanging fruit like non-violent drug users are not worth my time. If your drug use causes you to bring harm to another person or their property, or to steal to feed your habit, then you and I will have a problem.”
“I would never harm anyone,” LeRoy insisted vehemently as he dropped into the pipe chair. “And I certainly don’t need to steal. As I told you before, most of the great artists throughout history have engaged in experimentation with altered states. Certain substances open the mind, blocking out all of the noise of society, allowing us to communicate freely with the universal flow of creativity.” He crossed his legs, showing off socks the same hue as his glasses. “They put us in touch with our muse.”
“Is your muse a big fan of Milton Bradley?”
“Excuse me?”
Jesse waved a hand to signify it wasn’t important. “LeRoy, I’m not here to bust your chops. I actually need a favor.”
Sensing a shift in the power dynamic, the other man sat up like a meerkat sniffing the air for the scent of a tasty bug. “Oh?”
“I’ve been straight with you, haven’t I?”
He sniffed again. “Disappointingly so at times.”
Jesse grinned. “I’m flattered, LeRoy, but I’m afraid that’s the way I’m wired. But back to my point. I haven’t lied to you. I’m not here on some secret mission to entrap you or to blackmail you now that you’ve made the big time on the local art circuit. And I’ll just say that I’m hurt that you even considered it.”
LeRoy looked shocked. “I didn’t –”
“Now, now. Let’s not let a little paranoia stand between us. We have history, you and I, based on the fact that you were an easy target for bullies in high school, and I don’t much like bullies.”
“And I appreciate all that you’ve done for me in the past. But I don’t –”
“What I need you to tell me,” Jesse said, talking right over him “is what you know about a drug that appears to be real popular right now. It usually comes on tabs with friendly looking little brown bears on them.”
LeRoy crossed his legs, looking guarded. “What about it?”
“The local narcs made a bust at a bar called The Shady Lady. The dealer went down but he refused to roll over on his supplier.” Probably because he would have ended up bleeding out from several holes in his person if he had. “Since then, the owners of The Shady Lady have become considerably more cautious. Not that drug deals aren’t still taking place on their property – the narcs are almost certain that they are – but the staff there seems to have developed radar where the cops are concerned. Either that or there’s a mole in the department, somebody’s palm being greased to look the other way. Regardless, the outcome is the same in that the trail to the supplier has dried up, so I have to approach this from another angle.”
He gave LeRoy a meaningful look, causing the other man to go a little pale. “You’re asking me to be an informant.”
Pausing, Jesse studied LeRoy’s face, now drained of color. “I’m not looking to make a bust,” he admitted. “All I need is information.”
“I can’t help you.”
“You know something.”
“I know I can’t help you. Can you imagine a man like me in a place like The Shady Lady? The very idea.” He laughed, though the sound was tinged with a note of hysteria.
“This isn’t a situation in which I’m asking you to wear a wire or testify in court. I’m not asking you to put yourself in a compromising position. Pretend we’re talking hypothetically.”
“Hypothetically speaking, if I wanted to purchase a psychedelic – and I’m not saying that I do – there are alternative, and more reputable, outlets than anyone associated with that establishment.”
“Word on the street is that the other more ‘reputable’ outlets have been run out of town. The brown bear has the market cornered on LSD, 25i, all the related derivatives. If you want a psychedelic, you get it from the Russian.”
“Really? Well that just proves how little I know regarding the subject. Now, if that’s all, it’s time for me to close up shop.” The other man rose.
“Sit down, LeRoy.”
“I’m not going to allow you to bully –”
“Sit. Down.”
LeRoy considered refusing – Jesse could see it in his eyes – but apparently he recognized that Jesse wasn’t playing. He lowered himself back into the chair, his wariness telegraphed by his stiff posture and rapid blinking.
“A cop is dead, LeRoy.”
“I don’t know anything about that. You can’t think that I –”
Jesse held up a hand. “I’m not accusing you of killing anyone. But I am telling you that the death of a police officer who was working an investigation related to this particular drug is going to bring the full attention of local law enforcement down on anyone known to be associated.”
“I don’t have any sort of criminal record.” LeRoy hesitated. “The only law enforcement officer who would associate me with drugs is you. And I’ve already told you that I don’t do that anymore.” He gestured around him, indicating the gallery. “I have too much at stake to risk indulging in illegal pastimes.”
Jesse studied his… well, he couldn’t exactly call LeRoy his friend. But he was someone for whom
Jesse’d always had a soft spot, and he’d hate to see him hurt. “I strongly suspect you’re lying to me, LeRoy.”
“Barring evidence to bear out those suspicions, I’m afraid you’ll have to take me at my word.”
“If you are lying to me, the police are the least of your worries.”
LeRoy’s lips formed an astonished pout. “Are you threatening me?”
“No, I’m just telling you plain. The people who manufacture this drug are extremely dangerous. That’s putting it lightly.”
“Well then.” LeRoy visibly swallowed. “How fortunate for me that I don’t have any cause for interaction with them.”
Recognizing the underlying apprehension – and the fact that he wasn’t going to get any more out of LeRoy at the moment – Jesse reluctantly stood.
“If you change your mind,” he told the other man “you have my number. Or you can find me at the marina. I’m staying on my boat temporarily.”
“How positively rugged. I’m all aflutter.”
Jesse smiled, but it faded quickly. “The bullies in the high school bathroom are nothing compared to this organization, LeRoy. And if you refuse to tell me anything, this time I won’t be around to help you.”
LeRoy’s lips tightened. “Have a nice evening, Jesse.”
Jesse walked out, more frustrated than ever. He felt sure that LeRoy not only still used drugs – and probably passed them out like candy at his numerous parties – but that he also had information. A name, a number. Something.
But something – or someone – had scared him enough that even his long-standing debt to Jesse couldn’t sway him. Jesse could apply more pressure if it came to that. But he didn’t want to go that route unless he had to. For one thing, LeRoy was right in that Jesse had no evidence. It had been years since he’d caught the man tripping on LSD. He also didn’t want to ruin LeRoy’s career, despite the fact that he didn’t understand it. And – more importantly – he didn’t want to endanger his life. At this point, he didn’t have a whole lot of faith in the effectiveness of protective custody for informants in this case.
The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set Page 15