Murder in the Irish Channel (Chanse MacLeod Mysteries)

by Herren, Greg

  “I can take care of myself,” she replied, but she gave me a smile and touched my hand to show she was grateful for my concern. “I’m pretty good with the self-defense, you know. And you know the club’s too loud—the music and people talking and all that crap. He wasn’t going to tell me anything useful there in the club, not with his bodyguards and that city council dude sitting there.”

  “Still, don’t take chances like that. I don’t want to have to explain to Jephtha—”

  “It’s so cute that you worry.” She touched my hand again. “But I was working at the Catbox Club before we met, Chanse, and I know how to take care of myself. I’m not crazy, all evidence to the contrary. I don’t ever let myself get into situations I can’t get myself out of.”

  I started to lecture her, but bit my tongue and said nothing. Like everyone else her age, she believed she was invulnerable and nothing bad would ever happen to her.

  I just hoped that when something bad did happen to her, I’d be around to help.

  Which is all anyone can do for someone else, anyway.

  “So, he waited for me until I was done working—and given how little his tips were, no one really cared that I took him out of there at midnight.” She smeared more cream cheese on the other half of her bagel. “It’s so weird—Merrily told me the city council guy is usually a big tipper, but whenever he comes in with Barras, it’s like little tips is catching, you know? And yeah, he can’t give anyone more than a five, right, but he swept me out of the Quarter in a limousine.” She rolled her eyes. “Like that’s supposed to impress me after I’ve watched him giving the other girls fives for two hours? All it did was show me what a cheap-ass he is. And of course, it’s not like I don’t know how much it costs to rent a limo—and it was definitely rented.” One of her brothers worked as a limo driver, for one of the largest limo agencies in the city. She and Jephtha could rent a limo for next to nothing anytime they wanted. “But, of course, I acted like I’d never been in one before, and oohed and aahed appropriately, when it was called for, you know, and you should have seen him preen!” She made a gagging noise. “He’s awful damned proud of himself. But, I have to say, the penthouse at Poydras Tower is pretty fucking impressive.”

  I made a face at her. “I’m still not happy about you going over there.”

  She patted my hand. “Don’t go all knight-in-shining-armor on me, Chanse. I can take care of myself—and I had my gun in my purse.”

  “Yeah, but what if he and his bodyguards decided to pull a gang-rape on you? What if that’s the kind of kinky shit he was into?”

  Her smile faded. “Oh.”

  “Just don’t do that again, okay?”

  She nodded, obviously rattled. “Well, his living room is one entire end of the apartment, with the most amazing view of the city—when the curtains are open there’s this panoramic view, Chanse. It took my breath away. The city is so beautiful at night with the lights and all.” Her eyes took on a dreamy look for moment before she continued, “But he was a perfect gentleman—even after I told him the real reason I was there.”

  “He took it well?”

  “He really did only want companionship—‘a pretty young woman to talk to,’ were his exact words. We drank champagne—I just sipped, he drank a lot—and talked. And once I showed him my badge, he was really amused—and was open to talking.” She shrugged. “Whether he was telling the truth or not, I don’t know. But he says the check was a finder’s fee, for getting Jonny to sign with his MMA promotion. Jonny’s got a pretty good deal there. Barras Fight Corporation is going to pay his gym fees and his trainers, and he gets to keep all the money he earns from fights or any endorsement deals he might get. Some supplement company is already interested in signing him as spokesman, and so is a workout apparel company.”

  “But Jonny’s just a nobody. And what does Barras get out of it?”

  “Ah, there’s the rub, you see.” Her eyes glinted. “The purse—that’s what they call the money you win in a fight—isn’t very much in MMA, but that can change at any time. The fighter makes most of his money by being sponsored by someone like Barras, and by getting endorsement deals. Barras makes his money from ticket sales and selling the TV rights. Barras thinks Jonny has the ability to be a champion, and not just in the cage. He’s apparently really photogenic, and has a very real, likable charisma that comes across on film.”

  I shook my head. “Barras is a billionaire. I don’t see how this could possibly make enough money to make it worth his while to be involved.”

  “Oh, Chanse.” She started laughing, to the point where she finally got hiccups. She took a drink of water, and wiped at her eyes. “Barras isn’t just all about money—you said so yourself. Barras is also about his ego—he likes seeing his face in the papers and getting on TV.” She leaned forward. “He wants to make this MMA stuff as big as boxing—and go down in sports history as the man who made MMA a big-time sport. Part of his legacy, like Poydras Tower, the casinos, and all the buildings and deals he’s done—he wants to be remembered. Besides, all the MMA fights are held in casinos—which brings people in to gamble—and that’s where the real money is.”

  “So, the check had nothing to do with the church? Or the Cypress Gardens lawsuit?”

  “He claims he’s not interested in buying St. Anselm’s—that’s just an Internet rumor. And he said the lawsuit doesn’t involve him—he did buy Cypress Gardens, but the suit is between Marino and the insurance company.” She shook her head. “I’m with you, though, Chanse. I don’t like the coincidences. Everywhere we turn with Mona, it seems, there’s Morgan Barras. But he says he only knows her through Jonny.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “I’m not a human lie detector, but he did seem genuinely surprised when I brought up St. Anselm’s and Cypress Gardens.” She reached into her purse and handed me a business card. “He said that if either of us had any further questions, he’d be more than happy to talk to either one of us. I gave him one of yours—he asked. Said he liked to be prepared, in case he ever need a private eye.”

  I turned his card over in my fingers. It was thick, a rich cream vellum, with embossed gold lettering. It simply read Morgan Barras with a phone number underneath.

  “That’s his personal cell number.”

  I slid it into my wallet. “Nice work.”

  “All right, then. I’m going to go see if I can connect him with Global Insurance, and see what I can dig up on Robby. Is there anything else you want me to do?” She closed her purse and slid it over her shoulder.

  I thought for a minute. “No, not right now. I’ll talk to Celia O’Neill, see what she knows about what was going on with Robby.”

  “So any thoughts on what Robby’s money problems were?”

  “Hard to say.” I shook my head. “But it’ll be interesting to see what we can dig up.”

  She stood up. “Jephtha is still watching Mona’s credit cards. He’s still running the financials on Robby O’Neill—but if he borrowed money from the wrong people, it’s not going to show on his credit report.”

  “I’m aware.”

  She smiled and walked out of the coffee shop. I watched her get into the battered Oldsmobile and drive away.

  I glanced at my watch. My next appointment wasn’t going to show up for another ten minutes or so. I took a sip of my coffee and started flipping through my notebook, going over everything in my head yet again.

  Something definitely stank here—there were way too many coincidences for my liking.

  I looked up as the front door opened, and I smiled.

  Father Dan Marshall waved at me with a grin and walked over to the counter, where he ordered something from the hipster at the counter.

  No one looking at him would ever assume he was a priest. A few inches over six foot, he had thick white blond hair that he was letting grow long, so that it brushed his shoulders. He was fair-skinned, but was one of the Nordic types whose skin turned golden when tanned—and Father Dan w
as always tanned. He was striking, rather than handsome. He had a long, narrow face and even, perfectly white teeth. His deep blue eyes were a little too small for his face and placed a little too close together for him to be considered handsome, but he definitely stood out in a crowd. There was something about him, something indefinable that just caught people’s attention. He didn’t seem to be aware of the affect he had on people.

  He carried his coffee over to the condiment stand, and I watched as he shook out a pack of Sweet’n Low and dumped it in his coffee. He was definitely not dressed particularly priestly today. His red tank top stretched tightly across his muscular chest, and the straps exposed his defined, thickly muscled arms. He was wearing khaki clamdigger shorts that hung loosely from his hips but clung tightly to his round, hard ass—he had one of the best asses in New Orleans. His flip-flops slapped against the floor as he walked over to my table. He flashed me a dazzling smile as he sat down in the chair Abby had abandoned. “Good to see you, Chanse. What’s going on? What can I help you with?” He raised his blond eyebrows. “I feel so cloak-and-dagger, helping out with an investigation.”

  Father Dan and I had originally met at a fund-raiser for the NO / AIDS Task Force. He hadn’t been in his collar that night, either, and I’d actually tried to pick him up. I was horrified to find out he was a priest—I’d seen him around in gay bars before, and walking around shirtless during Southern Decadence, showing off his magnificent chest and ripped abdominal muscles—but once that initial awkwardness passed, I’d enjoyed his company. He had a great personality, a wicked sense of humor, and I appreciated the fact that he ministered to the LGBT community. The archdiocese knew what he was doing, of course, but as long as he flew under the radar and didn’t bring any unwanted—or embarrassing—attention to the archdiocese, they were okay with it. As he always said, “In a city with this many Catholics, there are bound to be a large number of gays and lesbians who are falling away from the church because of the Vatican’s stance on sexuality. But just because you’re gay doesn’t mean God doesn’t love you, and I like to think that in my little way I am keeping people’s faith alive. And what more can a priest ask for in his life?” His little ministry of Catholic queers was called St. Sebastian’s, and they held Mass in an abandoned Catholic church in the Bywater.

  “I need to ask you a few things.” I sighed. “I’m sorry, but the case I’m working on might involve the archdiocese, even if only peripherally, Dan. Abby has a contact inside the archdiocese, and she’s already talked to him, but I’m hoping you might be able to help me.”

  “That doesn’t sound very promising.” Dan frowned. “What exactly are you investigating? What kind of help are you looking for?”

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t want to get you into trouble. So—”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about that, Chanse. I won’t do anything that would get me in trouble, no offense.” He laughed and took another sip of coffee. “St. Sebastian’s is too important to me, and I’m not doing anything that could potentially jeopardize my ministry. I can’t do that to my parishioners. If it was just me—” His tanned shoulders raised a bit. “It would be one thing. But it’s not just me.”

  “Understood.” I smiled at him and filled him in on Mona O’Neill’s disappearance.

  When I finished, his eyebrows knit together. “That’s terrible. I don’t know Mona well, but I’ve met her a few times.” He shook his head. “She’s a good woman—maybe a little misguided when it comes to the situation with St. Anselm’s, but her faith is strong.” He frowned. “I don’t see how I can help you. I’m not involved in those decisions—I am rarely at the archdiocese offices, and I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Who was the parish priest at St. Anselm’s? They don’t have services there anymore, do they?”

  “Well, Tom Shannon was, but since the archbishop shut it down, he’s been moved.” He scratched his head. “I think he was moved over to either Gulfport, or was it Mobile? I can find out—that’s easy enough to do. He was really close to Alex Perrilloux at Good Shepherd. Alex was pretty upset about Tom moving away.” His right eye closed in a wink. “Really close, if you catch my drift.”

  “They were a couple?” That was a surprise.

  “I didn’t say that—I said they were close.” Dan laughed. “Read into that what you will. Remember, the church doesn’t frown on love—but she does demand celibacy from her priests.”

  “What do you think about the closings?” I watched his face.

  “Me?” He shrugged. “It makes sense to me, but it’s not my parish, either. As you can imagine, it’s not like young men are breaking down our doors to get into the priesthood. When older priests die or retire, there aren’t young ones to replace them anymore, not like there used to be. Young people just aren’t that interested in marrying themselves to God anymore. It wasn’t really about money, you know—it was about the availability of priests. They needed Tom in Mobile—I’m pretty sure it was Mobile—and they didn’t have anyone to replace him at St. Anselm’s. Tom was already doing double duty at Our Lady of Prompt Succor—so the archbishop decided to merge those two parishes into others. Yes, it also meant a cost reduction, but I really do believe it was all about lack of personnel, like Archbishop Pugh said. I know that’s not a popular position to hold, but Archbishop Pugh isn’t the monster everyone makes him out to be.” He spread his hands. “He knows all about St. Sebastian’s, for example, and he supports me completely.” He winked. “As long as I keep a low profile, of course. The pasting he’s taking in the local media is kind of unfair. But he’s an outsider—if he’d grown up in Holy Cross or anywhere else in New Orleans, for that matter, none of this would even be an issue.”

  “New Orleans doesn’t warm quickly to outsiders.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m sure Archbishop Pugh was caught off guard by all of this.” He grinned at me. “The church expects—no, demands—obedience. I’m surprised he hasn’t threatened to excommunicate the protesters.”

  “Excommunicate?” I stared at him. “Do they still do that?”

  He laughed. “Yes, they do. And he would be well within his rights to excommunicate them, for defying him as head of the church in New Orleans. So, the next time you hear someone bashing him as a heartless bastard who doesn’t care about his parish, remember that, okay?”

  “So, there’s no priest gossip about anything unusual going on at St. Anselm’s? I’ve heard rumors that Pugh is looking to sell the property to a developer.”

  “Been frequenting the online message boards?” Dan laughed. “Don’t believe any of that crap, Chanse. There are no plans to demolish the building or sell the land. Pugh is looking into having the building declared a historic landmark. Have you been inside? It is a gorgeous building.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I can see why the parishioners are so dedicated to it.”

  “You know, I do have some ‘priestly gossip,’ as you call it, now that I think about it.” He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “That Save Our Churches group supposedly isn’t what it claims to be.”

  “Then what is it? This is the first time I’ve heard anything like that.”

  He gave me a strange look. “The story I heard is that Save Our Churches wasn’t founded by members of St. Anselm’s parish, or Our Lady of Prompt Succor’s—the founders weren’t even Catholic.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense, Dan.”

  “I’m just telling you what I heard.” He gave me an apologetic look. “You might want to check into the group. I don’t know why, or what their endgame would be. It’s just what I heard. Maybe if you talk to Tom Shannon, he might know something more about it—after all, it was his parish. And after all, this O’Neill woman who disappeared—”

  “Yeah?”

  “This Mona O’Neill woman, if she was supposedly the leader of the group, and she found out she was being manipulated in some way, and that the whole point of the group really had nothing to do with keeping th
e churches open…” He held up his hands. “I know what you’re going to say—what nefarious purpose would this group have? Why would they be trying to keep the churches open? I can’t help you there, because I have no idea. I don’t know if it makes any sense to me, I don’t know if it’s even true. But you said you wanted to hear anything, even if it was just gossip—and I’ve heard that from several people inside the church. I don’t know, Chanse, maybe they’re just looking for some kind of answers themselves, something to take the heat off the archbishop, who knows?” He shrugged again. “You see why I don’t listen to gossip? There’ve been a lot of rumors, on both sides, about St. Anselm’s. And the truth is buried somewhere in there, but who knows what’s true and what isn’t anymore?”

  I hadn’t thought about looking into Save Our Churches, and berated myself for not thinking of it.

  Even if there was nothing there, I should have covered all of my bases.

  “But it can’t hurt to find out if someone might have a reason for wanting to cause trouble for the archdiocese—or just the archbishop himself.” He glanced at his watch. “All right, I’ve got to run.” He grasped my forearm. “It’s good to see you, Chanse. Maybe I can have you and Rory over for dinner sometime soon?”

  “That would be great.” I smiled at him as he stood up.

  “I’ll call you.” He smiled and walked out of the coffee shop.

  I watched him go, then whipped out my cell phone. I sent Abby a quick text: Add Save Our Churches to your to-do list. Find out everything you can about them.

  Two seconds later her response came: Will do!

  I put my phone away and walked out of the coffee shop into the bright morning sunlight.

  Chapter Ten

  I spent the rest of the morning trying to track down Tom Shannon. A quick web search turned him up in Biloxi, as Dan had said, but I wasn’t able to reach him. I left messages for him at several different numbers and tried to get a hold of Celia O’Neill. Again, all I got was the voicemail at Mona’s house, so I left a detailed message. I also left one with Jonny, asking him to have Celia give me a call. I puttered around, finished some paperwork and paid some bills—and looked up Luke Marino’s address online.