by Don Bruns
‘Not necessarily.’ Levy turned from the phone photograph. ‘These are kids, Q. Young, screwed-up kids. You were one, I was one, and I venture to say that ninety percent of the people functioning today as adults were screwed-up kids.
‘What’s your point, Levy?’
‘Not necessarily a point. More like an observation.’
‘That would be?’
‘Here’s a guy who put some serious effort into exalting in his convictions. He wanted the world to realize that he’d put these juveniles behind bars. When I was a patrolman, I was judged by my collars, Q, but sometimes I wasn’t proud of them. Oftentimes they were folks who were flat-busted broke and just looking for their next meal. So I understand that not every kid who is busted is a hard-core criminal who should be displayed on some judge’s piano. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
He did. ‘Maybe he was proud of the fact that the kids would come out and go straight?’
Levy squared his jaw. ‘That doesn’t happen. You know it and I know it. They call these prisons correctional facilities but there’s no correction going on. Hell, more than fifty percent of the juveniles in jail right now are repeat offenders. They don’t go straight. It’s more like half of them go straight back to jail. The phrase “correctional facilities” is a joke.’
He was right. Short sentences, long sentences, it made no difference. The young people went back to the streets, to the drugs and to the same conditions that put them in prison in the first place.
‘Address books?’
Levy nodded. ‘We’re going through them.’
‘Other photos? Girlfriends? Anything else jump out at you?’
‘House was pretty much sterile. Except for those photographs. Mug shots, each one. Like a trophy shelf.’
‘The neighborhood?’
‘Yeah, we found a lady who pretty much stares out her window most of the day. Doesn’t watch TV, just watches the comings and goings of the neighbors. This house, as I said, it’s on a dead end street, and unsuspecting drivers sometimes wander down there and have to turn around and go back. Lerner was at the end, so his driveway was a turnaround spot for a lot of these people.’
‘And?’
‘She’s watching,’ he paused, ‘what she thinks is about six hours before we found the body, and she sees a black Cadillac Escalade pull into Lerner’s driveway.’
‘License?’
‘No.’
‘Description of the driver? Passenger?’
‘Maybe some guy talking to Lerner by his garage but she lost interest. Figured it was another driver who wants to turn around and leave.’
‘Still’ – Archer was searching for anything – ‘bring her in. Maybe she’ll remember something if we coax?’
‘All right, but I think she’s a bit of a flake.’
‘Invite her.’
‘I’ll do it, Archer.’
The officer walked away.
Archer pulled the calendar. He concentrated on the day before they’d found the body, the day of and the day after. Trace the steps that the man took the last forty-eight hours of his life. And keep asking why. Why did Lerner venerate his sentences with photos in his home? Why did a cream-colored Jag high-tail it out of the neighborhood when the driver saw detectives working the scene? Why did Solange Cordray receive a mystic message from the former head of Krewe Charbonerrie?
Too many whys, and until he answered them all, he was afraid this case was not going to be solved.
His cell phone buzzed and Archer answered.
‘Archer, there’s a press conference happening tomorrow morning.’
‘And?’
The sergeant continued. ‘The lieutenant, chief and mayor are all going to be there.’
‘And just what the hell are they going to say?’ Archer was bristling. The sarge was probably just down the hall, but he couldn’t be bothered to check and see if Archer was in the building.
‘They’re going to say they are very close to charging someone with the murder.’
‘We need a little more time. They can’t make this shit up.’
‘Don’t have much time, Q. This was a judge. It’s like a cop. Everything else pales in comparison, you know what I mean?’
He did.
‘If you’ve got something, Quentin, bring it now, because the mayor is telling the public that charges will be filed by week’s end. Got that?’
He got it. Loud and clear.
‘You’re going with the runner? Duvay?’
‘End of the week.’
‘And the real killer will just laugh and walk.’
‘We’re giving ’em something, Archer. It may be political, but it tells the people we’re on the ball.’
And the truth was, they were far from the ball. Some ex-con was going to be charged for something the poor guy knew nothing about. It was time to get very serious about finding the real killer.
‘Check out the headlines for tomorrow’s Advocate online. That paper is forcing our hand.’
Archer ran it on his computer.
COPS STYMIED BY JUDGE’S MURDER.
‘You can read on if you want to, Archer, because the story is worse than the headline. The words inept and incompetent are repeated. We’ve got to show some progress. You have a prostitute murdered, a drug dealer, some poor black in the projects – they don’t ride us about that. You kill a cop or a judge …’ He let it hang.
The detective was very much aware of the power of the press.
‘Archer, you know we probably have the guy. Strand found a gun. It’s a big step. The mayor’s going to comment, possibly the governor, and who knows, maybe the president next. He tends to mouth off on local issues.’
‘Well …’
‘No well. We’ve got a guy who took off running when there was a confrontation. I’m starting to think that if he isn’t our man, at least he’s a link. He was scared, Archer. He ran. We want to tie him to this murder. This Advocate story, it just doubles the pressure. You honest to God can’t imagine. We’re going with Duvay week’s end, and that’s that.’
‘Sergeant, do we want a conviction or do we want to find the person who actually killed the judge?’
‘Jesus, Archer. If the kid looks good for the hit, please, get on board, OK?’
‘I’d rather bring in the murderer, Sergeant. Not someone we’ve framed.’
18
Solange Cordray showed up in a Google search. Five mentions, one relating to her involvement in a renovation project on Dauphine Street and two mentioning her in certain social situations.
‘Solange Cordray and husband, financier Joseph Cordray, attended the festive event at Woldenberg Park …’
The two that especially interested him were dated a year later. The first mention was factual.
‘Solange Cordray was granted a divorce from Joseph Cordray.’
The date, place and time were listed. The second mention dealt with some of the terms of the settlement.
‘New Orleans financier Joseph Cordray tried to hide several million dollars in assets from his ex-wife, Solange Cordray, to avoid paying out in his divorce settlement, according to charges filed by the woman’s attorney. Cordray, a venture capitalist has major holdings in a company called Secure Force which owns twenty-five private prisons in a three state area.’
Judge Lerner was putting juveniles in a private prison just outside of the city. Detective Levy had just shown him a picture of the prison warden standing by the piano with Lerner. They were friends or at least acquaintances. What did he say the warden’s name was? Jakes. Russell Jakes. Archer keyed in another search.
Jakes, Russell. Warden.
The hits appeared immediately. Hundreds of postings, all mentioning one Russell Jakes, Warden, at River Bend Prison. River Bend Prison, a part of Secure Force, a holding company for twenty-five private prisons. Duvay had been an inmate there.
And he suddenly remembered. Archer had recently seen an article regarding public versus private prison
s. The private groups, cutting expenses to the bone, made a fortune compared to state and federal facilities which drain government coffers.
Scrolling through the information he found what he was looking for. Mixed in with prison history and statistics were new stories of charges that had been filed against River Bend and Warden Jakes. Charges of harassment, physical abuse, favoritism – the list went on.
Many of the juvenile offenders who saw Judge David Lerner were sent to River Bend. Now, Solange Cordray was coming to Archer with information about the death of Lerner, and her ex-husband had been a major stock holder in Secure Force and River Bend. He closed his eyes and rubbed the lids with his fingertips. It might mean nothing. Still, it was an interesting coincidence.
Sergeant Sullivan approached his desk.
‘Hey, you’re here. Thought you’d be out gathering evidence or …’
‘I’m here. Are we going to visit the Advocate headline again?’
‘Don’t be flippant with me. It’s a big deal, Detective. A huge deal. Like it or not, we live in the media and if they say we’re even more inept than before, there are repercussions. The state, Feds, everyone steps in and they take even more control. But here’s another big deal. Got a complaint on you about half an hour ago.’
‘Me?’ Maybe the pickpocket? Doubtful.
‘Intimidation.’
‘I’ve been asking questions, Sergeant. You want me to solve this murder, I’ve got to get under some people’s skin. It’s part of my job. But I don’t think I intimidated anyone.’ Hell, it’s what he did, he and every other homicide detective. When they chained a suspect in the interview room and kept them up for hours, trying to break them? That would qualify as intimidation.
‘Judge Richard Warren, juvenile—’
‘I know who he is. Didn’t like my line of questions.’
‘Says you almost threatened him.’
Archer shook his head. ‘I’ll try to improve my bedside manner.’
Sullivan frowned.
‘Sergeant, I didn’t threaten him, I warned him. We’ve actually sent out warnings to all the judges. A precaution to watch where they walk, drive, who they talk to, whatever.’
‘Jesus, Archer. We’re going to get crucified tomorrow in the paper. Please, just find this guy, or sign on that Duvay is the killer. OK?’
‘I may have some inside information.’
‘Inside? What? Who?’
‘Can’t say. But it involves Lerner’s association with a Krewe.’
‘A crew? What kind of a—? Oh, a Krewe.’
‘Have you ever heard of Krewe Charbonerrie?’
Sullivan studied him for a moment, a dark look on his face.
‘What about them?’
‘Apparently Lerner was a member.’
The sergeant nodded. ‘Someone told you this?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you think, or this person thinks, that membership in this Krewe may have something to do with the murder?’
‘Yeah. But they’re not sure how it links.’
The man let out a long sigh.
‘Detective Archer, I hope that’s not the case. This organization lists some pretty powerful people on its roster.’
‘Politically powerful?’
‘Powerful. They don’t go public with their membership roster. However, speculation runs rampant and they are probably powerful enough to stop this investigation if they wanted to.’
‘Really?’ A group of Detroit cops had brought the drug ring investigation to a screeching halt. He knew how that worked.
‘Let’s hope this is just a wild goose chase. You don’t want to fuck around with these guys, Archer.’
‘So you’re telling me to pull up short if it looks like this group was involved?’
Sullivan clenched his teeth and paused.
‘Look, we are always under pressure. But I’ve never felt it like this before. How many cases are you working right now?’
Without hesitating Archer answered, ‘Seven.’
‘Drop every one. I don’t care what it is. I’ll assign someone else. Let’s get this one solved, because I just got definite word that the governor will probably be on the phone for this press conference tomorrow. The goddamned governor, Archer. He’s going to want to say that we are very close to a charge.’
‘Can we just do our job?’
The sergeant looked down at him, circles under his eyes, his face haggard and pale.
‘How do I play this, Sergeant Sullivan? I’m new in town. If there are rules—’
‘I’ve watched you, Archer, and I’ve heard stories about your Detroit experience. You’re the kind of guy that if there are rules, you’d probably break them. You tried to take down the Detroit force, right or wrong, and created quite a problem. You had to leave. Well, I can’t have you doing that here. We’ve got enough of a problem without you piling on.’
‘Someday I’ll give you the facts, Sergeant; and by the way, rules are highly overrated. Sometimes you get in more trouble if you enforce the rules.’ Archer looked into his superior’s eyes. ‘How do you want it?’
‘You be damned careful, and report to me on any progress. Report to me on any problems. When you intimidate someone, when you decide it’s time to break a rule. This is some uncharted territory you’re dealing with. Let’s just hope that this lead goes nowhere.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Week’s end …’
‘You’ve made your case, Sergeant. You’re charging Duvay.’
The sergeant straightened up, put his hands in his pockets and started to walk away. He turned back to Archer when he entered the hallway.
‘You’re positive that Lerner was a member of Charbonerrie?’
‘Pretty sure.’ Based on the word of a mind-reading Voodoo Queen. Maybe he was stretching it. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe this was getting way too serious to be trusting some female witch doctor. But Solange was compelling.
‘That’s the thing about that Krewe. You never know who is a member. You could say something to their face and you’d never know it.’
Sullivan sounded like it may have happened to him.
‘I thought these organizations were social. They helped sponsor Mardi Gras, children’s programs, stuff like that.’
‘Yeah. That’s what you’d think. And some of them are. Some of them go beyond that and work hard to raise funds for charitable organizations. Women’s shelters, the Make-A-Wish Foundation, inner-city kids’ clubs.’
‘These guys?’
‘I’ve never heard of them sponsoring any type of non-profit.’ Pausing, he stared at Archer. ‘It’s made up of a lot of influential people. Very connected. They’ve got connections to the very top.’
‘Mayor’s office?’
Pursing his lips, Sullivan stared off into space for a moment, alone with his thoughts.
Finally, ‘I’d guess a lot higher than the mayor,’ he said. ‘If this group wanted to shut down a business, big, small, they could do it. State wide.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Hell, they have done it. I don’t pretend to understand it all, but it’s a lot of rich guys who will do whatever it takes to get richer and keep that wealth; and if you’re not with them, you’re against them. It’s a very powerful society and very secretive and again, I’ve said way too much all ready.’
Archer saw the frown lines on the man’s face, etched into his pale skin.
‘I don’t get the impression that Lerner was a rich man.’
Sullivan nodded. ‘I agree. But you never know. There are millionaires working here. On our own force. Had a detective a couple of years ago. Turns out he was worth a couple million. He probably could have quit, but he liked the job.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Got killed in a car accident while he was on duty.’
‘If it’s any consolation, this Krewe thing is just one of the leads I’m working. I need to talk to Strand about the warden at River Bend, Russell Jakes.’
‘What about Jakes?’
�
��Lerner was sending him a lot of prisoners. There was a collection of mug shots of juvenile offenders displayed on the piano in Lerner’s home, and a photo of him with Jakes was in the middle of them.’
‘You’re stepping into a lot of shit, Archer.’
‘It’s what’s out there.’
‘Jakes is a tough guy. He’s been brought up on charges numerous times for his treatment of prisoners, treatment of staff—’
‘And what I saw online says he’s skated on all of them.’
‘Largely because the prison is owned by a private company. If it had been State or Fed, chances are he would have been forced out. As it is, every time he walks on another charge, he gets that much stronger. Stock in that company is pretty healthy and the shareholders tend to keep someone who’s making them money.’
‘You know,’ Archer stretched and took a deep breath, ‘I feel right at home. We had the same bad characters in Detroit.’
‘And you got out of town.’
‘No one is going to push me out of this town.’
‘You’ve seen the murder statistics, Archer. They don’t push you out of New Orleans. They carry you out of town in a coffin. Buy into Antoine Duvay, Archer. The kid had a gun and a reason. This could be a lot easier for everyone.’
He stood there in the doorway for a moment, then walked out of the room.
Archer glanced through his handwritten notes once more, making sure he’d left out of his report any mention of Solange Cordray. Getting up to use the restroom he returned to his desk and saw someone had riffled through his papers. They were just slightly shuffled. He glanced around but there was no one in the room.
Couldn’t trust anyone.
19
The photos were on Archer’s computer. Fuzzy, long shots and close-ups of the car and license plates.
The accompanying note was short.
Q, this is what we have so far. Late-model Chevy sedan, looks like an Impala. We’ve got three cameras, three angles, but as you can see, only a partial on the plate. Running it, but trying to be careful. You understand. We’ve got families, Archer. TL