FEVER DREAMS: A Bracken and Bledsoe Paranormal Mystery

by April Campbell Jones

  “That’s terrible,” Katie said softly.

  Banes nodded. “Over 200 NOPD officers deserted the city during the storm. Afterwards the deputy chief terminated 85% of them. How’d you like to police a town with that kind of manpower, Mr. Bledsoe?”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “City would have collapsed without the unpaid volunteers. Hell of a thing. Excuse me…”

  Banes walked over to where Angel Robichou was sitting hunched over on a wooden stool, snuffling into a hanky. Her eyes were so swollen and bloodshot she looked like she’d been beaten.

  Banes rummaged in his jacket, retrieved a notebook and spoke softly to the woman sitting below him.

  “Now then, Mrs. Robichou, you were saying--?”

  Angel blew her nose, looked up and saw us, tried a feeble smile to match Katie’s warm one, then turned sightlessly at the detective. “I’m sorry…I don’t…”

  “That’s fine. I know this is tough. But it helps us if we can get your quickest preliminary responses at the scene. I hope you understand. Why don’t we just begin at the beginning?”

  Angel nodded unenthusiastically.

  “Good. Now, as I understand it the victim—Miss Murdock—phoned you about meeting here. And you agreed, is that correct?”

  Angel dabbed at her nose. “Reluctantly, yes.”

  Banes scribbled. “Why ‘reluctantly’?”

  “She said she had something she wanted to talk about. I agreed because she said it was about Roger, even though she insisted we meet in this…place. I think it must be close to one of those houses she uses.”

  “Crack houses.”

  Angel nodded, snuffled disgust. “The other kind, too. She’d do anything to get money for her habit. She was a tramp. My Roger might still be alive if she hadn’t introduced him to those…” Maybe Angel saw me rise on my toes in warning, maybe not, but she elected to trail off. Katie started breathing again.

  “And you drove down from Manchac,” Banes droned on, “arrived here at the hotel approximately when--?”

  “Just a few minutes ago. I knocked and no one answered. So I knocked again. I called out her name once or twice. I thought I heard movement from inside the room.”

  “What kind of movement, Mrs. Robichou?”

  Angle pulled in trembling breath. “I don’t know…very faint. Barely a rustle.”

  Banes paused in his scribbling. “But the door was closed?”

  “Yes.”

  Banes nodded. Was silent a moment.

  Angel looked up at him.

  “This is a very old hotel, Mrs. Robichou. Very thick walls, very heavy door. How is it you were able to hear barely a rustle standing out there in the hallway?”

  Angel blinked a moment. “Oh. I had my ear pressed to the door.”

  Banes scribbled. “I see. What happened then?”

  “Nobody answered my knocks or calls so I opened the door and came in.”

  “So, the door was unlocked?”

  Angel proffered a curious expression. “Well, obviously!”

  “You didn’t think to contact the concierge or hotel to let you in?”

  “Concierge! In this dump? Maybe I thought about it, I don’t remember, but I tried the knob first and the door opened. Is that against the law?”

  “And when you entered the room, where was the vic—where was Miss Murdock when you first saw her?”

  “Where she is now, on the bed. Still bleeding. With the shard of drinking glass in her hand.”

  “What did you do then?”

  Angel thought about it. “I…I might have screamed. I gasped for sure.”

  “And then?”

  “I ran to over to the bed.”

  “And why did you do that?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Run over to the bed?”

  “To see if I could help, of course!”

  “Were Miss Murdock’s eyes open at that time?”

  “Well, certainly!”

  “You didn’t touch her, feel for her pulse, anything like that?”

  “No.”

  “Why is that?”

  Angel frowned confusion, not catching on yet. “As you said, her eyes were wide open…glazed. I could see she was dead.”

  “Her eyes were glazed but she was still bleeding.”

  “Yes. Somewhat.”

  “Couldn’t you see her eyes were open when you opened the door?”

  “Yes, I saw them clearly! I’ll probably see them the rest of my life!”

  “So…if you could see she was dead, why did you rush over?”

  I felt Katie squeezed my hand.

  Angel was rubbing with exhaustion at the bridge of her nose. “I don’t…it just seemed the right thing to do…”

  “But you didn’t touch the body?”

  “No.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “I’m certain.”

  Scribbling. “I see. What happened then, Mrs. Robichou?”

  “I…think I was maybe in a daze for a few minutes…”

  “A few? Like how few? Five, ten…”

  “I don’t remember! A few! Then I noticed the hotel had a landline phone on the nightstand and I walked over and picked it up.”

  “You picked up the hotel phone. And you called--?”

  “The sheriff’s office.”

  “In Manchac?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Angel started. “What do you mean?”

  “Why Manchac up the highway with the New Orleans police right here in town?”

  “Who took their time getting here, by the way!” She was tried, losing patience.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Robichou, we’re low on manpower these days. Now why was it you chose to phone the Manchac authorities instead of New Orleans?”

  Angel held her head a moment dizzily.

  “Take your time.”

  “I am taking my time! I was in shock! I didn’t know the local police number! I’d memorized the Manchac Sheriff’s Office number from the time I was a child!”

  “And why was that?”

  “Because my mother told me to!”

  “I see. You know, there’s a phone book right there in the nightstand shelf, Mrs. Robichou…”

  “I didn’t think of that, I was upset!”

  “Sure. I understand. Try to relax now. What about the front desk? Why do you suppose you didn’t think to call them?”

  “Am I on trial here?”

  “This is a crime scene, ma’am, not a courtroom--just a standard question. You know, the front desk number is right there on the front of the phone. You’ve only to press the “O” for Operator…”

  “I didn’t think of it!”

  “Or clearly of her attorney!” Katie shouted angrily, unable any longer to hold back. “Perhaps she should do that now!”

  Detective Banes turned to us a threatening moment, then back to Angel. “Do you wish to contact an attorney at this time, Mrs. Robichou?”

  Angel made a helpless little O with her mouth.

  “No, she doesn’t!” I said emphatically. “She wishes you to finish up so she can get out of here! Perhaps see a doctor!”

  Banes didn’t bother looking my way. “That’s one, Mr. Bledsoe. Another outburst and I’ll have to ask you to leave, Olson or no Olson.”

  I pressed my mouth into a white line.

  “Now then, Mrs. Robichou, you were saying you called the Manchac Sheriff’s Office. And did you speak to Sheriff Cormac there?”

  “No. He was off-duty. I spoke to Deputy Olson.”

  “And what did he advise?”

  “That I sit down in this chair and touch nothing. That if I felt faint to put my head between my knees a moment.”

  “And did you?”

  “Which?”

  “Touch anything?”

  “I’ve told you I didn’t!”

  “This is plain harassment!” from Katie, and she started over before I could grab her. A uniform stepped in front of
her as she neared Angel but Banes looked up from his pad and waved the man away. “That’s okay, Pete.”

  The cop stepped back and Katie marched over, took Angel’s hand. She glared up at Banes. “Are we just about through here?”

  “Just about. One more question. Mrs. Robichou, how did you know the victim’s neck was cut with a shard of glass?”

  Angel looked confused. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  “That she was cut, perhaps. Not so obvious was from glass…” he consulted his pad, “—‘a broken drinking glass’, you stated.”

  Angel ran a shaky hand through her hair. Katie glared at Banes. Banes ignored her.

  Angel sat up. “Oh! I remember now!” She looked around. “I saw it! I saw the water glass!”

  “When?”

  “When I was on the phone.”

  “Where?”

  Angel pointed to the floor. “Right over there!”

  The rug was empty.

  Banes scribbled. “That’s okay, Mrs. Robichou, the glass has already been bagged and taken by the forensic team. You’re quite right, it was exactly where you pointed.”

  Angel sagged a little with relief.

  “Now. One more time. You’re sure you didn’t touch anything? Not the body, not the shard….not the broken hotel drinking glass?”

  “I’m sure!”

  Banes jotted, snapped his notebook closed. “Then I think we’re all through here! Thank you so much for your cooperation. I’m very sorry you had to deal with such a situation. Especially alone. I know it must have been traumatic.”

  “Can I go home now?” Angel begged.

  Katie drove steel daggers into the detective’s eyes.

  Banes put away his notebook. “Very soon now. Just a few more routine questions. We’ll do them downtown. Where it’s more comfortable.”

  Angel buried her face in her hands.

  Katie stood quickly. “I’m going with her!” she insisted.

  Banes shrugged, replacing his pen in his lining. “Your call, Mrs. Bledsoe.”

  Katie glared back, turned and squeezed Angel’s shoulder reassuringly. “You take it easy now, would you like some water? No? Okay, I’m just going to speak with Elliot a moment, be right back!”

  She came toward me with purpose in her stride. Behind and to the side of her, the team was zipping Diane’s body into a black plastic bag, lifting her onto a collapsible aluminum gurney. “You go on back, Elliot.”

  I started. “To the motel? No way!”

  “Yes, you’d better get the cat back—he’ll crap all over your fancy T-Bird upholstery.”

  “To hell with that! He can stay with us and crap all over the police station!”

  She shook her head. “No, you go on. I’ll be fine. I’ll catch a cab back as soon as I find…” she turned her head toward Banes, who was conferring with the ME, “…as soon as get things settled here.”

  “A cab all the way to Manchac at this hour?”

  “I’ll be fine. You need to get back to the motel.”

  “Why?”

  She sighed patience, leaned closer, voice lowered. “I don’t—just a feeling I have, Elliot. Please, now! I’ll phone you before I leave, okay?”

  I relented. “Okay. fine. If that’s how you want it.”

  “I do.” And she took my shoulder, pecked my cheek, smiled and turned away. Then she turned back and kissed me hard on the lips. “And save some Old Granddad for me, huh?”

  * * *

  I drove back to the motel (which seemed to take forever), hoping for Katie’s call every mile of the way.

  I thought about phoning the Sheriff’s office myself, but it was late, and besides, what if I got Cormac? I didn’t feel like Cormack just then, didn’t know if Jimmy Olson had even apprised him of the situation yet.

  I drove on.

  And began thinking about Rita. Still no word from her. My stomach turned a little.

  I punched in her number on my cell.

  Got her recorder.

  Resisted smashing the cell against the T-Bird’s dash.

  In Manchac at last, I parked in front of my motel cabin, let Garbanzo out of the car, shut the door behind him and looked down at the cat. “Go pee.”

  He sat there looking up at me.

  “Okay, pal, but if I find cat piss on the floor in the morning…”

  Inside the cabin I threw myself on the bed without undressing. Stared at the ceiling. Finally reached for the bottle of Old Granddad bedside.

  An envelope leaning neatly against it.

  I sat up, tore it open with my finger, a sick feeling forming in my gut again.

  I pulled out the piece on note paper, tilted it toward the nightstand lamp.

  WE GOT RITA

  TWENTY-SIX

  “It’s a prank.”

  Katie sat on the edge of my bed, the note in her hands.

  I stood leaning (for support) against the motel dresser, gripping the neck of the half-empty bottle of Old Granddad in one hand. Something about Katie’s quickly dismissive tone aggravated me.

  “And how do you arrive so skillfully at that conclusion, Miss Bracken?” my voice slightly slurred. “Don’t you think a ransom note deserves a little thoughtful introspection?”

  Katie turned the note over, checked the blank back, picked up the envelope and turned that over too. “First of all, it’s not officially a ransom note. Says nothing about money. You’ve got ransom notes on the brain, Elliot—a natural enough reaction considering all the talk about little Amy. Secondly, the handwriting. I taught middle-school during my Masters. This looks dead-on like preadolescent handwriting to me. ‘We got Rita?’”

  “Preadolescent, or maybe badly educated redneck.” I grunted.

  “Also, what kind of kidnapper would leave his own handwriting behind as evidence?”

  “The clever kind who wants us to think he’s a preadolescent?”

  “Well, which is he, Elliot, clever or redneck?”

  “They aren’t mutually exclusive, you know.”

  Katie shook her head. “I don’t buy it. It’s a stunt. Pulled by some local kids, probably. I mean, how many people in Manchac even knew Rita was in town, actually saw her?”

  “You just implied a bunch of kids saw her. The desk clerk at her motel certainly saw her.”

  “He wouldn’t be that stupid. Use your head, Elliot.”

  “I’m trying to!”

  She got up, came to the dresser and took the bottle out of my hand, screwed on the top and placed the bottle back on the nightstand. “No very hard you’re not.”

  She started back to the bed and I caught her arm, a little too roughly, maybe. “So are you suggesting we just forget about it?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Well, what are you saying? She was my fiancée, Katie! I’m having a bit of a rough night here!”

  She turned to me with tired eyes. “We all are. Angel Robichou especially.”

  I looked at her.

  “The New Orleans police are holding her on suspicion of murder, Elliot.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I intended to. You shoved that note in my hand the moment I walked in the door.”

  “Holding her for what? On what grounds?”

  “I’m afraid I wasn’t privy to that. They didn’t allow me to accompany her to the station.”

  I felt a cold fury pushing through me mixed with an escalating fear for Rita. “Jesus! The fucking South! The whole state oughtta be blown off the map by a…a…”

  “A hurricane? It’s not Louisiana’s fault, Elliot.”

  I wiped savagely at my mouth. I grabbed the note. “Well, I’m going to the police with this! The local police this time!”

  Katie made a weary face, turned from the bed and snagged her handbag from the chair.

  I looked up. “You don’t have to go.”

  “I know that.”

  I stood up straighter, tried to pull it together, not to weave
on my feet. I placed the ransom note on the bureau. “Sheriff’s office probably isn’t open anyway…”

  Katie hoisted the purse, picked up the cat. “Talking yourself out of it, Elliot? They’re open. I saw a light on when the cab passed the stationhouse.”

  I thought about it a moment, wishing I hadn’t had so much to drink, feeling like I was failing Rita, failing Katie, failing Angel, Amy, everybody. I shrugged into my coat jacket, grabbed up the note.

  “Elliot? If Cormac is there, maybe you should direct your questions at him instead of the deputy...”

  I turned to her slowly, a pang going through my chest. “Why--?”

  “Because it was Jimmy Olson, not Cormac, who contacted Detective Banes down in the Quarter, remember?”

  * * *

  “It’s a prank,” Sheriff Cormac said, handing back the note and envelope.

  I slumped back in the hardwood chair in front of his messy desk. Sighed hugely. “And what brings you to that immediate conclusion, Sheriff?”

  “The dozen or so bored adolescents we got in this town with too much time on their hands ‘cause their old man doesn’t earn enough to buy them an x-Box or cellphone. Also, it looks like a kid’s writing.”

  I avoided Katie’s eyes beside me.

  “It’s a prank. And even if it wasn’t, there’s not much I can do about it, Elliot.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” Katie answered for him, “before it becomes a kidnaping it has to be a missing persons and the sheriff can’t file a missing person’s report for twenty-four hours. Because she isn’t officially missing or even in his jurisdiction. She’s driving back to Texas.”

  Cormac smiled, winked admiration at Katie.

  “Rita doesn’t even answer her cell phone!” I steamed. “Doesn’t that signify ‘missing’ in there somewhere?”

  “Signifies she doesn’t want to answer your calls,” Cormac yawned, “or that she’s maybe lost her phone. Happens all the time, damn things are too small and slippery. Probably a fortune worth of the little rascals hiding between seat cushions as we speak!”

  I threw up my hands. “Christ! This is—fine! I want to talk to your superior, Sheriff!”

  “You’re looking at him. And what you’re claiming is a kidnapping. That’s a federal offense, Mr. Bledsoe. You want to notify the FBI in Baton Rouge for that. I’ve got their number if you’re so inclined.”