The Blue Garou (Detective 'Cadillac' Holland Series Book 1)

by H Hiller

  “He actually said that he sold them the kid?”

  “Well, no, the way he described it sounded more like he made a trade. Thing is, the husband did give Biggie money to get started right after the adoption went through. Then Biggie kept hitting the husband up for money whenever the studio started falling short. Biggie told him he would go public about the adoption if he didn't pay up, so the guy kept paying but he also started taking a piece of the action. That pissed Biggie off, and he told me more than once that he would have the nanny bring the kid back to him if the husband tried to take his studio away.”

  We had made it to his office and he closed the door behind us. He motioned for me to have a seat but I remained standing while he went to a filing cabinet behind the desk and began thumbing through files in a lower drawer.

  “Is that what you were investigating, extortion?” I brought the subject back to what I believed was his real purpose in getting close to Biggie, and to who I thought he was.

  “I’m the bodyguard and you’re the investigator, remember?” Bumper said and stood up with a slim file in his hand. He handed me the file and motioned for me to follow him once again. I assumed, correctly, that we were headed back to the privacy of the VIP lounge.

  “So what’s this?” The folder held fifteen single spaced pages of firearm descriptions and serial numbers, probably totaling a few hundred rifles and pistols in total.

  “It’s the description and serial number of every weapon turned in to Biggie. He planned on cashing them all in during one of the city’s gun buy-back publicity stunts. Biggie thought he could get some positive press if it looked like he was trying to get guns off the street as well.”

  “Where are the guns now?”

  “The hell if I know,” Bumper actually sounded like he was telling the truth. “Biggie told me to hire someone to rent the locker so it couldn’t be linked back to either of us until he turned the guns over. I went out there a few months ago and the locker was empty. Biggie said to just let it go. He couldn’t make a big stink about losing guns when he wasn’t even supposed to be around them, and you can’t do much with that list without the actual guns or the person I hired to rent the locker. If anybody asks I will deny ever having seen the list in the first place. So, do whatever you want with it.”

  “Who did you hire to rent the locker?”

  “You really think I’d tell you that? The guns are long gone and even with the serial numbers you can’t link them to either of us unless I testify, and what are the odds of that?”

  Bumper sounded as though he was laughing as he opened the refrigerator and removed Heinekens for each of us. He opened them behind the bar and handed me one frigid green bottle before he took a seat on the sofa. I sat on the coffee table facing him, just a few feet away.

  “Well losing the guns had to have been a kick in the balls to whoever you’re working for. A firearm case that big against Biggie would have been a real feather in their cap.”

  “You keep making it sound like I am some kind of undercover cop or something.” Bumper forced a chuckle. “I’m just a guy trying to make a living and I didn't give a damn about any of it, really. The guns were a bad idea all along. My only concern was who Biggie would get into any other business with. The club was a magnet for criminals and people who liked hanging out with them. I kept an eye open for anyone who might try to muscle Biggie, or who Biggie might try to take advantage of. The mess with Biggie’s son was one the couple created for themselves. I don’t think that actress ever knew what went on between Biggie and her husband. On the other hand, it would certainly make her a good suspect for murder if Biggie was blackmailing her for something after her husband died wouldn't it?”

  Bumper phrased his response so as to not actually betray whether or not he was ever there to do anything but to protect his employer, and to encourage me to focus my investigation on any suspect besides himself. It was beginning to look like good advice.

  “It could be made to look that way, I'm sure.” I needed to chart a new direction. “I just find it interesting that every time we have these little chats you have something for me to investigate someone else about.” I waved the file as an example. “It’s like you were just a spectator and never got your own hands dirty in anything.”

  “Okay, it’s just you and me sitting here having a beer. Maybe you should tell me what you think you know.” Bumper stretched his arms across the back of the leather sofa and relaxed. I am sure he thought he had a good handle on things right then. He had managed to hand off the evidence of an admitted crime and convert it into something to his advantage. Biggie was dead so there would be no prosecution for his possession of the guns and Bumper wasn’t going to face prosecution without testifying to his own involvement, and even then could trade the name of the person who rented the locker for his own freedom. He may have even thought he had turned his own blackmail scheme into a reason to look at Amanda for Biggie’s murder.

  “Here’s what I know. I know it takes a particular sort of person to be a good undercover agent, to be able to spend all day pretending to be someone you would ordinarily hate. I know someone could very easily find it to be much more fun to live a life without rules than one full of them. I have read that a lot of actors prefer playing bad guys to being heroes because the bad guys get to have all the fun. Someone living undercover might well go off the rails and then tell himself he can cover it up by saying he was just maintaining his cover. That might work for doing a little blow or losing a truckload of guns, but I doubt it will explain away a murder.”

  “You think a lot don't you?” Bumper slapped his hands on his legs. I was paying a lot of attention to his hands, and it suddenly occurred to me just how little I trusted the man. Avery had not yet confirmed that he was an undercover NOPD or Federal agent but, even if he had confirmed this, I was still sure Bumper might pull a gun on me at any given moment. I also sensed that he was waiting for me to draw first. “Why in the hell are you so convinced that I’m working undercover?”

  “The Bumper Jackson who played football at Oklahoma is an Army pilot in eastern Afghanistan. He is there, and yet you are here. He also had his knee surgically repaired.”

  He sat back and studied me very hard, obviously making a decision.

  “I’m going to make a suggestion. Don’t come back here unless you plan to make an arrest. Because, believe you me, I may be your favorite suspect but I am also a can of worms you do not want to open.” Bumper stood up, patted me on the head as patronizingly as he could and left me sitting alone without another word.

  TWENTY EIGHT

  Chief Avery met with Bumper’s supervising Agent for supper at Bon Ton Cafe a few hours after I had tucked my tail and left BC Productions to regroup and calm down. Bon Ton Cafe on Magazine Street has the distinction of being New Orleans' original Cajun restaurant. The Cafe is the last building on its side of a long block, the remainder of the block having been paved to serve as parking for the Federal Building across Poydras Street. The food was as much of an attraction as the location when Avery invited the Special Agent to dinner, at Avery’s expense, after receiving an angry call about my visit to the studio.

  Avery had the sense that Special Agent James Gabb needed to make the call for a while, but he wasn’t prepared to make the call when he was going to be the one making an apology. He should have notified NOPD before he ever put Bumper beside Biggie. Gabb did not even have to fully explain why he wanted to meet before my boss agreed to sit down with him at a location of Gabb's choosing. Buying the FBI Agent a free dinner was just a way to get Gabb to a neutral location.

  Avery immediately thought of Napoleon when Gabb introduced himself. He was shorter than average and a bit paunchy, with slick brown hair and unusually dark eyes. His face had a naturally smug expression that Avery took an immediate dislike towards. Gabb had the foot stride and handshake of an ambitious man well on his way to where he wanted to be. The Agent’s tailored suit coat flared open to expose his sidearm.
/>   “Thanks for meeting with me.” Avery said as they took their seats at a corner table.

  “Well it's always hard to turn down a free meal.” Avery did not point out that Gabb had chosen the location for their meeting. “We probably should have done this some time ago.”

  “Probably so.”

  “Well then, let’s take a look at the menu.”

  Avery knew what he wanted and Gabb needed only a couple of moments before he set his menu down. Their waitress picked up the menus from the starched white tablecloth and took their drink and food orders. Gabb waited until she was out of earshot before he spoke again.

  “The Bureau definitely should have informed your department that we had an informant working close to Biggie Charles. There was some concern about security because he used to be a patrolman with NOPD”

  “We’re already aware of that situation.”

  Gabb was obviously surprised to find Avery so well informed but Avery only showed his practiced expression of almost paternal disapproval for how Gabb had handled his UC operation. The waitress returned with Avery’s glass of merlot and Gabb’s iced tea. Both men had elected to enjoy bowls of turtle soup to start their meal, which arrived a moment later with a basket of warm bread. Gabb waited until she was gone to start talking again.

  “It was an operation to see what flies might be attracted to a rap music studio. It has largely been a dry hole, but we have spent nearly two years on this. We were building a case for some gun charges when Biggie died. How did you figure it out, not to slight NOPD’s abilities?”

  “No offense taken. I've got a special investigator on the case and he figured it out when he did background on your guy's cover story. The real Bumper Jackson is in the Army, and in Afghanistan. We believe his brother, Eric, is using his brother’s name and college background as his cover. Eric was a patrolman with NOPD until he resigned a few weeks after Hurricane Katrina. He was immediately hired by one of the private security firms working here at the time, but then a year or so ago you made a personal recommendation that he become a confidential informant. I find that especially curious.”

  “Sloppy work on our part about the cover. What do you find curious?”

  “How the two of you even know one another.” Avery was trying to make this seem like a casual conversation and not the formal questioning he really wanted to put Gabb through.

  “I met Eric while we were doing joint operations here after the storm and he seemed a bit more ambitious than the average rookie cop so, yeah, when I bumped into him again a couple of years later I approached him about working for the FBI as our eyes and ears in Biggie’s operation.”

  “We're not interested in compromising anyone's cover. I just want to reassure you we don’t intend to blow up your investigation while we conduct ours.”

  “Well, obviously not exposing our guy would be helpful. I don't want to have to make a stink out of your detective, either. I was surprised, though, to find that he is actually a State Patrol detective. He is, in fact, the only detective of theirs they have permanently assigned to NOPD and I’m told that you personally assign his cases. Why would one of the state patrol’s detectives be handling such an important New Orleans murder case? Are you running some sort of rogue operation of your own?”

  Avery sensed the quid pro quo of each side keeping its mouth shut as house salads replaced the soup bowls. He also sensed that the investigation into my background ran deeper than a simple call to the State Patrol.

  “Not at all. I was his father’s partner years ago so of course I welcomed Cooter when he came to us after Katrina. He has shown very solid investigative capacity since he arrived. Surely you remember how short-handed NOPD was right after the storm. He helped rebuild some of the cases we would have lost when the evidence was thrown out because it was flood damaged. That has sort of turned into his taking oddball cases like finding out if Biggie Charles was murdered, which nobody really cares about. He simply frees my NOPD detectives to handle other cases.”

  “So you don't consider Biggie’s murder to be important?”

  “I think everyone agrees it was the dog that killed him.” Avery noted Gabb nodded in concurrence. “Cooter only stepped up because his sister didn’t want to see the dog get shot. We never know how these cases will develop, but so far it's led to a blind alley on some guns Biggie had supposedly stockpiled and to that big dog fighting raid last weekend. I assume the dead end he hit was the same as the case your man was putting together?”

  “I’m sure the dog case was a feather in your cap.” Avery noted that Gabb did not address the matter of the weapons investigation in his response.

  Avery just gave a self-deprecating shrug rather than allow the meal to become an exchange of veiled insults, backhanded compliments, and insinuations. Unfortunately, this all seemed to be part of why Gabb had agreed to the meeting.

  “You are aware that your detective is considered something of damaged goods by the State Patrol, aren’t you?”

  “How so?” Avery doubted Gabb had found anything substantial in his background check before it would have run into roadblocks Avery knew had been set in place.

  “Our UC asked me to check on Detective Holland after their first meeting. He wondered how an NOPD detective could afford to drive a brand new Cadillac as a work vehicle. It even turned out your man’s nickname is Cadillac, of all things. He gave me a beer bottle with Detective Holland’s fingerprints and I initially ran a basic background check. NOPD’s Human Resources department referred us to the State Patrol, where it turns out Holland graduated the academy at the rank of detective and there is a Homeland Security block on the last fifteen years of his life before he turned up in Louisiana. Then I learned he had some trouble passing the Patrol’s psychological exam, which I imagine may have something to do with those missing years. He was assigned to your care and the State Patrol doesn’t seem to have a lot of interest in getting him back. One of our anti-terrorism Agents spent a year in Iraq and recognized your guy’s name. He said Holland did classified work there until he was wounded in some sort of ambush and was then slipped out of the country before he could be questioned about diverted recovery funds. The Agent offered to make some calls, but then our SAC received a call from the Washington office and we were instructed to drop any investigation into your guy unless he could be charged with a criminal act. We have never been waved away from a background check.” Agent Gabb detailed his problems with investigating my background with very obvious displeasure. The call from FBI Headquarters must not have been a very sociable one. “So, I am asking you, who is Detective Holland and is Cooter even his real name?”

  “It really is Cooter Holland. I know he was wounded in Iraq, but your Agent knows more than I do about what Cooter was doing.” Avery held up a hand before his guest could raise any objection. “Cooter came home after the storm, like you said, but all he really wanted to do was to investigate his father’s disappearance. He and I worked out a perfectly legal arrangement where he would have access to the police department resources to do his investigation if he helped with the dead-end cases that were beginning to clog the gears in our Investigation Bureau. I am also aware of his issues getting cleared to join the State Patrol, but I was briefed on why and still agreed to take him on as a detective. So far it has worked out fine.”

  “What does he think happened to his father?” Avery hoped Gabb was trying to change the subject.

  “Neither of us has any idea. I didn’t even know Ralph was helping at the time. He had retired but apparently showed up at the command post in Algiers when he couldn’t get across the bridge. He linked up with some of the SWAT guys and began doing house to house searches, and encouraging anyone they met to get out of town. Cooter found that he went out on a night patrol with guys nobody remembers and that they ran into an ambush. Everyone made it back except his father. Most of the officers Cooter spoke with have apparently retired or left town and all of them claim to not be able to remember a thing that’s been h
elpful.” Avery’s brief explanation summed up four years of my hard work.

  “Well, whoever he is, he wasted no time sniffing out our informant.”

  “You don't seem especially enamored of the Biggie Charles undercover operation yourself. Do you mind me asking what’s going on there?”

  Avery really had only intended to reassure the FBI that the local police were not going to blow their operation and held no hostility about not having been accorded the courtesy of being informed of the investigation for the last two years. This was the sort of thing that was usually mentioned at these levels in advance so mistakes were not made. No officer wants to get in a shootout with a fellow officer just because somebody didn’t get a memo.

  “I am afraid that our informant may actually be involved in some criminal activity himself. He was responsible for handling the firearms that went missing. Our SAC was looking for a reason to close shop even before Biggie died and that incident nearly did the trick. I just hate to see so much work go for nothing.”

  “What I have been wondering is how did the operation against Biggie get started? What drew the agency’s interest?”

  “Well,” Gabb started speaking but then paused almost theatrically before continuing. Avery thought he might be trying to remember a scripted response. “My brother was Biggie’s attorney at his murder trial. It has been something of a family embarrassment ever since. I saw an opportunity to try to put things right and got a green light on the operation once I found I had an informant I could put in place.”

  “The agency approved your UC operation even though you have a potential family conflict of interest?” Avery was barely able to contain his amazement.

  Gabb objected to Avery’s implication. “First of all, we have only been investigating Biggie’s activities since he left Angola. And secondly, there is actually no family conflict. It was my brother who represented Biggie at trial and we had no discussions about either that trial or my investigation, other than that we both wanted to see him back in Angola for good.”