Crescent City Detective

by Vito Zuppardo

  Mario watched Felipe—he was concerned. It showed in every muscle in his arms as he pulled at the chains keeping him in place. Mario slipped the envelope Olivia had left for him out of his coat pocket and put it on the table with his hand on top.

  Felipe let out a grunt—his frustration was breaking through.

  Mario told him he had bigger fish to fry. Someone on the outside that should be sitting in a cell, right next to Felipe.

  “The Great Detective Mario wants help from me?” Felipe broke a smile.

  “Yes… In return, you get a better life. A few more perks.”

  Felipe made a funny sound. “Life is pretty good now.”

  Mario had his plan worked out in his head from the little information he’d gathered from their conversation. It was time to attack and get what he needed, and in the end, he would take Felipe down to the darkest hell hole he could ever imagine.

  “I know you have done work for Doctor Walter Ross. Your crew has killed for him. All for a piece of the cash when he sold the organs on the black market.”

  “Don’t know anything about that.”

  Mario pounded the table, scaring the hell out of Felipe. “Wrong answer! Don’t bullshit me, Felipe! I know the answers before you open your fucking mouth. Your brother runs the crew for you on the outside. We are all aware he’s not capable of running a snowball stand, much less your illegal businesses.”

  The meeting room door flew open, and an officer came in. “Everything okay in here, Detective?”

  Mario looked back at them and gave a nod of his head. The officer returned to his post but kept a watchful eye on Felipe.

  Mario laid a plan out where Felipe wouldn’t incriminate himself but a couple of his boys went down, and Felipe lived happily ever after. It shouldn’t be a problem—he had done it before.

  Mario dodged around his real concern: Kate’s well-being. He continued to keep Felipe interested. If he helped him take Dr. Ross down, Mario would make promotion to lieutenant. Felipe would never have to deal with Mario again, but this would end their vendetta. They would go their separate ways, as far as the prison walls would allow Felipe to go.

  “Which means you help me, and I’ll give you an even better life in jail—more than you already have,” Mario said.

  Mario stood up and walked around in front of the table. Felipe showed little sign of being rattled. Nothing like when he’d heard death row being mentioned.

  “Is that it, Detective? It’s all about you getting promoted to lieutenant?”

  Mario though how he should answer before opening his mouth. In fact, he had been offered the lieutenant promotion twice. Too much responsibility, he’d told the chief both times he turned it down. He’d much rather chase the bad guys.

  “Yeah, Felipe. It’s all about me and my promotion. I can turn your prison into a country club,” Mario said, taking the envelope and slipping it back in his coat—Mario didn’t have to play that card yet.

  Felipe put his head down, and his shackled hands met his face halfway. Rubbing his eyes and brushing hair around his ears gave him a second to think.

  “I might have some other conditions,” Felipe said, showing there might have been a breakthrough in cooperation.

  “Like?”

  “Conjugal visit?”

  “Possibly,” Mario said, knowing there was no chance in hell of that happening.

  “TV time for just me and my posse?”

  “I thought you already had that?”

  Felipe laughed. “We do. But I have to strong-arm people and pay others off.”

  “One hour a day,” Mario said, knowing there was no chance of it happening either.

  “Two hours: eight to ten at night.”

  “Not going to happen,” Mario said, shutting down such a bullshit request.

  “Conjugal visit once a week.”

  “I said possibly.”

  “It sounded weak,” Felipe said as that repulsive demanding look resurfaced. It was the type of look that could set Mario off in a second. “I need a guarantee.”

  “No guarantee—I’ll try.”

  “Fuck you, this meeting is over.”

  “You think about it. I’ll be back in a few days.” Mario stared him down and took a step towards the door.

  Felipe’s nostrils flared like a bull getting ready to charge. You could see he was thinking, trying to find something repulsive to spit back at Mario.

  Felip jumped up as much as the chains would allow. “I hope Kate enjoys the lake house. I heard it’s nice down there this time of year,” his arrogant voice bellowed out.

  Mario froze at that moment. It took a second for it all to sink in and how he would respond. How could that information funnel up to him so quickly? Kate had only left the house five hours ago. Felipe had shown his colors. There was no reasoning with this psychopath. Everything Mario promised was just to gain his confidence. Felipe would never get special privileges, and he was one hundred percent crazy if he thought otherwise. Mario would always remember the things Felipe had done and promised to carry out. Gaining his composure, Mario turned around.

  “Sit down, asshole.”

  Mario pulled the envelope back out of his pocket and slammed the packet on the table. Taking three pictures in his hand, he explained to Felipe that after he went to prison, the New Orleans Gang Enforcement Unit continued to investigate him and his crew. After being sentenced to Calabar, there was no need to spend taxpayers’ money finding information that could put a man away longer than he would probably live.

  The first picture he put in front of Felipe’s face showed an older woman and a child, maybe seven years old, sitting on the front steps of a house. Mario watched Felipe’s eyes as he dangled the picture in front of him.

  “Do you recognize these people?”

  Felipe didn’t answer, but the look on his face and the terror in his eyes said loud and clear that Mario had struck a nerve. Placing the picture on the table, Mario reached for another and held it at eye level for Felipe to get a good look. Mario didn’t say a word.

  The picture showed the same older woman walking in front of a school, holding the girl,, who now looked maybe nine years old, by the hand.

  “How about this picture?” Showing him the third picture, he said, “Recognize anyone?” as he gawked at Felipe, just waiting for his rage to hit a boiling point.

  Mario pulled the last picture, thinking this should put him over the top, and dangled it in front of Felipe’s face once again.

  “Didn’t think we knew about this? Sit tight, asshole. Your world is about to change,” Mario said, pushing the table against Felipe's chest as the restraints pulled at his legs and the handcuffs tightened his arms straight.

  “You know you wouldn’t do this if we were on the outside,” Felipe said as his face turned red from the pressure on the table.

  “You’re right! If we were on the outside, I would have killed you after the first attempt

  on Kate’s life.”

  He pushed the table against Felipe’s chest harder then released the pressure. As much as he wanted to kill the guy, he did have two guards watching. It served its purpose and got Felipe’s attention. Mario knew it was short term, so he read the notes on the pictures and a one-page report Olivia had prepared. Without adding any bits of information that would tie Felipe to other crimes, he stuck to what Olivia had written down. Felipe looked wild-eyed, even more than usual, but seemed focused when Mario started reading.

  “The lady in the first picture is your mother, Jacalyn Cruz. The child is Rebecca Cruz, your daughter. The house is where they live. Your attorney, Tyrone Cooks, purchased the house, and your mother and daughter live there.”

  He shuffled to the next picture, and it brought the hurt of Kate losing the baby after the attack, something he was sure Felipe was responsible for but couldn’t prove yet.

  This next picture showed Jacalyn walking Rebecca to school. Not just any school, but Audubon Academy, an uptown school that cost eighteen t
housand dollars a year.

  Mario watched Felipe squirm in his seat, something he wasn’t used to, and you could see he was uncomfortable.

  The last picture was Jacalyn, Rebecca, and Felipe at the entrance of Calabar Prison. The day Felipe left the free world—conceivably to spend the rest of his life behind bars.

  Mario felt good watching Felipe’s anxiety rise to almost uncontrollable levels. He knew this hit home for him—that was the kind of hurt he wanted him to feel. Shooting him would be too quick. Mario wanted him to feel the pain he felt.

  His forensic friend and coworker Olivia came up with some interesting points. Once Felipe was convicted and sentenced, his mother started using her maiden name, Jacalyn Daigle. Then she adopted his daughter and changed her name to Rebecca Daigle. “Mom wanted to shed the Cruz name and start anew. Your attorney purchased the house and let your mother and daughter live there.”

  “Where did you get those pictures?”

  “Hold on, Skippie. I’ll let you know when you can ask questions,” Mario said. He was in control now.

  Tyrone, an upright citizen, itemized everything on his income tax. During Felipe’s investigation, the police discovered a cash deposit in his bank account for three hundred fifteen thousand dollars the same day he purchased the house. During September every year, since Felipe had been in prison, a cash deposit for eighteen thousand dollars was made to his bank account. Around the same time, Tyrone wrote a check to Audubon Academy. Just the amount needed each year for that high-profile school Felipe’s daughter loved and his mother enjoyed bragging about.

  Mario rocked back on the chair’s two rear legs. He had Felipe right where he wanted him, worried about his family. The family he’d tried to hide and protect.

  “You can’t bring my family into this—”

  “I can, and I will,” Mario said, giving Felipe his best smile.

  Felipe was pissed off, and if he weren't chained down, he would have come across the table at the detective an hour ago. Mario had Felipe where he wanted, frightened. He could talk tough, threaten people, even order a kill on your family, but he felt his family was off limits. Reaching into his coat for one more picture, Mario put it in front of Felipe.

  There was one more tidbit Mario knew about Ty’s transactions. The day before Tyrone purchased the house, he met with Dante Cruz at a restaurant. Surveillance had a picture of Dante handing an envelope to Tyrone—thick enough to have the cash needed for the acquisition.

  He finally let Felipe speak. “So what does all of this mean, Detective?”

  “It means I’ve opened your case up with New Orleans Gang Enforcement,” Mario said, pulling a document out of the envelope. “All I need is a judge’s signature to get the ball rolling. First, we’ll charge Tyrone with laundering the gang's money. Your mother’s house will get seized, and that check Tyrone gives her every month—well, that will dry up. She’ll be living on the street and broke. Your daughter, she’ll make friends at public school.”

  “What the fuck, man? I’m in jail, isn’t that good enough for you?” Felipe shouted like he was a perfect inmate of the Hillbilly Country Club.

  Mario gathered his papers and pictures and stood dead center in front of Felipe. “Now let me outline something for you. If my girlfriend gets hit by a car, gets struck by a lightning bolt, or dies of natural causes, I’m holding you responsible.”

  Felipe hesitated for a moment. “Maybe I can make that Doctor Ross thing work. Give me a few days.”

  “Should have taken the deal earlier—it’s off the table now,” Mario said. “I’ll keep the pictures and the file, just for leverage.”

  Mario gathered up the folder and walked out the room, leaving the door open for the two guards to come in and escort the prisoner to his cell.

  Felipe stood, shouting, “Don’t be a fool. I can make you a lieutenant.”

  Mario signed out at the front desk and made a quick phone call from the car to the Fontenot house. Amelia answered, and he felt he could trust her to deliver the message that Kate was still in danger and needed to return home. As a precaution, he called in a favor from a friend at the Pearl River County Police Department. They were sending a patrol car to watch the lake house until Mario could get up there.

  It was a windy day, and the dust from the farm ground around the prison covered Mario’s car. He opened the trunk, took off his coat, and unlocked the steel box with his shoulder holster and guns. He strapped his shoulder holster on and threw the papers he’d threatened Felipe with on top of the spare tire. The information was worthless. A judge refused to sign it three years ago. Said the man was in prison for life, and the police should stop using resources and money to add more years to a person already convicted to life in jail.

  It was going to be a long ride back, and Mario was toying with the idea to cut across Saint Francisville and head to Mississippi. Hopefully, the Fontenots had taken action.

  He slammed the trunk down as a car stopped sharply, stirring more dust. He mumbled, “Just what I need, more nasty prison dust in my eyes.”

  “Well, well, well! We meet again,” a voice said.

  Mario cleared the dust from his eyes.“Not by choice,” he said, looking at the three guys he’d run into at the convenience store piling out of a late model Lincoln Town car.

  “Are you guys visiting or checking into the Hillbilly Country Club?”

  “I’m here to support our mother. She’s visiting my brother,” the skinny guy said.

  A lady appeared out of the back seat dressed in black with a veil over her face.

  “She’s going to visit or a funeral?”

  “It’s a family thing. She wears black until he gets out of prison,” he said, taking his mother by the arm and helping her out the back seat.

  From the looks of the woman, she’d had a rough life. And, from Mario’s encounter with her son and his friends, he understood. They appeared to be backwood folks that never seemed to break out of the family mold.

  “She might need a few more black dresses. This place is like the roach motel.”

  “Funny, she heard it before. They check in—but don’t check out.”

  “Just a fact,” Mario said, opening his car door. “What’s your brother's name?”

  “Joey Savino.”

  Mario made a face. “Don’t know him.” The best move was not to reveal knowing the history of the scummy Savino family, the only family most gangs feared and had labeled them “the backwoods hillbilly mafia.” A family with a long history—and it was all bad.

  “He’s big inside. Nobody fucks with him. His crew will take you out in a second.”

  “You guys have been a good sport. I’m going to give you a tip,” Mario said, pulling his coat back.

  “We saw your guns this morning. So what?”

  “Not the weapon, the badge.”

  “Like I said, so what?”

  “I’m a cop. Trust what I’m telling you. Tell your brother he should be careful in there. Felipe Cruz is a FBI snitch.”

  “For real?”

  The look on their face was priceless. Even the lady in black looked concerned.

  “Why else would a man with a rap sheet like Felipe Cruz not be on death row? The Feds want him with the masses, collecting information for them.”

  “My Uncle Lorenzo is not going to like that—”

  The lady in black raised her hand to the skinny guy, stopping him in mid-sentence. She lifted her black veil to Mario. “Are you sure Felipe’s a rat?”

  From the smell of her clothes and the sound of her raspy voice, she was a two-pack-a-day smoker.

  “Hey, I’m a cop. Would I lie?”

  CHAPTER 41

  Mario spent half the afternoon working on a mandatory report when meeting with an inmate in prison. What he said, what was the tone of the conversation, and how did the prisoner respond. All a bunch of crap because no cop was going to outline the truth, mainly since there was no recording or video during the get-together. Mario’s visit wa
s all personal when he started out. After reviewing the report, Olivia put together he had some new ideas how to charge and prove Felipe was involved in some cold cases they always suspected him as masterminding. With approval from a judge to charge Felipe, it surely would get him sent to death row if convicted.

  Mario glanced at a clock on the wall a few times. Truman had noticed and brushed it off. Mario did it again for the third time in just a few seconds.

  “What’s with the clock?”

  “What?”

  “You’re looking at the clock like it’s New Year's Eve and you’re waiting for the ball to drop.”

  Mario made a face. “Waiting for a call.” He turned his chair to Truman. “Kate’s on her way back to New Orleans, and I’m going to get a call when she’s home.”

  “Didn’t know she was out of town.”

  “It’s a long story,” he said, turning his chair back to his desk. “I’ll spare you the details.”

  The phone rang, and it was quickly answered. “Detective Mario.”

  Mario’s eyes stared down at the floor. He had an intense look on his face. His eyes blinked often, and you could tell he was hanging on to every word the person was saying.

  “Got it, 6 p.m. How’s her frame of mind, attitude, you know what I mean,” Mario said, nervously moving paper clips into a pile on his desk. “I understand. Howard, thanks, I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

  It had been six days since the attempted kidnapping, and Mario had no contact with her. She simply wouldn’t take his phone calls; their relationship had hit a rough patch. It was hard for Mario to understand.

  Mario grew as cold as some of the psychopaths he had chased down without even knowing. As a homicide cop, he had become desensitized to shocking, gruesome murders. So much that in his mind, Kate’s hospital attack and kidnapping should just be brushed off and forgotten.

  Once again Howard came through with assistance beyond expectation, following a Pearl River cop that escorted Kate from her father’s weekend home to the state line. Howard stepped in and trailed her back to Saint Charles Avenue. He managed to talk to Kate before going in the house, and she agreed to meet Mario that night for dinner.