Thrill Kill

by Don Bruns

  ‘We’re under the gun here,’ Archer said. ‘I could use some help. Getting a court order would take time and—’

  ‘But I’ve got another idea,’ she said, the enthusiasm showing in her voice.

  ‘What’s that?’ Disgust showing in his voice.

  ‘We contracted with a guy out of California. He has a team of ten trackers that follow each parade with a GPS, and you could track every parade in town on your computer, phone, or any mobile device just by logging on to our website. All in real time. Pretty cool.’

  ‘How does that work?’

  ‘Detective Archer,’ Brooke’s voice got very quiet, very serious and very direct, ‘if this leads to something, I want first rights. If this leads to an arrest, an investigation, a conviction, you call me once you’re ready to go public. I’m the first one to hear it, OK? I want an exclusive for twenty-four hours.’

  Archer was scratching it all on a piece of notebook paper. Ten trackers, GPS routing for all Krewe parades, available on all digital devices. He had nothing to lose and possibly something to gain. And he really needed some answers.

  ‘OK, I’m pretty sure I can do this. I will give you my word.’ He would do everything possible to honor that request. Still, there was always the possibility of complications.

  ‘OK. And, Detective, I’m seriously counting on you. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Here’s the information. Doug Favor is a software guy out of Van Nuys, California. Last year he mapped every parade for us with a team of trackers. We were able to stream live reports on where the parades were at all times.’

  ‘And people wanted to know that because?’

  ‘You’re obviously not from here. It’s a big deal.’

  ‘I don’t see how a GPS will show me a murder. It’s simply a tracking device.’

  ‘Stay with me, Detective. This year, at least two of his trackers with each parade carry a Ricoh Theta S spherical digital camera. It’s a very small stick camera that has two fish-eye lenses and films a complete 360-degree image.’ She was quiet for a moment, letting the information sink in. ‘We ran it live using Wi-Fi but he digitally stored some of it for later use.’

  Archer held his phone between his shoulder and neck and did a quick Internet search for the camera. There it was, about five inches tall, maybe two inches wide and less than an inch thick. A spherical lens on the front and back. A 360-degree view. Amazing.

  ‘OK, and how is this going to help me?’

  ‘Call Doug. He owns the footage and I’ve got his number right here. If anyone has an image of your murder, he does.’

  ‘Brooke, thank you. Seriously. But I’m telling you, if this doesn’t work, you’ll be getting that court order.’

  ‘I hope it gives you your lead, Detective. I’m serious as well. Because I want first dibs on this story.’ She paused. ‘Oh, and of course I want you to catch the killer. That goes without saying.’

  ‘I want to write your name down, Brooke.’

  ‘Brooke Waters. You can’t forget that. And Detective Archer, I get the news first. We’ve got a deal. Right?’

  Case Blount pushed the buttons on his cell phone.

  ‘Homicide.’

  ‘Can you direct me to the officer who is handling the murder of attorney Trevor Parent?’

  ‘The thrill kills? Of course. That would be Detective Archer. Quentin Archer. Let me ring that extension.’

  ‘No need. I have all the information I could want.’

  Blount hung up and made a second call. This time to Mexico.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘It’s Case Blount.’

  ‘I hope this is important, Case. This line is not to be used for—’

  ‘I have the name of the lead cop on the thrill kill murders.’

  ‘I’m aware of them.’

  ‘If these murders tie together, our operation may be exposed.’

  There was silence on the other end.

  ‘Are we clear?’

  ‘Yes. And of course, we need to delay that inevitability. At least until we can set up another operation. In two to three weeks we can scrub this one, lay low for a brief time, then start another one.’

  ‘Yes,’ Blount said. He slapped his hand on the desk. ‘My observation exactly. Things are going well right now, and if we can milk a little more, it gives us time to build another franchise.’

  ‘So, what do you suggest?’

  ‘Killing a cop tends to piss people off,’ Blount said.

  ‘Not a solid solution.’

  ‘Maybe someone can talk to this cop. This Detective Archer. Set up a situation where higher officials are in charge. His position in the case is back-burnered while State and Federal officials get involved.’

  ‘Slow down his process?’

  ‘Is that possible?’ Blount asked.

  ‘We’re talking about thousands of dollars per day. The longer we can drag this out the more we make. And it gives us time to shut your current operation down. Open a new business. Give our friends down south a chance to set up a new channel.’

  ‘So—’ Blount reached for his handkerchief, and putting one hand over the phone he loudly blew his nose ‘—you will talk to the detective? Archer?’

  ‘Someone will. What was that sound? Is there a freight train going down Magazine Street?’

  ‘Keep me informed,’ Blount said.

  ‘Here’s what I envision, Blount. On my end, we will set up a sting. I’ll see to it that the FBI and New Orleans Police are involved. We’ll do it slowly, making sure everything is in place. Stretch it as long as we can. Then we take down the gangs, look like the good guys, and we can even say you were part of the solution, that you supplied us with all the information so we could make it all happen. And we’ll liberate all these young girls. Heroes, Mr Blount. Heroes.’

  ‘I’d need more than your word on that.’

  ‘We’ll move you, get you protection and set up somewhere else in six months.’

  ‘It’s time, isn’t it?’ A little sad, a little relieved.

  ‘It’s time, Case. Everything runs its course.’

  ‘For now?’

  ‘Business as usual. Keep the boys from killing each other, do what you have to do. We’ll slow down the opposition until we have a plan.’

  ‘I’m following your lead.’

  ‘Again, this line is only for emergencies.’

  ‘I thought this was an emergency.’

  ‘You may be right.’

  THIRTEEN

  She sat on the levee with her three charges. Ma and two women in their eighties. Bundled in sweaters and scarves, the three ladies stared unfocused at the river as if unaware of the swirling water. Ma’s vacant gaze to the other shore was a cold hard lock. As if she had retreated into her mind, condemning anything in her line of vision for interrupting her innermost thoughts.

  ‘Ma, I’m talking to Detective Q. You met him the other day. I’ve told you about him in the past. I worked with him regarding a murder of a judge, do you remember? This time he’s asked for some help on another murder investigation. I was going to show you something that was a part of a murder scene. I was going to have you touch it and see if you felt any energy, but I decided now might not be a good time. Still, I want you to be involved. You always had – have good instincts.’

  The dark gray-haired lady never looked up, her eyes continuing to stare across the Mighty Miss.

  Solange took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Relaxation techniques. The doctor had suggested that she keep Ma engaged. You never knew what the mind may comprehend. Keep talking, about the weather, about personal issues, about the past and the present. Whatever you could think of. If there was a spark, a moment of recognition, it would come from these conversations, these engagements.

  ‘Ma, I pray every day for you. But I also pray that these murders stop. And then, I get this feeling. Some of these victims aren’t innocent citizens who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some of these victims were causing h
uge problems for hundreds of people. So, is it wrong to feel somewhat relieved that the evil in society meets an untimely end? Because I’m not certain I should feel bad about some of these deaths.’

  No response. The oldest lady in the trio suddenly pointed toward the water.

  ‘Oh look, sweety, the Robert E. Lee is coming around the bend.’

  There was no paddle wheeler in sight. The woman’s husband had abandoned her years ago.

  ‘Maybe George is finally coming home. He was visiting his sister, you know, in Cincinnati.’

  ‘Maybell, I hope he makes it in time for supper,’ Solange interjected.

  The lady cackled. ‘Chicken and biscuits, potatoes and gravy. But he’ll have to cook. I can’t boil water, I swear.’

  ‘You’ve reached the office of Doug Favor. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.’

  Archer slammed the phone down. Fucking answering machines, voicemail, texting. There was no human contact anymore. Immediately his desk phone rang and he grabbed it.

  ‘This is Doug Favor. You just called here?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ He took a deep breath. Relax. ‘This is Quentin Archer. I’m a homicide detective with the NOPD. Mr Favor—’

  ‘Doug.’

  ‘Mr Favor, I understand you have footage from the Bacchus Parade.’

  ‘Technically, no, Detective. Footage would denote film. This is all digital. I had a spherical camera on each side of the parade.’

  ‘So you were able to see both sides of the event.’

  ‘Not all of the event. There were thirty some floats and several miles of traveling. But I’ve got about forty minutes of … what is it you’re looking for?’

  ‘There was a murder committed on the parade route. Apparently no one saw anything, and I thought just maybe if we reviewed your footage … uh, your video …’

  ‘I’d be glad to assist. I can download what I have to your computer in the next ten minutes. Would that be helpful?’

  Would that be helpful? ‘Yes. That would be wonderful.’ No court orders. Archer was ecstatic.

  ‘To be clear, Detective, these wonderful cameras were mounted on sticks and show a complete 360 field. Understand that the focus was on the direction of the parade, and the floats and riders.’

  ‘But, you are showing a 360-degree video? That’s what we’ll see?’ Archer pictured the view.

  ‘Yes. You get the peripherals. You get everything.’

  ‘This murder, it seems to have happened maybe no more than ten feet from the actual route. Ten feet from one of the floats.’

  ‘I can’t promise anything, Detective, but I will send you all that I have.’

  ‘Ten minutes, right?’

  ‘I’ll send you the unedited video right now.’

  It was a long shot but worth however much time it took. Archer wondered about Solange Cordray’s comments. According to her, the energy of the Chill can revealed that it was featured in a video but obviously no one was focusing on the murder or the blue can. And yet, she’d felt certain the video was available to thousands of people. A can with energy? He wondered what he was even thinking, spending time on the supposed spiritual readings of an inanimate object. And it played in his head how much he wanted to believe. He hoped she was right. If energy forces and the supernatural played a part in the universe, maybe things could work out for the best. Maybe questions would be answered instead of humans constantly interfering. Maybe, just maybe there was a rhythm and sense in nature. Left alone, things might just sort themselves out.

  No. That was the pipe dream that the voodoo lady’s clients bought into. Gris-gris bags and voodoo dolls, spells and fragments of animal bones tossed on a canvas map. He couldn’t totally go there. But the 360-degree view seemed to be as good a place as any to start. Canned energy. Like the compressed gas that was released to chill a bottle of wine. He hoped she was right. It might make his life a whole lot easier.

  Beeman, Levy and Archer sat at three adjoining desks, watching the unusual video.

  ‘I synced it so we’re all seeing the same thing at the same time. Our assumption is the stabbing took place on the Quarter side of the parade route. If we don’t see anything the first thirty-six minutes, we’ll either rerun the video or check the camera that filmed on the other side.’

  Levy nodded. ‘Old school, Q. Filmed?’

  Archer smiled. ‘OK, Mr Technical, the camera shot video segments. No film.’

  ‘It’s a new world, Q. Especially for dinosaurs like us. I think that breakouts on these videos are called photo-spherics.’

  Beeman stared at his screen. ‘Let someone else worry about technical terms. We’re looking for a killer. To be clear, we’re not looking forward, because that’s only where the parade is headed, right?’

  ‘That’s correct,’ Archer said, ‘but as the video rotates, you can’t be sure what’s the front view and what are the side views so we’ve got to analyze every scene. Now, since we’re all hooked up to the same feed, I’ll show you the entire view.’ He touched the screen on his laptop, dragging his finger across the plastic and the video slowly swirled around.

  ‘Pretty cool.’ Levy watched with fascination.

  ‘We may have to run this a number of times,’ Archer said. ‘Every time I show you the entire circumference and come back to the starting point, the parade has already moved twenty to fifty feet depending how fast I rotate the film. Sorry, how fast I rotate the video.’

  ‘We could be here a long time,’ Beeman said.

  ‘We could catch the killer,’ Archer shot back.

  Case Blount swiveled in his leather desk chair. Sipping dark coffee laced with Irish whiskey he stared out the window at Magazine Street, which stretched out in front of him down below. Tourists paraded with colorful T-shirts advertising local restaurants, questionable slogans like I’m Not A Gynecologist But I’ll Take A Look or their favorite college logo. He’d done a personal survey, and even though LSU was the local favorite, Ohio State was apparently the most wearable university in the country. If you saw someone with an Ohio State T-shirt, you shouted ‘O-H’. The response should be ‘I-O’. His nephew had come back from Columbus with that choice chant. He took a swallow of his coffee and contemplated the situation.

  Delroy Houston had made it clear he was a hands-off manager. He had people to do his dirty work. It was hard to trace anything back to him, personally. And Blount wished he was a hands-off guy. But he wasn’t. He was intimately involved in almost every aspect of the operation. From bringing in the workers to finding them employment. He’d set up quite a network, and the drugs were a nice bonus. He worked deals, spent hours on the phone and computer setting up outlets and dealers. But if this fragile empire he’d developed came undone, if this web of tangled lies suddenly untangled, he was in a world of shit. And even though he could take down some of the high and mighty in this twisted city, probably some of the power brokers in Washington, if this system broke down, Delroy Houston would be right. Case Blount’s ass would be grass.

  He watched a young couple stroll down the street, holding hands and occasionally staring into each other’s eyes. That romantic world was so foreign to him. He dealt in the real world where there were commodities, exchanges, and everything had value. A set worth. Drugs, merchandise, even people. Everything had a price. And Case Blount set that price. If you wanted to play in New Orleans, you paid that price. It was entirely up to you.

  Quentin Archer was the officer in charge of the thrill kills. A decorated detective from Detroit, but there was a hint of scandal Blount had found on several social media platforms. A drug ring that involved members of his own family. Would this guy take money or was he a straight, stand-up guy? Nobody knew. If the investigation into these connecting murders had legs, Blount could throw up some serious roadblocks. There were high-powered people in this city and state who called the shots. People who profited off of his little venture. There were people even higher up who would help with a block. However, if Archer was an asshole
who refused to cooperate or be put off by the roadblocks, then Blount and his contacts would be forced to make some serious decisions. He hoped that the talk would result in Archer backing off. If it didn’t, he’d have to make some decisions. First and foremost was to keep his hands clean but let someone else dirty theirs.

  From what he’d read, it seemed that Archer leaned toward the clean-cut, all-American boy. And that was too bad, because unless the detective rolled over on these cases, he might just end up in the same situation as the victims. Dead.

  FOURTEEN

  Archer pushed back his chair and looked away from the screen. Rubbing his eyes he glanced down the row at his two companions.

  ‘We’ll view it a second time. We didn’t see everything. Every time we saw the front view, for a few seconds we missed a side view. Every time we saw a side view, we missed a few seconds of a rear view, a front view. Let’s take five and run it again. Agreed?’

  Beeman and Levy nodded, picking up empty coffee cups and heading for the pot. The two hours had been filled with stops and starts. Going back twenty seconds, advancing ten seconds. Thank God for modern technology. Every movement was analyzed, yet they hadn’t really seen everything just yet.

  Archer’s cell rang and he checked the area code. Detroit. Thank God it wasn’t Bobby Mercer with another harassing threat. He recognized the number.

  ‘Hey, Tom.’

  ‘Q, I’ve got a question. I think I already know the answer.’ DPD Detective Tom Lyons was to the point.

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Regarding our friend Bobby Mercer, the photos of him heisting a car in a parking lot are, according to our prosecuting attorney, inconclusive. Looks like him stealing the car that killed Denise, but, and sorry, man, the prosecutor doesn’t feel we have quite enough. She doesn’t seem to think it’s that clear. Truthfully, I think if this were the case of some scumbag drug dealer from West Warren and McKinley, it would be a slam dunk. But this is a decorated street cop and they can’t afford to fuck this one up, you know what I’m saying?’

  Archer knew it was him. Mercer, that son of a bitch, had come up over the sidewalk and run her down. And Denise’s death was the warning that drove him from Detroit. If he kept trying to out the drug ring that Mercer, his brothers and a handful of other cops ran under the wire, they’d kill him too.