We’d been talking for just about an hour, and time was money here. I told them if they heard or saw anything that worried them to call me and handed out cards.
Roland led me back to the main hallway. Just as we got there, the door opened and a man in uniform came in. I recognized him. He was Joanne’s boss’s boss’s boss, high up in the cop world. He was a tall, distinguished man; a thick head of gray hair and the lines on his face gave his age. He noticed me, and cop that he was, knew that I knew who he was.
“It’s not what you think,” he said.
Roland left us, presumably to find Madame Celeste.
“I’m not thinking anything,” I replied.
“You’re the PI who’s friends with Joanne Ranson,” he said. “Thought you looked familiar.”
“Joanne is a good cop,” was my reply. He must have paid attention to know that.
“Yes, she is. What are you doing here?”
We were both in a whorehouse. He could be thinking the same thing about me I was thinking about him. Except I wasn’t important enough to get it for free.
“Security. Talked to the staff about how to keep themselves safe coming and going from here.”
“Celeste told you about the murdered women?”
“Yes, and asked me to do what I can to keep things safe.”
“She thinks her girls are at risk?”
“No,” I admitted. “But they’re worried and she wanted to reassure them.”
“Believe it or not, I’m here for the same reason.”
“No reason not to believe.”
“We go back a long way. I busted her a few times in my rookie cop days. Liked her enough to be glad she got off the street. Do I like this? No. Do I think I can stop it? No. Better to have a place like this than kids in the streets doing anything and some of them getting killed.”
“So you turn a blind eye to what’s going on?”
“Yeah, more or less. Maybe I’m jaded, but there are more important criminals to go after.”
“This is a victimless crime?”
“There are always victims. We can’t save them all. Do I save the next woman who might be dumped in the river? Or bust this place?”
“I think we can agree on that.”
“And Celeste sometimes helps out. She lets me know things I’m not going to find out any other way.”
“Like what senator is visiting here?”
He shook his head, annoyed at my sarcasm. “No, like if a new gang is muscling in, someone we need to look out for.”
“Is that what’s happening here?”
“That was just an example. She’s a smart woman. When you see Joanne, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention me being here.”
“She’s on vacation, out on the West Coast. I doubt I’ll talk to her anytime soon.”
He nodded at me.
Roland and Madame Celeste entered.
“Ah, Micky, my staff said you were very helpful.”
“Glad to hear that,” I said. Maybe I was, but her staff hadn’t had enough time to report to her. What game is she playing, I wondered. Had she planned for the two of us to “accidentally” run into each other? If so, why?
To him, she said, “Joseph, it’s so good to see you again. As you can see, I did take you up on your suggestion and bring in someone to talk about self-defense.”
“Glad to see you occasionally take my advice,” he answered.
“Please come back this way, if you have a few minutes. I have one or two things to mention to you.” To me, she said, “Micky, thank you so much for doing this.”
“No problem,” I said. It was time for me to leave. “I’ll continue to come by at random times and check on things like you asked.”
She smiled at me, understanding my meaning and seemingly appreciating that I wasn’t playing along quite as nicely as I was supposed to. Or else she was far too practiced at smiling for me to know what was going on behind it.
I followed Roland to the door. I didn’t look back to see where Madame Celeste took him. I wanted to think the Scotch she’d given me was special.
Roland watched me as I left. He, too, was on guard, protective of anyone who came through those doors, as if his watchfulness could keep the evil away.
Maybe it could. I wanted to think something could help protect the woman who didn’t have great choices in life.
It was cooler now with the sun gone and only a wan new moon in the sky. I zipped up my jacket and wished I’d brought a scarf to keep the wind out of my throat.
I could hear the occasional noise from Bourbon Street two blocks down, horns honking, an occasional shout or drunken singing. But it was mostly quiet here. I chose to walk back on Burgundy, although Rampart with its higher volume of traffic and businesses would be what I’d advise the women to do.
I’m tall and have a gun. That allowed me to prefer the quieter street, lit by the dim glow of scattered porch lights. Save for the parked cars, I was walking the same streets of a century ago. I liked feeling the history, the whispers of the past the night brought out.
I heard footsteps behind me.
I lengthened my stride so whoever it was wouldn’t catch up with me.
A car slowly drove past.
Once it was gone the footsteps sped up.
It was one person.
I cut to the other side of the street.
The footsteps followed.
I adjusted my jacket and brought the messenger bag in front of me. I stuck my hand in and found my gun.
Most likely it was someone who lived here hurrying home. Or a lost tourist trying to catch up to me to ask directions. It was early in the evening for criminals to be out.
The steps were getting closer.
I held off looking back; that would give away I was aware of the person behind me and worried enough to be spying on them.
Not a small person, but I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.
I had passed a small grocery store a few blocks back, but I didn’t think there were any more down this way.
This was a dark area, the next light a good twenty feet away.
The steps were closer, only a few paces behind me.
I suddenly stopped and turned, my hand firmly on the gun. If I needed to—and I certainly hoped I didn’t—I could shoot through the bag.
I was pushed against a wall, a hand on my throat.
“Be careful, Knight, you can get in trouble walking by yourself.”
Emily Harris.
“Bang. You’re dead,” I said, shoving the bag hard enough against her to feel the barrel.
“You have a permit?” She was still holding me against the wall, her hand loosened, a gentle grip.
“Of course I have a permit. I’m one of the law-abiding people, remember?”
“Really? What are you doing coming out of a house of prostitution?”
“Are you following me?”
“Would I tell you if I was?”
“No.”
“So answer my question.”
“Are you interrogating me? Is this part of your official investigation?”
“Not yet.”
“Security.”
“Security? What do you mean?”
“Even houses of ill-repute need security.”
“Seriously? You expect me to believe that?”
“No, but then you do seem to have a problem believing me.”
“You’re telling me Desiree Montaigne hired you to provide security?”
“Who?”
“Desiree Montaigne, the owner of record on the property.”
That had to be Celeste’s real name. “Oh, sorry, that’s not the name of my contact. But yes, they seriously hired me to help with security.”
“Who’s your contact?”
“My clients pay for confidentiality.”
“Right.”
“I spent about an hour talking to the, ah, workers there about how to protect themselves when walking to their car or
home.”
“Not in the place?”
“Quit interrupting.”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re sexy when you take charge.”
Damn. I was doing my best to ignore her body against mine, pinning me to the wall. The hand on my neck had now turned to a caress.
Focus, Micky. “They’re well protected there. But my contact was worried about them outside. The working girls were spooked after hearing about the women dumped in the river.”
Emily tensed. “How did they hear about them?”
“I don’t know.” I did know, but it was hearsay, and that was close enough to “don’t know” for me. “I once worked an embezzlement case that involved services on that property. I worked out a deal where no arrests were made and they got a good portion of their money back.”
“So the embezzler can do it again at another place?”
“I’m not the police. My client hired me to get the money back.”
She snorted. “Okay, go on.”
“So my contact knew who I was. Once she heard about the murders, she wanted to do everything she could to protect her girls.”
“Her business, you mean.”
That was too close to the truth for me to admit. “Either or both. Anyway, I was hired to talk to the women about ways to protect themselves, things they need to think about on the streets. Also to occasionally drive by or walk around.”
“By yourself? That could be dangerous.”
“Remember bang?” I said, waggling the bag against her. I’d let go of the gun. It would be downright unfriendly to keep my finger on the trigger. “Besides, my contact admitted that it’s mostly security theater. Her workers are nervous and she wants them to feel more secure.”
“So Desiree hired a hot PI like you to help out?” Emily worked her thigh between my legs.
“I told you, we knew each other from a previous encounter. And I never said my contact was Desiree.”
“You said ‘she,’ and the only she in charge is Desiree.”
Shit. I hadn’t meant to give that away. “There’s a car coming.”
“Is it black and boxy?”
“No, a small red Mini Cooper.”
“Not to worry, then. It’s not one of ours.”
“But it could be homophobic assholes.”
“In a Mini? Get real. Besides they’d have to be stupid enough to take on two armed woman who are well trained in taking care of ourselves.”
“Even guns don’t always protect against other guns.”
“So you just happened to get hired to do security theater at one of the high-class hooker hotels in the city. Think you’re being set up?”
“No.” I tried to pull away from her. But I didn’t try very hard.
She lifted her other hand up and held my face between her hands. “I don’t know how much you know, but you don’t want to get involved with this. These are dangerous, brutal people, ones who will stop at nothing. I really don’t want to drag you out of the river.”
“Not in my plans. Not at all in my plans.”
She kissed me, very softly, a whisper of her lips against mine. As if she really did care.
I let her kiss me. It seemed safer than talking. Then I kissed her back. That wasn’t safer than talking, but at this exact moment, safety wasn’t on my mind.
I wanted her. I wanted not to think, not to worry about the next moment or the next day. To be held and kissed, to take in the intoxicating scent of desire. I wanted everything to melt away to two bodies touching each other, pleasure and warmth, like we were new people and had just found each other.
Another car drove by, its headlights piercing the shadowed envelope we were in.
We weren’t new people; we were the women we had become, all the years and scars and hurt places and fears, and there were always consequences and the morning would come.
We pulled away.
“Why don’t you walk me home?” she said.
“Yeah? So who walks me home?”
She took my hand, holding it as we walked. A claim, one I let her have.
“I can if you want.”
“But then I’d have to walk you back to your place.”
“Like an Escher print,” she said, assuming I knew enough about art to recall his print of never-ending staircases.
“We can leave it at one walk.”
“Next time I’ll be the one left alone,” she said, as if seeing a future.
We were silent for half a block, I said, “Emily, what are we doing?”
“You’re attractive and I’m trying to save your life. I can’t speak for you.”
“This is complicated.”
“Understatement, my friend.”
“Complicated, messy, we don’t trust each other. You’re risking your career.”
“I’m risking getting sent to Peoria, but not my entire career. At least I don’t think so. If it turns out you play a major role in this, then I’ll be scrubbing toilets in Duluth.”
“You think I might be the kind of killer who mutilates a living woman and dumps her in the river?”
“No, I don’t think that.” She hesitated. “But I can’t close the door on your being involved in ways you’re not being honest about. Oh, and how did you get that little detail? We certainly did not release that to the press.”
“I have connections in law enforcement.”
“Who?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Figured. That’s annoying, you know.”
“That I won’t tell you?”
“That you don’t trust me enough to let me help sort this out.”
“It’s not trust”—although it was—“but my clients pay me to keep my mouth shut.”
“Even around murder?”
“I wouldn’t protect a murderer. I make it clear up front I’m not the cops, and if they cheat on their taxes it’s not my concern. But if I stumble over a major crime, murder, diddling kids, major theft, I’m not going to cover it for them.” That was my standard spiel. I’d never put it to the test, mostly because I rejected clients I suspected of wanting me to cover for them.
“Glad to hear it.”
We turned down Emily’s street.
“Hey, thanks for the flowers.”
“Felt guilty about sending you out without breakfast.”
“You were called to the river, weren’t you?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah, we needed to be at the scene.”
“Do you think it was a message?”
“Message? What do you mean?”
“To the other women. Don’t act up, don’t try to escape.”
“Maybe. It’s hard to know. My best guess is that if it was a message, it was to the other gang.”
We stopped in front of her house.
“Other gang?”
“Keep it confidential. We think two groups are fighting for control. They both think New Orleans, especially with all the events coming up, is golden for making money off the sex trade. One side killed the two women because they had been brought in by the other side. It wasn’t a message to the women—they’re expendable. It was a message to their rivals.”
“What evidence do you have for that?”
“Sorry, no one-way streets. That’s all I’m giving until you give me what you know.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“I know it’s cold, Mardi Gras will be in a few weeks, the earth isn’t flat—”
“Not that everything,” she cut in.
“Can’t,” I said, wishing I could. She had named the stakes, brutal murder. I couldn’t trust her yet. I didn’t want to end up in the river. Or send Ashley there.
“I wish you’d come clean with me. I can help,” she said quietly. She would be good in the interview room. She sounded like she really meant her words, really meant she would help, get you a better prison, a lighter sentence for cooperating, rehab.
“I don’t need help.” I added, “Really, I don’t. I�
�m only involved as much as giving working girls tips on walking home.”
She sighed. “Much as it’s not useful, I admire that you won’t break your code of ethics.”
It was a genuine compliment, not what I’d expected from her. Like the flowers. “Yeah, uh, thanks. As annoying as it is, I admire your persistence.”
“Bullshit, no, you don’t.”
“Okay, I don’t. Actually, I do, but there’s more annoyance than admiration.”
“Fair enough.” She looked at me. “Do you want to come in?”
I looked down. “Want to? Yes. But…it’s not a good idea.”
“Probably not,” she agreed and let go of my hand.
“Okay, see you around.” I started to walk away.
“Hey, Knight. Call me if you need me.”
I turned back to look at her. “I will.” I started walking away again.
“You can call me even if you don’t need me,” she said softly, as if it didn’t matter whether I heard it or not.
I turned again. “Yeah, maybe I’ll do that.” I had to walk away, otherwise it would be too easy to leave the cold and enter her warm house. My so-called code of ethics was frayed and ragged at the edges. Waking up next to her, her head on my shoulder would make it too tempting to tell her what she wanted to know, to believe she wasn’t the corrupt one Ashley had warned me about or the too-trusting friend who told her coworkers everything.
“Damn, damn, damn,” I muttered as I crossed Rampart.
She was too tempting, and I didn’t need that kind of temptation.
I hurried, from the cold and away from her lure.
Who did I trust? Ashley? She was the one who’d warned me about the snitch in her ranks and she was the one most at risk. Maybe Emily didn’t know or maybe she was part of it. If she did know, she didn’t trust me enough to tell me.
“Complicated, way too complicated,” I muttered. The case and my life.
Once back at my place, I occupied myself with finding something to eat. And drink. I allowed myself to nurse a glass of the good Scotch while I threw together dinner, a stir-fry of everything still edible in the fridge. Well, not the milk.
I let the food—and the alcohol—burn off the edge, make everything seem solvable or at least okay to wait until tomorrow.
Maybe that was how I’d let too many things slide until tomorrow, a day that never came. I’d worried about Cordelia in Houston, me here. But the nights would come and I’d tell myself I’d think about it the next day. Or the next. I’d find some way to be there for her and not abandon my life. But the next day held no answers, only the bustle of life from the demands of work, groceries, the bank, arrangements for the next trip there. Not a future, just the days slipping away. Until they were gone and I couldn’t call them back.
The Shoal of Time Page 18
