Gumbo Justice

by Holli H. Castillo

  Shep groaned. “What does she look like?”

  Spence’s face broke into a smile. “Kidding, Chapetti, just kidding. I’ll give you a freebie. The captain’s being an asshole on this one.” He picked a file up from his desk. “Here. Cause of death was an involuntary heroin overdose. The place is locked down every night, but some of the patients keep their windows open, so it would have been easy enough for somebody to sneak in without being seen. And video only covers the front desk and the exits. Nothing on any of those.”

  Shep flipped through the file, stopping at a copy of Patti’s medical records.

  “I copied everything Upperline had,” Spence explained. “The desk clerk let me help myself.”

  Shep flipped through the records, finally stopping at the gynecological form. The history listed sixteen pregnancies, including three live births. So Jacob could have been Patti’s child. Unfortunately, the form didn’t contain the names of the children for the necessary proof. Shep exhaled, wondering what he should do next.

  Ryan was right. The evidence wouldn’t be sufficient to get a subpoena for records from DSS. The courts were extremely strict about sealed adoption records. Shep tried to think if there was another way to get into the records. One of his ex-girlfriends worked for Social Services, but he doubted Ryan would appreciate him sleeping with the woman in order to obtain the information.

  He tossed the records on Spence’s desk, wondering what his next step should be.

  “You know, the AG isn’t coming until tomorrow to jack the stolen evidence case from us,” Spence pointed out.

  “And you’re telling me this why?” Not that Shep really had to ask. Spence wasn’t the type to make small talk. If he was bringing up the case, he already had a plan in action. And one that would undoubtedly end in disciplinary action for both of them somewhere down the road, if not sooner.

  Spence looked at him earnestly. “I’ve already done the leg work. I’ve narrowed the clerks down to the two most likely suspects. All we need to do is go talk to them.”

  “What happens tomorrow when the assistant AG shows up? He might not appreciate us stepping all over his case.”

  “If we have it solved for him, he’ll get over it. And if we do find the clerk who took the evidence, he’ll let us know how the evidence got from him to Travis Dalton.”

  Shep contemplated the idea. “And how exactly are we going to get this clerk to talk to us? We’ve got nothing to offer him. No matter what he tells us, the AG is still going to go after him for the stolen evidence.”

  Spence tilted his head. “The moron won’t know that. And between the two of us, I’m sure we can think of some way to persuade the guilty party to tell us what we want to know.”

  “You’re one crazy bastard, Spence. If this wasn’t for Ryan –”

  “So you’re in?” Spence asked.

  “What do you think?” Shep answered. “If you’re willing to put your job on the line, so am I.”

  “You worry too much, Chapetti. When have I ever steered you wrong?”

  An image popped in Shep’s mind of crossing the International Bridge at the Texas border, praying that the border patrol agents didn’t ask him to pop the trunk. “You’re right, Spence. I’m worrying for nothing. Let’s go.”

  5:00 P.M.

  Ryan scrounged through her messy closet for something appropriate to wear to the D.A.’s fund-raiser. She had almost decided not to go, despite the fact that she had paid $200 for the ticket over a month ago. Purchasing at least one seat at the overpriced function was more or less a requirement, an unspoken rule at the office.

  Ryan definitely didn’t feel like socializing right now, especially in support of the

  D.A. who might be about to boot her from the office. She doubted Peter even expected her to show up, after everything that had happened.

  But on the other hand, she would look good if she did put in an appearance. Peter Berkley paid attention to those types of things, to the point that Ms. Vera insisted that every employee sign in at each function so the D.A. could verify his staff’s support. When the murders were solved, Ryan would have brownie points to spare.

  Edie had called, begging her to go, promising her that a night out would somehow make her feel better. Ryan debated the issue, and since Shep was busy anyway, agreed to meet Edie at the Superior Grill, the St. Charles Avenue Mexican restaurant where the event was being held.

  Ryan grabbed a black Escada dress from the hanger. It was halter-style, but not too revealing, and looked really good on her. She slipped into the dress and doubted that the backless garment would meet her father’s approval. Lucky for her she wasn’t speaking to him.

  She added a pair of strappy black heels that were excellent Dolce & Gabbana knock-offs, and stood in front of the mirror. One more smear of lip gloss over her already made-up lips, and a bit more eyeliner, and she was ready to go. She tossed her powder compact, lipstick and revolver in the matching knock-off purse, and went outside to meet Puddy. Maybe Edie was on to something. Knowing she looked good for a change put a little bounce back in her step.

  “Puddy, are you in the mood for Mexican?” Ryan asked, walking up to the police unit.

  The chunky cop smiled. “What’s her name?”

  “Food, Puddy.” She laughed, slightly strained, but still a relief. “Superior Grill. Are you my shadow for the night?”

  “Better than that. I’m your chauffeur. You need a ride, I’m your man.”

  In ten minutes they were pulling up outside the trendy restaurant. The music was loud, even from the street, and people were already mingling on the patio outside.

  A second later, Edie flew around the corner in her white Camry, and screeched to a stop a foot away from Puddy’s car. She parked illegally in front of Puddy and jumped out, grabbing Ryan’s arm and leading her into the restaurant. Miss Vera sat at a chair by the front door.

  “Sign in, ladies,” she said, and handed Ryan a pen. The woman watched carefully, as if she thought they might try to forge someone else’s name.

  The tables had been pushed against the walls in the casual restaurant, and food had been laid out buffet style. The D.A. was sitting with his wife at the first table, like a king waiting to be hailed by his royal subjects. Ryan made a point of walking up to him, giving him an obligatory smile, pretending as if he hadn’t just told her she might need to start looking for a new job. Edie shook his hand with a nervous giggle.

  The room was filled with political bigwigs. The mayor, several judges, and a senator made the rounds. Ryan and Edie headed toward the side patio, where the other prosecutors had already gathered.

  Bo Lambert and Harry Stelly stood near the doorway, holding Margarita glasses.

  “The Margaritas are killer,” Bo said, raising his glass in a mock toast with a drunken smile. “Oops. I guess that was a poor choice of words, considering Durrell Wilson.”

  Mike shot Bo an annoyed look. “Bo, you should just be happy you don’t have to worry about losing Wilson’s trial now.” Mike turned to Ryan. “Ignore him. He’s been drunk since Friday when Rick announced Kellie got the Strike Force spot. How are you holding up anyway? That thing with Wilson must have been terrifying.”

  Ryan tried to smile. “Scarier than that cockroach in the St. Thomas.”

  “How come you’re here by yourself?” He looked around the room for a second. “Shouldn’t you have some kind of police escort?”

  “Puddy’s right outside,” Ryan explained, and then ordered a Cuervo Margarita from the waitress. She was digging in her purse for money — the D.A. always had a cash bar at his functions — when she heard her name. She was surprised to see Chance Halley waving to her from across the room.

  Mike touched her hand. “I’ve got this round.” He went back inside to the bar to pay for the drink.

  “Looks like Big Mike has a little crush on you,” Edie said, and then looked Chance over carefully, as if she was checking out a new car.

  Chance smiled at Edie and then loo
ked back at Ryan. “Out without your boyfriend?”

  Edie raised her eyebrows in Ryan’s direction, but remained silent.

  “He’s busy doing cop stuff. What dragged you out to a boring fund-raiser? Is there a dead body around here I don’t know about?”

  “Hey, reporters can support a candidate, can’t they?” he asked with a hurt look. “But since you are here, any leads on who kidnapped you from the station?”

  Ryan rolled her eyes as she shook her head. Edie elbowed her in the side before Chance could ask anything else.

  “Edie, this is Chance Halley, soon-to-be-famous television reporter. Chance, Edie Guilliot.”

  Edie gave him a dazzling smile. “Nice to meet you, Chance. Could you excuse us for one second?” She dragged Ryan to the side. “Boyfriend? So the picture in the paper is for real?”

  “Let’s just say I didn’t shave all the way up to my thighs Friday for nothing.”

  “Mazel Tov. Here.” Edie reached into her purse and pulled out a roll of tape. “You’ve earned it.”

  Ryan took the roll from her, confused. It looked like a roll of medical tape, except for the tiny cartoon pictures of people performing sex acts that were printed on it. “Edie, what is this supposed to be? And why in God’s name are you carrying it around in your purse?”

  “Bondage tape,” Edie said matter-of-factly. “Kinky stuff. Chapetti’s going to expect something more than missionary position. And I carry it in my purse so I am always prepared for good sex. Now, being that you’re with Detective Yummy, do you mind if I shamelessly throw myself at the reporter? Ernie and I broke up.”

  “Oh, Edie,” Ryan began, but Edie was already prowling back over to Chance Halley. Ryan quickly shoved the tape into her purse, afraid somebody would see it.

  Mike brought Ryan her drink, and then excused himself, heading to the restroom. Ryan walked around the room making small talk. She almost felt as if things were back to normal until her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID, and braced herself as she answered it.

  She recognized the gravelly voice immediately.

  “Hey, it’s Jimbo. I saw the cop who got the devil at Big Who’s, looking at an AK.”

  “Big Who sells guns at the strip club?” Ryan asked.

  “He just opened a pawnshop on Canal Street.”

  “Oh. Well, who is it?” Ryan realized she was playing cop again, but didn’t care.

  “Henry Cooper. I told him he looked familiar and he gave me his card. Stupid piece of shit.”

  “Jimbo, I owe you so big.” She tried to absorb the fact that Cooper was the person who had been making her life miserable. She knew he didn’t like her, but she couldn’t believe he hated her enough to be involved in some master plan to hurt her. In any event, the drama was all about to end. She was about to get her life back.

  Ryan hurriedly dialed Shep’s cell.

  “Hey baby, what’s up?”

  “I just got a phone call. Jimbo is the man.”

  “You heard from him?”

  “I guess he didn’t want to talk to Sean.” She couldn’t keep the smugness from her voice, not that she tried. “He saw the cop at Big Who’s looking at an AK.”

  “Big Who is selling guns?”

  “At his pawnshop on Canal, not the strip club,” Ryan explained, as if she couldn’t believe Shep didn’t know that. “And the cop who got the devil tattoo was none other than Henry Cooper.”

  “Damn. We didn’t even consider the crime lab officers. Stay there, I’ll come get you. You see Cooper, you stay by Puddy, okay?”

  “Sure. But Cooper’s not going to show up here.”

  “Wait with Puddy anyway. I’ll call Sean to pull a picture of Cooper. As soon as Devon makes an I.D., I’ll get a warrant.”

  She quickly found Edie and pulled her aside.

  “I have to go. You think Clark Kent can keep you company for the rest of the night?” Ryan tilted her head at Chance.

  “I heard that,” Chance said. “And Clark Kent was a newspaper reporter, not a TV reporter.”

  “Whatever,” Ryan dismissed the point. “Can you keep Edie entertained or not?”

  “I think I can manage that. Something about to break?” He looked hopeful.

  “Nah, Shep’s finished working so he’s coming to get me,” she lied.

  Puddy walked up. “I can’t believe Henry Cooper —”

  “I know,” Ryan interrupted, shaking her head in warning at Puddy.

  “What about Henry Cooper?” Chance asked. “That’s the guy from crime lab, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Ryan said quickly. “He got the clap from Kellie Leblanc.” Nobody seemed surprised at the news.

  “Hey, Puddy, come wait with me out front so I can smoke a cigarette.” Ryan grabbed his arm. She led the man through the patio and out the gate, back to the street in front of the Superior Grill.

  “Sorry,” he said when they got outside. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “I doubt anybody in there will tip him off. But Devon hasn’t even made an ID yet, so I don’t think the press needs to be in on it. Shep should have warned you not to mention it.”

  “Sorry,” he said again, and waved as Shep pulled up in the Vette.

  JACOB

  Jacob walked out to the sidewalk of Superior Grill a second after Shep and Ryan drove away, and dialed Henry Cooper’s cell phone number. Cooper’s identity had been discovered. In a matter of time, he would be caught. And then he would lead them to Jacob.

  Jacob set out the plan as quickly as he could, making sure Cooper understood that he couldn’t kill Ryan yet. That was the only rule. When he hung up, Jacob glanced around to make sure no one noticed him, and then skulked down the street to his car, to go to Cooper’s house. He could get there and do what he needed to do before anyone even realized he was gone. He would be back in the middle of things and nobody would ever know he left the party.

  His plan was almost complete. His sister would soon know what justice was all about.

  MONDAY

  1:00 A.M.

  In the middle of the night, Shep’s cell phone rang. Ryan listened to his end of the phone call, hoping it was news on Henry Cooper. While a lot of evidence was found at Cooper’s house, Cooper himself had never gone back home and had not yet been arrested. The evidence was all circumstantial, but convincing nevertheless, the most damning being copies of Ribson’s police reports, including the report involving the shooting of Jude Lightell by the police. The child’s name, Jacob, had been included in the report, although no additional identifying information had been given. It seemed as if Cooper had been the one responsible from the start, using Ryan’s past as a red herring.

  “You’re kidding.” From Shep’s tone, Ryan knew the call wasn’t good news. “I’ll be there as soon as you send a patrolman here.” He hung up and sighed.

  “Did they find Cooper?”

  “No. Shooting on Claiborne. I guess your dad was serious about me catching the new homicides.”

  “Be careful.” She kissed him before turning back over and going back to sleep. She was just getting back into a deep sleep when she heard a noise from the kitchen.

  At first, she thought Shep had come back for something. And then she saw the outline of a form in the room with her, and knew Shep hadn’t returned. She tried to reach for her gun, which was inside the nightstand next to the bed.

  “You won’t be needing this, bitch,” the figure said, yanking the phone from the top of the nightstand and throwing it across the room.

  Ryan opened her mouth to scream, hoping whoever was in the patrol unit outside would hear her, but the form punched her in the jaw, stunning her for a few seconds. She was still unable to react a second later as he put duct tape across her mouth.

  “Nobody will hear you now,” he whispered, climbing on top of her. She was wearing one of Shep’s SID shirts, with nothing underneath. The man brought his face close to hers. She tried to claw him, but he was wearing a rubber Halloween
mask. “I’ve been waiting under your house for a while. These floors are so thin.” Ryan could see a glint through the eye holes of the mask. “I could hear you screwing your boyfriend. What were you doing to him to make him moan like that?” He grabbed at her breasts through the T-shirt. “Maybe I’ll take the tape off your mouth and let you do that to me.”

  Ryan knew what he was after. She had also had a suspicion who he was, although she couldn’t be entirely certain. The blow had left her a little disoriented, and the voice was intentionally disguised.

  He started to lift her shirt and her survival instinct took over. She pushed his hands off, clawing at them, drawing blood, hoping to have DNA under her nails in case he killed her. She couldn’t imagine how he had gotten in, but she didn’t have time to think about it now. Her goal was to get him off of her, and then go for her gun. It was the only way she could possibly hope to escape whatever he had planned for her.

  He punched her in the face again, while she continued to struggle.

  “Bitch, you can make this easy or you can make this hard. Come to think of it, you’re already making it hard.” He laughed at his own joke as he put his hands around her throat. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long, I can’t believe I’m getting paid for it. I guess I’ll finally get to find out if your snatch really does have teeth. Now, you just follow along and do what I say and I won’t have to kill you.” She knew without a doubt the identity of her attacker.

  Ryan didn’t believe him, and she wasn’t about to get raped and killed without a fight. She searched her memory for the self-defense tricks her father tried to teach her. She had never taken him seriously. She had always been cocky, telling her father she would just shoot somebody if she had to. She thought back. Eyes and throat. The captain always said to punch the throat and jab the eyes. It would buy her time, if she could incapacitate the man for just a few seconds.

  She punched the man’s throat. He flinched. In that second, she lifted both hands and jabbed him in the eyes with them. The man reached for his eyes and when he did, Ryan moved quickly, knocking him off her. Without his hands to catch him, he fell to the floor, hard and loud. Unfortunately, he landed directly in front of the nightstand, blocking her access to the gun.