No Second Chances

by Don Bruns

  ‘Had he recently been involved in any altercations with black suspects in the community?’

  Archer hesitated. ‘We are currently reviewing Officer Leroy’s past arrest records. He was on the force for twenty-five years so as you may imagine, that’s going to take some time. We have no knowledge of the race or ethnicity of the shooter.’

  ‘But has there been any outstanding case with minorities that—’

  ‘Minorities?’

  ‘There have been incidents around the country where blacks have felt the need to come out and confront an authority figure. I’m just wondering if the officer had any altercations with the black community that …’

  ‘Ma’am, excuse me.’ The camera honed in on his steely gaze. ‘New Orleans is over sixty percent black. Sixty percent. That’s hardly a minority.’

  ‘Is there any indication that this may be a revenge killing, or—’

  ‘I think your time is up. It’s early in the investigation.’ Solange noticed the irritation in his voice. She knew the reporter was trying to introduce the Black Lives Matter movement as a possible motive. Archer was doing an admirable job of stopping her.

  ‘But, Detective, isn’t it true that a number of years ago he did have an altercation with a black man?’

  Archer was seething, gritting his teeth.

  ‘Altercation? My understanding is that the man drew on Officer Leroy. A Smith and Wesson. Officer Leroy acted in self-defense and was exonerated.’

  ‘Well, isn’t there a possibility that—’

  ‘As I said,’ he held up his right hand cutting her off, ‘we have no leads at this time. We are actively encouraging anyone with information to call the department and your privacy will be respected. Any leads no matter how small would be greatly appreciated.’ Archer abruptly turned and walked away.

  Solange pushed the power button on the remote and the room went silent. She took a deep cleansing breath, the incense-scented air filling her belly, and held it for five seconds. Then she slowly released it. She repeated the exercise, then stood up and walked into the shop.

  She opened a cupboard door and removed a white candle in a glass vase. The reversible candle made by a wax master from New Orleans. Two black-and-white faces decorated both sides of the glass. She lit the two wicks and watched the tiny flames grow larger until they burned steady and bright. The wicks united under the wax. Two flames uniting as one. Duality. The measure of rich and poor, hot and cold, old and young and more importantly, good and evil. Good and evil. She felt it. As she stared into the flame, there was a moment of clarity. The gods had waited for this moment to connect. All other questions remained irrelevant, but this moment, the difference between good and evil, this was apparently important to them. It didn’t matter which spirit, which god, spoke to her. She was in touch and that hadn’t happened in days. Maybe there was hope for Ma.

  She left the candle burning and walked back to her room, picking up her cell phone. She scanned through her contacts and pushed a button. The phone rang three times and then he answered.

  ‘Archer.’

  ‘Detective, this is Solange Cordray. I assume it’s been a long day? A very long day.’

  ‘You’ve apparently seen the news, Miss Cordray. It has been a long day. You can’t imagine. And I can’t imagine why you’re calling. It’s actually a nice break to hear from you after what’s been going on here.’

  ‘My call is related to your day. I lit a candle to try to get some vision, some idea of what you were up against.’

  ‘OK. I appreciate that.’

  ‘My communication with the spirits hasn’t been that good recently. And then, suddenly one of them spoke to me.’

  ‘No disrespect, but I’m always skeptical. You’ve helped me before and I thank you. But you know I question where you get your information. Of course, I question everything. It’s my job.’

  ‘Detective, can I see the body?’

  ‘The body?’

  ‘The officer’s body. Officer Leroy? I assume he’s at the morgue?’

  Archer was silent for a moment. ‘Have you seen a dead body before?’

  ‘I’ve said prayers over dead bodies …’

  ‘At the morgue? Where they have been subjected to an autopsy? Where, in this case, their heads have practically been blown off?’

  It was her turn to be silent. Finally, she spoke.

  ‘Detective,’ she sounded very stern, ‘I’m a big girl. I think I’m capable of handling that.’

  ‘What do you possibly think you’re going to gain?’

  ‘Detective Archer, the last person to see the killer before Officer Leroy was killed was probably Officer Leroy. I would bet on it.’

  ‘That’s probably true, but—’

  ‘The spirit leaves the body once it dies. I believe that. But the cavity is more than a vessel for the physical remains. The body retains an essence of its former occupant.’

  ‘An essence?’

  ‘Yes. An essence.’

  ‘Solange, are you certain you want to see this? It’s very raw. I was there today, I saw him in the squad car and—’

  ‘The body, I know you think I’m a little bit crazy, but the body retains some memory of its last moments. And sometimes I’m able to pick up that retention. Isn’t it worth a visit?’

  ‘I don’t know if this is such a good idea. I think you’ve—’

  ‘I truly appreciate your trying to protect me from the gruesome realities of this murder. But, let’s face the other reality. You haven’t got one clue, Detective. You’re sitting on the hottest case of the year, and you are rudderless. Let me at least try to give you some direction. I’ve helped solve other crimes, and I feel very strongly I can play a part in this one. And,’ she hesitated, taking a deep breath, ‘I worry about you. I know you carry certain things with you that are hard to let go. I’d like to help lighten your load.’

  She heard him on the other end. She knew he was shaking his head, questioning his faith. She also knew that he would say yes. But there was a lot of tension between them.

  ‘It’s a strange request, but I know I can help.’ She waited for his affirmation.

  ‘No disrespect, but strange went out the window the day I met you. You know that.’

  She smiled. He was coming around.

  ‘Sure, I’ll arrange it,’ he said. ‘How long will you need?’

  ‘Ten, fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Late afternoon tomorrow, I’ll arrange for you to see the body. You know it won’t be pleasant. I’ve seen people faint when they see the corpse wheeled out. What do you think you’ll find?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you once I feel it.’

  ‘I’ll make it happen. I’m so glad you called.’

  ‘I hope I can make a difference. It sounds like a tough case.’

  ‘Can I ask you a personal question?’

  Solange was silent. She thought she knew what was coming and wasn’t quite sure how to answer. It wasn’t the right time.

  ‘Solange?’

  He’d called her by her first name. Now she knew. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Would it, and I hesitate to ask, but would it be out of line for me to ask you to dinner? Just to talk.’

  ‘About this case?’

  ‘Sure, but just life in general.’

  ‘And death.’ She was immediately sorry she’d said that.

  He was quiet for a short time. She wondered if he’d hang up. Then …

  ‘In the short time we’ve known each other …’

  ‘A year?’

  ‘Sure … a year.’

  ‘No. It would not be out of line. But, Detective—’

  ‘If we’re going to dinner in the future, it has got to be Quentin.’

  ‘Quentin, let’s deal with the cards on the table. First of all, I want to see him, Officer Leroy’s remains, as early as possible. I want to know if I can shed some light on this horrific murder, OK?’

  ‘Priority number one,’ he said.


  ‘I live here just like you, but unlike most of the residents in New Orleans, I think you’ll agree, I’ve been able to do something about solving crimes. I didn’t understand that at first, didn’t realize that was part of what I should do, but you and I have had some moments, right? There’s a certain chemistry. And please understand I want to help whenever possible.’

  Archer paused for a second and she realized the word chemistry was probably not appropriate. A little chemistry of business, a little of something else. But now was not the time to define that. She made a mental note. Don’t talk about chemistry again.

  ‘You’ve definitely helped solve some crimes. You’ve given me some important information and I’m very grateful. I hope you know that.’ He paused and she heard him take a deep breath. ‘You also saved my life. What can I say about that?’

  She’d walked into a crucial situation, and disarmed a criminal who had Archer in his sights. Yes, the detective would probably be dead if she hadn’t shown up, but she didn’t like to think about that. There were aspects of her profession that defied definition.

  ‘I’m eternally grateful for that.’

  Solange silently nodded her head. She had saved his life. It was important to know that occasionally she made a difference.

  ‘Thank you, Detective.’

  ‘It’s Quentin,’ he said.

  She smiled, realizing she liked the new familiarity. It was comfortable.

  ‘Quentin it is.’

  ‘Tomorrow, Solange. I’ll arrange for you to see the body. I need to solve this murder. It can’t happen too soon.’

  FIVE

  The night produced no demonstrations in the streets. The chief of police had planned some precautionary measures and there were small riot squads positioned in select areas of the city, especially Bayou St John, but this was a white cop. And no one had any proof of the killer’s race. Had the cop been black, the story probably would have been much different. As it was, the evening was relatively quiet and peaceful. At least by New Orleans standards. A shooting in Algiers, a knifing on the South Side, the beating of a homeless man in Central City and a purse snatching in the Quarter. No murders, no riots. A quiet and peaceful evening.

  Archer simply called it as he saw it. There was more passion in the black community. White communities were a little more complacent. He was up at five thirty in the morning, drinking his hot chicory coffee on the small front porch of his former slave cottage, watching the sky show just a hint of light and hoping the sun backed off a little bit this day. He checked his phone to see if there had been any events overnight. He hoped there would be no dead bodies in the next twenty-four hours. His plate was full right now. Even though New Orleans led the country in shootings per capita, ten a week in 2016, Chicago was taking over as the murder capital of America and that was fine with him. It was his dream to be a homicide cop in Irvine, California, or Frisco, Texas where they seldom heard of violent crime. But then, those towns didn’t really have any use for a homicide department.

  Archer scrolled through messages on his phone. A note from Tom Lyons caught his eye. His cop friend in Detroit had seen the story about Johnny Leroy’s death. Lyons always had his back.

  Q. Saw the story about officer down and I’m sorry. Don’t know if you knew him, but I looked him up. Impressive dude. Sorry for the loss. On the bright side, Chicago is finally taking some of the load off Detroit and Nawlins. (A little blue humor). Also, we got word that Bobby Mercer was somewhere down in South Florida. They’re going to find him, my friend. And when they do we’re going to bury him.

  Bobby Mercer. The former Detroit cop who ran the drug ring, recruited Archer’s two brothers and ran down Denise in a stolen car. That Bobby Mercer. Yeah, there were some bad cops out there. Cops who deserved to die. Archer would have loved to have Mercer in his gun site, but there were also the Josh Levys and Tom Lyonses. What had Levy called them? Role-model cops. Thank God there were more of them than the bad guys. He put the cup in the sink and took his morning stroll, past The Cat’s Meow, the karaoke bar that kept him awake most nights, past Rita’s Tequila Bar on Bourbon and ended up at his favorite breakfast restaurant.

  He had his second cup of steaming-hot morning coffee at Café Envie on Decatur, where he poured over the Times-Picayune. Of course, the story was front-page above-the-fold on Leroy’s murder. The headline. And of course, they reported that the police had no clue why this heinous crime had been committed. They ran several of his quotes, where he basically said they had no leads at this time. There was a slight tone in the story that insinuated the cops should know more than they did. Like they weren’t doing their job. This, less than twenty-four hours since the killing. He read the story a second time, and Archer agreed. They should know more. A lot more. He needed to step up his game. Big time.

  Officer Leroy’s list of accomplishments was a huge part of the story. Two Medals of Merit for selfless acts of courage. Saving a baby from a burning car, and rescuing an elderly woman from drowning after she stumbled into a fountain. There were numerous other awards that had been presented to the man, most of them listed, including one for an investigation into a gang of armed thieves who hijacked trucks loaded with liquor, cigarettes and other valuables. Catching robbers, breaking up brawls, initiating community programs. The guy was a role-model cop.

  Buried in the last part of the story was the shooting. A robbery suspect had drawn on Leroy, early in his career and he’d acted in self-defense. It was all aboveboard. Archer would look into it, but it happened a long time ago. There were more current cases to investigate.

  Archer had never met Leroy, but silently toasted the officer as he took his final sip of the black bitter beverage. The wooden ceiling fans moved the air, but this early in the morning it was already hot and sticky, and the whirling fans only served to move hot moisture-laden air. He walked to Canal Street, his sport coat over his shoulder, hoping his shirt wasn’t soaked by the time he got to the office.

  On the streetcar, he called the lab to see when the morgue would be free for Solange to see Leroy’s body. He texted, telling her any time after four would be fine and the address where she could see the deceased. He offered her a ride and she wrote back, declining. Archer wondered if it had been too soon to ask her out. For her, and definitely for him. He was still grieving. Every day, every hour, every minute. He was attracted to the voodoo lady in a strange, awkward kind of way, and they’d had several meetings over coffee and even a drink, but it had all been business. She was offering him advice. Strictly a professional relationship. And maybe she’d been put off by his offer. He hadn’t asked a girl out in … He couldn’t remember the last time. Still he had mixed emotions. How the hell did you deal with a dead spouse? How did you deal with the love of someone who didn’t exist anymore? Love was never easy. And then it just got more and more difficult.

  He exited the streetcar, walked down to the office and sat down at his desk at 8:30. He stared at the paperwork in front of him, at his computer screen, and knew that the first and only thing on his list needed to be Officer Johnny Leroy. Leroy’s case was number one. And at the end of the day, the end of this day, he couldn’t face his superiors, he couldn’t face the news media, and say, ‘Sorry, we learned nothing new today.’ That wasn’t going to fly. Work as long and as hard as possible and show some progress by the end of the day. Every second presented possibilities.

  He had seventy-four paper messages, one hundred twenty phone messages and about twenty internal notes. One was from the Michael Landow, the mayor, telling him this murder had to be solved immediately. No shit. He’d never even met the mayor but he knew the pressure that man must be under. When a cop goes down, it’s priority one.

  The craziest thing was the fact that a voodoo lady thought she could help. Thought she could look at a body and help solve the murder. No, he was wrong. The craziest thing was that she had helped solve a couple of other murders too. Using methods only she understood. Archer was never sure how to deal
with that. In Detroit it was cut and dried. Hard facts, concerned citizens, solid police work. No hokum. Here, in the voodoo capital of the United States, he’d found a woo-woo factor. And the times it was used it had worked. He was ill prepared to deal with that.

  Archer reviewed a handful of messages. There were several hate-filled rants littered with tired phrases suggesting 5-0 deserved to die. More bacon gonna fry. When you kill a nigger, a nigger pulls a trigger. Most of them were crackpot suggestions aimed at getting even with someone, identifying the killer as an ex-boyfriend, or an errant son who should have been in jail by now. One said it was a neighbor who always had it in for the cops, and another knew this one black cop who hated white cops. He was probably the shooter. Almost all the messages mentioned this supposed killer by name, and many gave contact information.

  Ray Whitehead has been harassing me for years. I believe he broke into my home, stole some guns, some liquor, and in the last two weeks, stole my girl. I know he hates cops and I’m going to tell you exactly where to find him: 1219 2nd …

  But some of the crazy leads, the ones the department was going to investigate, now they were going to take some serious manpower. Manpower they didn’t have. And almost all those hours were wasted, but that was the nature of the business. You just needed one good lead. One of them might have the answer. Archer pushed them aside and closed his eyes, hands behind his head. A vacation would be nice right now.

  ‘Q,’ Josh Levy leaned on the desk. ‘The old man, the one who heard the car backfire … he had a part-time caretaker with him yesterday.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Caretaker, young black girl, she went to the second-floor window to see what the noise was all about. She saw a black male, five foot seven to five ten, walking down the street at a pretty-good clip. The girl says there was almost no foot traffic, so he stood out. And this caretaker said she wouldn’t know what a car backfiring sounded like. But she could recognize the sound of a gunshot and she was pretty sure that’s what it was. Somebody firing a weapon. She apparently lives in a neighborhood where she’s heard gunfire before. We may have a witness, Detective.’