Bone Appétit
Page 16
I couldn’t see what good it would do to talk with the chief. He viewed us with suspicion and some degree of animosity. Then, on the other hand, where else could we go?
We found Jansen in the police department behind his impressive desk. He’d removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. With his mustache and suspenders, he looked a bit out of time, but there was nothing antique about his attitude toward private investigators.
“You two scram,” he said. “We’ve got this under control. Your client—”
“Is innocent. Where is Hedy?” I asked.
“I was going to ask you that same question. She’s not supposed to leave Leflore County, but she’s not in her hotel room. I sent a couple of officers to pick her up, but she wasn’t there.”
“She’s probably getting a facial or massage,” Tinkie supplied with ease. “Big night tonight. ‘Taste and Copy.’ Things are drawing to a close, and the pressure is on. Nothing like a good massage to work out the tension, Chief Jansen. You should try it sometime.”
“What’s drawing to a close, Mrs. Richmond, are the lives of the contestants. Ten came to town; two have left in coffins, and one in an ambulance. That’s not good statistics, if you ask me. Losing a beauty contest is one thing. Losing your life is another.”
“Truer words were never spoken.” Tinkie sat on the edge of Jansen’s desk. He frowned, but didn’t shoo her off.
“Was Babs poisoned with ricin?” I asked.
Jansen shuffled his papers. “The lab results aren’t confirmed yet.”
I was about to ask another question when he held up his hand. “But it wasn’t ricin. Doc Sawyer, who I think you know, believes it’s a poison from a common plant.”
“And that would be?” Tinkie said.
“Best I understand, it’s a flowering plant. Folks can have it in their petunia beds and not even know how dangerous it is. Your Doc Sawyer says the flowers are beautiful. Makes a powerful drug. Digitalis.”
I’d read about this plant. “Foxglove, isn’t it?” There were certain things I didn’t want around Dahlia House just on the off chance Reveler might get out of his pasture and taste them, so I’d learned a few basics on toxic flowers.
“Correct. Doc Sawyer quickly recognized Miss Lafitte’s symptoms—fact is, he likely saved her life. We have to wait until the lab confirms it, but right now, that’s the assumption we’re operating under.”
“Could this have been an accident? Digitalis is a legitimate drug. Did Babs have a heart condition?” I asked.
“She was healthy as a horse, according to her pageant records.” His neck reddened as his anger mounted. “This damn beauty contest should be stopped now! If I have my way, it will be halted before anyone else gets hurt.”
“I see the wisdom in that, Chief.” Jansen had a good point.
“How was the poison delivered to Babs?” Tinkie asked.
Jansen reined in his temper. “Doc thinks someone put it in her smokes. The leaves of the foxglove are the deadliest part. They could be dried, chopped, and mixed with tobacco.”
“Pretty devious. Someone really thought this through. Have you questioned anyone except Hedy?” I asked.
Jansen gave me a go-to-hell look. “I’ve questioned every living contestant and the judges and the pageant officials and most of the town. I have ten police officers and they haven’t been home at night to sleep since this pageant started. We’ve fingerprinted half the surfaces in the Alluvian and the auditorium, and all I can say is, those girls touch everything. They use each other’s cosmetics and cooking ingredients.”
“What about prints in the room Hedy shared with Janet Menton? Anyone unusual show up?”
“The only prints we found belonged to Hedy, Janet, and the hotel cleaning staff, and before you asked, I checked the cleaning and room service staff thoroughly. They’ve all been working at the Alluvian for at least two years and have spotless records.”
“Were there prints on the gris-gris bag under Janet’s bed?”
“How did you know about that?” Jansen asked, instantly alert.
“Harley Pitts told me. Janet had confided to him. He told her it was most likely a prank. I gather Janet brought it to you?”
“No. We found it in her room. Had she told me, I would have said the same thing. That it was a prank,” Jansen said. “At first. But to answer your question, the leather bag was wiped clean. So was the pastry box.”
Jansen’s cooperation meter was clicking on high. “Could you tell us what was in the gris-gris bag?” I asked.
“A dried chicken foot, some mummified tissue the state lab identified as a lizard heart, some red lace belonging to a pair of Janet’s panties, a page torn from the play she performed.”
“The contents were gathered specifically for Janet,” Tinkie mused. “And no gris-gris bag was found in Brook’s room or in Babs’s?”
Jansen compressed his lips. He was deciding whether to tell us the truth or not.
“You found gris-gris, didn’t you?” I said.
“We found a similar bag in Brook’s vanity.”
“And Babs?” I pressed.
“On the front seat of the car.”
“What was in it?” Tinkie asked.
Jansen picked up a pen and twirled it with impressive dexterity. “A dried chicken foot, some red hair we think may have been picked up the night she had the reaction to the pepper and tore her own hair out, a small picture of Robert Johnson—”
“The legendary bluesman who was poisoned,” I said. The connection was obvious. Babs was a blues singer. Johnson hadn’t survived the poison given him. I could only hope Babs would get a better break.
“That’s right. And a few small cubic zirconia, the kind used in crowns or tiaras.” Jansen observed us closely.
“No prints?” I asked.
He shook his head. “None. Brook’s bag contained similar things, including a butane cigarette lighter and a book of matches.”
“The bastard planned this very carefully,” Tinkie said. “Each girl is profiled, something special to her included. The killer knows these girls and what’s important to each of them.”
“And the killer knows enough about voodoo to put together the ingredients for a curse.” Jansen pulled at his mustache. “The other girls say Hedy has connections to voodoo, a family history.”
“What other girls? Karrie Kompton? It clearly serves her purposes to eliminate Hedy,” I said.
“You shouldn’t put any stock in malicious rumors,” Tinkie chimed in. “Marcus Wellington is behind that talk. He’s—”
I signaled her to cut it off. “Why is the killer using different poisons?” I asked. “Why make it so complicated?”
“I think the killer hoped to confound us for a couple of days—likely until the competition was over,” Tinkie answered. “It’s sheer luck Doc is so knowledgeable about poisons.”
“I agree with you, Mrs. Richmond. Doc Sawyer identified the digitalis pretty quick.”
“What’s next?” I asked.
Jansen pushed back from his desk. “We’re hoping Miss Lafitte regains consciousness soon and can give details about what happened. Right now, I’m waiting on a call from Mrs. Phelps about shutting down the pageant. I won’t have another girl killed or hurt because of some silly beauty title.”
“Closing down the competition could mean a huge loss for the town,” Tinkie said. She wasn’t being argumentative, only factual. Jansen was so tired, he didn’t bristle at her comment.
“Better to have the merchants and the citizens pissed at me than see another young woman leave here in a body bag.” The burden of the deaths showed clearly in his face.
“Can we help you?” I asked.
Jansen gave me the evil eye. “You work for Miss Blackledge. I’d say our goals are about as far apart as they could get.”
“Not true,” I said, “if Hedy is innocent, as we contend, then finding the true killer would clear our client. That’s all we want—to find the truth that clears
Hedy.”
Jansen leaned his elbow on the chair arm and gave it some thought. “Okay, I won’t say we’ll work together on this, but I will say I won’t impede your investigation if you don’t hide things from me.”
“Not a problem,” Tinkie said. She was always more up-front than me. I wisely held back. “So who are your suspects? Surely you’re considering someone other than Hedy.”
“This isn’t a gossip circle.” Jansen grew stern. “You two aren’t part of my investigation and I’m under no compunction to tell you anything. Unless, of course, you have something you want to share with me.”
Tinkie leaned across the desk. “So, it’s going to be tit for tat,” she said.
I put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re happy to share whatever we find, Chief, as long as it doesn’t incriminate our client.”
Even though he was tired, he gave us a smile. “I expected nothing less. Miss Lafitte was last seen at a blues club in Clarksdale with your client. They had several drinks, danced, and talked with some men. The women were seen getting in a car together and driving away.”
“What time?” I asked.
“About midnight, which is pretty late for girls hoping to look their best the next day.” His look said they had to be up to no good.
“They had a morning to sleep in,” I told him. “Midnight, one o’clock isn’t late for young people.”
He snorted. “If you’d quit interrupting me, I’m trying to tell you something.”
“What?” Tinkie asked softly.
“The witness, one of the band members, saw them leave together in the same car. Another car pulled out and followed them. Joey, Joey Mott, that’s the singer, said he thought it was strange.”
“What’s so unusual about two cars leaving a parking lot at the same time?” I asked.
“Joey was on the porch smoking a cigarette. He spoke to them when they walked by and they seemed perfectly fine. Neither appeared inebriated. They were laughing at something when they got in the car and drove off. The other car followed right away, as if someone was sitting there, watching and waiting. He didn’t see anyone else leave the club.”
“If that’s the case, why isn’t Hedy dead, too?” Tinkie asked.
“Could be the person following was Hedy’s accomplice,” Jansen said.
“Or it could be that Hedy went straight up to her room and Babs lingered outside to talk to the person who’d followed them,” Tinkie pointed out.
I could tell by Jansen’s expression that Tinkie had scored a home run. “Was Babs found in Hedy’s car?” I asked.
“Beside the car. We think she tried to make it inside, but she never got out of the parking lot. The vehicle’s impounded and a forensics team is going over it.”
“When you questioned Hedy, what did she say?” We could get the same info from Hedy—when we found her—but I wanted to know how Jansen had processed it.
“Hedy said they ordered a pitcher of margaritas at the club. Babs wanted to stay out, to keep drinking, but Hedy said she was tired. Hedy left Babs sitting in the passenger seat listening to music. She also left the keys, and they were still in the ignition and the battery was dead when Babs was discovered by a hotel staffer this morning.”
The dead battery supported the fact that Babs had been listening to the radio or CD player. “Did anyone see Hedy enter the hotel?” Confirmation of an alibi might not help in this instance, but it couldn’t hurt. Truth was like mortar between bricks. It allowed us to stack one fact on top of another until we had a solid wall.
“No one was at the desk, and Hedy said she didn’t see another soul on the way to her room. She was asleep in her bed when we went looking for her.”
His phone rang, and he gave us a nod of apology as he picked it up. “Yes, Cheryl, I’ll speak with the mayor.”
I couldn’t hear the mayor’s words but I caught his tone. He wasn’t happy and he had no intention of shutting down the pageant. When Jansen hung up the phone, he sighed. “Direct orders from the mayor not to stop the pageant.”
I felt for Jansen. He was squeezed between a rock and a hard place. If he was correct, the killer had easy access and the spree would continue.
“There are only a couple of events left,” Tinkie said.
“Hell, the killer may start knocking them off two or three at a time.” Jansen was angry and frustrated, but not at us. “There’s something else you should know. Had Miss Oniada not caught on fire, she would have died of poisoning.”
Tinkie glanced at me. The news was shocking, and we saw no reason to pretend it wasn’t. “What kind of poison?”
“Belladonna, or deadly nightshade. We missed it completely at first. It was clear she’d died of burns sustained in the fire. The reason she didn’t react or try to save herself is because she was heavily dosed with the poison.”
“Holy cow,” Tinkie said.
I would have used stronger language, but then Tinkie is a lady and I am not. “Did she drink something or eat something? How does deadly nightshade work?”
“Doc Sawyer is going over the evidence. He ordered more testing on some of her cosmetics. He believes she absorbed the poison through her skin. Apparently there’s some history of contact poisoning with belladonna.”
“We’re dealing with someone who knows a lot about plants and poisons.” I regretted those words the instant they were out of my mouth.
“And no one fits that bill better than Hedy Blackledge. She comes from a long line of conjure women, or traiteurs, as they’re called in Louisiana. Poison, gris-gris—the evidence tells me Hedy Blackledge is in this up to her eyeballs.”
“Right, the entire Saulnier family works for a dead voodoo queen, Marie Laveau.” I hoped to make him see how foolish all of that gossip was.
“Don’t laugh, Miss Delaney. Those conjure women have a lot of knowledge. Don’t ever think they’re harmless.”
“Are you superstitious, Chief?”
The shadow of a smile tugged at his mouth. “Oh, I’m a lot of things that might surprise you, Miss Delaney.”
“Did you hear this malicious gossip about Hedy from Marcus Wellington?” I asked.
“I did. He’s afraid of Hedy and her family. He said she tried to poison him several times.”
“Did he also tell you that Hedy is the mother of his child? Vivian is Hedy’s daughter,” I said. Marcus had slandered Hedy in the worst way, and Jansen deserved the truth.
Jansen grew completely still. “No. He did not. I’ve seen him with the little girl. He dotes on her.”
“When you’re looking for motives, you might examine his. He convinced Hedy to sign away her rights to Vivian. She’s been trying to gain partial custody, and he’s fighting it with everything he has,” Tinkie said.
The telephone rang again. He listened a moment. “No sign of Miss Blackledge anywhere? Well, her private investigators are standing right here. Sounds like a good job for them—to track her down. Thanks.”
He replaced the phone. “We need Hedy in here. Now.”
“We don’t—” Tinkie started.
“We’ll find her and send her over,” I said, drowning Tinkie out.
“See that you do.”
I motioned to the door, and Tinkie and I decamped. When we were outside, she whispered, “We don’t know where Hedy is.”
“She’ll turn up. Her car is impounded. The pageant is tonight. She knows we’re working in her behalf.”
“She’d better be in town.”
“My gut tells me she’s in Panther Holler trying to see her kid.”
“If she gets caught . . .”
Tinkie didn’t have to finish the statement. We both knew Marcus Wellington wanted nothing more than to put her behind bars. Trespassing would work as well as any other charge.
“What are we going to do?” Tinkie asked.
“Make a swing through Panther Holler on our way to or from Clarksdale. We have a witness at the blues club. Joey Mott. Maybe he saw more than he told Jansen.”
“Graf dropped her off,” Oscar said. “She’s tired but seems fine.”
“Dr. Leonard said she would be tired for a couple of days. Let’s hope she’s too worn out to find more trouble.”
Oscar cleared his throat. “She seems a little . . . depressed.”
Great. “She’s pining for that harrier hound.”
“Danny and Bobbie left this morning to return to New York. Do you think Sweetie will be okay?”
Heartbreak was no fun matter, but my hound would recover. “Just give her lots of pats. And thank you, Oscar. I’m sorry she caused so much trouble.”
“I’m just glad she’s back. Chablis is asleep right beside her.”
“There’s no comfort like that of a good friend,” I said.
Tinkie came out of the bathroom and I signaled to ask if she wanted to talk to Oscar, but she shook her head. I said my good-byes and hung up.
“Oscar’s mad because I’m paying for Hedy’s lawyer. Russell Dean’s already turned in a bill for a thousand dollars.”
“For what?” I asked.
“Fees, retainer, something. Oscar wasn’t exactly thrilled, but he paid it. I just don’t want to talk to him right now. In a day or so, he’ll cool off and forget it.”
I didn’t laugh, because I’d come to admire Tinkie’s efficient handling of the men in her life. “We have two options,” I said. “We can find Doc and see what he has to say about deadly nightshade, ricin, and foxglove. Or we can hunt down Joey Mott.”
“Let’s see, a morning of death and poison or tracking a blues musician.” Tinkie pretended it was a tough choice.
“Get in the car,” I said, tossing her the keys to the Caddy. “Clarksdale isn’t that far away. Joey Mott should be home since he played last night. Maybe we can find him before he takes off for the morning.”