by Susan Fleet
_____
Propped against the pillows, Rose watched Darin open the containers. The delicious aroma of noodles and fish sauce filled the air. She didn't think she could eat any, but seeing her son relieved her mind.
“I worried about you, Darin. Two days I don't see you, but I know you're busy. Such a good boy, always work-work-work to pay the bills.”
He set the Styrofoam container of noodles in front of her and handed her a plastic fork. “Have some noodles, Ma. I got your favorite. Spicy chicken with fish sauce.”
“Not so hungry today.” Rose patted her swollen belly. “All these pills they give me.”
He pursed his lips, his eyes full of concern. “Hang in there, Ma. Pretty soon I'll have enough money to get you a new liver.”
“How you get so much money? You gonna rob a bank?” Smiling to show she was joking.
Darin laughed. “No need to rob a bank, Ma. I've got a better way. Have some noodles.”
To distract him, she said, “You bring my rosary? It's on my bureau.”
“It's not there, Ma. I already looked.”
Rose frowned. “You bring friends home and let them go in my room? Maybe they stole it.”
Avoiding her eyes, he picked up the fork and twirled some noodles around it. “Nobody's been in your room, Ma. Here, have some noodles.”
She nibbled a tiny bite and swallowed. Tasty, but she couldn't eat any more. She started to push the container aside, stopped when she saw the disappointment on Darin's face. He looked so handsome in his work clothes, black trousers and a white shirt, his glossy black hair pulled back into a ponytail. Already her heart was singing.
“Thank you for bringing my favorite noodles. You're the best son in the whole world. But I don't want you to be late for work.”
He kissed her cheek. “And you're the best mother in the whole world. But you need to eat and keep up your strength. Next week I'm taking you to another hospital to get you a new liver.”
She sank back against the pillow. Another hospital? What difference would that make? Hospitals all the same, beep-beep-beep machines, doctors and nurses feeding her pills.
Darin kissed her cheek. “I'm going to work, Ma. Eat your noodles, okay?”
She beamed him a smile. “Okay, Darin, but I miss my rosary. Be a good boy and get it for me, okay?”
CHAPTER 32
THURSDAY – 2:15 PM
When Frank got back to the office, Kenyon was at his desk, working the phone for leads. David Cho had left a note on Frank’s desk. David and Detective Trang, the Vietnamese liaison, were interviewing one of Trang's confidential informants this afternoon. Frank hoped the CI would tell them something about the man with the ponytail. Robbie's killer.
But now he had another lead to follow, Raven's tip about an unsolved murder at STU.
Knowing NOPD would show up on the caller ID, Frank used his desk phone to call the Campus Police Chief at Southern Texas University. He didn't want to waste time playing telephone tag.
“Campus Police, Chief Grimes speaking.”
“Chief, this is Detective Frank Renzi, New Orleans police. I'm working a homicide and I'm hoping you can help me out with some information.”
“Always glad to help a fellow police officer,” Grimes said. “What you looking for?”
“I understand you worked a case at STU in 1982. A gang-rape.”
After a telling pause, Grimes said, “Well, I worked the case, but it went nowhere. The girl refused to press charges, said she didn't want to testify. They told me not to push her, so I didn't. I'd only been on the job two years.”
“Who's they?”
Grimes chuckled. “The powers that be. You know how it is. Orders come down, you do what you're told.”
And get to be Campus Police Chief. “According to my information,” Frank said, “the victim's roommate, Gwendolyn Squire, was murdered. You think it was related to the gang-rape?”
Silence on the other end. At last, Grimes said, “Can't say it was, can't say it wasn't. Two students found her up on Sunset Lane. Back then, that's where students went to make out in their cars. Nowadays, they just take girls to their rooms to screw them.”
“Were you the first officer at the scene?”
“Yes, unfortunately, had bad luck to be on duty when the call came in. It was brutal. Her face was beaten to a pulp, but that wasn't the worse part. The perp stuck a tree branch in her, Lord-a-Mercy, just about ruined her insides, and left her to bleed to death. She must have suffered something awful.”
Appalled, Frank closed his eyes, unable to imagine the pain and terror Gwendolyn must have felt as the bastard brutalized her. Sickening.
“Did you collect any evidence at the scene?”
“No. We'd had a long dry spell—no rain for almost a month—so the ground was hard as cement. No footprints, no tire tracks, nothing. We got the tree branch, but we didn't get anything off it, no prints, not even a partial.”
“What about the autopsy? Did the pathologist find any semen?” If there was DNA evidence, they might be able to utilize the improved testing the labs used nowadays to compare the DNA with a suspect.
“No semen. The pathologist said he couldn't determine whether she'd been raped or not. Just the sexual assault with the tree branch.”
“What about suspects?”
“You know, I had a gut feeling about one guy. One of the students involved in the gang-rape.”
“Which one?” Frank asked, and held his breath.
“Kid named Hunter Gates. After the gang-rape, two boys on the freshmen football team—they weren't involved but they knew the players that were—told me they heard Gates was the ringleader. But the football players denied everything, said the girl led them on and the sex was consensual.”
“What did you think?”
A long pause, then a heavy sigh. “Hard to tell. The girl was pretty shook up, changed her story a couple of times, and like I said, she wouldn't press charges because she didn't want to testify.”
“What made you think Gates was involved in the murder?”
“When I questioned him after the rape, he gave me this arrogant look and said he didn't have to rape nobody, he could have any girl he wanted. To tell the truth, it pissed me off, but the fact is, he was a good-looking kid, one of the best players on the football team. Girls go for guys like that.”
“Did you question Gates about the Gwendolyn Squire murder?”
“Yes, but he had an alibi. He was with one of his football player pals the night of the murder, and his pal backed him up. Bottom line, I had no evidence, just a gut feeling, so I couldn't charge him.”
“What did the powers-that-be say about it?”
“Hell, they were in full damage control. Two crimes involving the football program in six months? Gwendolyn was a cheerleader. We kept the rape victim's name out of it, but people around the campus knew who she was.”
“Did they know Gwendolyn was Nancy's roommate?”
“Some of 'em did, I guess. How did you find out about it?”
Frank had expected the question and delivered his prepared answer. “You know how it is, Chief. Never give up your sources. But I appreciate your help. Let's keep in touch, okay?”
“Sure thing. Always happy to help.”
But you didn't help Nancy, Frank thought as he hung up the phone. Or Gwendolyn.
“The chief give you the runaround?” Kenyon asked, all ears now, leaning back in his chair.
“In the beginning, but I got him talking. Bottom line, he thought Hunter Gates murdered the cheerleader, but he couldn't prove it.”
“Bummer,” Kenyon said. “Be nice to nail the bastard for it.”
Frank decided not to tell him the bastard had pulled a gun on him. “It would indeed. Gotta go, Kenyon. I've got a meeting with the FBI agent.”
_____
This time Lola's Coffee Shop was less crowded when he walked inside. At a table for two in the corner, Claudia Cohen was writing in a notepad, looking
annoyed. He took the chair opposite her and said, “Sorry I'm late. Got bogged down with paperwork.”
“We've all got paperwork,” she snapped. “What happened with Gates? Why did you go there?” Her implied but unspoken words being: Without me.
An attractive woman, even more appealing when she got riled up. And ditched the FBI suit. She had on white slacks and a lavender V-neck top today. A pearl-drop necklace nestled in the hollow of her throat, and her short curly locks were brushed back to expose pearl-drop earrings that dangled from her ears. Frank was tempted to take her picture and show it to Kelly. But that was probably a bad idea. Kelly had a temper, too.
“I went to see Gates because I want to catch the kidnappers. They killed Robbie. When I hinted that he might have set up the kidnapping, he pulled a gun on me.”
Claudia’s dark brown eyes widened. “A little extreme, don't you think?”
“I'd say so, but hey, I'm still alive. How's your investigation going?”
“Why didn't you tell me about the cross?”
“You're in bed with Walsh.”
A look of pure fury flashed in her eyes. “I am not!”
“Okay. Bad word choice. But you report to Walsh and he's tight with Hunter Gates.”
In a voice edged with steel, she said, “Frank, if this is your idea of cooperation, you can go fuck yourself. Either we swap information or I can't work with you.”
He took his time answering. “Fair enough, but cooperation is a two-way street. Did you use the tip I gave you about his problem at STU?”
“Yes. I found the campus police report on the gang-rape in 1982, but Gates was never charged.”
“The victim was afraid to testify. Nancy Pasquarelli.”
“No surprise there. Back then, a woman cried rape, the defense lawyers crucified her and called her a slut.” A muscle worked in her jaw and color rose on her cheeks. “I know because it happened to me. Not a gang-rape, but hey, who's counting when you get beat up and raped?”
So that's why she went into law enforcement. “I'm sorry to hear that. I worked a serial-killer-rapist case a few years ago. One victim escaped. When I talked to her, she was totally devastated, so I can appreciate how you must have felt. Did they get the guy who raped you?”
“I picked him out of a lineup and they arrested him, but his lawyer got him off. The usual bullshit.” Her eyes got a faraway look in them. “For months I'd lie awake at night in bed, fantasizing that I had a gun and shot his balls off.” She flashed a grim smile, but her eyes were cold. “Didn't happen, of course. Only in the movies.”
Frank nodded. “Everything works out in the movies. Real life is different. How old were you when the guy beat you up and raped you?”
“And broke my jaw. I was nineteen.”
“No more Mary Poppins for you after that.”
Tears filled her eyes and she looked away.
He gave her a moment. To lighten things up, he said, “So you got into heavy metal. Metallica and Glock nines.”
She swallowed hard and forced a smile. “That's about it. You're pretty sharp for a homicide dick. Just for the record, I hate Metallica.”
He laughed. “So do I. But you had every right to be angry when your rapist went free. Some of these guys who get off rape other women. And sometimes the women wind up dead. Like Nancy's roommate at STU.”
Claudia stared at him, slack-jawed. “She did?”
“Yes. My tipster has a contact at the school. Six months after the gang-rape, Nancy's roommate was murdered, a cheerleader named Gwendolyn Squire. I talked to the Campus Police Chief a while ago.”
He summarized what Grimes had told him, then said, “Bottom line, Chief Grimes figured Gates killed her, but he had no evidence to charge him. That's why it didn't show up on a background check.”
“Jesus! Not only is the guy a fucking rapist, he’s a killer!” Claudia covered her mouth and glanced around to see if anyone had heard her. But the women at the nearest table were too busy gabbing to notice.
“That's why I want to nail him. He went ballistic when I hinted that he set up the kidnapping, and you're right. Pulling a gun on me was way over the top. So here's my new theory. I think the kidnappers might be blackmailing him.”
“You think they know about the gang-rape and the murder?”
“Maybe. Look at it this way. If Gates paid them to set it up and Donald Duck let Emily and Donna go, where's the leverage?”
“You think Mickey Mouse is blackmailing him.”
“Correct. I think he killed Robbie, and Donald Duck figured he might kill Emily and Donna too, so he let them go. My guess? Mickey Mouse is flying solo with the blackmail.”
“If word got out that a New Orleans city councilman was accused of a gang-rape and a murder in Texas, it would be front page news.”
“End his political ambitions, that's for sure. So stay away from him. He's dangerous.”
“You too.” Claudia offered a grim smile. “Unless we go in guns blazing.”
Frank laughed. “Gotta get the evidence first.” And that wasn't likely to happen if David didn't get a line on Ponytail. He hadn't told her about Ponytail. Maybe he would, if David found something.
“You want evidence,” Claudia said, “how about this? I talked to one if his neighbors.”
“Great. Did you get anything?” His opinion of CC was rapidly evolving. She'd caught a tough break with the rapist. Maybe that's why she didn't take no for an answer, went ahead and canvassed the neighbors without him. And now that he'd given her a tip about Gates, she was returning the favor.
Claudia gestured at her outfit. “When I canvas upscale neighborhoods, I ditch the suit and dress casual. Alice Dunbar lives next door to Gates and she can't stand him. She says he's rude, doesn't even speak when he sees her. Alice is seventy-one, used to be a bookkeeper. Boring, she said. We got along just fine. She was thrilled to talk to an FBI agent.” Claudia grinned. “She's crazy about the X-Files, watches all the reruns. She loves Gillian Anderson.”
“Uh-huh. Who's Gillian Anderson?”
With a faint smile, Claudia said, “I guess you never watched the show. The female FBI agent.”
Frank shrugged. “I hardly ever watch cop shows on TV. Totally unrealistic.”
“Check it out sometime. You might enjoy it. Alice said she didn't notice anything unusual the night of the kidnapping. She starts watching TV at seven, goes to bed at midnight. But she showed me her spare bedroom upstairs. It's got a clear view of the Gates house, the front yard and the driveway. Maybe I'll camp out there at night after work and keep an eye on Gates.”
“Good idea. But doing it by yourself would be a grind.”
“Not really. Not like doing a stake-out in a car. The house is comfortable and Alice wouldn't mind. I think she's lonely. Her husband died two years ago. When I ran the idea by her, she said she'd be happy to help.”
“What about your car? Gates knows your car, doesn't he?”
Claudia smiled. “That's why I'm driving a rental car.” Then the smile disappeared and her eyes got that hard look in them again. “Gates is a monster, Frank. We need to nail him.”
CHAPTER 33
THURSDAY – 7:05 PM
When a car commercial came on, Sam hit the mute button and snuggled closer to Abby on the couch. Looking up at him, she said, “You know what? Hunter Gates gives me the creeps. He reminds me of a boy I knew in high school, all smiles and sweet-talk, but he just wanted to get in my pants.”
He nuzzled her neck. “I can see how he would, you being so gorgeous and all. But he didn't appreciate your other talents. Smartest girl at LSU and one of the prettiest, in my opinion.”
She smiled, her beautiful heart-shaped face framed by dark curls. “Glad I waited for the right guy. You make me so happy, Sam. It's great to have you home at night for a change.”
“Dad,” S.J. yelled from his room. “Can I watch my movie now?”
“Not yet,” Sam called. “In a few minutes.” He cupped Abby's face in
his hands and kissed her. “After we get S.J. into bed, I'll make you even happier.”
Abby had no idea how glad he was to be home and not have to deal with Darin. He'd take her to bed and let the good times roll. That brought a smile to his face. Until another feature came on about the kidnapping.
The local stations were obsessed with the story. Running a clip from when Gates ran for City Council, then a clip of Emily at her gymnastics class, doing somersaults and back flips in her pink leotard. No clips of Robbie though, just the one photograph Gates had released to the media after the murder.
Thinking about it made him want to puke. Darin hadn't called him again, thank goodness. What was he doing for money now, Sam wondered. Dealing dope or planning a new scheme to get the big bucks?
He focused on the TV screen, a clip of Donna anchoring the news on now, but with no audio, the anchorwoman talking over it, saying Donna hadn't done a newscast since last Friday, and she hadn't appeared in public since the kidnappers released her.
“Where do you think she is?” Abby said.
“I don't know.” He was as baffled as everyone else. Where the hell was she? He resisted the urge to pop another Tums. If he did, Abby would get worried and ask if his stomach was okay.
The anchorwoman said, “We conclude our coverage with a rerun of the press conference Councilman Hunter Gates held at New Orleans City Hall at five o'clock today.”
Abby had watched it while she was fixing dinner, but Sam hadn't seen it. Eager to hear what he’d said, Sam upped the volume as the picture cut to Hunter Gates in a black pinstriped suit and a maroon tie, standing at a podium surrounded by microphones, his expression somber.
“I want to thank all the good people of Louisiana for keeping us in your prayers. Your messages have been a great comfort to me and my family. Many of you asked how Emily is doing.” Gates paused to flash a smile. “Emily is a real trooper. Despite her ordeal, she gave a statement to the New Orleans police, and they tell me it was very helpful. The investigation is ongoing so I'm not at liberty to divulge the details. When the FBI and the NOPD feel it's prudent, I'm sure they will release them.”
