by JM Gulvin
‘I don’t know.’ Vernon lifted his shoulders. ‘I didn’t get told.’
‘It was just the two of you, though?’
Vernon nodded. ‘After we locked you up he told us to get over there and dump the body. He said how he wanted us in that apartment looking for papers or photographs, any kind of writing or notes.’
‘What sort of notes?’ Quarrie said.
Vernon shrugged.
‘What about phone numbers maybe or dates?’
‘He never said nothing about no phone numbers, but he did tell us to look out for dates.’
Quarrie peered at him now. ‘What dates, Vernon? What did he say?’
‘He mentioned April 28.’
‘Why? What’s happening then?’
Vernon shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I ain’t dumb enough to ask and he sure as hell ain’t going to say.’
Quarrie didn’t ask any more questions, he just leaned against the tree. Taking off his hat he worked a hand through the sweat in his hair. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘We’re done here. You’re still alive and if you want to keep it that way you’ll get a-hold of Soulja Blue.’ Putting his hat back on he rested the barrel of the shotgun against his shoulder. ‘Tell him I’ll be at my hotel. After what he did to Gigi I ought to drag his ass from here to Texas so he better come talk to me.’
Twenty-six
He did not receive a call, though he waited the rest of the day. As darkness fell he left the hotel and drove the short distance to the 3rd Precinct Station House. Directly across the road was a seafood place and he had a hunch De La Martin wasn’t married therefore dinner would either be bar food somewhere or To-Go. Inside he found him sitting at the end of the counter hunched over a bowl of dirty rice and red beans with a pile of steaming crawdads on a sheet of newspaper. He had a shot of bourbon and a half-glass of beer back of that, but his focus was the food.
Quarrie sent a beer down the bar and briefly De La Martin glanced his way. A minute later Quarrie was on the stool alongside him resting an elbow next to empty shells.
‘You got some nerve walking in here, Texas.’
‘You think so?’ Quarrie said. ‘After what I read in the paper this morning I wanted to talk to you.’
The big man concentrated on his food.
‘I told you the pharmacist was in that club and you didn’t want to break down the door. Next thing I know you’re up on the balcony and his body’s on a gurney from the coroner’s crew.’
Pushing away the empty bowl De La Martin wiped his fingers on a napkin and screwed it into a ball. He drank the beer Quarrie had bought him then nodded to the bartender once more.
‘Did somebody give you a call?’ Quarrie asked him. ‘Or was it you picking up the phone?’
De La Martin spoke without looking at him. ‘You don’t listen, do you, Texas? Wasn’t it just the other day I told you to think before you opened your mouth?’
‘So you’re not working for whoever’s behind this? I’m talking about that blond-haired guy.’
De La Martin snorted. ‘You know, for someone that just about everybody in this city wants to bust right now, you surely like to run that lip.’
‘Esplanade Avenue after hours, that ain’t your style, Detective, so what were you doing up there?’
De La Martin adjusted his weight where he seemed to strain the legs of the stool. ‘What do you know about that apartment? It’s a fact we found a bunch of different fingerprints. Am I’m going to find some of them are yours?’
Quarrie did not reply.
The detective pumped the air from his cheeks. ‘Jesus, the mess only gets messier, doesn’t it? So never mind me then. What were you doing up there?’
‘Anderson,’ Quarrie told him, ‘the guy whose apartment it was, he’s the dead man from Wichita Falls.’ He paused for a moment then he said, ‘April 28 is important to someone. Does it mean anything to you?’
De La Martin did not reply.
‘What about the teletype you sent to the FBI?’
‘What about it? Colback told me why you were down here. With Matthews missing what else did you expect me to do?’
Quarrie cast a glance the length of the counter where most of the stools were taken with people bellying up. ‘You done with the crawdads, are you? It’s kind of public talking at the bar.’
As if to humor him the detective picked up his drink and moved to a table against the wall. Resting his elbows, he knit pudgy fingers together and studied Quarrie once more.
‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ he said. ‘I don’t care what Colback or anybody else said to you. The fact is I’m a fat man who eats a lot and sweats too much, but in thirty years of hitting the bricks I never took so much as a free lunch.’ Sitting back he flapped a hand. ‘Anyway, in case you hadn’t noticed it’s not me on trial in the newspapers, it’s you they’re hanging out to dry.’
‘The cab driver,’ Quarrie said. ‘You asked about him the other day. What was that all about?’
De La Martin looked hard at him then. ‘I’ve seen him driving that taxi from time to time but I only ever saw two people in the back. One was a lawyer called Tobie and the other one was you.’
*
The following morning Quarrie was strapping on his shoulder holsters when Van Hanigan called him back. ‘John Q,’ he said. ‘There’s a piece in the Herald about you.’
‘Syndicated, huh, the one they wrote down here?’
‘They’re talking about the fact you’re Hamer’s godson and you know how that can be. Half the folks out there figure him for a sonofabitch and the other half think he’s a saint.’
‘Captain, I don’t know what I can tell you. There ain’t a whole lot I can do.’
‘Well anyway, you asked about Clay Shaw,’ Van Hanigan went on. ‘I’ve done some digging and you’re aware he’s got an alias, right? Nobody seems to know why, but then I’m told he likes to stem the rose so that might account for it, I suppose. As far as I can find out he’s known mostly for the International Trade Mart down there in New Orleans. Got a lot of friends, John Q, arms dealers and gasoline wholesalers, they say he’s buddies with Ferenc Nagy, the ex-Hungarian prime minister who’s living in Dallas right now. He does a lot of charity work apparently, has some link with a foundation for underprivileged kids with offices on Baronne.’
Hanging up the phone Quarrie sat for a moment contemplating what the captain had said just now and what Nana had told him yesterday. Downstairs he went out to the car then drove the one way system to Orleans Street. As he approached the apartment, he spotted the same black Lincoln he had seen before. A couple of minutes later the small gate opened and Rosslyn Tobie appeared. Tanned in the face he sported a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses and an immaculate cream-colored suit.
Quarrie waited until the Lincoln was almost to the junction with North Rampart Street before he pulled out. Staying a couple of vehicles back he tailed them across Canal Street onto Baronne. The Lincoln stopped outside an office building where the entrance was shaded by a mauve-colored canopy and various brass name plaques were screwed to the wall. The parking bays along that section were all marked private and he had to drive a little further and swing around the block before he could find somewhere to stop. He could see the front of the building and he switched off the engine and got out. He walked half a block to the pedestrian light and was heading back towards the office when he saw Colback beckon him from an unmarked Ford.
They sat in the rear and Colback asked him to repeat what he had said yesterday. When Quarrie was finished the lieutenant stared through the windshield with his brows knit.
‘I don’t get it,’ he said. ‘Nothing’s been reported. Gervais told me Moore’s wife called in saying he was sick.’
‘Maybe somebody did,’ Quarrie said, ‘but it wasn’t his wife. He’s dead, Lieutenant. I was there.’
Reaching over the seat Colback tapped the other cop on the shoulder and indicated for him to leave them alone. Without a word the man got out of
the car and Quarrie looked on with a puzzled expression. ‘What’s up, Lieutenant? What gives?’
‘I don’t want anyone listening who doesn’t need to be listening because Gervais has a history here.’ Colback looked sideways at him then. ‘A few years back he was picked up by the crime commission and in order to stay out of jail he gave up just about everyone he knew.’ He paused for a minute then he said, ‘That restaurant on Canal Street, he was having lunch with Dean Andrews, right?’
‘The attorney with the sunglasses?’ Quarrie nodded.
‘So I figure you were about to pay him a visit.’ Colback indicated the office with the mauve canopy. ‘Let me tell you that after everything I’ve been reading in the newspaper that’s not a very bright thing to do.’
Quarrie did not say anything. He had no idea this was where Andrews worked.
‘Anyway,’ Colback went on. ‘Why I was looking for you, I spoke to the Feds and they told me if I didn’t get you off the street, they would. They’re asking De La Martin for everything he’s got on the pharmacist and that apartment complex as well as the disturbance on Bourbon and Governor Nicholls. They want access to his files and any trace evidence he’s picked up too.’
Quarrie was silent after that and Colback shifted his weight as if his pants were sticking to the seat. ‘So, what do you want with Andrews?’ he said. ‘If it’s information about Gervais you’re wasting your time. I tried to flag you down just now when you left the hotel and again on Orleans Street.’
Quarrie stared across the road. ‘I’m not here for Andrews. I had no idea he worked over there.’
‘Are you kidding me? He’s on the second floor.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ Quarrie repeated. ‘Fact is I was tailing the Lincoln. It’s Rosslyn Tobie’s car and once upon a time that old man had a relationship with Nana Matisse. She told me she hadn’t seen him in years, not so much as a whisper, then all of a sudden he shows up not once but a bunch of times and that strikes me as a little weird.’ He looked round at Colback again. ‘Old family from the Garden District, I guess you must’ve heard of him.’
‘Of course I’ve heard of him.’ Colback pointed across the block. ‘Not only does he chair that foundation over there, he owns the building and most of the street. He’s an attorney and businessman. Anybody who’s anybody in Louisiana knows Rosslyn F Tobie and I’m talking about the governor here.’
Quarrie studied the ornate-looking facade once more. ‘Lieutenant,’ he said, ‘that foundation’s supposed to help disadvantaged young folks but in all the years Nana Matisse lived here she can’t recall anything much they squared.’
‘Is that a fact?’ Colback said. ‘Well, I could show you dozens of good causes they’ve been involved with from here to the Florida Keys.’
Quarrie lifted a palm. ‘The dead guy back in Texas was ex NOPD. Yesterday I had a word with a hood called Vernon who—’
‘Vernon?’ Colback looked round at him then. ‘The guy that works for Soulja Blue?’
Quarrie nodded.
For a moment the lieutenant sat still. Then he signalled through the window for his colleague to get back in the car. ‘Quarrie,’ he said, indicating the station wagon on the other side of the road, ‘yesterday that piece of junk you’re driving was spotted on Bourbon and Governor Nicholls. Some altercation in that drugstore on the corner and this morning we get a call from a tugboat captain who found the body of a black man floating in the Outfall Canal. Small-time hood called Vernon all beaten and bloody. Half his skull was blown away.’
Twenty-seven
Hat in his hands Quarrie stared at the back of the driver’s seat. ‘Lieutenant,’ he said. ‘It might be I was the last person anyone saw with Vernon but that ain’t exactly news down here. I didn’t kill him. I was his best chance of staying alive.’ He wrinkled the flesh at the corners of his eyes. ‘So they got to him already. They sure didn’t waste any time.’
‘Who got to him? What’re you talking about?’
‘The cab driver, whoever he’s working for, they’ve got something planned for two days’ time.’
‘What?’
‘They’re going to kill somebody, Lieutenant. I just ain’t sure who it is.’
Colback stared at him. ‘Here in New Orleans you mean?’
‘I believe so, yes.’
‘Are you telling me that’s what all this is about, someone in their rifle sights?’
Quarrie nodded.
‘OK, I need to get going here. I need to make some calls.’ Reaching across him Colback opened the door.
Quarrie watched the Ford pull away then he walked back to the station wagon but didn’t start the engine; he rested his elbow on the sill chewing over all that had been said. As he was sitting there the attorney with a penchant for black-framed Ray-Ban sunglasses emerged from the doors of the building on the other side of the road. Quarrie watched as he exchanged a few words with the concierge then set off along the sidewalk where the line of cars was parked. Thinking about that note he’d read in the DA’s file, Quarrie fired up the engine and pulled out from the parking bay.
Driving slowly he passed the entrance to the building and came up alongside. Reaching across to the passenger door he told Andrews to get in. The attorney looked at him with his chin high and Quarrie opened his jacket to reveal one of his Blackhawks. Sweat working his brow Andrews got in. Quarrie drove three blocks with one hand on the wheel and the other fisted in his lap.
‘Kidnap, Sergeant?’ It had taken a moment but Andrews seemed to have regained his composure. ‘After what I read in the papers we can add that to your list of misdemeanors. It gets more fascinating by the day.’
Quarrie pulled around the corner and stamped so hard on the brakes the attorney had to flatten a hand against the windshield to avoid cracking his head. ‘Nobody kidnapped you, Counselor. I just want to know about your lunch with Pershing Gervais.’
‘The one you gate-crashed you mean, what’s to talk about?’
‘Clay Shaw,’ Quarrie said.
Andrews furrowed his brow. ‘Shaw?’ he said. ‘Why on earth would we be discussing him?’
‘He’s under indictment right now.’ Quarrie gestured. ‘The day after President Kennedy was shot; Shaw phoned your office asking you to represent Lee Oswald. You remember taking that call?’
The attorney looked straight ahead.
‘Funny thing is, before you had a chance to do anything he called again saying you weren’t needed after all.
‘Sergeant, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Sure you do. Jim Garrison asked you about it a few weeks ago so I’m assuming that’s what you were discussing with Gervais.’ Quarrie shifted around in the seat. ‘What I want to know is why Shaw gave you the heads up only to tell you it wasn’t necessary after all.’
Andrews did not say anything. Sitting with his hands in his lap he nursed a cough.
With a sigh, Quarrie gestured over his shoulder. ‘Maybe you didn’t notice, but the concierge was back inside the building. No one saw you get in the car.’
Andrews remained silent. He gazed through the windshield still, but a fresh line of perspiration glistened above his sunglasses.
‘Why did Shaw tell you to back off?’ Quarrie asked him again.
The attorney did not reply.
Quarrie sighed. ‘Counselor, on top of everything else I got going on they’re looking to book me for the murder of some hood from Governor Nicholls as well.’
Still the attorney stared.
‘I’ll ask you one last time. Why did Shaw have you step up to the plate but not take a swing at the ball?’
*
Quarrie spent the rest of the day at the hotel on Canal Street but heard nothing from Colback and nothing from Soulja Blue. At seven o’clock he phoned the ranch and his son picked up. ‘Hey, kiddo,’ Quarrie said. ‘What’s up?’
‘I’m OK, Dad,’ James said, ‘but the newspapers, they’re writing about you.’
Quarrie for
ced the air from his lips. ‘It doesn’t matter. Don’t take any notice. There’s nothing to worry about. Have you been getting a bad time at school?’
‘A little maybe, the older kids, you know how they are. Miss Munro was asking as well.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘Nothing really, Pious said to say that they’re always writing about Rangers.’
‘Is that what you did?’
‘Not yet. I will if she asks me again. Dad, is everything all right?’
‘Everything is fine, son. There’s nothing for you to worry about. Is Pious around by the way?’
‘Not right now, I think he’s over at the bunkhouse playing poker with Nolo and Miss Gigi.’
‘Gigi plays poker, huh? How about that? You figure you could run over there and ask Pious to come to the phone?’
‘Sure,’ James said. ‘Dad, I like Miss Gigi and I ain’t the only one does around here.’
‘Pious, you talking about?’
‘Uh-huh, when she’s around he don’t ever quit talking and he ain’t ever like that.’
Quarrie smiled.
‘I’ll go fetch him for you. Do you want to talk to Miss Gigi as well?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘See if she’ll come to the phone.’
James went off to get them and a few minutes later Quarrie heard Gigi’s voice. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m all right, what about you?’
‘I’m OK. I’ve been spending time with Eunice and Mama, those girls they like to talk and they like to laugh a whole lot for sure.’
‘They’re good people, known them most of my life.’ Quarrie paused for a moment then. ‘I guess Nana told you about Earl?’
‘Yes, she did.’
‘I’m sorry about what happened, Gigi. I had no idea that was how it was going to turn out.’
‘He warned me. He was scared when he talked to me. What’s going on, John Q? What’s all this about?’
Quarrie stared at the wall. ‘I ain’t sure yet. I need to talk to Pious, is he there?’
