by D P Lyle
“The twins—Tara and Tegan—have the same scratches,” I said.
“That’s why I doubt DNA will play much of a role here. Even if it turns out to be Kirk Ford’s. I mean, they had sex, after all.”
“Scratching and all that,” Pancake said. “My favorite kind.”
Doucet smiled. “And since they were behind closed doors, who knows what kind of sex they had? Even if we find his DNA in those scrapings, you can bet his attorney will make Kristi into some kind of sex-starved wildcat.”
“I’m sure that’d make her uncle Tony happy,” I said.
“Oh yeah,” Doucet said. “That could make courtroom history.”
Doucet’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and walked a few feet away as he brought it to his ear.
“The deeper we get, the worse it looks for Kirk,” I said.
Ray nodded. “Sure does. He better have a good attorney.”
“My impression of Kornblatt is that he’s a take-no-prisoners type.”
“Yeah, but it’s an away game for him. Ford, too.”
Doucet ended his call and turned our way. “That was the coroner. He has the tox reports on Kirk and Kristi back and wants to go over it with me. In person.”
“That sounds interesting,” Ray said.
“That’s the exact word he used. I’d better get over there.”
“Mind if we tag along?” I asked.
Doucet hesitated, and then said, “Sure.”
We followed his nondescript white department sedan to the coroner’s office. It wasn’t far to where it sat along Earhart Boulevard near Claiborne and in the shadows of I-10, only a couple of blocks from the Superdome. Very governmental—two-story tan brick with flattened windows and an American flag out front. The sign indicated it shared space with the Emergency Medical Service offices. I had read something about it in the Times-Picayune. I had found the latest issue abandoned in the Monteleone bar. The article, wedged between news of some French Quarter bar reopening after a restoration and a recipe for pecan pie, said the building was “state of the art” and had just opened in early 2016 at a cost of nearly $15 million. State of the art is always expensive.
Pancake parked next to Doucet in the mostly empty lot. Before we could get out, Doucet walked up and stood staring at Ray through the passenger’s window. Ray lowered it.
“I think it’s best if you guys wait here while I go see what the deal is. The coroner’s a stickler for rules and I’d rather not try to explain you guys.”
It crossed my mind that Ray and Pancake were unexplainable. Me? I’m easy. Really. Still, not riling the coroner made sense. So, we waited.
I told them of my conversation with Gloria earlier.
“Bottom line is she doesn’t know where Kristi might’ve gotten the stuff?” Ray asked.
I nodded. “But she did remind me that this was New Orleans and almost anything is easily available. She mentioned a couple of the cooks at Café du Monde were sources. And Kristi’s brothers, too.”
“Interesting,” Pancake said.
“Gloria said they even sold a little. Not much, as far as she knew, but some.”
“Even more interesting.”
“But she also said they would never have given any to Kristi. If they’re anything, they’re overly protective.”
Pancake grunted. Meant he didn’t really buy that. “I guess she could have clipped some from their stash. If they have one and if she knew where it was.”
“True,” Ray said. “But I think that’s a lost leader. She was strangled, not poisoned.”
“Unless the coroner found something else,” I said.
And the coroner had. Big-time.
Doucet walked out and up to the truck. Stress lines creased his face.
“What is it?” Ray asked.
He leaned straight-armed on the window frame. He looked toward the building and then back to Ray. “This is not for public consumption. Got it?”
“No problem.”
“What the toxicology guys found is a game changer. Ketamine.”
“What?” I asked.
He looked past Ray at me. “In the joint remnant and both Kristi’s and Ford’s blood.”
Ketamine, bump. Purple. Special K. Goes by a lot of names but it’s one of the so-called date rape drugs. Started as a general anesthetic but made it’s way into the rave culture and then into the hands of some really bad actors. I know because we had had a problem with it at Captain Rocky’s once. Some asshole had slipped some into an unsuspecting girl’s drink. Fortunately, Carla Martinez, my manager, recognized the girl was acting a little weird and prevented her from leaving with the guy. He protested that she was free to do as she wished, but Carla isn’t someone you mess with. She said unless the guy wanted his head opened with a barstool, he’d step back and take a breath. She called the cops and the guy took off. The girl was taken to the ER and was fine, but it turned into a big mess. Nearly lost my liquor licenses over that one. Definitely got a bunch of bad press.
“That does change things,” Ray said. “Ask Jake. Nearly lost his bar over that shit.”
“Oh?” Doucet said.
“Long story,” I said.
Doucet nodded. “Let me guess. Date rape situation?”
“Almost.”
“We’ve had more than our share of that crap around here. Mostly GHB but we’ve seen a few ketamine cases.”
“You said the lab found it in the joint remnant,” I said. “What about the other two? The ones they didn’t smoke?”
Doucet shook his head. “Those were clean.”
“Hmm,” I said. “That means the two Kirk had were cool and Kristi brought the laced one.”
“If he’s telling the truth.”
“But if his plan was to drug her—which I simply don’t believe—why only mess with one of them?” I asked. “Why not all three?”
Doucet shrugged. “Maybe he meant one for her and the others for him?”
“Yet the ketamine was found in both of them?” I said. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Nothing in this case does.”
That was an understatement. Why would Kirk need to drug someone he was having sex with? If that was his plan, why would he drug himself? For fun? Recreational so to speak? And things went sideways? I felt that most likely neither of them knew the joint was contaminated. I laid out those thoughts for Doucet.
“If so,” he said, “it raises the question of who would’ve done that. And why? Was it all a coincidence? I mean Kristi buys a joint from someone and either they give her a doctored one by accident or did so purposefully. And if the latter, was it just for fun—to really fuck her up—or was her murder part of some grand plan?”
“It’s always the who and why, isn’t it?” Ray asked.
“True,” Doucet said. “And the why usually points the finger right at the who. But here? I can’t see a why.”
“The drugs could explain why Kirk can’t remember anything,” I said.
“True that,” Pancake said. “That shit’ll fry your cortex for sure.”
“The question is where did it come from?” Ray said.
“We have a few guys on our radar that could be sources,” Doucet said. “I’ll check them out.”
“But how would Kristi have come across something like that?” I asked. “I mean, a nonuser stepping into that?”
“Like you suggested, maybe she didn’t know,” Pancake said. “You can’t smell or taste that stuff. Maybe someone gave her a loaded joint and she didn’t have a clue.”
“Which brings us back to who,” I said. “And why.”
“Still can’t rule out Ford,” Doucet said. “We only have his word that Kristi brought the stuff to the room.”
“I have trouble buying that,” I said. “He and Kristi were having regular sex, so it wouldn’t have been for compliance—for lack of a better word.”
Doucet shrugged. “Maybe just for kicks.”
“But would he have drugged himself?” I asked.
“We can ask him,” I said. “We’re headed out that way.”
“Where’s that?” Doucet asked.
“The shooting location,” I said. “Over off Highway 90, near Bayou Sauvage.”
“You know the area?” Doucet asked.
“No, but Ebersole gave me a map.”
Doucet rapped a knuckle on the window frame. “Maybe I’ll follow you out there.”
“Not a good idea,” Ray said. “I don’t think his attorneys would allow a chat without them present.”
Doucet nodded. “But I need a sit-down with him.”
“We’ll talk with Kirk,” I said. “And I’ll call Kornblatt and see if we can set it up. How about that?”
Doucet glanced up the street, and then back toward me. “I guess that’ll work. I can’t force him to sit down—unless I arrest him again—but I don’t think that’d be best.”
“Probably not.”
“Okay,” Doucet said. “You guys go have a chat with Ford. I’ll see what I can dig up on the drugs.”
“Street sources,” Ray said. “Always good to have in your pocket.”
“Oh, yeah. I got a guy who knows everything about everything in that world.”
“You mean like an informant?” I asked.
“Not exactly. More like a career criminal.” Doucet rapped the window frame again. “Keep me in the loop.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DETECTIVE MARLON DUGAN was one of Tony Guidry’s most useful assets. An inside source. Good eyes and ears, kept a low profile. One of those smallish, disheveled guys that no one ever notices. And most importantly, he readily accepted the stuffed envelopes Tony winged his way. His info had always been right on, but Tony always had other sources. Redundancy being the word. There was McCredy and Pettway, both detectives, and if need be, he could climb the food chain all the way to the chief’s office. He used those higher connections sparingly so they would be in his debt and not the other way around. Such an escalation wasn’t needed here.
Tony Guidry held his cell to his ear. Based on the background traffic noise, Dugan was outside. Probably in the PD’s rear lot, away from any interested ears. His scalp tingled. His jaw tightened so much his teeth hurt. He sat at one end of the bar at Belly Up. One of his French Quarter clubs, this one near the corner of Bourbon and St. Anne. Still an hour or so before opening, he had been going over the ledgers, the official ones, anyway, not the secret ones. Those stayed in his office vault at all times. Why give the IRS any help? They already held all the cards anyway.
Johnny Hebert and Reuben Prejean huddled at a nearby table, playing penny-ante poker and guzzling coffee. Robert and Kevin hung near the far end of the bar, chatting with one of the waitresses. One of the new ones. Normally Tony would have dragged them away, by their ears if need be, the brothers having offended and run off new employees more than once. But right now, Tony had a more pressing problem.
“What the fuck are you saying?” Tony said, his voice low, almost a hiss.
“Just what I said. They found ketamine in both Kristi and Ford. And in one of the joints found at the scene.”
“Is this solid?”
“Right from the horse’s mouth.”
“Doucet?”
“Yep.”
Tony closed the ledger and stood, the stool scraping the floor. Johnny and Reuben looked his way.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me. Where did this shit come from?”
“No clue,” Dugan said. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Okay. Keep your radar on and let me know what you hear.”
“You got it.”
“There’ll be a little gift headed your way. Maybe not so little this time.” He disconnected the call and walked to where his nephews stood. He waved away the girl.
“Did you clowns give Kristi any drugs?”
“What?” Kevin said. “No way.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“We’re not,” Robert said. “We would never.”
Tony twisted his head one way and then the other, working out the gathering tightness. “If I find out you’re lying, there will be no end to the grief I’ll drop on you.”
“Uncle Tony, we didn’t,” Kevin said. “We wouldn’t. Never.”
“But you’re still selling some shit.” It wasn’t a question. “Even after I told you again and again not to.”
“A little,” Kevin said. “But only to friends.”
At least they were smart enough not to lie about something Tony knew was true.
“And friends never turn on you? Get popped for something stupid? Buy their way out of a jam by giving the cops something they can use against me?”
Two blank faces stared at him. He wanted to rip them apart right now.
Johnny and Reuben pushed back their chairs and moved to Tony’s side. “What is it, boss?”
Tony raised a finger and then punched a number into his phone. His secretary answered. “You know where they’re filming that movie?”
“No, Mr. Guidry.”
“Find out. Now.” He hung up and looked at his nephews. “Besides weed and a few bags of meth, have you guys dabbled in anything else?”
Kevin shook his head. “No. Like what?”
“Like ketamine.”
“No. We wouldn’t even know where to get that.”
Tony held their collective gaze, making sure they felt his anger. He looked at Johnny. “The call I got was from my guy at NOPD. He says the coroner found ketamine in Kristi. Kirk Ford, too. And a joint they found at the scene.”
“Where the hell did that come from?” Johnny asked.
“That’s what I want to know.” He looked back at Kevin. “At the risk of being redundant, if you’re lying to me it’ll get very ugly, very quickly.”
Kevin held up his hands, palms out. “We don’t know anything about that. That’s the truth.”
Did he believe them? Could he? They were idiots and liars by nature. But looking at their bewildered and scared faces, he tended to believe they were telling the truth. For once.
Tony looked at his feet, trying to wrap his head around all this. Ketamine? He looked at Johnny. “If that pretty boy is telling the truth, Kristi brought that joint to the party. A joint laced with ketamine.”
“Where would she get that?” Reuben asked.
“That’s what I want you guys to find out. Scorched earth. Lean on whoever you have to, but I want to know anyone and everyone who could have.”
“You got it.”
“But first I want to go have a chat with Mr. Ford.”
“You think he’ll talk to you?” Johnny asked.
“He won’t have a choice.”
“I’m just saying I don’t think his attorney will allow that.”
“Walton Greene? You think I can’t twist him into a knot?”
“Not him. That Kornblatt character. The one from LA.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about some Jew fuck from Hollywood. He’s not here anyway.”
His cell chimed. His secretary. He answered. He listened and then, “Okay. Text me the exact directions. We’re rolling.” He disconnected the call and headed toward the door, Johnny and Reuben in tow.
“We’re going with you,” Kevin said.
Tony stopped and turned. “The hell you are. Stay here and do your fucking jobs for once.”
“We’re all caught up.”
“Really? You got the bar restocked yet?”
Kevin stared at him.
“Didn’t think so.” Then he was out the door.
“Where to, boss?” Reuben asked as he held the limo door for Tony.
“Up off Highway 90 near Bayou Sauvage.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
KEVIN TOOK A hit from the joint and passed it to his brother. They were standing near Robert’s eight-year-old black Jeep and a pair
of trash bins that snuggled up against a cinder-block wall behind the Belly Up. He exhaled the smoke and waved it away.
“Haven’t seen Uncle Tony that pissed in a while,” Kevin said.
Robert nodded. “Sure was.” Smoke leaked from his mouth as he spoke. “And you better hope the new girl doesn’t screw up the bar or he’ll have our asses.”
“How hard can it fucking be? Lug a few bottles from the storage room and line them up behind the bar. Any moron could do it.”
“She ain’t exactly a genius.”
“But she’s hot.”
Robert nodded. “She is that. But, I’m just saying you better hope she doesn’t screw it up.”
Kevin rolled his eyes. “You worry too much.”
“And you not enough.” Robert passed the joint back to Kevin. “You sure talking with Ju Ju is a good idea?”
“Uncle Tony wants to know where the ketamine came from. Ju Ju will know.”
“For sure, he’ll know. But don’t you think Tony’ll want to talk to him directly?”
“So we save him a couple of steps.” Kevin took another hit.
“You know how he gets when we try to get into his business.”
Kevin exhaled. “You mean other than moving whiskey bottles around?”
Robert shrugged.
“If we can find out where that shit came from, he’ll be happy.”
“Really? Not sure I’ve ever seen him happy.”
Kevin extinguished the joint with a pinch and slipped the remnant into his jeans pocket. “Let’s go.”
It only took five minutes to reach Ju Ju’s place. But as they approached, Kevin grabbed his brother’s arm with one hand and pointed with the other. “Who’s that?”
A man stood on Ju Ju’s small front porch, rapping on the door frame. Robert kept driving.
“Is that who I think it is?” Kevin asked. He twisted and looked back through the rear window.
“Yes, it is.”
“What the hell’s he doing here?”
“Same as us. You don’t think he knows what Uncle Tony knows?”
“What now?”
“Let’s chill. Over by the park. Think this through.”
“Maybe we should call Uncle Tony? Let him know?”
“He’ll know soon enough. Besides, he might not be thrilled with us being here. Unless we can find out something he can use.”
