by Robin Caroll
Corey studied it for a moment, never stopping in his task of polishing the brass adornments on the bar. “He was in the bar Thursday evening, early . . . from about seven until ten or so. Clean-cut kind of guy, like the other pharmaceutical reps in the group. But this one, he was arrogant. Had that air about him.”
“Arrogant?” Beau tightened his hold on the pen. Finally, someone who actually remembered Muller and what he’d been like alive.
The bartender nodded. “Came off as if he thought he was better than everybody else around him. Those kinds of people ooze the stench of arrogance. He had it in spades. The way he cajoled his friends to buy the rounds they were putting down. Jack Daniels, single barrel. Not cheap, but that’s what they were drinking.”
Neat trick. “How’d he manage that?”
“Oh, same game that’s been around as long as there have been drinks served. I bet you a shot that I can get that girl to dance with me or get her number or whatever.”
“This guy won those types of bets?” Beau glanced at the picture again. Kevin Muller didn’t seem to be overtly attractive or appealing, but what did Beau know?
The bartender nodded. “Sure did. Got one of the snooty girls’ number. One of the ones here with a bachelorette party from the Garden District.”
Beau knew the type well: old money with Daddy’s doting indulgences. He’d gone to school with plenty of girls who would’ve given their right arm to be invited to the Garden District, much less live there.
“For another round,” Corey continued, “this guy got an eyeful of a gal’s big beads, if you know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, Beau did. It wasn’t much of a secret during Mardi Gras parades that the bigger the breasts shown, the bigger the beads thrown to them.
“He even managed to get one of our regulars to make out with him right here in the bar, knowing that I disapproved.” Corey tossed the dusting rag over his shoulder and leaned his elbow on the bar. “’Course, that made one of the few ladies in his group rather upset.”
“How so?” Marcel asked.
“She told him perhaps it was time for him to go call his pregnant wife. She tossed back his last single barrel, slammed the glass down, then shoved him out of her way as she stormed off.”
Marcel straightened. “Did he seem angry?”
Corey laughed and flicked the rag off his shoulder. “Dude, she’d just announced he was married and his wife was pregnant while he was hitting on women right and left. What do you think?”
Beau figured Muller had probably been all kinds of mad. “Do you remember what he did or said?”
“He made some remark about the girl’s, um, wide rear as she walked off. He and his buddies laughed.”
“What about the girl?” Beau glanced to his notes. “If she’s a regular, you must know her name.”
Corey hesitated, running the rag over an area of the bar he’d already polished.
Beau and Marcel waited. One second passed. Two. Three—
“Zoey’s a good girl. She’s made some bad choices, sometimes still does, but overall, she’s a good person. Has a good heart.”
The bartender clearly had things he needed to tell the police, but didn’t want to.
Just like Addy. Beau cleared his throat. “I understand. She’s a friend of yours. What’s her last name?”
“Naure. N-a-u-r-e. Zoey Naure.”
Beau scribbled in his notebook. “I don’t want to make any trouble for her. I just need to know what happened.”
“Zoey left with him soon after the other woman stormed off. They were headed to his room.”
“Was that common for her?” Marcel asked a little softer, following Beau’s example.
The bartender rubbed the same part of the brass in front of him for a few moments before lifting his gaze to meet the detectives’ gazes. “Look, she’d been busted a couple of times for prostitution, but she isn’t turning tricks anymore.”
Ah. Beau understood now. “But it’s possible she might have gone to his room with him as a business deal?”
“She swore she was out of the business for good.”
“I’m guessing you don’t know that to be one hundred percent truth, right?” Marcel asked.
Corey tossed the rag on the bar. “No. I’d been talking to her for months, trying to get her to work on getting her life back on track. Despite how much she said she wanted to leave that life behind, she’d slipped up more than a time or two.”
A prostitute would explain the short time—Beau flipped through his notes on the case—of about forty-five minutes that she was in Muller’s hotel room.
“Did she come back to the bar later that night?”
Corey shook his head. “I didn’t see her, but we got busy with that group and the regular tourists.”
“Have you seen her since? Talked to her?” Marcel asked.
“I was off yesterday. She and I aren’t friends, per se. Just a girl I know from the bar who I’m trying to help out.”
“Have any idea where she lives?” Marcel asked.
Corey shook his head. “Sorry.”
Beau handed him his business card. “If you see her again, give me a call, please.”
“Sure.”
Beau held the card as Corey tried to take it. “I’m not trying to cause her any trouble. I mainly just want to know about the guy.”
“I’ll give you a call.”
“Thanks.” Beau started to turn away, but stopped. “A couple more questions.”
“Okay.”
“Do you know Ethan Morrison?”
“Guy that works in the kitchen here?”
Beau nodded.
“Yeah. I’ve talked to him a couple of times when he’s come in here after his shift. Seems like an okay guy.”
“Do you remember if he came in here Thursday night? Late?”
“Not that I recall, but as I said, we were busy later that night.”
Beau slipped his notebook back into his pocket. “What about Dimitri Pampalon?”
Corey frowned. “What about him?”
“What’s he like?”
“Nice. Takes the time to really talk to people and listen to them. Goes out of his way to be kind. Total opposite of his father.”
“I take it his father is sort of a jerk?” Marcel asked.
Corey laughed. “Sort of? The man defines the word. Cold and callous to everyone. Doesn’t matter your position in the hotel, he’ll chew out a maid or supervisor just the same. Even snaps at his own son.” The bartender shook his head. “I don’t know how Dimitri puts up with him, honestly. Forget the money and hotel, it’s not worth it to put up with the old man’s cruelty.”
Beau couldn’t imagine Addy working for someone like that. “What about Adelaide Fountaine?”
Corey smiled with his whole face. “You’ll be hard-pressed to find anyone at the hotel to say anything bad about Adelaide. She’s kind and considerate, fair and just.” He grinned wider, if that was possible. “She’s beautiful to look at, but just as beautiful on the inside.”
“I think so too.” Beau couldn’t help smiling back. “Thanks again. Do call me when you see Zoey again.”
“I will.” Corey slipped the card in the back pocket of his jeans and turned away, moving to the other end of the bar.
“Why don’t you call the station and run a background check on Zoey Naure before we interview the elevator attendant?” Beau pocketed his notebook.
“Sure.” Marcel pulled out his cell.
Glancing around the hotel lobby, Beau spied Addy and Dimitri at the front desk, heads bent together. They sure looked chummy together, comfortable with one another. He could choose to believe that was because of their positions at the hotel, but his mind’s eye kept going back to the image of Addy in Pampalon’s arms.
As if she could hear his thoughts, Addy lifted her head and settled her gaze on Beau. She smiled, and Beau forgot how it felt to see Dimitri kiss her temple on the security video.
&nbs
p; “They’ll text you when they get the background.” Marcel joined Beau as they headed toward Addy.
She stepped from behind the desk. “Finished talking with the employees?”
“We still need to speak with the elevator attendant.”
“Richard Norris.” She started walking down the hall toward her office. “Come on, I just saw him heading to clock in.”
Beau and Marcel fell into step beside her.
“How’s the investigation going?”
“We can’t really discuss it with you.”
Beau could sense more than see her stiffening. “Addy, you have to understand.”
“I do. I do.” She let out a sigh and paused at her office. “I don’t have to like it though, right?”
He nodded. “I don’t exactly relish this either.”
She pointed at the open doorway down the hall. “The employee room is there. Check and see if Richard is still getting settled before his shift. There shouldn’t be anyone else in there. If he’s not there, he’ll be at the elevators.”
“Thanks, Addy.”
She gave a little half wave, then slipped into her office.
“I forgot y’all are tight. I’m sure the Captain would pair me up with someone else if this is a conflict of interest for you,” said Taton.
“Don’t be stupid. It’s fine. I’m doing my job.” Beau moved down the hall to the task at hand, even though his chest tightened to the point of cutting off his breath for a minute. He nearly collided with the young man exiting.
“I’m sorry.” The young man—who couldn’t be more than twenty-one or -two—reached out to steady Beau.
“Richard Norris?”
“Yes?”
Beau waved the man back inside the employee room while flashing his badge. “I’m Detective Savoie and this is my partner, Detective Taton. We have a few questions for you.”
Norris went pale.
“Here, sit down.” Beau led the kid to one of the couches.
The employee room, whatever that really was, held a row of lockers on one wall, doors for men and women on the opposite side, and three large couches in the middle of the room. Not really a break room, more like a true resting space with lockers for employee belongings.
While Marcel hovered, as he did so well, Beau sat opposite Norris. “You okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We have a few questions for you about Thursday night.”
“The murder, right?”
Beau nodded. “Yes. I understand you were the elevator attendant on duty that night?”
“Yes, sir.”
He handed the young man Muller’s photo. “Do you recognize this man?”
Norris nodded. “He’s the guy that was murdered in 219.”
“Right. Do you remember seeing him Thursday night?”
“Yes, sir.”
Beau pulled out his notebook. “Tell me what you remember about him on Thursday night. When you saw him. Who he was with. Anything that was said.”
The kid’s knee bounced. “I remember taking him up to his room shortly after four, when the whole group broke. Most of them went up to their rooms to change or whatever.”
“Do you remember if he changed?” Marcel asked from behind the kid.
Norris startled, but nodded. “He went in with a suit but came out in jeans and a shirt. No tie.”
“About what time did he come out? Your best estimate.” Marcel pressed.
“I’d say around five-thirty-ish. There were a lot of them heading out. Some of them had signed up for the night cemetery tours. Some talked about bar hopping through the Quarter.”
“What about him? Do you remember if he mentioned what he was doing?” Beau asked.
“I do. He was on the phone when the elevator got to the second floor. He told whoever was on the phone that he was meeting some of the guys in the restaurant. He said he was getting on the elevator and would probably lose reception. Told whoever he was talking to that they should get some rest and he loved them.”
Beau made a note on the side of the page: Richard Norris eavesdrops.
“Once he hung up, I tried to talk to him, but he ignored me. Looked at me like I was dog poo on his shoe. He didn’t say anything else to me on that trip. Real jerk.”
Right in line with what Corey had said. Wait. “That trip?”
“Yeah.” More knee bouncing. “He and a really hot chick rode up to his room later. Around ten-ish, I’d guess.”
“Do you remember anything about that elevator trip?” Marcel asked.
Kid grinned at them. “Well, yeah. I mean, they were the only two in the elevator at that time, and, well, like I said, the chick was one hot redhead.”
Beau let the comment slide. “What do you remember?”
“He was all over her, man. And I think he got off on me being in there with them. He’d be kissing her, but staring at me.” The kid’s eyes widened. “One time, he yanked her dress up and grabbed her a—er, behind, staring and grinning right at me.”
Beau knew what he meant and knew the kind of man Muller seemed to be. He couldn’t stand those types.
“But we got to the second floor right then, so he shoved her out of the elevator in front of him, tossed an empty condom package at my feet, and grabbed her again, almost running her down the hall to his room. But she was giggling, so I guess she liked that rough stuff.”
“Did you see him again?” Marcel asked.
The kid shook his head. “Not the rest of the night.”
“What about her? Did you see her when she went back down to the lobby?” Marcel asked.
Norris nodded, his knee still bouncing like crazy, starting to wear on Beau’s nerves. “Yeah. Girls like that usually chat with me. She had before when she was here a couple of months ago, but she didn’t that night. I think she’d been crying.”
That piqued Beau’s interest. “Crying?”
“Yeah, her eyes were all red and watery. She didn’t talk to me, did her best not to even look at me. And she wasn’t wearing her dress.”
“What?” Beau’s fingers squeezed the pen so tight it could’ve snapped.
“Yeah, she had been wearing this dress with one of those almost see-through things that goes over it. When she left, she didn’t have the dress on, just that cover up thing.”
Interesting.
“She didn’t say anything.”
However, Norris was an eavesdropper and observer. “But do you have any idea where she went?” Beau asked.
“She went straight from the elevator out the front door, hugging that thin cover up thingy she was wearing.”
“Did you see her again?” Beau asked.
“Nope. Haven’t seen her since.”
“Or him? Maybe later that night?” Marcel asked.
Norris shook his head.
Beau tapped his pen on his notebook. “I’m sure you know that group’s planner, right? Young blonde lady.”
“Bigger girl?” Norris nodded. “Yeah. She went up to that guy’s room after the hot chick left.”
Marcel moved from behind the kid, looming into his personal space. “She rode up in your elevator?”
“Nah. The other one. But she rode down in mine.”
“About what time?” Marcel asked.
“I guess a little after eleven-ish.”
Beau had about enough ishes for one interrogation. “How did she seem?”
“She was really crying, tears and everything. She was sniffling when she told me not to grow up to be a cheater.”
“Did you happen to notice if there was anything odd about her appearance?” Marcel asked.
Norris grinned. “Like her dress was missing? Nah, man. She had on this white top with black buttons. Real stuffy looking, to be honest. Not my type.”
Beau didn’t comment on that. Some things were just better left unsaid. “Anything else?”
“Nope, she rode up to the third floor and headed to her room, I guess.”
Beau sl
ipped his notebook in his pocket just as his text alert vibrated his cell. “Thanks.” He handed his business card to the young elevator attendant. “If you remember anything else you think might be important, give me a call.”
“Yes, sir.” The kid shot to his feet and headed from the employee room.
Beau checked his text message: Zoey Naure, 1 DUI, 3 prostitutions.
He scrolled to the next message, which had Zoey’s last known address. Smiling, he headed down the hall. Time to visit the alluring Zoey and get her statement.
And find out what happened to her dress the night Muller was murdered.
Sixteen
Dimitri
He could have sworn he’d set the alarm when he left, but his father’s housekeeper had arrived this morning to find the downstairs a mess and the alarm off.
Dimitri whipped his car into the driveway and parked behind Tilda’s blue Mustang. He smiled as he got out of his car, as he always did when seeing Tilda’s car. The sight of a white-haired, sixty-something Creole woman in a ’69 Mustang GT, top down, singing at the top of her lungs . . . well, it made Dimitri smile. Tilda said she’d always wanted such a car, and she’d saved up to buy just the one she’d wanted.
“Thank goodness you are here.” Tilda stepped onto the veranda, followed by her niece, Elise, who had been coming to assist her aging aunt over the last several months. “I wanted you to decide whether or not to call the police since Mr. Claude is out.”
“You did the right thing, Tilda.” Dimitri could practically hear his father’s tirade if he was told about the break-in. It would be, no doubt, Dimitri’s fault in Claude’s eyes. If nothing had been taken, he could avoid a police report all together.
Stepping into the entryway, he could understand why Tilda and Elise stopped and called him. The antique entry table had been turned over, one of its legs broken. The mirror that hung over it, crashed to the floor. Shards of mirror littered the Italian tile.
He continued on into the den. The couch and high-back chairs had been ripped, stuffing strewed about the room. Pictures pulled from the wall and lying on the floor. The marble fireplace had chunks gouged out, probably by the poker.
