Casting Bones

by Don Bruns

  He took a cup of instant coffee out to his miniscule front porch, listening to the early sound of the Quarter waking up, or for some, finally calling it a night.

  Something told him the window incident involved Detroit. In the back of his mind he could hear and see Jason, his youngest brother. Jason, the one with the scraggly facial hair and the slight stutter, who just before he left had threatened Quentin’s life.

  He’d told him that until Brian Archer was free and Q was dead, he would haunt his oldest brother. Told him to his face. To be fair, Quentin Archer had tormented his younger siblings when they were children. Made them do his chores, even his homework. He’d just never figured that his kid brother, the young punk Jason, would go this far.

  Jason and Brian Archer, his blood relations, but as distant as the ends of the earth. They’d become drug dealers who had hooked up with a very obliging Bobby Mercer, a Detroit cop who had creative ways of making money on the side. Bobby, still a respected cop, was a legend to the underworld. And the DPD refused to deal with it.

  When Q had finally had enough, he’d gone to his father and asked what he would do. The retired sergeant told him to relax. This was family and the boys would find their way eventually. Archer gave the old man token peace, but when the drug dealing escalated and a city councilman who was leading a probe into police involvement was found drowned in the Detroit River, he acted.

  His department ignored him, siding with Bobby Mercer. His family shunned him, siding with Brian and Jason; and when Denise Archer, the love of his life, was the victim of that hit-and-run, Quentin Archer decided he’d suffered enough. Witnesses claimed they saw the driver chase the woman, coming up on the sidewalk with a Chevy sedan to make sure she was hit. The body was battered and broken when they finally cleared the scene. No one had seen the license plate number. Not until Tom Lyons and friends started a search for cameras. Archer would never get over that horrible afternoon. It had left him a broken man. The sorrow of losing his wife drove him from his home. But he hadn’t forgotten. Her picture was by his bed, next to a cold, colorless framed photo of the street corner where she’d been killed. He needed to remember every day.

  The rogue cop Bobby Mercer continued to prowl the streets of the Motor City, using his uniform and position as a license to earn a second income. Archer’s brother Brian was convicted and was doing six months for a minor distribution charge. Jason, who had a larger sentence hanging over his head, had left town under cover and no one seemed to know his whereabouts. Quentin had a good idea of where his brother might be. But there were a lot of places to hide in New Orleans. And with the number of cases Archer was covering, he didn’t have time to look. Not right now.

  Finishing the coffee, he walked to Canal, grabbed the streetcar and followed the line to his stop, walking the rest of the way to work.

  ‘Where the hell have you been, Detective? Everyone has been trying to reach you. What? You don’t ever turn your phone on? There’s no excuse for that.’

  ‘Sergeant Sullivan, good to see you too. What’s up?’

  ‘Jesus, Archer, you’re really clueless? Please, talk to your partner.’

  As if on cue, Strand walked up to them, a sheaf of papers in his hand.

  ‘A little news on the judge scene, Q. You seriously haven’t heard? Are you shitting me?’

  Archer shook his head. ‘Everyone, settle down. We know that Duvay didn’t kill Lerner. Is that what this is about? This guy named Skeeter?’

  Strand gave him a long look.

  ‘Really? That’s the best you’ve got?’

  Archer studied his partner for a moment.

  ‘Strand, I’m sorry your suspect didn’t pan out, but …’

  ‘That’s what you think this is about? That a suspect gets a free pass? Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s what I thought this was about.’

  ‘Man, you’re in for a long morning,’ Strand said. ‘We’ve got a shitload of problems, partner.’

  They sat in Sullivan’s office, Strand with his feet propped up on an extra chair. Archer was shell-shocked by the unfolding development. He couldn’t believe it; he hadn’t really thought they were in any danger.

  ‘One automobile accident, one supposed robbery. Both judges that you’d interviewed, Archer. There’s no way this was a coincidence, Detective. Not when the victims are all juvie judges and not when the crimes have been committed in this compressed time frame,’ Sullivan said, almost accusatorially. ‘They’re dead, man. What the hell is going on, Archer? You’re closer than anyone to this. What the fuck is going on?’

  ‘The press also making the assumption that all three murders are related?’ Archer said.

  ‘They are,’ Sullivan said. ‘Channel Six led with it and the Times-Picayune has it online. It’s early. Everyone will tee up on this, and we’re still standing here with our thumbs up our asses. Plus, the Advocate is again saying we’re totally incompetent. Especially after that news conference yesterday. We haven’t looked this bad since Katrina.’

  Strand sat across from him, a grim look on his face and his fists clenched tight.

  ‘NBC news has called, Fox has a satellite truck outside, CNN is in the building, and the lieutenant is ready to come unglued. It’s just the beginning, Q. We stand the chance of being the number one news story in the country tonight. The country, for God’s sake. Forget the Advocate.’

  Archer was still processing. Just when he thought things were possibly coming together …

  ‘And we still can’t tie it up,’ Strand said. ‘Lerner was a message. Judge Lerner’s murder was a statement. Absolutely no question about that. Man, you blow a guy’s eye out; it’s a signal to someone. If this person or this group is so obvious with the first judge, why would they disguise the second and third murder? Try to make them look unconnected? Unless it’s not the same killer. Doesn’t have to be, does it? I mean, maybe the other two are totally unrelated, but what a coincidence. Of all the coincidences in the world …’

  ‘Yeah, Lerner’s death was meant to send a message,’ Archer said, winging it. ‘You’re right about that. But whoever is orchestrating this plot decided the message didn’t get through. They put a bullet through Lerner’s brain but there was still some suspicion about these two judges, Hall and Warren. They were obviously afraid that Traci Hall and Richard Warren were liabilities, that those two knew something and they might talk.’

  ‘You interviewed them. You didn’t pick up any vibes?’ Sullivan asked.

  Archer took a deep breath.

  ‘You don’t want to hear this, but we are still in the beginning of this case. Warren was afraid of something. Very defensive of his harsh sentences. Hall? She was defending them as well, but from an entirely different perspective.’

  ‘Any other observations, Q?’

  ‘My observation was that Warren was a tough guy. He seemed to be of the same mindset as Lerner. And he seemed to be afraid of me. And he didn’t like being questioned.’

  ‘Traci Hall?’ Sullivan asked.

  ‘Knew more than she was telling me. Seemed to sense that Warren and Lerner were a little devious, but never said why. She told me someone was after her, but she wouldn’t elaborate.’

  ‘And that’s it? We’ve got two more dead judges and that’s all you’ve got?’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway,’ Sullivan continued, ‘this time they decided to just get rid of those two judges. Make it look like an auto accident. Make it look like a purse snatch. No message this time. I mean, if they blatantly killed them, bullet in the brain, we’d tie it all together immediately. So, rather than use drama, they decided to plant doubt about the way they died. It is entirely possible that an erratic driver accidentally cut Warren off, am I right? And a purse snatcher could have killed Traci Hall. Right now, we can’t prove that they were premeditated murders. Right now, they aren’t related, no matter how much pressure we get from the press.’

  ‘And the lieutenant, the chief, the mayor and governor,’ Strand
said. ‘Just a little pressure there.’

  ‘By the way, we did cut Duvay loose.’ Sergeant Sullivan changed the topic. ‘I talked to Adam’ – he nodded at Strand – ‘and there is no longer any reason to hold the young man. We’re pretty sure that this Skeeter Lewis character and his friend James killed Lerner. I don’t think we’ll have a hard time proving that. And there’s an APB out on John “Skeeter” Lewis. We get him, we’ll get his partner in crime. We can only hope that Lewis killed all three judges. Things would be a lot cleaner.’

  ‘Or,’ Archer said, ‘at least he will connect us with who killed the other two judges. If they’re related.’

  ‘I’m going to tell you, Archer, I’ve been here eighteen years. I’ve seen the worst. Hell, I’ve been through Katrina. This is uncharted territory, even for New Orleans. And right now? When the Feds are meddling, trying to get some major reforms through here, I mean …’ he tailed off.

  ‘So we’re still the priority?’

  ‘Priority?’ His eyes were budging. ‘Are you kidding me? There is no other priority, Archer. Two more judges have been killed. We’ve got another detective who’s walked off the force.’ Throwing his arms up he said, ‘This is beyond any situation I can remember. My understanding is the governor may make a statement tomorrow. Hell, this could go to the White House. The president. For God’s sake, get to the bottom of this situation. Do you understand me? Three fucking juvie justices in less than a week.’

  ‘Witnesses at these locations have been interviewed?’

  ‘Hell yes, but interview ’em again,’ Sullivan was crisp and to the point.

  ‘Sites investigated?’ Archer was crossing off a list he’d made.

  ‘Yes, yes, but do it again. Find out who the hell is killing these juvenile court judges. I can’t be more serious.’

  ‘Security?’ Archer kept asking.

  ‘We’re not idiots here, Archer. This isn’t Detroit.’

  It hurt, but he had a point.

  ‘As of one hour ago, every existing juvenile judge has a patrolman assigned to them. Every one. Twenty-four/seven. They can’t take a piss without an armed guard standing beside them. You want to talk about stretching the money in a budget that has no more elasticity? That is manpower that we can’t afford.’

  ‘I’m not sure he could have done much about it, but I did warn Warren about—’

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ Sullivan said. ‘Of course I remember. The guy accused you of harassment. Man, this thing has got be over soon, Q. We’re in deep shit right now. We can’t afford the black eye, we can’t afford the community backlash and last but not least, we can’t afford this period.’

  Strand and Archer stood up, heading toward the door.

  ‘You report directly to me on any new lead. Everything, understood?’ Sullivan stood in the center of the room, arms folded. ‘We have another judge killed and we’re all going to lose our jobs.’

  37

  Counting down the seconds on his watch, he dialed exactly at 10 a.m.

  ‘Hello.’ The voice sounded tired.

  ‘I’ve got more information on the murdered judge.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘They’re letting the ex-con go. There’s a recording of the killing.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A recording. The judge recorded it on his phone. They’ve got a pretty good idea of exactly how it happened and who did it. Guys named John Lewis and James Gideon.’

  A long slow exhale. ‘Any tie-ins with these guys? To Krewe Charbonerrie or anything else in the mix?’

  ‘No. It just changes the entire direction.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘I’ll call the minute anything else breaks.’

  ‘You do that. We’ll make it worth your while.’

  38

  Detective Levy met him as he walked into the bullpen.

  ‘Q, got a question.’

  ‘Yeah?’ He needed more input, more questions. Nothing at this point was coming together and it had to happen at warp speed. He felt the pressure in every heartbeat.

  ‘We found a file box inside Lerner’s Jag,’ Levy said.

  ‘OK.’ Possibly more evidence. ‘And?’

  ‘Well,’ Levy said, ‘we found printouts, like spreadsheets. A whole pile of them. And they’ve got a series of numbers running next to each other. Two sets of numbers.’

  ‘And what do these numbers represent?’ Archer asked.

  ‘I was hoping you could give us some ideas.’

  ‘Let’s see them.’

  Walking down to Levy’s desk, they passed Strand’s station. The detective was not present. Probably off on a fact-finding mission of his own. Or working one of his side businesses. Archer was starting to wonder if the man was any help at all.

  Reaching his desk, Levy pulled out a double-spaced sheet from the box and handed it to Archer. There were two columns of numbers displayed next to each other, probably forty to a page. No explanation. At the top of the left-hand column on the first page was the number 42981-201; next to it at the top of the right-hand column appeared the number 2000. Nothing more. Two spaces below, 38012-406 was printed in the left column; 2000 in the right. The pattern continued down the page, onto the next, and there appeared to be at least twenty-five pages in the file box.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Have you run it up on a computer? See if there’s any correlation between the two numbers?’

  ‘Yeah. We ran it on Code Compare and a number of other programs. However, other than they’re both whole numbers between one and one hundred thousand? Nothing. Because while the 2000 stays pretty constant in the right-hand column of each page, the numbers in the left-hand column are all different.’

  Archer’s brain was going in a thousand directions. Worst time in the world to do some concentrated thinking.

  Levy put the sheet back in the file box.

  Something about these numbers was familiar. Archer closed his eyes for a second.

  ‘Levy, pull up the pictures on your phone. The one where Lerner is standing in front of his piano with the warden.’

  Detective Levy grabbed his phone and with a few deft strokes turned the screen to Archer.

  ‘This one?’

  ‘Yeah. Look at the photos behind them. Numbers scrawled on every one.’

  ‘Well, yeah. We guessed they are prisoner numbers. Their identification when they were in River Bend Prison. He’d scrawled them on the photos with a Sharpie.’

  ‘Exactly. They’re too small to see what they are. See if you can blow those numbers up and compare them to your spreadsheets. Left upper corner. I would bet that the numbers on those sheets correspond to juvie prisoners’ numbers. The right-hand number, I don’t know. Let’s find out if I’m right. Left upper corner. Blow that photo up till you can read the numbers and run them.’

  ‘Almost all of the right-hand-corner numbers are 2000. Some have the number 3000 and some 1000 and 4000. But you’re telling me the left-hand numbers, the ones that are all different, you really think these are the prisoners’ numbers?’ Levy asked.

  ‘I’d stake my reputation on it.’

  Levy stood back and gave Archer a long look.

  ‘You’re reputation?’

  ‘My reputation.’

  ‘Detective Q, I know a little bit about you. Very little, but—’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. No insult meant.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Excuse me for saying this but your reputation isn’t that great.’

  Archer gave him a wry smile. The detective was right.

  Twenty minutes later they had examined fifty of the numbers on the photos. Each matched numbers on the upper left-hand side of the spreadsheet. But not one number had any correlation to the number on the upper right-hand column.

  Half right, thought Archer.

  ‘Their prison number. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I’d forgotten about those numbers on the photos.’ Levy whacked his he
ad with the palm of his hand.

  ‘But the other number, maybe it’s a classification? The 2000 group, the 3000 group and so on. Maybe it’s a code for the length of their sentence.’

  The detectives stared at each other for several moments.

  ‘What the hell does it all mean?’ Levy asked. ‘Why did Lerner keep these?’

  ‘By God, we’re going to find out,’ Archer replied.

  ‘Three judges now, Q.’

  ‘You don’t have to remind me.’

  ‘Do you buy into the idea that all the deaths are related?’

  ‘It has nothing to do with my “buying into it”.’

  ‘Yeah, it sort of does. You’re the lead on this. Is there a vendetta on the juvie judges? What the hell did those three do? Apparently they either pissed someone off, or threatened to do so.’

  Archer was silent for a moment. If he had the answer, he’d solve the case. What the hell did all of those three do? Better yet, what did those three know? Did they have information that determined their fate? Information that they took to the grave? Because all three were going to their grave. And the other common thread didn’t escape him. Two of them had been interviewed by him.

  Archer shrugged his shoulders and walked back to his desk. Strand was nowhere to be seen. He’d admitted that he did some side jobs for some important people in the city, possibly members of Krewe Charbonerrie. Strand had admitted to Archer that he may be involved in getting these power players information, and as much as Archer considered asking that Strand be removed from the case, he’d seen the effect of whistle-blowing on another officer. It destroyed his life in Detroit.

  ‘Oh, Q, the lady is supposed to be here in about thirty minutes. You want to sit in on the interview?’