Casting Bones

by Don Bruns

  ‘Your mother never worried about herself. She, too, only worried about the ones who trusted her, who relied on her advice. She worried about me, Solange. Always looking out for the other person. And now she has the worst set of circumstances. There is the lesson. You must look out for yourself.’

  He smiled weakly, nodded and walked toward the trees. She thought she saw tears in the old houngan’s eyes. In a moment he was lost from view.

  44

  Adam Strand was dressed down in his off-duty attire. Jeans, a black tee and canvas deck shoes. Keeping his head low he shuffled into the restaurant. Surrey’s Cafe was nestled in the lower Garden District on Magazine Street and specialized as a fresh-juice early-riser establishment that served organic breakfasts, along with high-calorie offerings. After all, this was New Orleans. He studied the hand-painted sign on the wall, covered with lemons, ripe mangos, watermelon and grapes.

  ‘A New Orleans coffee and bananas Foster on French toast,’ he said to the comely blond waitress.

  Studying him for a second, she said, ‘Really? That’s what you’re having for breakfast?’

  ‘Uh, yeah.’

  ‘Ah, good choice.’ She didn’t mean it. She poured his coffee.

  He knew the look, had been getting it all his life. It was that look that said you stupid fuck, don’t you know that this is a bad decision?

  He’d made a lot of bad decisions in his life. Hadn’t his credibility just taken a hit due to his insistence that Antoine Duvay was the guilty party in the murder investigation? He’d pushed the envelope, lobbying to convince the important players in this case that Duvay was the one who killed Judge David Lerner. He’d even planted a weapon, for God’s sake. Dropping a gun was a major transgression. And what did it get him? Absolutely nothing.

  Strand reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small bottle of Jack. Without checking his surroundings, he took a long sip of coffee then poured the bourbon into his cup. It helped him through the day. His girl chided him, even at age five. Daddy, you act funny when you drink that stuff. Daddy, why do you drink that stuff? You smell funny. His daughter, once a week. And she was scolding him already. He really needed to rein it in.

  They’d found a recording of the incident. A phone recording, for Christ’s sake, so all that work, all his jockeying to convict the kid had been for nothing. His attempt to make this case a slam-dunk deal had failed. There was no case left. The murder of Judge David Lerner had nothing to do with Antoine Duvay. He laid his head in his hands, closed his eyes and wondered what the hell he was doing.

  Adam Strand had fucked it up most of his life and he knew it. Admitted it to himself. But he’d been able to pay the bills. Pay child support. A little payoff here, a paid favor over there. He’d look the other way and be rewarded for his effort. Somebody wanted information, he’d find a way to get it. Strand could make half his cop pay again on the side. Nothing other guys on the force didn’t do. But he was going out on a limb on this one. This time he was pretty sure he was working for the Feds and if he got caught committing crimes, even for the government, it would be serious jail time. Something he couldn’t afford. His part-time daughter couldn’t survive without full-time child support. He loved her more than life itself.

  Paul Trueblood was going to meet him, offer him a pretty good payday for his information, and give him a chance to walk away with no recriminations. If he could trust the guy. A lot of money, the crime would be covered up, and a chance to leave with some pay in his pocket. Tax free at that. Trueblood had actually told him that he’d be doing New Orleans a service. An undercover hero if you would. Someone who had worked for the good of the community. He had had a pretty good idea who Trueblood worked for. He’d tracked him down, and it seemed that the guy could very well be undercover FBI, but the important thing was, the man had told him that he could cover his tracks. This Trueblood had insinuated that the detective would actually be helping solve a crime, bring the perpetrators to justice if he cooperated. There was a nice monetary reward in this exchange, so Adam Strand was on board. The more money he could make the merrier he could be.

  At least he thought he was working for the FBI. It was just that Paul Trueblood couldn’t divulge who he was or how Strand was going to be a hero. He had to trust the man. Hell, he could be FBI and they could be trusted, couldn’t they? And, if Strand produced the product, Trueblood could make sure he didn’t get caught. At least that was what the promise held. No incrimination. This was a win-win situation. Wasn’t it?

  Trueblood was late.

  Strand pulled his cell phone from his pocket and placed it on the table. Five minutes and he’d be out of there.

  The second he made that decision, a man walked in, dressed in a flowery tourist shirt and cargo shorts, and he headed right for Strand’s table. Pulling out a chair, he sat down.

  ‘You’ve got access to the printouts, right?’ Trueblood got right to the point.

  ‘Yeah. They’re in the evidence room. I’m a lead on the case so I’ve got access. Access doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy to get them out though. By the way, no one is quite sure what they mean. They’ve got some numeric code that we’re not clear on. Apparently you understand it?’

  ‘Doesn’t really matter, does it? I pay you for the sheets and they disappear from the evidence room. My understanding is that stuff disappears from that room all the time, so it won’t be that big a deal.’

  ‘Drugs are high on that list of things that disappear. Drugs and cash.’

  ‘Yeah,’ the man said, ‘but these spreadsheets aren’t drugs. And they’re not cash.’ He cocked his head and looked into Strand’s eyes. ‘You guys keep cash in there? Like paper money?’

  ‘We keep it there until it disappears.’

  ‘Duh.’

  Strand spread his hands on the table.

  ‘Are there big investigations when that happens? When evidence other than cash and drugs come up missing?’

  ‘Usually it’s considered the cost of doing business,’ Strand said. ‘If someone wants something bad enough, somebody can smuggle it out. Money? Hell, since 2010 there’s been hundreds of thousands of dollars that came up missing. Dozens of people have access, Trueblood. So in most cases, stuff just disappears and no one does anything about it.’

  ‘So no big deal?’

  ‘Usually. There’s a Fed probe right now on cash that disappeared, but that’s not the norm. Usually stuff disappears and no one makes a big case about it. Usually, you understand?’

  ‘Usually? So you are telling me that this is not a usual case? I need to know what happens in this case.’

  Strand sipped at his chicory coffee and Jack.

  ‘In this case three juvie judges have been killed, Mr Trueblood.’ He pursed his thin lips. ‘Three judges. Oh my God. There’s a ton of pressure to get results and everything about this case is being watched very closely.’

  ‘Strand, can you get them or not?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You’re holding me up for more money?’

  ‘They’re worth more now. Whoever removes those sheets is putting it all on the line. Like I said, the case is really putting a lot of pressure on a lot of people.’

  ‘How much to make those things disappear?’

  ‘What are you going to do with them?’

  ‘Detective, it doesn’t matter.’

  Strand frowned. ‘You said you could cover me. That there was no way I could be convicted if caught. Is that still a fact?’

  ‘Things have changed, Strand. As you pointed out, there are now two more judges who have been killed. It sort of ups the ante. You know, nothing in this world is for certain, Detective.’

  Strand’s frown deepened. He’d finally stepped out on the long board. The big dive was imminent and he couldn’t walk back. Either jump, or cower and wait for someone to come and take him back.

  ‘So you can’t protect me?’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  So things had changed. His young
daughter crossed his mind. God, he couldn’t put her at risk. Could he?

  ‘Not good enough.’

  ‘How much, Strand? What do you want?’

  He needed some time. To think it through. It didn’t sound nearly as attractive as it had.

  ‘What do they mean? The numbers? We figured out that the left side of the sheets reflects prisoner numbers. Identification. But what are the numbers on the right side? Do you know?’ Pausing, stalling, trying to delay the inevitable.

  ‘Can you get the sheets from that box?’

  ‘Yes. Maybe. Are you going to tell me what the numbers mean?’

  Trueblood ignored his question.

  ‘How much?’

  No amount was enough. How much? Hell, twenty million wasn’t enough for the chance he was going to take. And his little girl would be left without a penny.

  ‘Twenty thousand.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘Really? If I get caught and you can’t help me, it’s the end of my career, it’s jail time, it’s obstruction of justice, theft and I don’t know what else. For any amount of money I’m a fool to do this. I have a little girl. She needs to be protected. You said it, Trueblood. Things have changed. It ups the ante.’ He held up two fingers. Then held them up again. ‘Double that. Make it forty. Seriously. Forty thousand dollars. I’ll get you what you want for forty.’

  Paul Trueblood stood up just as the bananas Foster was served. Looking down at the platter with sliced bananas, thick brown sugar and a huge scoop of ice cream over French toast he shook his head.

  ‘You trying to kill yourself?’

  ‘Forty thousand.’

  ‘When can you deliver?’

  ‘I’ve got to do it by tomorrow. Maybe today. Tomorrow at the latest. They’re going to scan and digitize them in two days’ time. They’ll be gone from the evidence room and I won’t have access. Right now, the only record of them that we have is the actual sheets themselves. I’d rather get it done now.’

  ‘Tomorrow, then.’ Trueblood stared into Strand’s eyes. ‘Before they’re digitized. I want every one of those sheets. You can do that, right?’

  Strand closed his eyes for a second.

  ‘Things have changed. You understand that.’

  ‘Not so much changed, just that I need information right now.’

  ‘I’ll need half down.’

  ‘You’ll need shit. Deliver the information, we’ll deliver the cash.’

  ‘Half now.’

  ‘Look, Strand, I can report your willingness right now. I can go to your superiors and tell them exactly what—’

  ‘OK, OK. But have the cash when I deliver. I’m really going out on a limb here.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. The parking lot at the 7-Eleven.’

  Strand nodded, wondering how the hell he was going to pull this one off. Forty thousand was a lot of money, almost his entire salary without overtime, but those sheets were going to be hard to produce.

  45

  ‘The car was stolen.’ Detective Levy handed Archer the report.

  ‘Black Cadillac Escalade, one-two-four-space-eight-space-B, was reported stolen five hours before the abduction of Judge Lerner.’

  Archer nodded.

  ‘Doesn’t do us much good.’

  ‘We found it.’

  ‘Fingerprints?’

  ‘All over the place, Q, belonging to that Skeeter character and a guy named James Gideon. And there are some signs that someone was in the back seat. Hair samples, maybe a trace of blood. Could be Judge Lerner, could be the owner. Anyway, the two guys are bound to turn up. Hell, they’ve been turning up regularly for the past ten, twelve years. Small-time crooks, then suspects in a couple of armed robberies, then carjacking – they’ve graduated to the big time now.’

  ‘What do you think the chances are that they killed all three judges?’

  Levy gave him a weak smile.

  ‘Wouldn’t that be nice?’

  ‘What would have been nice,’ Archer stated, ‘was if Strand had been right. That Antoine Duvay, the cook, had committed the murder and if no other judge had been involved. We’re now in a clusterfuck, Levy, and all bets are off. Find this Lewis character. It will be a start.’

  ‘We’re on it. Checking his mother’s home, places where he hangs out, staking out his ex-girlfriend’s house.’

  ‘These guys always work as a team?’

  ‘More often than not.’

  ‘You’ve got Gideon’s places staked out as well?’

  ‘We do. Guys like that, they don’t get up enough courage to leave town. They hang around, more comfortable in their own environment. We’ll get ’em, Q.’

  Some guys like that did leave. They did have the courage to blow town and hide out. Guys like Jason Archer, his brother. He’d left Detroit and so far had succeeded in eluding the authorities. Maybe he was hanging with some new friends, possibly carrying on his drug trade in a different city, but he was out there. And it was one of the reasons that Quentin Archer slept with a gun by his side.

  Levy’s phone went off and he grabbed it from his pocket.

  ‘Levy … Hang on.’ He punched the speaker mode.

  ‘We’ve made John Lewis,’ said the voice on the phone.

  ‘Where?’ asked Levy.

  ‘House we staked out on Dauphine Street.’

  ‘Girlfriend,’ Levy said to Archer. ‘Mila Jefferson.’

  ‘He’s in the house and we think she’s in there with her daughter,’ said the voice on the other end.

  ‘How old’s the girl?’

  ‘Six.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Potential hostage situation. How do you want to proceed?’

  ‘Quietly,’ Archer said. ‘This guy doesn’t know that we know. He certainly doesn’t know we’ve got the entire murder with his voice recorded. There’s a chance if we approach the house he won’t put it all together.’

  ‘There’s a chance that he will, Q.’

  ‘Mother and child? We can’t go up with sirens wailing and lights flashing.’

  ‘OK,’ Archer spoke into Levy’s phone, ‘watch any exits. Have you ID’d any vehicle belonging to the suspect?’

  ‘We have. White 2000 Pontiac on the street. A blue Chrysler minivan is parked in front of the house, registered to a Jason Jefferson. We figure it’s the lady’s car, or belongs to a relative.’

  ‘If Lewis leaves by himself, stop him. If the woman leaves with the kid, somebody follow them, then stop them at a safe distance. If three of them leave, follow but don’t follow too close. That’s the worst-case scenario.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘We’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  Archer grabbed a jacket, pulling it on over his shoulder holster. Levy patted the gun and holster clipped to his belt. Archer briefly wondered where the hell Strand was, then let it go.

  ‘Let’s pray we don’t have to use these babies today,’ Levy said.

  ‘Or any day,’ Archer said.

  Traffic parted as they raced through the city, red light on top. About three blocks away from their destination they took it off.

  Cruising by the house, they saw the two vehicles parked on the street. Three patrol cars were strategically parked on side streets, the officers still in the units. The other detective’s car was parked across the street under a chestnut tree.

  ‘How do you want to handle this?’

  ‘Give me the clipboard.’

  Levy handed him a clipboard with a roster sheet on it.

  ‘And what are you going to do? Share the duty roster with Mr Lewis? See if he approves?’

  ‘I’m going up to the house, knock on the door and tell Miss Jefferson that I’m from Children’s Services. We have a number of checks made out to her that have been returned unopened, and if she will go with me to our offices, I’ll be able to clear it all up and give her about three thousand dollars. Three grand should do it. Of course, I want the six-year-old girl to go along too.’

&
nbsp; ‘You think that will work? Really?’

  Archer nodded.

  ‘Worked all the time in Detroit. Levy, if I offered you three grand, come on, man, you tell me …’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Levy said. ‘It sounds good, and you know she needs the money. I get it.’

  ‘A guy with a clipboard can go anywhere, Levy. Nobody questions a guy with a clipboard.’

  ‘We’ll cover. You get those two out of the house and we’ll get Skeeter. Don’t worry about it.’

  It actually didn’t work every time, and it was a scary scenario. Walking up to the house of a known killer and just knocking on the door. He’d been shot at twice in his life, a bullet actually grazing him on his arm for doing the same thing. You never got over that. But, it often did work, especially when the killer wasn’t expecting any kind of confrontation.

  Glancing at the patrol vehicles he saw officers standing by the cars, guns drawn. Hopefully there were no trigger-happy types who could be spooked if things didn’t go just right. Hopefully there were some top-notch marksmen that could take out Skeeter if he tried to kill Archer. They should have sent in the SWAT team, but he had a short window of opportunity and he had to take it. Plus, Lewis had the little kid.

  The detective slowly walked down the sidewalk, studying the clipboard while checking out the house in his peripheral vision.

  A pink-and-blue plastic Big Wheel was parked by the door, and a tired patch of grass tried unsuccessfully to cover the brown bare earth. Archer turned and walked up the narrow cement walkway, a cracked and uneven trail. He stepped up gingerly on the rotted wooden stoop. Archer was surprised it supported his weight. No doorbell, so he opened the screen door with no screen and knocked.

  Everything was silent. A quick glance to the street showed him that everyone was out of sight. In a moment’s notice they could provide backup but right now they were keeping a low profile.

  He knocked again, holding the clipboard in front of him.

  Once again there was no noise.