by Greg Herren
Whispers that she was a lesbian had abounded in the department when I’d been on the force, but no matter what her sexual preference (she was actually straight), Venus was a damned good cop. She was honest—a rare quality in the New Orleans police department—and committed to her job. She was proud of her rise in the department, and frequently spoke to high school students about the importance of education and working hard. I didn’t know her well until the flood, but I’d always respected her. She’d always dealt with me honestly and fairly, even when I intruded into one of her cases. When Paul had been kidnapped, she’d kept me in the loop of the investigation, which I appreciated.
After the flood, Venus and I had become closer. She’d lived in New Orleans East in the house she raised her two daughters in, and had lost everything. I knew her partner on the force, Blaine Tujague, much better than I knew her. She’d moved into the carriage house behind Blaine’s house on Coliseum Square until she was been able to find an overpriced apartment in the Quarter—which she regularly griped about. For months after we all came back, Paige and I had met her and Blaine every night for drinks, at the Avenue Pub on St. Charles Avenue, and I’d grown to like her. She had an odd sense of humor, and was bluntly honest.
She’d considered taking her insurance settlement and retiring from the force, moving to Memphis to be closer to her daughters and their kids, but had decided to stay and be a part of the recovery. She could have taken the tests that would have improved her rank, but Venus wasn’t an administrator. “I’d rather stay where I am,” she always said, “where I can do some good for the people of this city. That’s why I became a cop, not to have to deal with all the bullshit that comes with a damned desk job.”
Her face was impassive when she walked into the interrogation room, shutting the door behind her. She nodded to me, and then inclined her head toward Storm Bradley, my attorney. “You think you need a lawyer?” She raised one of her eyebrows.
I’d called Storm after waking up and taking a shower. As soon I said who I was, he’d cut me off and insisted, to use his phrase, that I get my ass over to his office as soon as I could. “And take a cab,” he said. “We’ll go see the cops immediately afterward.”
“All right,” he said, after he ushered me in, “tell me everything. I’m on the job now.”
I was taken aback by his assumption I’d already hired him. As I sat and sipped coffee this assistant brought, I took a good look at him. My first thought was that Loren hadn’t done me any favors, and maybe I should have found a lawyer on my own. He looked sloppy, for one thing. He was in his mid to late thirties, and was one of those guys who’d been athletic when young, but was going to seed as he got older. He was fleshy and his face was red—but he was good-looking in that former jock kind of way. He was losing his dirty blond hair, but to give him credit, he wasn’t trying to hide it with a comb-over. He was wearing a canary yellow dress shirt with a dove-gray suit, and his tie was bright red with yellow stripes the exact shade of his shirt. He had intelligent-looking eyes above thick cheeks, and as I told him my story—beginning with being hired to trace the e-mails, he sat and listened, occasionally jotting notes on a legal pad he balanced on his lap. When I finished, he stroked his chin, and I noticed a patch of hair he’d missed when shaving that morning. “So,” I asked, “what do I do now?”
“Let me think about this for a minute,” he replied, and finished his coffee.
I sat there, waiting for him to speak. The silence stretched uncomfortably. I was just about to say something when he finally spoke. “Well, one thing is for sure. We do need to go talk to the police--immediately. And you need to tell them everything you know.”
I was a little irritated. I needed to pay a lawyer to tell me something I already knew?
“Don’t tell them anything besides the absolute fact,” he went on. “Nothing extraneous, like your impressions or what you think—there’s no need for that. Just the facts—they hired you to trace these e-mails, you think you saw Freddy coming out of Glynis Parrish’s house, they want you to work on the case, and that the e-mails came from Glynis’s computer. Other than that, you don’t say a word.”
Well, duh.
“You’re in a hell of a mess, but that’s why I’m here.” He beamed at me. “I’ll be with you when to talk to them—I’m pretty sure I know the detectives assigned to the case.” He barked out a short laugh. “They’re not exactly fond of me, but they’re honest and they can be trusted, and they know I won’t jerk them around.” He stared at me. “You’re pissed at me, aren’t you? You’re thinking, Who is this asshole telling me what to do? I’m the asshole who’s going to protect you, that’s who I am. I’m the person who is not going to let anyone chew you up and spit you out.” He put the legal pad back into his briefcase. “If I say don’t answer a question, you don’t answer it. You do not talk to the media. You do not talk to either the police or the district attorney’s office without me present; in fact, all meetings and talks with them must come through me. They are not to contact you without going through me.”
“Two of my best friends are cops, and my best friend is a reporter.” I replied. “So, until this is all cleared up, I shouldn’t talk to them?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Sure you can. Just not about this case—this is off limits. You can’t discuss this case with anyone but me from this moment on, am I clear?” He leaned forward. “I know that probably seems nuts to you, but I am a lot more familiar with the law than you are.” He waved me off as I started to talk and went on, “Yes, I know you have a degree in Criminology. I know you were a cop for two years and you’ve been a private eye ever since.” He shrugged. “I had my secretary dig up some information on you after Loren called me last night. I wanted to know what I was getting myself into. And Chanse, I will do everything I possibly can to protect you and look out for your interests. I’m on your side, and no one else’s. All I ask is that you do as I tell you and never lie to me about anything. I can’t help you if you lie to me. And the most important thing you have to do is stay as far away from this case as you possibly can.”
“But—“
He cut me off, and gave me another hard look before shaking his head. “I can’t decide if you’re naïve or just plain stupid,” he said.
That was it. I was done with him. But before I could tell him, he went on, “I understand that you want to investigate—I get it, really, I do. But that’s just insane—“ he paused, implying, at the very least, that I was going to wind up losing my license--. “Do you really want to start a whole new career at this stage of your life?”
“Well, no.” I crossed my arms. He was getting me slightly worked up, despite the fact that I really can’t imagine what you’d have to do to lose a PI license in Louisiana.
He sighed. “It’s bad enough that you took their money. That’s going to weaken your credibility as a witness.”
“But my testimony is damaging to Freddy Bliss. I’m the only person who can place him at the crime scene.”
“You said yourself that you were certain it was Freddy until you talked to them.” Storm shook his head. “Now, you’re not so sure.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. MacLeod, when you saw the man walking out of Glynis Parrish’s home, were you certain it was Freddy Bliss? And remember, you are under oath.”
“At the time, I was.” I answered, and immediately saw the trap. My heart began pounding in my ears.
“But now you’re not so certain?” He put a twist on his voice that clearly implied, I don’t believe a word you’re saying.
“I’m relatively certain.” I replied. “But—“
He cut me off. “And how just much money did Freddy Bliss pay you for your services?”
“He and his wife paid me five thousand dollars…”
“And what is your going rate? And remember, Mr. MacLeod, you are under oath.”
“Okay, okay, I get it, all right?” I sighed. “But there’s no way they could have known when they paid me…” I stopped.
“But there’s no way in hell they could have known I’d see him coming out of Glynis Parrish’s house around the time of the murder. There’s no way they could have known I’d be there on Ursulines at the right time. No one could have known where I’d park the car. Only my friend Paige even knew I’d be in the Quarter last night.”
Storm stared at me long and hard before answering. “You still don’t get it, do you? It doesn’t matter whether or not they could have known any of that beforehand. The district attorney’s job is to convict Freddy Bliss—if it comes to that—and he is going to make sure of two things: That when you saw whoever it was, you thought it was Freddy. And then, after you talked to Freddy, you changed your mind and became unsure of who you saw. And their lawyer wrote you a check for ten thousand dollars, Chanse. There is no time stamp on that check. Even the date doesn’t matter; anyone can write whatever date they want on a check—you know that as well as I do.”
I was starting to agree with him. I was stupid.
“Please tell me you deposited the check yesterday afternoon, before the murder.”
I bit my lip. “Um, no. I haven’t been to the bank yet.”
“So now the district attorney could make it seem as though they bribed you last night to change your story.” He sighed. “Chanse, when you go in to talk to the police, you cannot tell them you were positive it was Freddy you saw and then changed your mind. You can’t. You saw someone coming out of the house you thought resembled Freddy, is all. You didn’t see his whole face, did you?”
“Well, no. Like I said, he was wearing a hoodie sweatshirt with the hood pulled down low over his face. All I really saw was from about the nose down. He did look a lot like Freddy.”
“And if Freddy’s arrested, the district attorney isn’t the only person you’re going to have to worry about, my friend.” He laughed. “You don’t think Freddy Bliss isn’t going to have the best team of criminal attorneys money can buy? He makes twenty million dollars for every movie he’s in. He has more money than he knows what to do with…and his lawyers are going to move heaven and earth to convince the jury you aren’t reputable. And it won’t be that hard. Freddy and Jillian aren’t just anyone. They’re fucking world famous movie stars, Chanse. The jury, no matter how much they try to be objective, won’t be—they’ve seen their movies, they know what they’re doing here in New Orleans, they’ve been all over the television news and the newspapers and magazines. People feel like they know them, like they’re friends or distant relatives. And with no offense intended, who are you?” He gave me a nasty smile. “Have you ever killed someone, Mr. MacLeod?”
I licked my lips. “Yes. In self-defense.”
“More than once?”
I squirmed a bit in my chair. “Twice.”
“Were you ever charged for these killings, Mr. MacLeod?”
“No, as I said, they were in self-defense.”
“You were a police officer, weren’t you, Mr. MacLeod?”
“Yes, for two years.”
“Are you acquainted with the investigating officers in this case, Venus Casanova and Blaine Tujague?”
I stared at him. “Venus and Blaine are assigned to the case? Yes, I know them both quite well.”
“Were they by any chance the officers who investigated the two killings you committed?” Again, he used that accusatory tone that made me want to punch him in the face.
“Yes, they were.”
“Okay, let’s stop there for a minute.” Storm replied. “You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?” He shook his head. “O. J.’s lawyers were able to convince a jury that despite all the overwhelming evidence against him, the entire Los Angeles police department had entered into a conspiracy to frame him, and may have even murdered Nicole Simpson and Ron Goldman themselves to bring O. J. down. How hard would it be to be to convince a jury that Venus and Blaine conspired with you to frame Freddy Bliss? Not hard at all.”
“The two men you killed were murderers. You saved the city—and the police department—a lot of hassle and the cost of a trial by killing them, you know that?”
“That isn’t what happened!” My mind was starting to spin out of control. “Glenn Austin was trying to kill me—and Lenny Pousson was holding a gun on me and several other people…” I was having trouble breathing.
“Are you all right?” There was concern in his voice. “We can take a break, if you need to collect yourself.”
“Let me get some water. There’s a fountain in the hall, right?” It was the beginning of an anxiety attack. I got up, black dots dancing in front of my eyes. Focus on your breathing, you’re on a warm beach with white sands. I staggered out into the hall and drank, taking small sips, trying to keep my breathing steady. When I was back under control, I walked back into Storm’s office. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Since the flood, I occasionally have anxiety attacks. I can control them—but sometimes…”
“I totally get it. No need to explain to me,” he replied in a gentle tone. “Did you stay, or did you evacuate?”
“I evacuated.”
“We stayed.” Storm replied, a weird look coming over his face. “I sometimes think those of us who stayed behind had it easier—I mean, those of us whose houses didn’t go under. Well, mine did—I lived near Broadmoor—but my grandparents have a house in the Garden District and we went there, my wife and I, and the rest of the family.”
“Where are you living now?” I took another sip of the water.
“Still with my grandparents.” He shrugged. “What can you do?”
“I’m sorry.” We all had stories. In the months after the flood, as everyone came back with their own horror stories, we sometimes got tired of talking about it. But, as I told Paige, we couldn’t cut people off and not let them talk about it. Talking was helping people heal, even though it reopened our wounds. There was a long time when it seemed like none of us would ever be able to move on, because just when we established some semblance of normality, of control, we’d run into someone else who’d just come back. They’d have to tell their story, and you’d have to tell yours, tearing the scab off the wound.
He waved his hand. “Well, we’re rebuilding. It’s just taking forever. You have no idea how bad I want to get back into my own house. Can’t really complain—I’m living in the height of luxury in a mansion instead of a FEMA trailer—but it’s not home.” He shrugged. “You ready to continue?”
I nodded. “Let’s go.”
“Why were you hired by the defendant, Freddy Bliss?”
“I was hired to find out who was sending him threatening e-mails.”
“And did you find out?”
“Yes, they were sent from a laptop computer registered to Glynis Parrish…” I stopped. “Oh my God.”
“Exactly. You were hired to find out who sent the e-mails. You found out it was Glynis Parrish. You were on the street, the very block, she lived on around the time she was killed. You have killed two people before, in ‘self-defense.’” He made air quotes with his fingers as he said self-defense. “Loren, or whoever Freddy’s attorney is, should it get that far, is going to need to create a reasonable doubt in the jurors’ minds. Ask yourself, Chanse—if you were on that jury, trying to decide if Freddy Bliss, a movie star you feel like you know, someone you are familiar with, killed his ex-wife—or was it this shady private investigator, deeply connected to the investigating officers, who has already killed two people and gotten away with it—possibly with the assistance of the police?” He finished his coffee and set it down on the table. “And the police are going to be looking long and hard at you too. The police are never really thrilled with coincidences—at least that’s been my experience. And now…”
“Uh…S
torm…there’s one other little coincidence you should know about.”
“Oh, Lord. I don’t think I like that tone.”
“There’s a good chance my fingerprints are on the murder weapon.” I told him about handling the Emmy.
***
And now, sitting in the very same interrogation room I’d been taken to after I’d killed Lenny Pousson, a psycho who’d been responsible for the deaths of at least thirty people, I could feel my mind starting to go down the dark path of terror. But Venus knows me, she’s my friend, she knows the circumstances in which I’ve killed before. She’s not going to believe for a minute that I killed Glynis Parrish. Deep breaths, Chanse, you can’t have an anxiety attack in here.
I’d considered taking a Xanax, but Storm had vetoed that. He felt it was better for me to have an anxiety attack in front of Venus rather than have my mind addled by drugs.
“So, you have information about the killing of Glynis Parrish?” Venus’ face was impassive. “Why does that not surprise me?” She shook her head. “You always seem to have your nose stuck into places it shouldn’t be.”
“Yes.” I replied, ignoring everything else she’d said. It was a technique I recognized, trying to goad me into saying something I shouldn’t.
“Start at the beginning.” She pulled a digital recorder out of her jacket pocket. “Any objections to having this interview taped?”
