by Greg Herren
Nice move, slick.
I was positive Rosemary had killed Glynis. But why?
I got up and started pacing around my living room.
She was the last person to see her alive. She found the body.
I’d been so distracted by Freddy and Jillian I’d forgotten a basic principle of murder investigations. Who had access?
Rosemary had access to Glynis’s house any time she wanted. She had access to Glynis’s computer. And she was the only person who knew about Joey Rutledge and his connection to the case.
But why? How did she know about Karen—
What if Rosemary Shannon WAS Karen Zorn?
I picked up the file with the emails, and opened it to the first one.
You can fool the public, Freddy, but I know what you are.
My hands trembling, I went to a directory assistance Website and typed in her name. Her address—down on Desire Street in the Bywater popped up. I went to an address search Website. I filled in her name and current address, and clicked GO. A list of addresses came up. I cursed myself yet again. They only went back ten years. Beyond that, there was no record of her.
Just like Karen Zorn disappeared off the radar ten years ago.
The first address listed for Rosemary was in Wichita, Kansas.
I kept searching. Nothing—there was nothing on any sites online.
She hadn’t existed before she got that apartment in Wichita.
I picked up my cell phone and dialed Venus. “Casanova.”
“Venus, this is Chanse.”
“Make it quick, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now,” she replied.
“Venus, can you come by? Or can I meet you somewhere?” I gripped the phone tightly.
“To repeat what I just said, I’m kind of busy right now.” She sounded exhausted. “We had another murder in the Quarter last night. And Mayor Do-nothing is putting a lot of pressure on us about the Parrish case, as I’m sure you know.” She sighed. “The man is having hourly press conferences. He sure likes to see himself on television, doesn’t he?”
“That’s why I’m calling. It’s about Joey Rutledge—and Glynis Parrish.” I said. “The murders are connected.”
That got her attention. “What?”
I cleared my throat. “Venus, he was a key witness in the Glynis Parrish murder.”
There was a brief silence on the phone, and then she said in very quiet voice, “And why the hell I am just hearing about this now?”
“I’d rather not talk about this over the phone.”
“Are you home?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right there. And this had better be good.”
I shut my phone and started pacing again. There was nothing you could have done, I told myself. It may have had nothing to do with this case, it could have been a random act of violence—the violence that was ripping the city apart and making the streets run with blood. But no matter how much I tried to convince myself, I knew. There was no doubt in my mind now that Rosemary had killed him, the same way she’d killed Glynis Parrish. When I talked to him, and he’d told me why he was there the night of the murder, I’d sentenced him to death.
I could feel the anxiety coming back.
You are not the angel of death. It isn’t your fault, there was nothing you could have done.
And that snide, horribly vicious voice in the back of my mind: You could have waited for him to get off work, and brought him back here, kept him safe until he could tell his story to Venus and Blaine.
I heard Joey say again, I never pass up a free meal.
Pull it together, Chanse, Venus is on her way and you need to get your act together. You have work to do.
And somehow, I managed to pull myself together.
My therapist would be proud.
Venus and her partner, Blaine Tujague, arrived about half an hour later. I heard the commotion outside. Reporters were shouting things like Are you here to make an arrest? As I watched through the blinds, Venus and Blaine ignored them completely—not even giving a ‘no comment.’ I opened the door as they reached the top of the stairs and shut the door behind them. “Sorry about that,” I said.
Venus looked tired. “I’m getting kind of used to it. Fucking vultures. I hate the press.”
“You and me both,” I commiserated, sitting down in my desk chair. “You two probably have it worse than I do.”
Blaine shrugged. “It’s a high-profile case.” Blaine and I had once been friends-with-benefits. We’d met originally when I’d be on the force, and over the years had become friends. He was a good looking guy with a thickly muscled body, curly black hair and blue eyes. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. He yawned. “Sorry—we got called out on this kid’s murder. I need to sleep for about a week.”
Venus flipped open her notepad. “Okay, you want to tell me how this stripper kid was involved with Glynis Parrish?” She gave me a look. “You sure you don’t want your lawyer present?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t need a lawyer.” I took a deep breath and started from the beginning. I handed over the file with the e-mails. Venus and Blaine both scribbled notes as I talked. I explained how I’d seen Joey for the first time when I met Rosemary at Café Envie. I was explaining the Karen Zorn connection when Venus interrupted me.
“You accessed the database at this college?” One of her eyebrows went up, and she put her pad down. “I don’t think—“ she glanced over at Blaine, “—that we really need to know any more about that. And I don’t want to see anything you might have downloaded or copied from their database.” She smiled. “We’ll just call that an anonymous tip.”
I went on, explaining how I’d seen Freddy’s senior picture—complete with braces—and made the connection to Joey Rutledge. “I went to the Brass Rail last night and talked to him,” I ignored the knowing smirk on Blaine’s face, “and he told me all about how he knew Rosemary Shannon, and how he was there the night of the murder. And I planned on bring him in today to tell you all this himself. My identification was all fucked up, so I knew we needed him to come forward.”
She sighed and closed her notebook. “Yeah, I’m sure you would have. This just sucks, you know? You’re absolutely positive he was the guy?”
“Every Wednesday afternoon, he picked up Glynis’s drycleaning and dropped it off at six. He ran errands for Rosemary sometimes. He thought it was her house.” I cursed myself again. “I bought his innocent act, you know. I really thought he didn’t know what he was involved in.” I thought for a moment. “It’s still possible he didn’t know. But after I filled him in—he had Rosemary over a barrel. I’d be willing to bet he called Rosemary as soon as I left the bar.” I groaned. “Maybe tried to get money out of her, I don’t know. But his being there with her before she called anyone…her story was she came home and found Glynis right away was kind of blown.”
“You know as well as I do none of this will hold up in court, Chanse—it’s hearsay, and without the kid to back you up, no judge will allow it.”
“And a defense attorney would have a field day with you, buddy.” Blaine shook his head. “Your credibility is completely worthless, you know. Frillian paid you, first you were sure it was Freddy, now you’re convinced it was this kid. And all Rosemary has to do is deny all of this. It’s your word against hers. And you seeing the kid there—well, maybe he killed Glynis.”
“I know, I know.” I slammed my fist down on my knees. “I completely blew it. And now the kid’s dead because I didn’t think ahead. Why didn’t it even occur to me he’d call Rosemary?”
“You want to know what I think?” Venus glanced over at Blaine, who shrugged. “I think Rosemary’s our killer. Her story checks out, but barely, and it means nothing anyway. She could have just as easily killed Glynis, left the house and ran her errands, making sure everyone in every store and the waitress at Angeli remembered her—she made herself very conspicuous everywhere she went; making sure she talked to a clerk in
every store about something strange—something they would be sure to remember later—and then went back to the house, met Joey there, let him in, she keeps him there and watches until someone comes along, and then gets him to leave and he’s seen…”
“And then he called her last night, and she killed him.” I swallowed.
“Well, we were inclined to write it off as a mugging.” Blaine replied. “He’s a small guy, for one thing, and he was carrying a backpack filled with cash as well as his wallet. His fellow dancers warned him to take a cab rather than walk back to the Marigny—but all he said was, he wasn’t going home. His phone was taken, his wallet was emptied, and the backpack, and he was shot twice in the chest. He was dead by the time help could reach him. Someone in the vicinity heard the gunshots and called it in.”
Venus interrupted Blaine. “We’re tracing his phone carrier to get a record of his calls. One of the other dancers, I forget his name, said that before he left he called someone and was talking very quietly on his phone. The other dancer just assumed he was setting up a trick or something. Apparently, Joey was very secretive.”
I closed my eyes. “He called Rosemary, told her someone recognized him, was asking him questions about that night and what he was doing in the house?”
“And he asked her for more money.”
“He played right into her hands. I wonder if she intended to kill him all along.” I shrugged. “All she had to do was take his phone, his wallet and his backpack, and presto! It looks like another random mugging, another murder in the Quarter.”
“And we have no way of proving that she killed either of them.” Venus sighed. She stood up and gave me a long hard look. “Don’t beat yourself up over this, Chanse. This wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known he was going to be killed—nor do you know for sure that it was because you talked to him.”
“Thanks.” I walked them to the door. It was nice to hear, but I didn’t believe it for a minute.
“If you find out anything—not that I am encouraging you to keep investigating, mind you—next time let me know right away, all right?” She gave me a hug.
I closed the door behind them and ignored the sound of the reporters shouting questions at them. I lay down on the couch and covered my eyes. Poor Joey. You never try to blackmail someone who’s already killed. But then, he had no idea she’d been killing people for years.
At least, if she truly is Karen Zorn.
My fax machine rang, startling me. I jumped up and walked over to it. It whirred, and a piece of paper started printing out. My heart started racing as I looked at the caller ID and recognized the Kansas area code.
When it finished printing, I grabbed it.
It was a reproduction of a senior class photo. Across the top of the printout, before the photograph, was written This is Karen’s senior picture. If you see her, tell her to call her mother.
I stared at the picture.
She’d changed over the years, but there was no mistaking her.
Rosemary was Karen Zorn.
I remembered Brett saying, “She told me she was relatively new in town, didn’t know anyone, so I kind of always tried to be nice to her. But it was like she took my being nice the wrong way. She started buying me presents. At first, it was just kind of sweet, you know what I mean? Nothing inappropriate…, like she always had the kind of protein bars I liked... She would call me all the time—on the stupidest pretext... I figured she was just lonely and wanted someone to talk to, you know? Then it started getting really weird ... I let it go as long as I could. Finally I told her she had to stop buying me things and calling me all the time. And then she turned on me. She told Glynis I’d said some inappropriate things to her.”
And Freddy: She used to bring me presents, buy me lunch and stuff like that... She was always willing to buy beer or food or something. She was always around. It got to be a joke around the house—my little stalker. I wouldn’t sleep with her. There was just something about her that didn’t strike me as being quite right, you know what I mean? But at that party, I was just drunk enough. ... the next morning I was hungover and felt like shit. And she wouldn’t shut up. She kept going on and on about how happy she was.. it freaked me out. I told her I’d made a terrible mistake, that I didn’t love her, and she needed to leave. ..and then on Monday she went to the dean and accused me of rape.”
A definite pattern of behavior there.
I picked up my phone to call Venus when it started ringing.
The caller ID said PAIGE. I flipped the phone open. “Hello?”
There was silence at the other end. “Hello? Paige, are you there?”
And then I heard Paige say, clearly, “Rosemary, you aren’t going to get away with this, you know. You might as well put the gun away.”
Goose bumps sprang out all over my body.
I heard Rosemary say, “It doesn’t really matter at this point, does it? I don’t really care about getting away with anything. You missed the entire point of this, didn’t you? All of you?” She laughed, and it sent chills down my spine.
“You can’t shoot me in your apartment and think—“
Her apartment. I had that address.
The phone went dead.
Chapter Fifteen
Rosemary’s house was in the Bywater, on Desire Street between Burgundy and Dauphine.
I tried calling Venus as I ran out of the house and got into my car, but only got her voicemail. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hit the speed-dial number. I left her a very tense message, and then debated calling 911. I got the car started, pounding my hands on the steering wheel as I waited for the gate to open. Come on, come on, come on! I glanced at my gun, which I’d tossed into the passenger seat. Finally the gate finished opening, and I flew down the driveway and out onto Camp Street. I drove as quickly as I could, stopping for red lights only when I could see cars coming the other way. I didn’t care if I got pulled over—although with the gun in the seat, it could be a very sticky situation. I made it through the CBD, and for the first time in my life, the lights were actually on my side. I flew around the curve where Rampart Street became St. Claude, and the traffic became heavier. I sped around cars, changing lanes and cutting people off, and the insane thought that I was living one of Jephtha’s video games raced through my head. My palms were sweating and I was gripping the steering wheel so tightly veins were popping out on my forearms.
And my cell phone didn’t ring.
It reminded me so much of the nightmarish drive out to Bay St. Louis, when I finally figured out the truth about Paul’s disappearance. That drive too was little more than a flash of memory, my heart pounding the entire way as we drove about 100 miles per hour with the siren on Venus’ police car screaming through the night. All those horrible memories were flashing through my head, and all I could think right now was that Paige, my Paige, was in the hands of a deranged killer. Nothing could happen to my Paige. Life just couldn’t be that cruel. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get those horrendous thoughts out of my head. Paige can’t die, that bitch can’t kill Paige, nothing can ever happen to her, I don’t even want to think about what my life would be like without her. Losing Paul was hard enough—that had been horrible. I don’t think I could ever get over losing Paige.
Memories flooded through my head, one image fading into another. The night we first met, in my room at the Beta Kappa house. My door had been unlocked and she’d let herself in to smoke a joint and listen to the Pink Floyd CD I had on, getting away from Little Sister rush. I’d walked in to find her standing in the middle of my room, the joint in her hand, grooving to Pink Floyd. And as soon as she opened her mouth, I knew I’d found someone special to be a part of my life, to make it richer and fuller. I was right. My life had been the better for knowing her. She was always there at my side, helping me by making me laugh, never bullshitting me, making me be reasonable when I wanted to be childish. She’d loved Paul too, but put her own pain aside when he’d died to help me
work through mine. She seemed to people to be hard as nails, but I knew beneath that wise-cracking exterior was a soft and kind-hearted loving woman whom I’d walk through fire for.
If that crazy bitch harmed so much as one hair on her head, I would make her sorry she’d ever been born.
I screeched around the corner and parked in front of a fire hydrant. The street was deserted, and I’d been right. The address was a double shotgun once painted a vibrant purple that been faded by years of exposure to the merciless New Orleans sun. There was no yard in front of it, no fence. It had all been paved over. I sat there for a moment. There was no sign of life from the house. I saw Paige’s car parked further up the block. I checked my gun, made sure the safety was off, that it was loaded. I picked up my phone and called Venus again. This time she answered. “Casanova.”
“Didn’t you get my message?” I tried to keep my voice calm.
“I’m sorry, Chanse, what’s—“
“Right after you left, I got the fax. Karen Zorn is Rosemary Shannon—and she’s a killer. Paige called me.“ I cut her off. “She’s at Rosemary’s. I don’t know how she managed to call, but Rosemary has a gun on her.”
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
“I just pulled up outside the house. I’m going in.”
“Stay in your car—Blaine is calling for back-up and we’re on our way—“
I hung up the phone. I wasn’t about to wait for the police.
Paige was in danger, and every minute counted.
I’d learned that lesson the hard way when Paul died, and I wasn’t about to make that same mistake again.
Gun in hand, I got out of the car and crossed the street. I crept up the stairs on Rosemary’s side of the house. I peered in the window. The shutters were open, and no curtains or blinds impeded my view. The room was empty— no furniture, nothing. I couldn’t see into the next room, and the house was raised about six feet off the ground. There would be no way I’d be able to see into the next room without going around to the side of the house, and I didn’t want to take the risk of being seen. I turned the knob to the front door. The door swung open.
