A Woman’s Eye

by Sara Paretsky

  Stuffed into Buddy’s closet, thrown on the floor in a heap, were one pair of black jeans, one black turtleneck, and half a pair of pantyhose, all slightly sweat-soaked. They’d stink when they dried out, but not as much as the rest of the setup, Skip thought. She didn’t like the open door.

  The lump didn’t move, didn’t hear a thing, or else Buddy had taken acting lessons. The two men finally shook him awake enough to read him his rights.

  Buddy’s story was that he’d been drunk for two days because the woman he loved was getting married. He didn’t own a .38 or a black outfit. He’d had a visitor the day before, a Jehovah’s Witness, maybe-something like that; he’d opened the door, talked to the person, and closed it, maybe locking it, maybe not.

  Skip could almost buy the case against him. Buddy had done the shooting, with the accomplice doing the talking because Buddy’s voice was known. The accomplice had dropped Buddy off and driven away in the gray car. Buddy had faked the whole drunk number, even down to his blood alcohol level, just by drinking fast. He might have even had a heat on at the church, which would explain his poor marksmanship.

  But if he hadn’t really been drunk-if the binge was a cover-then why leave the evidence lying around? And was there some other reason the accomplice had done the talking? Perhaps because the shooter was a woman?

  It wasn’t her problem; it was homicide’s. The next thing she knew about it was what The Times-Picayune said in the morning: Buddy’d been booked. What the hell. If he was innocent, it would come out. It just wasn’t her problem.

  It had rained that night and the weather was fresher. It was 7:00 A.M. on a beautiful summer day and she had the only walking beat in the city, one of the most gorgeous urban walks in the country. V.C.D. was her district, the Vieux Carré to other New Orleanians-the French Quarter to people “from away.”

  Louis Two-Nose caught her on Bourbon, just above Canal, and dragged her over to Iberville where no one could see them. “Whereyat, Skip?”

  “How you makin’ it, Louis?” She didn’t know how old he was. Fifty, maybe; or maybe thirty-five. A complex design covered his face, pinky-red, going to purple on his namesake honker. Today he wore a Band-Aid on his forehead, probably from a fall. He needed dental work and about a barrel of leafy green vegetables. And a month at the Betty Ford Cento’. He spoke in the Bronx-sounding patois uptown people call “yat.” Killer fumes came with the words.

  “I heard somepn’ I thought you could use. Dey got da wrong man on da church murda.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “A conversation I heard.”

  Skip waited.

  “You interested?”

  She shrugged.

  “I heard dese two guys settin’ up da hit.”

  “What two guys?”

  He looked astonished. “I don’ know. I never seen ’em before.”

  “What’d they look like, Louis?”

  “One black, one white.”

  She waited,

  “Couldn’t look at ’em close. Didn’t want ’em to know I was listenin’.”

  “How do you know the white guy wasn’t the one we got?”

  “Well, he was da ex, right? You wouldn’t hafta hire him to hit his own woman. Don’ make sense.”

  “So the black guy was hiring the white guy.”

  Louis nodded.

  “Louis, I’m losing my patience. What’d he say?”

  “He was drawin’ da church, Talkin’ about a side door where da white dude could come in, and how his partner could come in t’ru the front and cover da congregation. Dem was da words caught my attention-’cover da congregation.’ Ya don’ hear dat kinda talk every day.”

  “Damn you, Louis! Why didn’t you call me then? Did you ever think of trying to stop the thing?”

  “I didn’ know dey was settin’ up a hit. For all I knew dey was actors in a play.”

  “Okay, okay,”

  “See, I only caught on after I heard about it.”

  “Louis, you know what this means, don’t you?”

  “Skip, it’s a good tip-ain’t it a good tip? Come on, Skip … it’s worth somepn’, ain’t it? Gotta be worth somepn’.” Desperation was coming out of his pores along with last night’s Thunderbird.

  “Not yet it’s not. Come on, Louis.”

  She took him to Joe Tarantino in homicide and left him there, first slipping him a couple of bucks for when they let him go. Joe would him show him pictures of white dudes and black dudes and also arrange a lineup with Buddy in it. Louis would be sorry he’d ever brought up the subject. Oh, well, Skip thought-I’ll give him a few more bucks tomorrow.

  She went back to her district and called Joe at 3:00 P.M., when her working day was over. Louis hadn’t recognized anyone and Joe was sorry, but he and Frank just couldn’t buy Louis’s story-he knew Skip knew Buddy, maybe was a friend of his, but they thought it was a good bust.

  Well, hell. It was her problem now-Louis Two-Nose might be a drunk, and an unreliable one, but he had neither the brains nor the initiative to make up a story like that.

  She traded her uniform for the lilac suit and headed for the Delacroix place, cursing Louis’s oversized proboscis and the messes he stuck it into.

  The Delacroix family lived on Audubon Place, a short ribbon of elegance that had never had a moment’s competition for the street, in its way as glaring an anachronism as New York’s Gramercy Park-it was a private street, with a guard and a gatehouse.

  Everyone who’d ever curried a moment’s favor with the Delacroix would be there today, expressing sympathy and drinking. Skip knew her name would get her in; her father the social climber was family doctor to half the old families in town. But once there and asking questions, she might get thrown out-it had happened before.

  Fortunately, Alison was there. Nobody was going to mess with Skip with her sponsor around. Alison had been one of her Kappa sisters during her brief and unsuccessful tour of Sophie Newcomb. They’d barely spoken then, but now that Skip was back in town and so delicious an oddity as an officer of the law, Alison couldn’t be stopped.

  She was determined to show Skip off. Or save her soul Or maybe make a lady out of her. Skip couldn’t begin to figure it out. All she knew was, Alison was always getting her invited to things-like Weezee Rounsaville’s wedding-and making her go.

  And why was Skip such a wimp she couldn’t say no to some uptown version of a Jewish mother? Because Alison was a truly great source of information.

  Not all criminals came from the lower echelons, as Skip had learned quite early in her career. She was the department expert on the uptown crowd and she owed her expertise largely to Alison. (And, she admitted grudgingly, to her dork of a brother, though his payoff was cheaper-he thought she fixed his parking tickets. What she really did was pay them herself and put in for informants’ fees.)

  “Love that suit, Skippy. Did Buddy confess or anything?”

  Skip smiled. “I’m surprised you don’t know, Gossip Goddess.” Quickly, so Alison wouldn’t press her, she changed the subject. “Listen, I know Aubrey and his mother, but they might not remember me. Could you reintroduce me?”

  “I don’t see Aubrey-come to think of it, I don’t see Weezee either. Maybe they’re having a private moment of grief.” Her eyebrow went up and so did the corners of her mouth. “There’s Clarice over there.”

  Aubrey’s mother was tall, thin, nervous. She looked self-absorbed and unfriendly. Closer, Skip saw that her eyes were bright angry dots, periods punctuating a face in which all the lines pointed downward. Skip doubted if she’d smiled twice in her life. She wondered about the anger in her eyes-it could have been there because Clarice had just lost her husband, because Aubrey had taken a few minutes off, any number of things. Skip thought it was simply her habit. Clarice stared at her as if she were a maggot, perhaps a potato bug-something loathsome you could squash.

  “You’re Don Langdon’s daughter, aren’t you?”

  Skip nodded. “I don’t kn
ow if you know I’m with the police department now. I wonder if we could talk a moment?”

  “I really don’t think that would be appropriate.”

  “Aubrey may still be in danger.”

  Skip thought fear flickered on her face, but maybe it was just calculation. “Frankly, I don’t see how. You people have made an arrest, haven’t you?” Her voice was belligerent.

  “We want to be sure we have the right man.”

  “Are you implying my son has enemies?”

  He certainly has at least one. “Of course not. We’re just completing our investigation.”

  “I really think you’d better leave.”

  “Could I talk to Aubrey first?”

  “I think you’d better just go. Alison, dear, would you escort Miss Langdon?”

  “But, Clarice-”

  “Get this woman out of my house.”

  So much for Skip’s fantasies of protection. As Clarice turned away, Alison only sighed. “Tarantula-woman strikes again. Sorry you had to be the victim, but if it’s any comfort, you won’t be the only one. She usually gets two or three a day.”

  “You know what just occurred to me? Aubrey isn’t dead and his dad is.”

  “Well now, that is a brilliant deduction.”

  “Maybe she’s not a tarantula-maybe she’s a black widow.”

  Alison laughed. “Had him killed for his money? What’s the point? To run away with her lover? Who’d have Clarice?”

  Skip’s mind was reeling, contemplating its own stupidity. Aubrey might or might not have had enemies, but rich, powerful Noel Delacroix was bound to have had dozens-perhaps some in his own family. She wished she knew who stood to inherit.

  “Is Aubrey an only child?”

  “Why, no.” Alison looked as if she’d just realized she’d been as obtuse as Skip, “There’s Gina. She’s about our age, Where in hell is Gina? And where was she yesterday?”

  “Who?”

  “Aubrey’s sister Gina. Comes from Regina.” She pronounced both words with long “I’s.” “Isn’t it obscene? She had a bad drug problem a few years ago. Dropped out of school, I think, I haven’t seen her in years. Come to think of it, none of the Delacroix ever mentions her,”

  They were nearly at the door now. “Who’d know the story on Gina?”

  “Cammy, I guess-the maid.” Alison snapped her fingers. “Tante Adelle and Tante Tay-Tay, Great-aunts-Noel’s father’s sisters.” Her head swiveled. “They were here a while ago….”

  The two aunts lived in a house on Prytania, Adelle was a widow and Tay-Tay a “maiden lady,” if such females still existed. They were napping when Skip arrived, having probably had a drop or two at their late nephew’s. She was let in by a maid who acted the perfect hostess while the aunts pulled themselves together. But Skip declined her offer to sit, preferring to prowl, looking at pictures and books,

  Adelle appeared first, still smoothing a hastily donned knit skirt over the mono-buttock a girdle makes. She stood erect, had shoulder-length black hair with a white streak in it. Her mouth was a little tight for Skip’s taste.

  “Adelle Gibert,” she said. “You’re Don Langdon’s daughter, aren’t you?”

  Once Skip had hated to admit it, had longed to be known for herself and not her family, but that wasn’t the way New Orleans was made.

  “Sit down,” said Adelle. “I hear Tay-Tay,” So did Skip-unless a rhino was charging; lampshades shook as the floor vibrated. Tay-Tay entered the room with the air of one who owns the parish, possibly the state; someone used to authority. Skip had a flash: retired schoolteacher.

  She was a large lady-gray-haired, deep-bosomed, grandmotherly, wearing shorts that showed varicose veins and a T-shirt that couldn’t quite do its work-she had a solid line of bust to go with Adelle’s mono-butt. She looked as if she could give a flying flirt,

  “Octavia Delacroix.” Without further ceremony, she plopped into a needlework rocker. “How can we help?”

  “I was wondering about Aubrey’s sister.”

  Adelle’s eyebrows went up. “Gina? Gina?” Horrified.

  Tay-Tay was placid. “Poor little Gina. What about her?”

  “I wondered if you know where she is.”

  Adelle sat in censorious silence. Tay-Tay smiled. “Well, I guess we’re gon’ be awhile. Something cool, Miss Langdon? Or should I say Officer?”

  “How about Skip?”

  “And you must call me Tay-Tay. Or Tante Tay-Tay if you like. Everyone else does.” Skip felt engulfed by the warmth of her. She’d probably taught first or second grade, let the kids crawl up in her lap. “I’ll speak to Leeanna.”

  When she had left, Adelle said, “Gina’s a very lovely girl, Miss Langdon. I can’t think where you’re going with this.”

  Tay-Tay’s heavy step announced her return. She said, “I guess you noticed she wasn’t at the wedding. You think she could have been one of those black figures … that’s it, isn’t it?”

  “I have to ask, that’s all.”

  “Well, she wasn’t. She’s not even in town. Gina’s estranged from the family. Her daddy never had a moment’s time for her after he found out she had a drug problem. Threw her out of the house when she was eighteen.”

  “Tay-Tay!”

  “Adelle, she’s gon’ find out anyway. Might as well be from somebody that loves Gina.” She turned back to Skip. “Who wouldn’t take drugs with those two for parents?”

  “I’ve met Clarice.”

  “Well, Noel was … a Delacroix. Staunch churchmen, the whole lot of them.”

  A little too staunch, Skip gathered.

  “Anyway, next thing you know Gina got pregnant and he still refused to help her. Even when the baby was born. The good news is, she quit using, for the baby’s sake.” She smiled. “Darlin’ little Heather. Cutest thing old Tante Tay-Tay ever saw in her life.”

  Adelle said, “We tried to help her, but Noel found out.”

  “Is she disinherited? Do people still do that?”

  Leeanna arrived with a tray of iced tea. Overhearing, she snorted. Adelle’s lips drew together again.

  But Tay-Tay laughed. “Well, it’s pretty hard, in this state, but it can be done. You’re looking at two of the only …”

  “Tay-Tay, I beg you!”

  “Adelle, for heaven’s sake. Everybody knows the story. What are you being so silly about?”

  Skip made her face a polite blank.

  “Adelle tells it herself at parties-or used to before everyone in New Orleans had heard it three times. You know about forced heirship?”

  Skip shook her head, mystified.

  “Well, Louisiana’s the only state in the union that’s got it-you can’t cut a child completely out of the will, except in twelve very unusual circumstances. Or let’s say eleven of those and one that’s all too usual. Which is how Adelle got caught. When she was fifteen-a minor, you see-she ran away and got married.”

  Adelle said, “Damn the Delacroix and all they stand for!”

  “Hear, hear!” said Tay-Tay, raising her iced tea glass. Skip suspected she was still a little high from whatever she’d been drinking at the wake. “They don’t even, cut their wives in any more than they have to. The bulk of Noel’s estate will go to Aubrey, you watch. Clarice will get a house-though certainly not the one on Audubon Place-and just enough to live on, and Gina will get the fourth required by law. A bitter pill for Noel-she wouldn’t even get that if it weren’t for us. We’ve schooled the girl very carefully in the art of forced heirship-we’re experts. She always made sure she contacted him at least once every two years-if she hadn’t, she could have been disinherited. That’s one of the twelve ways, and incidentally one of the three our father got us on.”

  “Both of you are disinherited?”

  “Absolutely. And all because of our dear brother Charles. Now deceased.” Tay-Tay looked delighted about that. “You see he was the one who told Daddy he could do it and how-he was the lawyer in the family.”

  �
�And the one who stood to get the entire estate.”

  Adelle sniffed. “That’s what Daddy wanted anyway. The name male chauvinist was invented for Delacroix.”

  Tay-Tay was enjoying herself. “They got me two ways, but one of them was fraudulent. A child can be disinherited if he hits a parent. Daddy and Charles claimed I hit Daddy when he told Adelle he was going to do it to her-but really, I only threw a vase. Anyway, after it all happened we never spoke to either of them again. Not even knowing that was one of the twelve grounds.”

  “What are the other grounds?” Skip knew, as did everyone in Louisiana, that the state’s famous Napoleonic Code was eccentric, but this was such a preposterous twist she was fascinated.

  “Oh, what are they, Adelle?”

  Addle held her tongue.

  “Let’s see,” said Tay-Tay. “Refusing to ransom a parent is one. And accusing a parent of a capital crime. Except high treason, that is, because that’s your duty. My personal favorite is refusing to take care of a parent who’s become insane. How would you prove he was competent to make a will?” She turned serious. “I’m sorry. It isn’t funny-I’m just used to it. To get back to our lovely family, Adelle has a little money from her late husband and I have my pension, but we’ve had to depend on Noel’s good nature for a house to live in.”

  Adelle snorted. “His whims, you mean. Clarice bullied Noel into giving us this one only because it would have looked bad if we’d had to find a hovel somewhere.”

  “He didn’t give it to us, Adelle.”

  “He let us live here. So that’s why we couldn’t help Gina, have her come live with us, when she needed it. He wouldn’t permit it.”

  “Do you have her address?”

  Adelle thought they shouldn’t give it to her, but Tay-Tay prevailed. Softly, on the way out, she apologized for her sister’s coldness: “She’s just upset about Aubrey. The wedding being ruined and all.”

  Gina lived in Baton Rouge and worked at a drug abuse counseling center. Skip caught her at home, her eyes red, her hair slightly dirty. She didn’t look as if she’d slept.