Bullets and Beads

by Jana DeLeon

  Fortunately, we arrived at the apartment before Gertie could come up with another ill-advised fashion deviation. I was prepared to hike up the stairs when Soprano grunted and led us into a small courtyard. He headed to a door on a side wall and gestured with his head. I unlocked the door and found a small entry with a service elevator.

  “That explains a lot,” Ida Belle said.

  I nodded as Soprano put our bags on the elevator, then gave us a nod and headed off. I’d been wondering how Big had managed to navigate the stairs on the building. First off, I’d never seen him stand for more than a minute, much less walk, and I wasn’t completely certain that his large frame would have even fit on the narrow, historical ironwork. I locked the door behind us and hopped in the elevator. A couple seconds later, the door opened into a large open area with living room, dining room, and kitchen.

  “Good God!” Gertie said, her head bobbing around, trying to take it all in. “He must have bought two apartments and combined them.”

  “More likely he owns the entire building,” Ida Belle said.

  I gazed around in deep appreciation. The walls were exposed brick, and a huge fireplace with a giant mantel stood at the far end of the living room. The kitchen, while not my thing as I had an allergy to cooking, was a beautiful display of white cabinets, white marble countertops, and backsplash with a hint of sparkle. An enormous balcony, the length of the entire living area, stretched across the front of the building.

  “This place is seriously gorgeous,” I said.

  Ida Belle nodded. “You know I’m into serviceable rather than appearance, but dang, this makes me want to remodel.”

  “You’d have to deal with contractors,” Gertie pointed out. “In your space. For God knows how long, because…contractors.”

  “Never mind,” Ida Belle said. “The moment has passed.”

  She picked up her bag and headed toward a hallway on the wall with the fireplace. Gertie and I followed and were pleased to find two bedrooms with a shared bath. The first bedroom had twin beds and the second a queen. The bathroom was accessible from each bedroom as well as the hallway. At the end of the hallway, I opened a door and saw the biggest bed I’d ever laid eyes on.

  “That has to be custom,” Gertie said. “Good Lord, it’s as big as my entire bedroom.”

  Ida Belle had wandered by and peeked into what I assumed was the master bath and whistled. “You have to see this walk-in shower. It’s got a bench and a television in it.”

  We all headed into the bathroom, and all three of us stood in the shower, admiring the size and the options of sprayers and showerheads.

  “This is bigger than the men’s locker room showers at the gym up the highway,” Gertie said.

  “And just how would you know that?” Ida Belle asked.

  “Remember, I joined before that cruise I took to get my bikini body ready,” Gertie said.

  “That still doesn’t explain why you know about the men’s locker room showers,” I said.

  “It was an honest mistake,” Gertie said. “I sat in the steam room after I worked out and my glasses were still fogged when I went to change.”

  Ida Belle gave her the side-eye and I laughed. Clearly, she was as convinced as I was about the honesty of the mistake.

  “Let’s get out and find some food,” I said. “I figure we can take the rooms in the hallway and leave the master shut.”

  “Probably wise,” Ida Belle said.

  Gertie glanced wistfully at the giant bed as we closed the door but even she was smart enough not to argue with the plan. Since Gertie snored the loudest, we gave her the room with the queen bed and Ida Belle and I took the twins. There was no point in unpacking as we weren’t going to be there long, so we tossed our bags onto the beds and headed back to the front rooms.

  Gertie ran out onto the balcony and stuck her head back in to yell, “You’ve got to come see this! The view is perfect. And there’s even chairs and a huge bench.”

  I grinned. Of course there was.

  Ida Belle and I headed onto the balcony and I had to admit, the view of Saint Charles Avenue wasn’t remotely lacking. We’d be able to see the parade and if people were ambitious with their throwing, Gertie might even add to her cheap bead collection.

  A knock on the door of the apartment had us all freezing in place.

  “I’ll get it,” Gertie finally said and popped back inside. Ida Belle and I both checked our firearms and followed.

  The door to the apartment was on the same wall as the elevator but nearer the kitchen. Gertie swung the door open and her jaw dropped when she saw a New Orleans policeman standing there.

  “I haven’t even done anything yet,” she said.

  “Are you implying that you intend to?” the cop asked.

  “No,” Gertie said. “Of course not. The ‘intend’ part anyway.”

  He looked a bit apprehensive but lifted his hand to show an envelope. “I have a package for a Ms. Redding.”

  Ah! Big had already come through with the police report.

  “That’s me,” I said.

  The cop gave me a once-over and I could tell he was confused as to why someone of Big Hebert’s status had called in a request for police documents to be delivered to the likes of us. We didn’t exactly look like his usual employees. But then we were in Big’s apartment and it didn’t look as if we’d broken in, so I could see where he might have trouble balancing it all out.

  He handed me the envelope and took off without asking a single question. He probably figured he was better off not knowing. Given that he’d just provided a perfect stranger an official police document on an open investigation, I didn’t blame him. You can’t be compelled to tell what you don’t know.

  I headed to the kitchen island with the envelope and hopped onto a barstool. Ida Belle and Gertie took a seat on each side of me and eagerly leaned in as I pulled the one measly page out.

  “Wow,” Ida Belle said. “That’s not much longer than the news article.”

  There were the usual notes of location, time, victims, and other required information at the top of the page, then the statement taken from Natalia at the hospital, which amounted to one paragraph. After that were a couple more notes about the workup of the crime scene and the search for any potential camera footage available—there wasn’t any—and that was it.

  I dropped the paper on the counter. “So the two sisters were jumped in a parking lot by two men in hoodies. Natalia heard footsteps behind them but before she could turn around, one of the men had hit Annika across the head with something long and she fell. The other man raised a pipe to strike Natalia but she ducked and he caught her in the arm instead.”

  “Which explains the arm injury you noticed,” Gertie said.

  I nodded. “He struck her again in the side and then again in the head as she fell, and she lost consciousness. Both assailants wore masks. Two college students heard them screaming and ran to help. They saw the two men running away but could not offer any help with identification as it was night and they were too far away and with their backs to the students. The police found Natalia’s handbag next to a car in the direction the students had indicated the men ran. No prints were found, suggesting the men probably wore gloves. And that’s it.”

  “That’s disappointing but not unexpected,” Ida Belle said. “We knew if it was unsolved, they had little to go on, and I’m going to guess that’s usually the case with these types of things. How do you launch a credible investigation with such minimal facts?”

  I shook my head. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. If the victim and the witnesses can’t identify them, and nothing was caught on camera, where would you even begin?”

  I stared at the disappointing police report and noticed a slight lift in the corner of the envelope. “What is that?” I asked, and I picked the envelope up and shook it to empty whatever was in the bottom.

  Two pictures of Natalia fell out onto the counter. One with heavy makeup and short hair and a
nother without the makeup and with longer hair.

  “I guess they needed pictures to advertise for more witnesses?” Gertie said. “Probably couldn’t get one of her sister. Natalia looks a little younger there, though.”

  I frowned and reached for the photos, then flipped them both over. “These are photos of Natalia and her sister. Look, the names are on the back.”

  I turned the photos back over and we stared at them again. The heavily made-up woman with the short hair was Annika.

  “Twins?” Ida Belle asked.

  “If not, that’s some seriously strong DNA,” I said.

  Ida Belle frowned. “This lends more credibility to your theory that Natalia was the target. The men went after both but the one they meant to get lived.”

  “If this was a hit,” Gertie said, “I’d be asking for a discount. Nothing like getting it wrong twice to call unnecessary attention to your intended victim.”

  “Natalia does seem to have nine lives,” I said. “But all of this is so strange. So let’s assume for a minute that someone is after Natalia. They must have had a lock on her at her home, then followed her to New Orleans when she met her sister. But why wait?”

  “New Orleans would offer an easy way to kill someone and make it look like a local crime rather than a targeted victim.”

  “Unless the wrong woman died,” I said. “And look at the date on the police report. This happened just a month before they relocated to Sinful. Larry said they moved to Sinful after it happened but I didn’t think he meant right after.”

  “So they moved and the killer couldn’t find her,” Gertie said.

  “Until now,” Ida Belle said. “Where again, the wrong woman died. It’s still convoluted, but in a fantastic way, it does make some sense.”

  “If we’re right, then that means someone is still gunning for Natalia,” I said.

  “Fedorov?” Ida Belle asked.

  “Anything is possible,” I said. “But if Fedorov is the guy then why was he Katia’s emergency contact?”

  “Because we’re wrong about the Natalia angle and Katia was the intended victim all along,” Ida Belle said. “It’s just as viable. Maybe more so given Fedorov’s appearance and lies. And it’s just as possible that Natalia and Annika were attacked by strangers. It’s hardly an uncommon occurrence.”

  “Should we tell Carter our suspicions?” Gertie asked.

  “And have him jump all over us for getting into his business?” Ida Belle asked. “And besides, what proof do we have except that Fedorov lied about when he arrived here? It’s just theories at this point. There’s not even enough here to get a protective detail on Natalia. And Carter and Deputy Breaux can’t spend all their time sitting there, either.”

  “If Natalia is the intended victim, how fast do you think they’ll make another move?” Gertie asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “That can go two different ways. One, they’re patient and careful and they back off until the right opportunity presents itself again. Or two, they’re panicked and desperate and they jump at the first opportunity.”

  “Do you think we should warn Natalia?” Gertie asked.

  “No,” I said. “If people are trying to kill her, then there’s a reason. And if there’s a reason, then Natalia would know it.”

  “Unless it got knocked out of her when she was attacked in New Orleans,” Ida Belle said. “We need to find out the extent of her injuries.”

  “You’d think there would have been more online,” I said. “I mean, there’s a reason you couldn’t find information about someone like me on the internet, but is it normal to find next to nothing about a regular person?”

  “I don’t think it’s necessarily abnormal,” Ida Belle said. “I know we think everyone is online but I imagine people manage to stay off if they keep to themselves. No mention by organizations if you’re not involved. No school pictures if your kid is homeschooled. No work mentions if you don’t work or if you work for the government.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but you’d think there would be something somewhere,” I said.

  “We don’t know what her situation was when she lived in Russia,” Ida Belle said. “She might not have had access. And we don’t know when she met Larry. If it was shortly after arriving in the US, she would have adopted his standards, which were to maintain privacy.”

  “Let’s face it,” I said, “we don’t know much of anything about her past or her marriage.”

  “And I don’t see any way of finding out without it coming from the horse’s mouth,” Gertie said. “I guarantee you no one in Sinful can tell us, and I’d bet it was the same where they lived before.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said, and picked up the paper. “Okay, then we need to try to run down Detectives Bishop and Thompson.”

  Ida Belle groaned. “You got a first name on that Thompson?”

  I scanned the sheet again. “Unfortunately, no. I guess we can’t call up and ask for them by badge number, right?”

  “That might seem a bit suspicious,” Ida Belle said. “But if we can find Bishop then maybe he will tell us.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the NOLA PD.

  “Hi,” I said when a man answered. “I’d like to speak to Detective Bishop. I might have some information on an old case of his.”

  “Bishop is working Saint Charles today. Not sure what blocks he’s covering.”

  I thanked him and disconnected. “They have detectives working the parade?”

  “They probably have the janitor working the parade,” Gertie said.

  “So why don’t criminals take that opportunity to commit crime all over the city since all of the police force is on the parade route?” I asked.

  “Because everyone not at the parade is sitting home with loaded firearms,” Ida Belle said.

  “That’s right,” I said. “I keep forgetting…Louisiana.”

  “I guess this means we have to brave Saint Charles Avenue,” Gertie said.

  Ida Belle rolled her eyes. “Stop acting like it’s some big sacrifice. You know you’ve been dying to get down in the middle of that mess ever since we got here.”

  Gertie grinned. “Maybe a little.”

  “The big parade starts in about an hour and it’s a fairly long route,” Ida Belle said. “If we don’t locate him before it starts, we probably have no chance. Not in that mess.”

  “I agree,” I said. “So let’s make sure we’re prepared before we head out. Is everyone wearing comfortable clothes with at least one pocket and good running shoes?”

  “I bought a new sports bra,” Gertie said. “Was really hoping to run and try it out.”

  “Why didn’t you run in it at home?” Ida Belle asked.

  “No one was chasing me there,” Gertie said.

  “We’re going to hope no one chases you here,” I said. “But just in case, I’d like to have our bases covered as well as possible. Does everyone have a charged phone?”

  They both nodded.

  I hesitated for a moment, then finally asked, “Loaded weapon?”

  “I’m wearing clothes, aren’t I?” Ida Belle said.

  “I have a couple in my purse,” Gertie said. “I’m sure something will fit in this new bra.”

  “Do me a favor and don’t make it hot,” I said.

  “My boob is not going to pull the trigger,” Gertie argued.

  Ida Belle shook her head. “You say that…”

  “Humor me,” I said.

  “Fine,” Gertie said. “But you lose precious firing time chambering a round. I hope I don’t need that extra second.”

  “Me too,” I said. If our lives got down to that one second and Gertie’s shooting being our only defense, we were in deep trouble.

  “Okay, then,” I said. “Potty break, everyone, then we head out.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ten minutes later, we were on Saint Charles in the middle of something I couldn’t even find the words to describe. People we
re crammed onto the street, shoulder to shoulder, and it was clear that many of them had been there all day and had consumed many drinks. They bumped and apologized and stepped on feet and waved beer in the air and shouted greetings to people they probably didn’t know who were sitting up on balconies.

  I gave the street a quick assessment and tried to decide on the best course of action. If we separated, we could locate Detective Bishop quicker. But then none of us would have backup and that wasn’t the best idea. Of course, with the way the crowd was jostling around, we might get separated anyway. Finally, I decided it was safer to stick together and worst case, if we couldn’t find Detective Bishop tonight, we’d hunt him up tomorrow. Since we had secured a place to sleep, that made it easier.

  “Let’s start left,” I said, “and go to where the parade ends. Then we’ll work our way back up the other side of the street. As we go, each of us can walk into a business and scan for cops, then we’ll convene on the sidewalk again. If anyone finds Bishop inside one of the shops or bars, then send a text.”

  We started working our way through the crowd and when we got to the first bar, I sent Ida Belle in to scope it out. Gertie and I continued and she went into the next building, which housed a restaurant. I moved on to the next entrance and gave the tiny bar a quick walk-through before heading back out. Gertie and Ida Belle appeared a couple seconds later, both shaking their heads.

  “This is going to take forever,” Gertie said. “And what if he’s one of those twenty-minute bathroom break kind of guys? We could check a business and not even know he’s there.”

  “All we can do is give it our best shot,” I said. “If you find any NOLA cop at all, ask them if they know what area Bishop is working. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “There’s a cop,” Gertie said, and pointed across the street at a cop, who took a big sip of coffee, then grimaced.

  “He’ll do,” I said.

  We pushed our way across the street and I spotted the cop headed inside a café.

  “Can I get this reheated?” the cop was asking a man behind the bar.