That Old Devil Sin

by W E DeVore

  Once they were in the parking lot walking toward the apartment in back, he said, “Q, I saw her, tonight, with the Senator.”

  She nodded. “Me too, during the first set…at least I think it was her, I only saw her from behind. His hand was on her ass. I just remembered the vinyl skirt and the green wig. I couldn’t make out much else because of the stage lights. She looked so familiar somehow, I must have seen her in the crowd more than a few times.”

  “No, darlin’, I saw her leaving the storage room. I went to get some more glasses and she was leaving the storage room mumbling about needing the ladies’ and I pointed her to the right door. When I walked in to get the glasses, Multer was in there straightening his belt and zipping up his pants. He said he needed a quiet place to make a call and he hoped I didn’t mind.”

  “Ugh, filthy alte mamzer,” she shivered.

  Ben raised an eyebrow.

  “Old Bastard.”

  He nodded. “Seems about right.”

  They went into the apartment and Ben flipped on the overhead light. He walked into the efficiency kitchen and began opening cupboards, foraging for food. Q wandered around the room, looking at the framed posters advertising different acts at The Cove. She stopped near the foot of the bed, seeing her own image singing into a microphone and playing an upright piano on the poster advertising QT and The Beasts’ first show at Ben’s club.

  She sat down on the edge of the neatly made bed, before curling up on her side, suddenly very tired. She picked up the photograph on the nightstand. Ben’s boyhood face grinned back at her from inside the obviously handmade frame. He was flanked by two girls on either side, the five children forming a perfect stair step from right to left. She turned the frame over. Childishly scrawled in sparkly marker read, “For ‘lil Ben. Love Yvie.”

  “Did you redecorate or something?” Q called to Ben.

  He looked up from inside the refrigerator. “No. Why?”

  “No reason.” She didn’t want to admit that in her memory, the apartment was a dingy sex trap and a far cry from the tidy, functional room she sat in now.

  “Looks like potato chips and cereal it is. Best I can do. There’s one apple. It’s yours if you want it,” Ben said, depositing the food on the small table next to the kitchen and holding out a green apple.

  She sat up and shook her head. “I don’t remember this place being so…homey,” she said, gesturing to the images on the wall and holding up the frame in her hand.

  “I lived here when I first opened The Cove. Can’t take the credit though. Gracie’s the one that framed the poster from the opening night, I just kept it going.” He sat down next to her on the bed and took her hand. “Q, I’ve got to tell you something. You need to know…”

  Sirens broke the silence and Joe suddenly appeared in the doorway.

  “Cops are here, boss man,” he said.

  “That was fast,” Ben said.

  Q smiled at Ben. “I think you’re about to meet my uncle.”

  They walked out into the parking lot as two unmarked cars and a squad car pulled up. A tall, lanky black man wearing herringbone trousers and a black button-down shirt got out of the passenger side of the first unmarked car.

  “Clementine, praise the lord.” He rushed forward and embraced her. “When I heard Tom reported a murder, I…” His voice trailed off and he asked gently, “What happened?”

  “Uncle Ernst. I... she…” Q suddenly couldn’t speak at all. She stood back and took a deep breath before telling him about the hardware case, about Pete knowing the dead woman, who wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place.

  Ben came forward and said, “Sir, I’m Ben Bordelon. I own Lafitte’s Cove. Whatever you and your men need. We want to help find who did this.”

  “Ben, this is my uncle, Ernst Gautraux. He’s a homicide detective,” she said, squeezing Ben’s left hand.

  Ben reached out his right hand and said, “Terrible circumstances, but it’s a pleasure to finally meet someone in Q’s family.”

  Q was amazed. Nearly everyone she knew had taken a momentary pause when she introduced her godfather as her uncle. Ben didn’t even flinch.

  Ernst, on the other hand, looked at Q. Looked at Ben. Looked at Q’s hand in Ben’s and said, “Uh-huh. Where the body?”

  Ernst strode forward to the club, ignoring Ben’s outstretched hand. He quickly put it in his pocket and they followed a few paces behind. She held fast to his other hand and whispered, “Don’t worry, I haven’t introduced him to a boyfriend since I was seventeen. He’s probably just a little shocked.”

  Without looking back towards them, Ernst said loudly, “Not shocked, Clementine. I just don’t trust any man that’s excited to meet a girl’s family.”

  Ben looked worried. Q brought his hand to her lips to reassure him. They walked into the front door and toward to the rest of the group now standing at the bar. Pete hadn’t moved from his seat in front of the office. Two uniformed policemen and the rest of the detectives were already on stage uncovering the body.

  “Who covered her?” One of the detectives asked from the stage. Charlie put up his hand. The detective continued, “Shouldn’t have done that, son. Anyone do anything else to the body.”

  “Pete picked her up,” Niko chimed in. Tom and Charlie glared at him. “Shock, I guess,” he added quickly.

  Ernst walked over to Pete and squatted down. “You ok, Peter?”

  Pete shook his head. “No, sir.” His voice broke. “She wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to be working some private party.”

  Ernst put his hand on Pete’s shoulder. “It’s alright, son. I’m real sorry about your loss. Now, you've got to help me find who did this to her, you hear?”

  Pete nodded. Ben strode forward and gestured to the door behind Pete. “You can use my office, if you’d like a quiet place to talk.”

  Ernst and Ben helped Pete to his feet and Ben opened the door.

  “Clementine, why don’t you join us?” Ernst asked.

  Q put her arm around Pete’s waist and they followed Ernst into the room. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against on Ben’s desk. Q and Pete sat in the chairs against the side wall. Ernst picked up the compact mirror and lipstick Q had left on Ben’s desk and turned them over in his hand.

  “Those are mine,” she said awkwardly.

  “I put that together for myself, Clementine,” he said, setting them back down. “How do you know the victim, Peter?”

  “Her name is Veronica Denton. Ronnie. Me and her got together a few months back,” Pete said.

  Ernst squatted down in front of Pete. “I need you to tell me everything you know about her. Who her people are, where she’s from, what she’s been doing, anything else you think might be relevant.”

  Pete nodded. “She’s from Biloxi, I think. Maybe Ocean Springs. I can’t remember exactly. She didn’t like to talk about her family. Said her dad was bad news. She ran away when she was young. Twelve, maybe thirteen, I think she said. She dances at The Dollhouse on Bourbon. She moved in with me two months back.”

  Q shook her head in disbelief. She didn’t even know Pete was dating someone, let alone living with them. “When did you meet her?”

  He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Beginning of October. I met her at this party in the Marigny. I was there to score. We got to talkin’.”

  “Sounds like true love,” Q said sarcastically and instantly regretted saying it.

  “Look, I know I ain’t right, Q. But she was busted, too, and it just, it helped, you know? Bein’ with someone who didn’t want to fix me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? You never mentioned her…”

  Pete jumped in before she could finish her sentence. “I couldn’t tell you, Q. You know how you get around then. All mad and quiet. October ain’t my favorite month, neither. What was I s’posed to say? You were all shut down acting like Arabi happened last week and I was happy…real happy…for the first time since I don’t k
now when. Being with Ronnie helped more than pills or shrinks ever did. That’s why I thought I could stay in control this time.”

  “Pete, Q’s put that whole Arabi Incident behind her. It’s time for you to do the same. It’s been ten years. No one’s blaming you for what happened,” Ernst said to Pete.

  “You think Q’s put it behind her? For a detective, you awful dumb.” Pete shook his head.

  Ernst replied, coolly, “It’s time for you to stop using Arabi as an excuse for your failings, Peter. You need to get clean.”

  “I am clean. I was going to leave tonight and go up to Tennessee to my mom’s cabin. Stay clean and start over. I wanted her to come with me, but she wouldn’t stop using...” His voice broke off as he started to sob.

  “She upset about you leaving town?” Ernst asked.

  Pete nodded. Q looked from Pete to Ernst and quickly changed the subject. “How old was she? Ronnie? She looked so young.”

  “She was young. Twenty-four, she said. But she’d been through some shit. Had to turn tricks for a minute when she was on the streets after she left her folks. Then she started dancing and got out of it.” Pete’s eyes were fixed on the floor.

  “That ever make you jealous?” Ernst asked. Dumbfounded, Pete and Q both stared up at him. “Wouldn’t be the first time a dancer’s boyfriend lost his temper. Awful hard to watch your woman with other men.”

  “You think I did this?!” Pete’s voice went up several decibels. “I loved her!”

  Ernst remained calm. “I need you to answer me.”

  “No. I wasn’t jealous. I didn’t care about her dancing. That was her business. When she was with me, she was with me. And I didn’t kill her.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, looking away.

  Q clarified, “Pete ran sound all night, Uncle Ernst. He was at Front-of-House just off the corner of the stage.”

  “The corner by the window or the one by that hall,” Ernst pressed.

  “By the hall. At the end of the piano. I saw him at least once a song all night.” She gave Pete’s knee a little squeeze.

  “You weren’t playing tonight, Peter?”

  “Hurt my hand,” he lied and stuck with the story Tom gave the Multers. Q hoped she’d have a chance to tell the rest of the Beasts to do the same.

  Ernst was about to continue questioning them when a uniformed policeman came in. He said something to Ernst that they couldn’t hear and handed him a bulging envelope. He opened it and let out a low whistle. “Any idea why Ms. Denton would have ten grand in her purse?”

  Pete and Q exchanged worried glances then silently shook their heads. Ernst stood up and walked to the door. “Mr. Bordelon, could you join us for a minute?”

  When Ben entered, he said, “The victim had a great deal of cash on her. You keep a lot of cash in here?”

  “Right now I do, yeah. Mardi gras weekend,” he said, by way of explanation.

  “You better check to make sure it’s all there,” Ernst said.

  Ben turned to the safe in the corner and entered the combination. He began opening several zipped deposit bags.

  Ernst watched Ben count for several long minutes before turning to Q to ask, “Y’all take any breaks tonight?”

  She answered, “Yeah. A short one after the first set and a longer one before the third.”

  “How long?” Ernst pulled out his notebook.

  “Thirty minutes maybe,” Pete answered.

  “I’ll need to know where you both were when you weren’t working,” he said, taking a few more notes.

  “First break, I talked to Niko for a minute, he’s a waiter for the caterer, and then I used the restroom,” Q replied.

  “I stayed at the mixer,” Pete lied again. “Talking to JJ about his bass rig. During the last break, I grabbed some food and found an out-of-the-way place on the back wall to eat.”

  “Anyone with you?” Ernst asked, not looking up from his notepad.

  Not knowing why Pete had now lied twice to Ernst, Q answered without thinking, “I was hungry, too. I found Pete and we ate together.” Ben stared up at her from above the safe door. “Ben let me into his office about ten minutes before the last set so I could freshen my make-up. He was in here already.”

  Ben closed the safe and stood up clenching an envelope in his hand. “It’s all there.”

  Ernst turned to him and asked nonchalantly, “You always stay in your office when you have a bar full of people?”

  “Depends on how much paperwork I have to do. I was mostly in the crowd tonight. I only came in here during that break.” Ben paused. “We were running low on dark rum. Lots of hurricanes tonight, not our normal thing. Came in to put it on order before I forgot.” He spoke to Q, not to Ernst. “Q came in. Freshened her lipstick. Then we left so she could start the last set.”

  Ernst picked up Q’s lipstick from the desk and turned it over in his hand. “Peter, can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt Ms. Denton?”

  “Her dad, maybe. He wasn’t a very good man, the way Ronnie told it.” Pete hung his head.

  “I’ll need to come by your place tomorrow, after the parades, to look around.” Ernst turned to an empty page in his notebook and handed it to Pete. “Write down your address and number so I can get in touch with you.”

  Pete did as he was told and scrawled down the information onto the blank page.

  “Y’all can wait outside. Send in your bandmates if you wouldn’t mind.” Ernst waved his hand, dismissing them, taking the notebook from Pete as he left the room.

  Q walked over to Tom and Charlie where they were sitting at the bar talking to JJ. “You’re up. JJ too.”

  She looked around to make sure Ernst and the other detectives weren’t watching her and lowered her voice, saying quickly, “Pete hurt his hand. He didn’t owe anybody anything and I was with him during the last break. JJ was with him during the first, talking bass rigs.”

  She looked Tom, Charlie, and JJ each in the eye to make sure they had understood what she had said.

  Tom raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Alright then.”

  Charlie slowly shook his head. “You are an insane person.”

  JJ winked. “You got it, sista Q.”

  The remaining Beasts straggled into Ben’s office. Ernst stared hard at Q before closing the door. Ben glared at her from his position by the pool table.

  Crap. Just hold it together, for fuck’s sake.

  Q approached Ben and slipped a tentative hand into his. His fingers tightened around hers as he kissed her temple roughly. A slim detective with short, brown, curly hair came towards them. His gunmetal grey eyes traveled over Q’s face and she quickly broke eye contact, afraid that the word ‘LIAR’ was emblazoned on her forehead.

  He glanced at her again before asking Ben, “You’re the owner?”

  Ben nodded, “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m Detective Sanger. I saw the sign outside about y’all being closed for a private party. What can you tell me?”

  Ben told him about the party being booked by Senator and Marianne Multer and that there were around two hundred people on the guest list. He called over to the bouncer before continuing. “Hey Josh, get the man the guest list.”

  Josh walked to the front door and dug into the small trashcan next to it to retrieve a stapled bundle of paper. He brought it over to the detective.

  “The people who showed are highlighted,” Josh told him.

  Detective Sanger moved his finger down the list of names, tapping next to one name on the first page and then continuing through the list.

  “What are these handwritten names at the end?” he asked.

  “Last minute additions,” Ben said.

  “Urian Galanos was a last minute addition at a Lundi gras party hosted by Senator Multer?” Sanger asked in disbelief.

  Ben glared at Q before finally responding, “No sir, I added him. He was interested in renting out the Cove for a party.”

  Detective Sanger slipped
his fingers through his curls, taming them back down. He flashed the same easy smile Q had seen on her godfather’s face a thousand times. It was a self-effacing move that was designed to engender trust. Her body stiffened. She hoped that only Ben noticed.

  As if reading her thoughts, Sanger looked at Q momentarily before continuing.

  “How well do you know him?” he asked Ben.

  “Not at all. Like I said, he was interested in booking the club. That’s all.” Ben sounded amazingly nonchalant.

  “You know the combination lock is broken on the storage room?” Sanger asked, seemingly satisfied with Ben’s answer.

  “Yeah, that happened, what?” he asked turning to Josh, “Three weeks ago?”

  “Somethin’ like that,” Josh replied. “Joe could tell you for sure,” he said, pointing out Joe-the-muscle-bound bartender.

  Hearing his name, Joe walked over and asked, “What can I do for you, Detective?”

  “How long has that combination lock been broken?” Sanger asked.

  Joe thought for a second. “A week last Saturday. We were cleaning up at the end of the night, restocking, and I noticed it wasn’t latching anymore.” He shrugged. “Not really such a big deal, most people see the combo lock and don’t try to go in.”

  Ben nodded in agreement. “I wanted to get one installed on my office too, so I figured we’d wait until after Mardi gras and get it handled all at once. We’re closed until next Tuesday. And like Joe said, it was usually enough of a deterrent on its own.”

  “But not tonight?” Sanger asked.

  “No. I saw the dead girl leaving the room when I was getting some more glasses during the second set. And found Senator Multer in there, too.” Ben omitted the part about the Senator adjusting his pants.

  “Did the Senator give a reason for being in a room marked private?” Sanger asked.

  Ben nodded. “Said he needed to make a phone call. The man paid a lot of money to use the club. It’s nothing to me if he made himself at home.”