True Blue Detective Series Book Three
Vieux Carré Detective
Vito Zuppardo
ALSO BY VITO ZUPPARDO
True Blue Detective Series
True Blue Detective (2016)
Crescent City Detective (2017)
Vieux Carré Detective (2018)
Voodoo Lucy Series
Tupelo Gypsy Book 1 (2018)
Revenge (2019)
Lady Luck Series
Alluring Lady Luck (2015)
Tales of Lady Luck (2016)
Copyright © 2018 Vito Zuppardo
All rights reserved.
ISBN:
Publisher’s Note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product
of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictional manner.
Cover design: Darleen Dixon
EBook format:L.K. Campbell
Edited:Joni Wilson
No part of the book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission.
Chapter 1
Olivia Johansson sat alone on a barstool at her favorite hangout, the Library Sports Bar. The after work crowd was in full bloom. One drink—a mechanism to handle stressful days—turned into two, and she was eyeballing the third drink. Her work family of friends had long departed home to their husbands, kids, dinners, or to let their dogs out, something Olivia wanted no part of—too much responsibility and too many obligations came with marriage and owning pets. Besides she was married—to her job; a forensic expert for the New Orleans Police Department kept her going all hours of the day and night. The only person on her radar was Mario DeLuca, a detective friend, if only he weren’t a cop. Three dates with Mario proved too much. They trusted no one and both carried guns—a combination not found in a healthy relationship.
At thirty-two-years-old, she was ready to settle down, but it had to be the right person. Looks, career, and a bank account were important. She wasn’t a gold digger, but no one was coming into her life with less than she had—a good job and six figures in an investment account. Her friends said she had set the bar too high. Olivia knew people her age on their second marriages or giving up their careers to have babies and, even worse, supporting husbands while they made college a career, going after MBAs with no real jobs in sight. She often thought she had set the bar too low.
Olivia knocked back the last of a Beefeater Gin and tonic, her drink of choice when wanting to forget a painful day at work. A teenager left lying on a slab at the morgue—just another never-ending drug killing. It was her way of coping with senseless murders—walk away and start over again in the morning.
She motioned to the bartender to prepare her bill, while she visited the ladies’ room. He gave his usual smile and head nod and closed out her tab.
The ladies’ room was full of rookie police officers touching up makeup and rambling about some guy they’d just met. Their annoying voices and boy crazy talk reminded her of teenagers back in high school. The best thing to do was hurry along before she preached just how silly these grown women sounded.
At the bar, she found the bill stuck in a glass with a pen next to another gin and tonic. Giving the bartender a look, he motioned to a man walking out the front door. All she caught was a glimpse of the back of his head.
“My name is Baker,” a man said, standing next to her seat. He extended his hand to Olivia.
“Baker? Like in Bakery?” she asked.
“Baker Watson,” he said with a smile. “Oddly enough, I own several bakeries.”
“Now that’s funny,” Olivia said, taking a sip of her drink.
“Who buys a beautiful woman a cocktail and leaves? Do you know him?” the tall, handsome man asked, taking a seat next to Olivia.
Drilling the bartender like any cop would, Olivia pressured him about who ordered the drink.
“The man wasn’t a regular,” the bartender said. “He dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the bar and said to give the lady another gin and tonic.”
Baker and Olivia talked about nothing for longer than she wanted, and while Baker was soft on the eyes, she finished her drink and politely wished him and the bartender a good night.
From the uptown bar to Olivia’s house near City Park was maybe a fifteen-minute drive. Driving her late-model, ruby red VW Beetle, she turned onto Bayou St. John. Rounding the bend, she blinked her eyes several times. Her vision was impaired; something was dreadfully wrong. All that ran through her head was that three drinks put her way under the legal alcohol limit. She did her best to focus on the road, knowing the tires had hit the curb several times already. She slammed on the brakes and veered to what she thought was the side of the street—it wasn’t. Her foot slipped off the brake onto the accelerator, and the car jumped the curb, plunging into the bayou. The water quickly covered the floor of the vehicle, and within seconds the car was submerged in the shallow water.
The cold water shocked her awake—for a few seconds. Her police training came into play, recalling a safety class she thought she would never need. First was not to panic. Second was to keep your seatbelt on until the car stabilized, and then pull the window down.
Okay, engine killed, power windows do not work—she remembered her instructor telling the class. Wait for the water to stop rushing in before trying to open the door. She blacked out again for a few seconds until the water approached her neckline, giving her a jolt. She struggled to focus and realized her condition had nothing to do with three cocktails—she had been drugged.
The inside of the car was dark, except for the filtered light coming from the car headlights through the murky water. Her eyes opening and closing, in and out of consciousness, the cold water kept her hanging tough.
Water rushed the cabin, leaving only a small air gap near the ceiling of the roof. She took a deep breath. With the cabin entirely submerged, she pulled on the door handle. It opened, just as the instructor said it would. The battery shorted out and sparks shot through the car, shutting down the headlights. In the darkness, at the bottom of the bayou, Olivia lost her battle to the drugs and drifted down to the car seat, unconscious.
Chapter 2
Mario DeLuca’s police radio sounded, just as he walked out of a restaurant. There was no need for a homicide cop to respond to an update on a car crash, but dispatch announced over the airwaves Olivia’s involvement in an accident. When a cop goes down, the True Blue in everyone gets involved. With his dashboard lights flashing and siren at full sound, his police cruiser cut through traffic and made it to the scene.
When Mario arrived, the police dive team were already in the water hooking the VW Bug to a tow-truck cable. The line tightened, and the car lifted out of the water. The ruby red engine hood broke the water, and with moss and slime hanging, the car rested on the bank of the bayou.
Chuck Anderson, a lead investigator with Internal Affairs, was on the scene questioning a witness when Mario located him. Perched in the back seat of a police car, the man, who identified himself as Roger Brady, sat with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
Mario introduced himself to Roger as a New Orleans homicide detective.
“Homicide? She’s dead?” Roger asked.
“No, she’s in intensive care,” Mario replied. “I understand your quickness saved her life.”
Roger smiled. “I’d like to think the Navy taught me something over twenty-five years.”
Mario asked Roger to break down what he saw in detail. Chuck gave a nod of his head in agreement, knowing it would allow him to see if his story wavered any.
A police officer showed up with a cup of hot coffee and Roger took a few sips, then started
his story. It was a little after 10 P.M. He was sure of the time because the nightly news had just begun. It was time for the dog’s last bathroom break until morning. The usual location in the dark on the bayou lawn. This night he saw a car coming down the street; it hit the curb in front of a house, then bounced to the bayou side. From the rounded top, he knew it was a VW Beetle. Out of nowhere, a vehicle locked on to the rear and pushed the bug. He smelled rubber burning, suspecting that the driver of the VW had worked hard on the brakes. A single streetlight lined the curb about two houses down. The bayou side had no lights, so he guessed no one saw him. One acceleration and the vehicle pushed the little car into the bayou and sped off.
Mario interrupted. “Any idea what kind of car?”
“Black Cadillac; saw the hood ornament,” Roger replied. He needed a break and asked if they could hold up for a second. “Does anyone see my dog?”
Chuck pointed across the street. “Is that her?”
A small Chihuahua sat on his porch with a collar and leash attached, looking as anxious as its owner. “Her name is Carmen—she’s a good pup.” When he reached the house, Carmen ran to the front door. It was apparent the dog didn’t like being outside.
Chuck looked at Mario. “So far he’s sticking to the story word for word.”
A call blasted over the radio and an eruption of cheers were heard from fellow officers working the scene. Olivia was awake.
The officers interrogated Roger from his living room and learned a few new details that didn’t amount to much. Most important, this guy reacted and had the skills to dive into the dark, cold water and get Olivia out of the car before she drowned.
He told the cops it was an honor to be a Navy SEAL. He tried out twice but was never picked. SEAL training by sea, air, and land and years in the Navy gave him the courage and knowhow to dive in and save the driver of the car.
Roger couldn’t add much more to his story other than a dark-color Cadillac was the car that pushed Olivia into the bayou. He suggested they talk to his neighbor, who he thought for sure had to see something.
After questioning why he was so sure his neighbor saw the incident, Chuck and Mario strolled to Nancy Jennings’ house. She was being detained by a policewoman on her front porch, but the woman insisted she saw nothing.
Mario approached her first, making her comfortable and reassuring her they were there to help. Anything she told him was strictly confidential. That relaxed her, and she opened up a little.
“You must have seen something,” Mario said. “Your neighbor said he waved to you when you were putting out your trash. He took little Carmen for her nightly walk.”
Not willingly, she opened up. “It was quick and dark, but I made out part of the license plate—N 901,” she said pointing to her address edged in a blue tile on the front porch. “Easy to remember, it’s the same as my address.”
It was late at night, and there wasn’t much more they could get out of Nancy, so Chuck released her with the understanding they might be back for more questioning in the morning.
The closest medical center, Mercy Hospital on Jefferson Davis Parkway, was where Olivia was taken. The emergency entrance to the hospital was lined with police cars, motorcycles, and officers milling around, waiting for the next update on Olivia. Mario acknowledged them with a head nod and thanked them for their support. It was a typical reaction; they were True Blue cops. When one goes down, they rally together in support.
A flash of Mario’s badge and the nurse allowed him access to the family intensive care waiting room. He spoke gently to Jerri Johansson, Olivia’s mother, and assured her and the family members he would bring the person responsible for Olivia’s accident to justice.
Every hour, the family can visit an intensive care patient. The next opportunity, Jerri allowed Mario to visit Olivia. He entered the room with machines beeping and tubes attached to Olivia. It was best that no other True Blue friends were with him. She wouldn’t want to be seen by coworkers in such condition. He stroked her forehead, and she opened her eyes. It brought back too many bad memories of his ex-girlfriend Kate’s attack a year earlier. Her face, black and blue, and a large bandage over her left eye.
Tough-cop Mario—choked up, then made his usual wisecrack to break the tension. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks, I feel like it too,” she whispered.
Mario asked questions, but he got little new information before the nurse shut him down and he was asked to leave.
The next morning, the watch commander held a briefing at headquarters. He had listened three times to the emergency call that Nancy Jennings placed to the police department. It was straightforward, “A car hit the curb and went into Bayou St. John,” she said in a shaky voice, obviously emotionally upset. With little information, the commander answered questions the best he could.
Mario and his partner Truman listened in. Mario asked the obvious question. “Why would anyone want Olivia dead?” his voice bellowed from the back of the room. It was déjà vu for Mario. Not that long ago, he’d asked the same question about Kate, bringing back too many memories—and they were all bad.
Gretchen Parks, chief of detectives entered, and the briefing was cut short. She motioned for Mario and Truman to follow. A private office in the precinct, usually used to give people bad news about a loved one or a friend involved in a crime or an accident, was the perfect place for Gretchen to hold her meeting.
“What the hell is going on?” Chief Parks demanded, with an eye on Mario. “Is every woman in your life at risk?”
“We only dated a few times,” Mario said. After Kate’s kidnapping, his then-fiancée and now Olivia. He too wondered what was going on.
“I had her working on a cold case,” Chief Parks explained.
Mario stared at her. “Forensic expert working a cold case?” He sat back in his chair and exhaled, “Why?”
“I needed to clear up some old information with new technology.”
“You picked the right person,” Mario said. “What case?”
The chief looked through a folder. “Old liquor store robbery, eight years ago,” she said. “Nothing high profile.”
“You think that case has something to do with Olivia’s attack?”
“That’s why I need you two,” she said. “Find out what the hell is going on.”
Mario cringed; his plate was full of new cases and more added each day. “I head up the Vieux Carré Eighth Police District,” Mario said, then gave her a strange look. “I’ve got that other thing I report to you on too.” He hoped Truman would overlook his statement and not ask what he called that other thing.
The chief handed Mario a folder. “Start with the liquor store robbery Olivia was working,” she said and walked to the door. Then added a demand. “As for that other thing, it’s taking too long. I want an arrest soon—really soon, Mario.”
Chapter 3
The police squad room was buzzing with speculation about Olivia’s accident or attempted murder, as more details unfolded. Truman worked on some open files while Mario headed to the Garden District to have a word with Baker Watson.
Broadway just off St. Charles Avenue was where Watson Bakery stood, a famous place the uptown college students liked to gather. Baker Watson’s grandfather opened the business fifty years ago. Despite odds against a third-generation member operating a family-owned business, he successfully continued the path his grandfather and parents experienced by selling quality pastries, wedding cakes, and providing excellent service.
Mario chatted with Baker privately in a room over coffee and some pastry, the best shoe sole pastry in the city, he voiced to Baker. There wasn’t much more Baker added to his story, repeating what he told the detectives earlier that morning.
Mario slipped Baker a business card, asking him to call should he think of anything else that might help the case. Baker followed him to his police car. That’s when Baker dropped a bombshell on Mario.
“There is one thing I remembered after the
detectives left this morning,” he said.
Mario stopped curbside. “Any new info is good.”
“Did anyone check with the bartender?” he asked. “My friends had left, and I moved from a table to the bar to pay my tab. The cop passed in front of me, heading to the ladies’ room. A guy came to the bar and ordered her a drink.”
“You saw him?” Mario asked, writing notes on a pad.
“No. I was looking at my bill. But I heard the guy call out to the bartender.”
Mario’s anxiousness surfaced. “He called the bartender by name?”
“No, but it really seemed like he knew the guy. The guy buying told the bartender to give her the drink. Like it was planned.”
“Those were the exact words?” Mario said. “Give her the drink?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mario leaned into Baker. “So, the bartender knew the guy.”
“He knew the bartender—for sure.”
After leaving the bakery, Mario headed to the Library Sports Bar on Tulane Avenue, his blood boiling that the detectives hadn’t worked Baker into remembering every detail. He was the prime witness before Olivia was drugged.
From the Library Sports Bar parking lot, Mario called Truman to pull Olivia’s file for the bartender’s name. Mario strode into the bar, armed with two names: Manny and Patrick. A young lady working behind the bar said Manny was off, but Patrick was in the back, checking in a beer truck. Mario flashed his badge and walked to the storage room.
Patrick stopped when he heard his name called and saw Mario pull his coat back, displaying his badge. Patrick didn’t resist and sat in a chair.
“I’m going to ask one question,” Mario said. “So think about your answer real carefully,” putting his size twelve shoe in Patrick’s crotch. “The wrong answer will get you crushed nuts,” pressing his foot into Patrick.
Vieux Carré Detective Page 1
