Blowout (18 page)

“Yes, Eliza,” Sherlock said, “yes, it is.”

“Please prove Danny wasn’t a blackmailer.”

Neither Savich nor Sherlock said anything. It didn’t look good.

E
LAINE
L
A
F
LEURETTE
’
S DADDY
had money, Savich already knew that. Big Ed LaFleurette was a major player in commercial New Orleans real estate development. He was tight with the local police, not only for protection but also for enforcement, and was ensconced in the local political scene as well. Fleurette lacked motivation until she was accepted to law school, but now “driven” was the word usually used to describe her. She wanted to do things on her own, without her father’s help. Well, except for where she lived. Why live like Danny when it wasn’t necessary? She lived in a lovely quiet upper-class neighborhood, about as far removed from Danny O’Malley’s digs as a dock bar from the Oak Room at the Plaza. It was a beautiful, well-tended brownstone, and it was hers, in her own name, a gift from Daddy after she passed the bar.

They found Ben Raven and Callie Markham in his Crown Vic parked down the block. The four of them walked together to the brownstone.

“Callie, I’m glad to see you,” Sherlock said. “You twist Ben’s arm here?”

“Actually, I had to threaten him again, you know, calling my editor at the
Post,
offering up goodies.” She lowered her voice, close to Sherlock, “I really don’t think he minds so much today. He’s a tough guy, but I’m making inroads.”

Sherlock patted her arm. “I’m just glad you stayed in the car at Danny O’Malley’s apartment, like Ben told you to.”

“Actually, I cuffed her to the door handle,” Ben said. “All right, I didn’t manhandle her. She obeyed me this time.”

“Ben told me Danny and my stepfather were killed by the same man. I knew Danny, not well, mind you, but he always smiled when I visited. It’s horrible.”

“I agree,” Sherlock said. “Now, I think it’s good to have someone who knows Fleurette in on this interview, and your reporter’s trained eye makes it even better.”

Ben was looking at the two women. He didn’t look very happy, more resigned. He’d found Callie on his doorstep when he’d gotten the call from Mr. Maitland about Danny O’Malley. He’d tried to get rid of her, but the woman was ruthless. Before they’d come here to Fleurette’s house, she’d talked him into having lunch, said she really liked Chinese, spicy hot Szechuan, a good thing since it was a staple for him when he wasn’t eating pizza, and she knew two places he hadn’t eaten at before.

The four of them heard a man and a woman yelling at each other as they climbed up the six red brick front steps to the bright red front door with a lion-head knocker at its center.

They paused a moment, listening.

“You bastard! You used me because you wanted me to convince Justice Califano to vote to hear your damned case! You’re despicable, you—”

“Get over it, Fleurette, it’s all irrelevant. I’m a lawyer, you knew that going in. You knew there was a case I was involved in, so don’t whine about it now. Hey, the old guy’s dead, so we’re not going anywhere, now are we?”

The four of them stepped back as the front door swung open and a man in his mid-thirties, with impeccably styled light brown hair, a handsome face, and a runner’s body, came out, whistling, even as she continued to yell after him.

“I hope you rot and die! I hope your dick falls off!”

The guy looked at the four strangers, arched an eyebrow, gave them a cocky grin as he rolled his eyes back toward Elaine LaFleurette, and continued on his way to a dark green Jaguar parked in front of the house. He tossed his car keys in the air, caught them, and opened the door with the remote.

Savich flipped out his I.D. to the young woman standing in the doorway. “Agents Savich and Sherlock, Detectives Raven and Markham. Are you Elaine LaFleurette?”

“Yes. Look, I’ve already talked to you guys. I don’t know anything. What now?”

Sherlock simply walked right up to her, pressing her back. “May we come in? It’s sort of cold out here.”

Fleurette stepped back automatically. She was still flushed, her breath still hot with anger.

Sherlock pointed back to the man who was revving up the Jag. “I agree with you, he’s a jerk,” she said. “We couldn’t help but overhear. You want me to go punch out his lights?”

Fleurette stared at the lovely woman with her curly red hair who stood a good four inches shorter than she was, and laughed. “Nah, he’s not worth you breaking a fingernail. But you’re right about him. He just dumped me because Justice Califano is dead, and so I can’t help him now, not that I would have in any case. Thank God I didn’t sleep with him.

“Callie? What are you doing with them? Oh God, I’m so sorry about your stepfather.”

Callie said, “Thank you, Fleurette. I’m with them because I’m trying to help. About that jerk, you’re lucky to be rid of him so quickly. Why’d you hook up with him in the first place?”

“Well, he is cute. And smart. But thank God it hadn’t gotten serious.”

Savich and Ben followed the two women into the living room, saying nothing at all. It was a gorgeous place, with highly buffed floors and an occasional Persian carpet. The living room was filled with high-quality Early American antiques, giving the living room a cozy feel. A fire blazed in the fireplace.

Fleurette obviously hadn’t been expecting company. She was wearing old gray sweats, with only socks on her feet, and no makeup. Her blond hair was in a ponytail. Her features were sharp, her green eyes full of intelligence.

“The guy just showed up to kiss you off?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah, you’d think he’d at least call first, give me a chance to do my face, but here he is, standing on my doorstep, wanting to tell me he’s seeing another woman now. I wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t Sonya McGivens, Justice Wallace’s clerk.” Sonya McGivens, Savich thought, unable to recall any specifics on her. But he would find out as soon as they got back to MAX and he opened his data port.

Sherlock said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, Miss LaFleurette—”

“Oh please, Agent Sherlock, you’ve heard me screaming at my former boyfriend, seen what a mess I am, please call me Fleurette, everyone does.”

“Okay, Fleurette. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Daniel O’Malley was murdered, very likely by the same man who murdered Justice Califano.”

Fleurette froze like a deer in the headlights. She stood there, staring at Sherlock, uncomprehending, her eyes blank, her face slack. Finally, she moistened her dry lips. “Danny_—our_ Danny_—_ is dead?”

“Yes, within the past twenty-four hours. Now, you’re a smart person, Fleurette, you must see immediately that Justice Califano’s murder and Danny’s are somehow connected.”

“But how?”

“We have to consider that Danny may have known something, maybe even tried to blackmail the murderer. We very much need your help, and we need it right now to find out who killed him.”

“Why would you think Danny would do such a thing?”

Sherlock said, “His apartment was torn apart, Fleurette. Someone had been looking for something.”

“And you think this something was some damning document that Danny had on the murderer?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Very possibly.”

Fleurette looked over at Savich, who was standing leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, then at Detective Raven and Callie. She said, “I—I don’t understand this. What could Danny possibly know about Justice Califano’s killer?”

“Sit down, Fleurette. Let’s talk about Friday.”

Fleurette sat, took several deep breaths, and nodded. “I remember Danny going into Justice Califano’s office. I remember he shut the door when he went in. None of us ever did that. If the door was cracked open, it stayed cracked open, but Danny closed it. Yes, that’s what he did.”

“So he wanted to speak to Justice Califano privately? With no one interrupting.”

“Now that you put it that way, yes, okay.”

“Who came in first Friday morning? You or Danny?”

“Me. It varied who was in first, depended on what each of us had to do on any given day. For the next couple of months things won’t be so bad. It’s the dog days—that’s what they’re called—April and May—when everyone puts in ninety-hour weeks. It’s when the major decisions pile up and—”

Sherlock brought her back. “When did Danny get in on Friday?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Around a quarter of nine, I think.”

“What did he do?”

“He drank some coffee, ate one of those rolls from the downstairs cafeteria. He was reading something, jotting down notes. I didn’t ask because I had my own stuff to do. I remember being a bit surprised that Eliza wasn’t in with Justice Califano. They always met first thing every morning. The Justice always had his bagel. But Eliza was working at her desk that morning. When I came in, we had a bit of a chat, like usual, same with Danny.”

“Do you know what Eliza was working on?”

“No, again, I had my own work to worry about. I was drafting a dissent.”

“So you’re all working. Then Bobby Fisher comes in to shoot the breeze?”

“Yeah, he’s got a thing for Eliza, but she never gives him the time of day. He’s kind of creepy, the way he worships Justice Alto-Thorpe. None of us like him. Then he left.”

“And Eliza went into Justice Califano’s office?”

“Yeah, it was time for the Friday morning meeting in Chief Justice Abrams’s chambers. Good ole Bobby had a stick up his—well, he hadn’t said a word. He’s awful, no manners, you know what I mean?”

Sherlock moved on. “So Eliza comes back out, followed by Justice Califano, who runs off to the meeting?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t right away. She was in there maybe three, four minutes. I remember looking up at the clock, knowing how Chief Justice Abrams hated a meeting to start late.”

“What time did Danny go into Justice Califano’s office?”

Fleurette looked perfectly blank. “I don’t remember that. No, wait, yes, I remember I had to go to the bathroom, but Danny still wasn’t at his desk when I got back. Eliza waved toward the door when I asked where Danny was.

“I raised my eyebrows, but she just shrugged, then the phone began ringing. The secretaries always forward the calls to Eliza if the caller doesn’t ask specifically for either Danny or me. Then both of us were tied up for a good half hour.”

“So you don’t know how long Danny was in the office?”

“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Oh God, poor Danny. Why would he do what you’re suggesting? Why? It doesn’t make any sense. He wasn’t stupid. He wanted a recommendation from Justice Califano that would make the New York law firms sit up and beg for him. It didn’t matter that both of us were second fiddle to Eliza. She’s really brilliant, and even better, when Danny and I came last July, she knew the ropes since she’d already been there a year.”

Fleurette looked toward the open drapes that gave onto the street in front of the brownstone. “Now it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“No,” Sherlock said. “No, it doesn’t matter now. Did Danny give you any hint at all of what he’d spoken to Justice Califano about?”

Fleurette slowly shook her head. “No, but now that I picture his face in my mind, he looked—smug, yeah, that’s it, Danny looked kind of smug. I hadn’t seen that expression on his face before, so it struck me. I remember wondering, now what’s going on here?”

“But he looked smug—like he’d found out something and rubbed Justice Califano’s nose in it?”

“I didn’t think that then, but it could have been something like that, I suppose. Oh goodness, it was only two days ago—and now Danny’s dead.”

“Do you remember seeing any papers on Justice Califano’s desk, see him put any papers in his breast pocket, hear him on the phone?”

Fleurette slowly shook her head. “Wait—when he came out to run off to Chief Justice Abrams’s meeting, he was sticking something in his breast pocket, and then patted the pocket. But he was always doing that.”

“Any ideas about what the papers were?”

“No, not a clue.”

“Did you ever hear of Justice Califano being involved with anyone at the Court?”

Fleurette rocked back with surprise. “Oh my, no, Agent Sherlock. He’s old, and all sorts of proper and married, for God’s sake.” She paused a moment. “On the other hand, Justice Wallace has a reputation, if you know what I mean. He’s a grandfather as well as a Justice of the Supreme Court. Isn’t that disgusting?”

Sherlock patted her hand.

That was interesting, Savich thought. He looked over at Ben who’d taken Callie’s hand to keep her still. Eliza Vickers and Justice Califano were indeed good actors if the law clerks hadn’t known. But Justice Xavier-Foxx had noticed.

Sherlock rose, and everyone rose with her. She gave Fleurette her card and told her exactly what Savich had told Eliza Vickers. “Anything, doesn’t matter if you think it’s silly, you call me. We’ll catch this guy, Fleurette, you can take that to the bank.”

They drove six blocks over to Indiana, only a block from the Daly Building, to the Beau Monde Coffee Shop. Savich took his chances and ordered tea, the other three, coffee.

“So, Callie, tell me what you think of Fleurette,” Sherlock said.

“She’s really scared.”

Ben slowly nodded. “You’re right. I realize that now, but I didn’t pick up on it when we were with her.”

Savich said, “Do you think she was holding back?”

“She sure didn’t seem like she was,” Callie said. “I have to tell you, though, I’m surprised that she hadn’t picked up on the affair Eliza was having with my stepfather. Such close quarters, in each other’s faces every day. And yet Justice Xavier-Foxx, who’s not around them that much, picked up on what Eliza felt for him.”

“Yes, I was surprised, too,” Ben said.

Callie sat back in the booth, fiddled with her fork. “I still can’t come to grips with it. He wanted to marry my mom so much. I don’t understand how that can be. My poor mother. Do you think she knew? Maybe guessed?”

“I hope not,” Savich said. “Fleurette was scared,” Savich continued as he selected a bag of Earl Grey tea from a box the waitress held out to him. “I wonder if she has something specific to be scared about.”