Heather Graham (27 page)

“It’s all we’ve got to go on.”

“Mark, I wish it wasn’t so, but we do get our fair share of murders here in the Big Easy.”

“I know that.”

“What does Jimmy say?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t had a chance to talk with him yet today. He was taking Jane Doe’s picture around to a few places himself.”

Harris hesitated, drumming his fingers on the table. “You’re a good detective, Mark.”

“Thanks. I hope so. I’ve worked hard at it.”

“You know how to study and weigh evidence. You know how to make sure that it’s all collected properly—we’ve never had a case thrown out of court because you failed to follow the proper procedure.”

“What good is catching them if you can’t convict them?” Mark asked.

“Good point, but your procedure isn’t what makes you a good detective.”

“No? What is?”

“Those gut reactions of yours. They aren’t whims—they come from years on the streets, from knowing people. From seeing through them. I’m leaving this one up to you.”

Mark exhaled. Life was damned strange. He could bring in Jon Marcel far easier than he could many a perp he had managed to hold—and then have charged.

Not long ago, he would have sworn on his own life that there was no way in hell Jon Marcel could be innocent. He still wasn’t convinced of it.

But he was convinced that the only way the truth was going to come out regarding Gina’s death was to let Marcel out—and make sure that everyone else who had been involved with her had to do a little sweating as well.

“The call is yours,” Charlie Harris repeated firmly. “You know, I could retire if you’d just take my job.”

Mark smiled. “I’m not ready to leave the streets yet. I like to think that I can still make some differences out here. But then again...”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know. I’ve also become...”

“Become what?”

“Well, fonder of living lately. Don’t go planning any exotic excursions down the Nile or anything yet.”

“Make up your mind before I get too much older, huh?”

Mark grinned and nodded. “I’ll try to do that.” He quickly grew serious. “Once Marcel is out on the streets, I want him followed.”

“You’ve got yourself and Jimmy.”

“I need more than that. I’m telling you, someone was trying to break into the ex-wife’s home—”

“But you were there.”

Mark sat back, hesitating. Charlie Harris was regarding him bluntly.

“I can’t be everywhere.”

Harris arched a brow. “I’m not going to ask you what you’re doing, Mark. You’re a grown, intelligent man. Just don’t let your lines get crossed. Murders have taken place. No one is innocent until the truth is known.”

“I know that.”

“Don’t start thinking with your dick.”

“You know me better than that.”

Harris studied him steadily for several seconds. “I’ll give you Latham and Hinkey, late shift. I can’t spare you any more than that. Like I said—we’ve got our share of crime here.”

“Latham and Hinkey. That’ll do, then. Thanks.”

There were no phones in the intensive care units, but there was a plug-in kept at the nurse’s stand that could be brought around. At around six, a pretty, little dark-haired nurse brought the phone into Jon’s room, telling Ann she had a call.

It was Mark.

“How’s he doing?”

“Good. He’s slept most of the day.”

“I’ll come get you for dinner.”

Ann hesitated, staring at the phone, biting into her lower lip. Just the damned sound of his voice made her want to forget anything evil she might have heard about him. A rush of fire swept instantly into her limbs.

Breathing became immediately more difficult.

“I should stay here—”

“There’s a cop on the door to watch him.”

“Umm. Cops are everywhere.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Your partner was in here this afternoon.”

“Jimmy?”

“You’ve got another partner?”

“No. I just hadn’t known that he’d been by.”

“I don’t think I should leave.”

“Ann, Jimmy wasn’t at the hospital to do any harm to your wonderful ex.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Mark sighed. “We’re the cops. The good guys.”

“There have been dirty cops.”

“That doesn’t make criminals out of entire police forces.”

“It doesn’t help that some cops are liars.”

“I never lied to you.”

“You never mentioned to me that you’d slept with her.”

She heard his sigh of impatience at the other end.

“Nor did it occur to you to tell me that you are
related
to Jacques Moret. And Mama Lili Mae.”

“Since I didn’t know you were planning on making the acquaintance of Mama Lili Mae, it wouldn’t have occurred to me to tell you that she was my distant relative!”

Was he telling the truth?

“There’s Jacques—”

“Jacques is a slime bucket. Did anyone ever tell you that you can’t pick your distant kin?”

The bit about Jacques really didn’t bother her so much—it was the sleeping with Gina, she had to admit. Good God, was she jealous of a poor dead woman?
Jon had been in love with Gina; she had been beautiful. Mark had been involved with her as well...

“I’m coming to get you,” he said.

“Don’t—” Ann began.

Too late; he had already hung up. She stared at the receiver. Fine. Dinner. But she was still going to
think
about what their relationship was going to be.

Think about it long and hard. Discuss it, make him understand her feelings and position in all this!

Ann started to hang up, preparing to pull the plug out of the phone and return it to the nurse’s station. She hesitated, and dialed the club, asking if she could speak with Cindy.

Cindy wasn’t in. But when the girl who answered the phone would have hung up, someone else took hold of the receiver.

“Ann? Is it you? How’s Jon? I hear he’s out of his coma and doing well.”

“Jon is doing remarkably well.”

“I’m so glad. Everyone will be.”

“I hope. Well...I was just calling...to see if everything was all right there.”

“Fine. All is status quo at the club, but did you hear? Gregory is awake and aware.”

“No! I’m so glad. I’ll have to sneak in quickly and see him while I’m here.”

“Things are starting to look a little bit better, don’t you think? Except, of course, I guess they might arrest Jon any time now.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“For your benefit, and Jon’s, I hope they don’t. But it makes things scarier, doesn’t it?”

“How so?”

“If Jon is on the loose, he might well be in danger himself. Just like the rest of us.”

“Maybe.”

April hesitated. “I don’t know if I should tell you or not, but...”

“Oh, God, great, April! Don’t do that! Either tell me something, or don’t, but don’t tease like that!”

“I can’t talk on the phone anyway. Get by here tomorrow, and I’ll talk to you then.”

The phone went dead. Ann stared at it and swore. She glanced over at Jon.

Still peacefully sleeping.

She stepped out of his room. The officer on the door was new. She smiled at the man. “I’m going to go and see another friend who’s in the hospital. LaCrosse is on his way here, so just tell him that.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. She took a few seconds to return the phone and tell the nurses she was leaving, and ask for Gregory’s room number. They gave it to her, and she hurried down the corridor.

Cindy was sitting at the foot of Gregory’s bed. She offered Ann a huge smile, leapt up, and gave her a hug. Ann accepted the hug, looking past her to Gregory.

“You’re starting to look pretty good!” she told him, escaping Cindy to walk to his side.

“For a mummy,” Gregory said with a wince.

Ann kissed his cheek. “It’s just wonderful to see you alive,” she told him. “That storm was so awful!”

He nodded, watching her gravely. “Yeah, the storm was bad.” He shook his head. “Something about life is just bad right now. I was just telling Cindy and I’m telling you the same—watch it!”

“I promise.”

“Jon doesn’t know anything at all?” Cindy asked anxiously. “I wanted to see him, too, but they wouldn’t let me come in. Not to the I.C.U.”

“Jon didn’t see anything,” Ann said.

Gregory shook his head in frustration, then winced. “Ladies, I am telling you both, please be very, very careful!”

“We will be,” Cindy promised.

“Everyone keeps warning me away from the club,” Ann murmured.

“I can’t afford to stay away from the club,” Cindy said. “But nothing can actually happen in the club—it’s coming to and leaving the club that can apparently be dangerous.”

“You’ve a point there,” Ann said. She hesitated, not wanting to worry Gregory more. She drew her hand down his cheek. “I’m so grateful that you’re okay! I’m not going to stay in here; you, like Jon, need your rest.” She kissed his cheek carefully, to avoid his bandaged head. “Cindy?”

“Oh—sure. You need your rest. I need to go to work.”

Cindy rose and followed Ann out of the room. “Cindy, April was about to tell me something on the phone; then she told me to come to the club. Do you know anything about what she wants to tell me?”

“Not off hand. I’m really sorry.”

“Well, I guess you’re right about the club. There are usually at least a dozen people in it—it can’t be dangerous to be there; it’s the coming and going that’s dangerous. Tell April that...”

“Yeah?”

“Tell her that I will see her tomorrow.”

Cindy nodded. She cleared her throat in warning then, her eyes indicating that Ann should be careful of the person now coming up behind her.

She spun around to see Mark.

Cindy smiled at him. “Hey, there. Isn’t it wonderful? Gregory is doing great...and Jon Marcel is out of his coma!”

“It’s looking good,” Mark answered pleasantly. “You were visiting with Gregory?”

Cindy nodded. “Ann thinks he needs more rest now.”

“He probably does.”

“And I need to get to work.”

“Let me take a quick peek in on Gregory myself now, and I’ll give you a ride.”

“Great,” Cindy said, relieved.

Mark stepped past them and into Gregory’s room. “I know he’s the one who has a fit about you being at the club!” Cindy whispered. “Are you sure you should—”

“Cindy, I’m not under arrest or anything myself. He can’t really tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“Right. I guess. I—”

She broke off. Mark was already out of the room. “Shall we go, ladies?”

He headed out of the hospital. They walked along the antiseptic corridors behind him.

At his car, he opened the doors for them. Ann crawled into the front seat; Cindy into the back. They drove to the club, exchanging views on how Gregory looked, and how Jon was doing. At the club, Mark parked his car right in front of the door.

“Cindy, go on in. I won’t leave until you open the door and wave at us, huh?”

“Yeah, thanks, Mark.”

“Sure thing. Get in there.”

Cindy walked to the door, opened it, looked in, looked back and waved with a jaunty smile. She disappeared into the club.

Mark instantly turned to Ann, wagging a finger at her. “You stay out of there.”

She pushed the finger away.

“You quit acting like the Gestapo.”

“What, are you walking around with a death wish?”

“I didn’t say that I was coming here.”

“You didn’t say that you weren’t.”

“I said that you had no right to tell me what I could or couldn’t do.”

“I’m trying to keep you from being stabbed or strangled or—”

“Or what?”

He let out a furious oath, driving into traffic. Ann had no idea where they were going until they pulled into what looked like an old carriage house. He slammed out of the car, came around and jerked open the passenger’s seat. While she got out, he opened his trunk and took out some bags. A tantalizing aroma made its way to Ann. She was famished, she realized.

“What is it?” she asked him.

“Cajun-Chinese.”

She started to laugh.

“I swear.”

It was Cajun-Chinese, and in a matter of minutes, they had walked from the old carriage-house-turned-garage through a walled and wrought-ironed garden, past a fountain and to a broad porch. They entered a handsomely appointed old house, probably one that was nearly two hundred years old. The living room was lined with bookshelves. Handsome leather sofas faced a fireplace and entertainment center.

It was both a beautiful place, and a comfortable one. As Ann strolled through the living room or parlor to the dining room, she heard Mark in the kitchen. When she joined him there—a large space with an island work area, copper pots hanging from rafters, and a breakfast nook—Mark was pouring iced tea from a pitcher into glasses and setting plates on the table in the breakfast nook.

“This is your home, I take it.”

“It is. Sit down.”

“Is that an order?”

“It’s an invitation.”

She sat. He opened cartons. There was chicken in a hot sauce, rice, red beans, lo mein, orange beef, mung beans, and broccoli. A feast—of different flavors. The name of the restaurant from which the food came was on the bag—
Wong Sartes Cajun-Chinese
.

“Wong is a friend,” Mark said. “He’s a great cook—you’ll see for yourself. His dad is bayou country Cajun; his mom is Chinese.”

Ann found she had to smile. “Do you know every restaurateur in New Orleans?”

“I know a lot of them.”

He seemed to be starving himself. He piled his plate high and ate, watching her as she more carefully tested each dish, then began to eat with a greater fervor herself.

She was here, she decided. She might as well make the best of it. Wong Sartes’ intriguing cuisine was definitely better than hospital fare.

“So what are your plans?” he asked her.

“For what?”

“For the evening.”

“You mean—I’m allowed to leave? I thought I might be a hostage here—since we did come to your home, and you are prone to tell me where I can and can’t go.”

“If I told you that you had to stay here, would you do it?”

“I—I really don’t think that this is the right time for me to be getting involved in a relationship with you.”