Murder in the Rue Ursulines (10 page)

I couldn’t believe her self-absorption. I wasn’t a reporter, but it seemed to me like the real story was Glynis’s murder—not Frillian.“With all due respect, Jillian, I’m not sure how I feel about being used as a public relations ploy.” I was tempted to remind her of how O. J., after his farce of a trial, had claimed he was going to devote the rest of his life to finding the real killers of his ex-wife and Ronald Goldman. The comparisons were going to be made, in my opinion, and no one would take my hiring seriously. “If you really want me to find Glynis’s killer, I’ll do what I can—but like I said, the police have all kinds of access…”

“It’s not a publicity ploy.” Her voice was firm. I recognized the tone—she’d used it when she’d played Mary Queen of Scots. “With no offense intended, I’m not sure I trust the police. In these kinds of cases, they always seem to botch things up. And I certainly don’t trust the New Orleans district attorney’s office. This is going to be very high-profile, Chanse—it would be even if we weren’t involved.” She wiped at her face. “Glynis was a celebrity too—and she was a pretty nice person, to boot. I liked her. She and Freddy were still close. I want her killer found, Chanse. This case has to be solved. Glynis deserves that.”

I could understand her concern. As long as Glynis Parrish’s killer was free, her murder would haunt Freddy and Jillian—and their careers. No one would ever forget it. It would be headlines for months, maybe years. Then there would be books, documentaries, maybe even movies. Everyone would have an opinion, and Jillian was right. The blogosphere would go crazy debating who killed Glynis. Glynis’s entire life and career would be put under a microscope. Personal information she would have never shared willingly with the public would undoubtedly leak out of the police department and the district attorney’s office—things that could prove embarrassing to  Frillian. E-mails, phone records.

Everyone who had anything to say or write about the situation would make a nice sum of cash selling information and stories to the tabloids. The stigma would follow them around for the rest of their lives—the question was, would their careers hold up under the dark cloud?

The thought of the feeding frenzy that was about to explode made my blood run cold.

And the murder of a movie star was a public relations nightmare for the rebuilding of New Orleans.

The city’s rising crime rate had made national news. One broadcaster had even called living here “like being in the Old West.” What nobody ever mentioned was that crime had been a huge problem
before
the flood. When the filthy water receded and the rebuilding began, we’d all kind of hoped that with the help of our federal government, the problems that existed before would be solved. Instead, the government had washed its hands of New Orleans, and the body count started to rise again. The question was, would the media fixate on Frillian, or the crime rate of New Orleans? Or would it be both?

And how would this affect the rebuilding of the city’s film industry?

Film had become a big business in New Orleans over the last ten years. A concerted campaign had been launched by the city and the state to lure filmmakers and television producers to the city; it was called “Hollywood South.” The city, recognizing that it simply couldn’t depend so heavily on tourism, had bent over backwards to make the Hollywood types welcome here. After all, the movie industry was recession proof; tourism wasn’t. When the flood had effectively destroyed the tourist industry, with the media doing its part to discourage tourists from returning, the city’s economy remained in ruins. So getting the film industry back was vital to the recovery effort—and the unsolved murder of a movie star was sure to cripple those prospects. It would be a disaster that could finish off Hollywood South once and for all.

I felt sick to my stomach, and wondered if my friends Venus Casanova and Blaine Tujague would be assigned to the case. They had one of the best records in the department for closing cases. But the political pressure would be intense. Obviously, the mayor and the City Council would be pressuring the police department to wrap it up quickly.

“All right,” I said slowly, trying to ignore the warning bells going off in my head.
Stay calm and focused, Don’t get stressed out. You need to do this for the city.
“You said earlier that neither one of you could have done it. Why is that?”

Jillian glanced at Freddy. “We were together all day.”

I stared at Freddy. That feeling in the pit of my stomach got worse. I closed my eyes for a moment and pictured myself walking down Ursulines again. The door slamming, the guy in the sweatshirt and jeans. “That’s not possible,” I said, keeping my voice level and expressionless.  “Freddy, I saw you by yourself earlier this evening.”

Freddy seemed to snap out of his shock. “What? What are you talking about? That’s just not possible.”

“What are you saying?” Jillian’s tone dripped ice.

“I was meeting a friend for dinner at Port of Call. I parked on Burgundy, and was walking up Ursulines around five-forty or thereabouts when I saw you coming out of Glynis’s house.” I folded my arms. “You were wearing a pair of jeans and an LSU sweatshirt.”

Freddy and Jillian looked at each other, their faces pale.

Freddy said, “How would you know where Glynis’s house is?”

“I interviewed her there earlier today.”

“You’re absolutely certain?”  Loren said grimly. “You’re sure?”

I thought back, and nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure.” The room was silent.

“So you’re saying you saw Freddy coming out of Glynis’s house during the time she might have been murdered?”

A headache was starting to form behind my right eye.

“That’s not possible.” Freddy shook his head. “I was here all afternoon. Jillian and I spent the afternoon with the children, and, around five, we came over here to the carriage house, to review scripts. We’ve been here ever since.”

“When did you get here, Loren?”

“After they called me—around seven, wasn’t it?” He looked over at them.

Her face tight, Jillian nodded.

“Are you sure, Chanse?” Loren asked again. “Are you absolutely certain it was Freddy you saw? Think, Chanse. Are you positive it was Freddy you saw?”

I opened my mouth, and shut it again. My burger was churning in my stomach, and I felt like I was going to throw up any minute.
Also, I was beginning to doubt myself.
Loren was a damned good attorney, and that’s the role he was playing—he was cross-examining me. I closed my eyes and thought back. “Yes, I’m certain.” But now I wasn’t quite as certain as I had been.

“How far away were you?” Loren asked.

It was like being on a witness stand—which is something I’ve never enjoyed. A good lawyer can make you doubt yourself, twist your words to make it seem as if you were saying something other than what you meant. I swallowed and estimated the distance. “About twenty yards, maybe. I was under a street light, and when he walked under the streetlight just down from the house, I saw his face clearly. It wasn’t foggy yet, and yes, it was dark already, but I got a pretty damned good look at his face. And my eyes are good—I just had an examination a few weeks ago. They’re twenty-twenty.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just someone who looked like Freddy?”.

“How many people look like a movie star?” I replied, raising my eyebrows. “Like Freddy Bliss?”

Freddy shook his head. “I’m telling you, it wasn’t me. It couldn’t have been.” His voice was shaky.

I stared at him. There was no point in arguing with him—he wasn’t going to change his story.

And he was an actor. He fooled people for a living.

Who would believe me over Freddy Bliss?
And
Jillian Long?

After all, I was just a gay private eye no one had ever heard of…

 Loren went on. “You may have seen
someone—
” he emphasized the word, “come out of the victim’s—Glynis’s--house right around the time she may have been murdered.”

And I was in her house a few hours earlier. I handled the murder weapon.

I was starting to feel really sick to my stomach. “I saw Freddy.” I insisted.

“You were mistaken.”  Jillian said, her voice rising. “You couldn’t have seen Freddy. He was here with me.” She crossed her arms.

“I know what I saw,” I replied.

“God
fucking
damn it!” Jillian exploded, lighting yet another cigarette. “I’m not going to argue with you.” She shook her head. “I know you’re wrong.”

I opened my mouth to make a sharp retort, but Loren cut me off.

“Jillian, if Chanse thinks he saw Freddy coming out of Glynis’s home, you’re not going to talk him out of it—and you shouldn’t even try. He’s a witness in a murder case.“ His tone was gently rebuking, implying that there could be legal ramifications. But  I  also noticed and bristled inwardly at the use of the word
thinks

“Fine, fine.” Jillian turned to Freddy, and stroked the side of his face. She turned back to look at me. “You know, the great irony of all this is that in death, Glynis is going to get what she always wanted—to be a huge star. She’ll be a much bigger star in death than she was when she was alive.” She sighed. “It’s so wrong.” She covered her face with her hands and began to cry.

I’d seen her do that in
Life in a Northern Town.
She got an Oscar nomination for that movie.

“Get him out of here.” She said between sobs. “I don’t ever want to see his face again.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It was quite a performance.

“Come on, Chanse, I’ll walk you out.” Loren opened the door.

Once we were outside the brick wall, standing on the sidewalk, Loren lit a cigarette of his own. “Christ, what a fucking mess this is turning into.” He exhaled, leaning back against the brick wall. “Well, I’m sure their million-dollar-a-year attorneys will soon be flying in and bumping me off this case. It can’t come soon enough.” He looked at me. “I recommend when you get home you unplug your landline.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“They’re releasing that statement in time for the ten o’clock news locally, and its going to break nationwide at the same time.” He shook his head. “When they talk to the police, they’re going to have to tell them about the e-mails and hiring you.” He made a face. “Leaks happen, Chanse. That’s going to get out—everyone in the world is going to be calling you once that story breaks. I don’t know if the news about Glynis has broken yet. Every reporter in the country is going to want ‘your story’ after that statement is released, and they’re going to be relentless, Chanse. And when they find out you’re a material witness?” He shook his head. “Do you have any idea what this is going to do to your life?”

I still felt like throwing up. “I can handle it.”

 “Then do me a favor. Just hide out and get a lawyer. You know the cops are going to want to talk to you.   For tonight, just hide the fuck out. For God’s sake, get yourself a good lawyer before you talk to them.”

“A lawyer? What the hell do I need a lawyer for?” I could feel my mind starting to slide down that dark path again, and I took some deep breaths.
Imagine you’re on a beach, with the waves gently rolling to shore, and the sun is baking your skin while you lie on a towel.

Loren stepped closer to me and lowered his voice. “Chanse, you’re walking on dangerous ground right now. This is going to be bigger than the fucking O. J. Simpson case, Robert Blake, and Phil Specter fucking combined! Hell, I don’t know if I can handle this shit myself. Jillian wasn’t kidding when she said there was going to be a media circus.  When she and Freddy got together, her ‘stealing’ him from Glynis was major news. Glynis was even on the cover of
Vanity Fair,
as the ‘wronged wife.’ Now, someone’s killed her. You may or may not have seen Freddy Bliss coming out of her house around the time she was killed. You also worked for Freddy and Jillian—and you know all about the e-mails. Hell, you were the one who found out where they came from. Yeah, you fucking need a lawyer. You needed a lawyer about an hour ago—and do not under any circumstances talk to the police without your lawyer. And I know Casanova and Tujague are your friends—but you can’t even trust them. Do you understand me?”

“I—“  I stared at him. I really hadn’t put that much thought into it. The concept that
I
would be a news story had never occurred to me. I’d killed two people, and both times it was maybe three paragraphs buried deep inside the pages of the newspaper. With a sinking feeling, I remembered Kato Kaelin.

Could my life bear that kind of scrutiny?

“People are going to offer you money for your story,” he went on. “That’s got Jillian and Freddy scared as hell. Sure, you signed a confidentiality agreement, and I hired you…the e-mail thing was bad enough, but you’re now a material witness in a major murder case.”

“I know what I saw.” I stuck my hands in my jacket pockets. “I saw Freddy, no matter what Jillian might say. They’re lying, Loren.”

“We shouldn’t even be having this conversation,” he replied. “I’m violating all kinds of ethics here. I’m talking to you now as a friend, not as a lawyer. Please listen to me, okay?” He ground his cigarette out with his shoe. “Depending on what evidence is in that house, those e-mails look bad for Freddy. A reputable eyewitness saw him leaving the scene of the crime around the time it may have happened. If Freddy wasn’t a major star, the police would haul him based on that alone.” He sighed. “I’m a good lawyer, but if  they arrest him, they’re going to have to bring in a real heavy hitter. That lawyer is going to have to discredit you and your testimony, Chanse. I don’t doubt you can handle yourself with the police…” His voice trailed off. “I’m really not trying to scare you, Chanse…but think about it. You got a big check from Freddy and Jillian today. You were in Glynis’s house earlier today. You were in the vicinity of the house around the time she was killed. What do you think a lawyer would make of that in court?” He folded his arms. “Maybe you confronted her and there was an altercation…you see where I’m going with this?”