Murder in the Rue Ursulines (19 page)

I raised my hands to protect my face and head.

I thought,
my God, they’re going to kill me. Somebody please stop them.

And finally, mercifully, my mind went into overload and I blacked out.

I don’t know how long I was unconscious.

I came back to reality cold, wet, and aching. My ears were ringing.

Even my hair hurt.

I rolled over onto my back and winced. I moved my arms and legs. They hurt, but they still moved. I used my hands to push myself into a seated position. I felt dizzy for a moment, but willed myself to get to my knees and stand up. My head spun again when I got to my feet, and I staggered over to a chain link fence in time to keep from falling down again. I leaned against it while I ran my hands carefully over my ribs. They ached, but I was able to breathe without a lot of pain. The knuckles of my left hand were swollen, and I winced again as I pulled up my shirt to wipe the mud out of my eyes.

Whoever had attacked me was long gone.

I staggered around to the sidewalk. My head was throbbing, and I felt along the back of my head until I found a nice-sized lump where my skull had connected with the sidewalk. I ran my tongue along the inside of my teeth—they were all still there. I licked my lips, tasting dirt and blood. They were swollen and cut, but overall, I seemed to be relatively okay.

I gritted my teeth and staggered along the sidewalk until I got to Paige’s gate. I slid the key into the gate and slammed it shut behind me. Despite the throbbing pain coming from various points of my body, as I walked, my mind became clearer and the staggering seemed to be under control. My legs were sore and aching. I climbed the short staircase to her door and went in.

Paige looked up from her computer and gave a slight scream. She sprang to her feet, knocking her chair over. “Oh my God! Are you all right?”

“I didn’t get the food,” I said. The ringing was getting quieter. Now it was more like a dull buzzing sound.

 Paige’s face was pale, her eyes wide. “What happened?”

“I got jumped.” I walked through her kitchen to the laundry room and turned on the hot water spigot in the sink. I looked at myself in the mirror and could understand why she screamed. I looked like something that had been dredged up from a swamp.  I had a black eye and an ugly swollen bruise across my right cheek. My lips were cut and swollen.  I reached for a washcloth, splashed hot water on my face, and started patting the mud and dried blood off my skin.

“You need to go to the hospital,” Paige said from the doorway. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m fine,” I growled back at her and looked again in the mirror. “Does Ryan have any clothes here that would fit me?” I stood back to my full height.

“You need to get checked out.”

“I’m not going to any fucking hospital,” I snapped. “Clothes! Now!”

Without a word she walked away. I heard her going up the stairs to the second floor. I pulled my shirt up over my head. “Ow, ow, ow.” The shirt was ruined, so I tossed it in the garbage pail. I started soaping up my arms and got a good look at my chest in the mirror. There were ugly bruises all over my chest and abdomen. I washed the mud off my arms. I undid my pants and eased them down. My legs were bruised as well.

“Here.” Paige placed a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt on the washing machine behind me. “Chanse, are you sure about going to the emergency room? You look horrible, really.”

“I’m just bruised up is all.” I knelt down with a moan and put my head under the rushing hot water. I massaged soap into my hair, carefully rubbing around the lump. I rinsed the soap out and wrapped a towel around my head. I took off my filthy muddy underwear and pulled the sweatpants on. She handed me two Tylenols after I gingerly pulled the sweatshirt over my head. I felt somewhat better. And with the mud and blood washed away, I just looked like I’d been in a fight. A bad one, granted, that I hadn’t won, but at least I wouldn’t scare small children any more. I walked into her living room and popped the Tylenol. I sat down on the couch.

“Maybe we should call Venus and Blaine—“

“I didn’t see who it was, Paige.” I eased back against the back cushions. “I heard someone running up behind me, and when I turned around I took a nasty punch to the face. I got knocked down, and the son of a bitch kept kicking me until I passed out.”

Now that the shock had passed, I was starting to get mad.

“This wasn’t a mugging,,” I went on. “This was a warning. From Frillian.”

“You don’t know that—“

“Jay Robinette did this.” I shushed her. “I’m not that easy to take down. Whoever hit me was strong enough to knock me off my feet—and he was at least as tall as I am, if not taller.” I pointed to the bruise on my right cheek. “Look at this! No one shorter than me could have hit me so hard here. Or bruised me like this.” I placed my own fist up against the bruise. “See the angle? It was a straight-on punch, not from below.” I was getting angrier.  “It was Jay Robinette, all right.” I clenched my teeth. “I may not be able to prove it, but Frillian sent me a message tonight. Obviously, they don’t want me to find out what Freddy did.”

“Movie stars don’t—“

I interrupted her, pointing at my face. “Whatever Freddy did in his past, it was bad. Bad enough that they don’t want anyone to ever find out about it. Well, this time, they fucked with the wrong private eye.” I gave her a grim smile. “I’m bringing those Hollywood assholes down.”

“Chanse—“  But then, she closed her mouth and suppressed a giggle. “You sound kind of Hollywood yourself, John Wayne.” After a moment, she went on, “Okay, count me in. But promise me you’re going to be more careful.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to go through this again.” I smiled at her. I stood up, wincing. “All right, I’m going to walk home.”

“Walk? Are you insane?” She walked into the kitchen and grabbed her purse. “After what just happened? I’ll drive you.”

“No, I want to walk.” I grimaced. “It’ll be okay, Paige. Robinette isn’t out there anymore. His job is done. If he’d wanted to kill me, he could have. That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“If you aren’t going to the hospital to get checked, you should stay here,” she insisted. “What if something’s wrong—like you have a concussion and you don’t know it?”

I gave a half-laugh. “Paige, I’m fine. Really. Besides—“ I waved at her couch. It wasn’t a full-sized couch—more of a longer love-seat, really. There was no way I could stretch out on it.” As sore and battered as I am, sleeping on your couch isn’t going to help. I need my own bed tonight.”

She surrendered and put her purse down on the coffee table. “Okay, fine, you stubborn asshole.”

She walked me out to the gate, her lips pursed in disapproval as I hobbled along. The more I walked, though, the easier it got.  But she kept her mouth shut until she’d shut the gate behind me. “Call me and let me know you’re home safe, okay?”

“I will.”

The street was deserted, and there was no traffic on Prytania Street as I crossed it. I wasn’t sure if the media circus had been disbanded, but I didn’t care, either. Frillian wanted war, did they? Well, I’d be more than happy to fire some shots back.

When I reached Coliseum Square, I looked across to my house. The vans were gone. The sidewalk was clear. But a car I didn’t recognize was parked in front of my house—it didn’t belong to any of my neighbors. My heart started beating a little faster—
you idiot, Paige was right, what if whoever beat you is waiting to finish the job?—
but I took some deep breaths and started walking across the park.

As I drew closer to Camp Street, I could see two people sitting in the car. A cigarette lighter flared, and with no small relief I realized that the passenger was a woman.

I crossed the street and headed for the gate. I had just started to open it when I heard car doors shut.

Get inside the house!
My mind screamed at me.

“Chanse MacLeod?” a woman’s voice said from behind me.

I turned, and a bright light blinded me. When my eyes adjusted, I realized it was the light from a video camera.

The woman approached me. The man with her was holding the camera and was aiming it at me. She smiled. She was in her late forties, with graying dark hair. She was holding a digital recorder in her hand. “I’m Debra Norris, with
The Veronica Vance Show.
I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the Glynis Parrish murder?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t comment on the case,,” I replied.

“What happened to your face?”

I shrugged. “This is what happens when you tell the truth about movie stars.” I turned my back and walked up my steps. I laughed grimly to myself.
Chew on THAT when it airs, Frillian!
 Once I was inside my apartment, I called Paige to let her know I’d gotten home okay. She sounded relieved, and I promised to call her again when I got up. I walked over to my desk. I got out my cell phone and dialed Jephtha.

“Hello?”

I took a deep breath. “Jephtha, I need you to do something for me.” I closed my eyes. I bit my lower lip. I’d never specifically asked him to do anything illegal before—and it didn’t sit well with me. He’d probably done some illegal things over the years, but we operated on a
don’t ask, don’t tell
policy. This was the first time I’d asked him to break the law and risk his freedom.

But it was the only way I could think of to get the information.

“Sure.”

“How hard would it be for you to break into a university’s database?”

He didn’t answer at first. I was about to tell him to forget it when he replied, “Not hard, really. It depends on their security system. Their main concern is student hackers trying to change grades.” I heard him inhale. “Sure, it’s not exactly legal to break in. But I think I can do it without leaving a record.”

“I just want you to retrieve records on a student from about twelve years ago.” I swallowed. “But I don’t want you to do anything risky.”

He laughed. “Well, it shouldn’t be difficult at all. No one ever wants to access old records—they usually don’t protect that stuff much. It just depends on if they converted the old paper files to digital, or when they started keeping records on the computer. But twelve years ago—I’d imagine most colleges had started using computers by then.”

I grabbed the case file I’d started. I gave him the name of the university and the dates attended. “The student’s name was Frederick Bliss.”

“Freddy Bliss?” He whistled. “Okay, boss, I’ll get right on it.”

“Thanks, Jephtha—but be careful, okay?” I hung up the phone.

  I sat down at my computer and checked my e-mail.

The in-box was full; all of the messages from addresses I didn’t recognize. Some of the subject lines were insulting, to put it mildly. I marked them all as spam, and went to bed. I set the alarm for eight. That would give me plenty of time to shower and wake up before meeting Brett. My body still ached a bit, but the Tylenol was working.  I closed  my eyes. I was exhausted.

I didn’t dream, and slept like a stone.

I woke up in the morning feeling sore and tired. I took a long hot bath while the coffee brewed, letting the hot water work its magic on my muscles and joints. I got out of the tub feeling much better. I was still stiff in places, but for the most part, I was functional. I took some more Tylenol.  I still looked awful, but that couldn’t be helped. The lump on the back of my head seemed to have gone down a bit as well. With a full cup of coffee, I sat down at my computer and logged on.

The first headline on the welcome page screamed at me:
Witness In Parrish Murder Beaten.
 There was also a photo of my battered face. I clicked on the link, and it brought up one of those video links. I clicked on the play button—and there I was, on the sidewalk in front of my house. I closed my eyes as I heard myself saying,
This is what happens when you tell the truth about movie stars.

I glanced at the Web site header line. It was a gossip site. My heart sinking, I started reading the accompanying article.

“Chanse MacLeod, a New Orleans private investigator who claims to have seen Freddy Bliss leaving Glynis Parrish’s home the night she was murdered, apparently was attacked and beaten—and from his comments to a reporter from ‘The Veronica Vance Show’, caught on tape, seems to think Frillian was behind it!

MacLeod, an openly gay man, has been involved in several homicides over the years in New Orleans.  Sources tell us here at tarnishedtinsel.com that he has actually killed twice—his first victim a gay prostitute named Glenn Austin. He also was involved with soft-core gay wrestling video star Cody Dallas, whose real name was Paul Maxwell. Several years ago, Maxwell was kidnapped and murdered by a deranged fan.”

I swallowed. There was a picture of Paul wearing a skimpy bright yellow bikini, with a come-hither look on his face. The caption read,
Murdered soft-core porn star Cody Dallas.

Christ,
I thought. I knew I should stop reading, close the page, and forget about it. But somehow I couldn’t. I had to pick at the scab.

“MacLeod, who was a New Orleans police officer and still has strong ties to the department, is himself a suspect in the murder of television star Glynis Parrish—but one the New Orleans police don’t seem to be taking very seriously. Their investigation seems to be targeting on super-sexy star Freddy Bliss—primarily based on what MacLeod claims to have seen the night of the murder! But the gay private dick  was in Glynis Parrish’s  home the day she was murdered, and sources tell us that his fingerprints were found on the murder weapon—the Emmy Glynis won for her long-running television series,
‘Sportsdesk’.
  Another source tells us that MacLeod was actually on Frillian’s payroll, and was fired the day after the murder. MacLeod was questioned by the New Orleans police department, but let go after an interrogation that didn’t last longer than an hour. It doesn’t hurt to have connections, apparently—looks like corruption is alive and well in the Big Easy!