Murder in the Rue Ursulines (26 page)

I felt sorry for him. His life was about to explode, but he wanted to be famous. He was about to get his chance. Maybe he could use the notoriety to improve his lot. The guy whose wife cut his dick off—Bobbitt? He’d made a couple of porn movies. Joey had the body for it. Maybe that would be his way out. Maybe he could make some money, get to make a fresh start somewhere.

I felt almost paternal towards him, and that was weird. He wasn’t all that much younger than me. I started walking to my car.

I never pass up a free meal.

I shook my head and started walking faster until I reached my car. I got in and sat there for a moment, waiting for my heart to stop beating so fast.

Maybe I should wait for him to get off work, take him back to my place, make him something to eat…

..and what? Turn him over to Venus? I’d call her after I talked to him, have her meet us wherever we decided on for lunch.

Yeah. It was best to just drive home and call it a night. Go to bed by myself, and call him in the morning. It wasn’t an act—there was no need for him to put on an act for me. He just thought I was some hot guy who was into him, who just happened to see him the night he’d made a hundred bucks for doing Rosemary a favor.

She was setting Freddy up.

The trick was going to be finding out
why
she was doing it.

I started the car, and pulled out onto Burgundy Street.

Paige was going to just fucking love this.

When I got home, I couldn’t get Joey Rutledge out of my head.

While sitting on my couch, listening to Amy Winehouse, I couldn’t help but think,
there but for the grace of football, go I.
Had I not found football and used that to escape from Cottonwood Wells, I could have just as easily wound up a lost boy in the Quarter, dancing at the Brass Rail and whoring myself out to older men for dollar bills. How different would my life be had football not paid my way through LSU? It was the kind of thing I generally preferred not to think about—how one small thing can change the rest of your life. Had one of my coaches not been roommates in college with an assistant coach at LSU, it stands to reason I would never have been offered a scholarship there. LSU wasn’t the only place that offered me one—SMU, Rice and Ole Miss had also come knocking on my door—but I wanted out of Texas, and the proximity to New Orleans had been the true deciding factor in making my decision to go to school in Baton Rouge.

I didn’t even want to think about what might have happened to me had football not provided me a way out of Cottonwood Wells. Would I have wound up stuck in that dreary little town, a gay man longing for the bright lights of the big city? Working in the oil fields with my father and hating every minute of every day of my life—or would I have managed to somehow escape? Joey had struck a chord in me. When I managed to go to bed finally, I wondered how much money he’d made tonight.

I never pass up a free meal.

He would be easy enough to find again.

I slept relatively well, which surprised me. I made coffee and while it brewed, checked through the blinds on the front door to see if the hyenas were back. I groaned. Apparently, there was no getting rid of them during the daylight hours. I turned the computer on and while it warmed up, got myself a cup of coffee. It was too early to call Joey. I called Paige instead, but got her voicemail. I asked her to call me with an update on Glynis’s housekeeper and massage therapist.

I signed into my e-mail account and sighed with irritation. The mailbox was full again. A lot of people have way too much free time, apparently, and choose to fill it by sending nasty e-mails to people they don’t know. I started cleaning it out, hoping that Mrs. Zorn hadn’t tried to send Karen’s picture and had it bounce back to her. I glanced over at my fax machine, but there was nothing there. I finished emptying the mailbox and leaned back in my chair.

I’d been pretty sure Freddy had killed Glynis. But now that I wasn’t sure he was the one I’d seen coming out of her house, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

I went to the
Times-Picayune’
s Website. When it loaded, a headline screamed at me:
Another murder in the French Quarter!

I clicked on the link.

“
Police responded to a report of gunfire in the 600 block of Esplanade Avenue at three in the morning. The responding officers found a gunshot victim in the neutral ground. He was identified as Joseph Rutledge, 23, originally of Lake Charles. Rutledge was pronounced dead at the scene. He had been shot twice in the chest. His discarded wallet was found next to the body.

“Rutledge was a dancer at the Brass Rail, a bar in the French Quarter that caters to a gay clientele. Police theorize he was on his way home from work when he was mugged. A backpack he was wearing when he left the Brass Rail that contained his tips for the evening—estimated by coworkers to be around several hundred dollars—was missing, as well as his cell phone.

“This is the thirty-fifth murder of the year—“

I stopped reading. I felt numb.

Joey was dead.

There was no fucking way this was a random mugging.

I cursed myself for a fool. By talking to him last night, I’d put him in danger. I hadn’t warned him, hadn’t done a goddamned thing except promise to buy him lunch.

Nice move, slick.

I was positive Rosemary had killed Glynis. But why?

I got up and started pacing around my living room.

She was the last person to see her alive. She found the body.

I’d been so distracted by Freddy and Jillian I’d forgotten a basic principle of murder investigations. Who had access?

Rosemary had access to Glynis’s house any time she wanted. She had access to Glynis’s computer. And she was the only person who knew about Joey Rutledge and his connection to the case.

But why? How did she know about Karen—

What if Rosemary Shannon WAS Karen Zorn?

I picked up the file with the emails, and opened it to the first one.

You can fool the public, Freddy, but I know what you are.

My hands trembling, I went to a directory assistance Website and typed in her name. Her address—down on Desire Street in the Bywater popped up. I went to an address search Website. I filled in her name and current address, and clicked GO. A list of addresses came up. I cursed myself yet again. They only went back ten years. Beyond that, there was no record of her.

Just like Karen Zorn disappeared off the radar ten years ago.

The first address listed for Rosemary was in Wichita, Kansas.

I kept searching. Nothing—there was nothing on any sites online.

She hadn’t existed before she got that apartment in Wichita.

I picked up my cell phone and dialed Venus. “Casanova.”

“Venus, this is Chanse.”

 “Make it quick, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now,” she replied.

“Venus, can you come by? Or can I meet you somewhere?” I gripped the phone tightly.

“To repeat what I just said, I’m kind of busy right now.” She sounded exhausted. “We had another murder in the Quarter last night. And Mayor Do-nothing is putting a lot of pressure on us about the Parrish case, as I’m sure you know.” She sighed. “The man is having hourly press conferences. He sure likes to see himself on television, doesn’t he?”

“That’s why I’m calling. It’s about Joey Rutledge—
and
Glynis Parrish.” I said. “The murders are connected.”

That got her attention. “What?”

 
I cleared my throat. “Venus, he was a key witness in the Glynis Parrish murder.”

There was a brief silence on the phone, and then she said in very quiet voice, “And why the hell I am just hearing about this now?”

“I’d rather not talk about this over the phone.”

“Are you home?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be right there. And this had better be good.”

I shut my phone and started pacing again.
There was nothing you could have done,
I told myself.  It may have had nothing to do with this case, it could have been a random act of violence—the violence that was ripping the city apart and making the streets run with blood.
But no matter how much I tried to convince myself, I knew. There was no doubt in my mind now that Rosemary had killed him, the same way she’d killed Glynis Parrish. When I talked to him, and he’d told me why he was there the night of the murder, I’d sentenced him to death.

I could feel the anxiety coming back. 

You are not the angel of death. It isn’t your fault, there was nothing you could have done.

And that snide, horribly vicious voice in the back of my mind:
You could have waited for him to get off work, and brought him back here, kept him safe until he could tell his story to Venus and Blaine.

I heard Joey say again,
I never pass up a free meal.

Pull it together, Chanse, Venus is on her way and you need to get your act together. You have work to do.

And somehow, I managed to pull myself together.

My therapist would be proud.

Venus and her partner, Blaine Tujague, arrived about half an hour later. I heard the commotion outside.  Reporters were shouting things like
Are you here to make an arrest?
As I watched through the blinds, Venus and Blaine ignored them completely—not even giving a ‘no comment.’ I opened the door as they reached the top of the stairs and shut the door behind them. “Sorry about that,” I said.

Venus looked tired. “I’m getting kind of used to it. Fucking vultures. I hate the press.”

“You and me both,” I commiserated, sitting down in my desk chair. “You two probably have it worse than I do.”

Blaine shrugged. “It’s a high-profile case.” Blaine and I had once been friends-with-benefits. We’d met originally when I’d be on the force, and over the years had become friends. He was a good looking guy with a thickly muscled body, curly black hair and blue eyes. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. He yawned. “Sorry—we got called out on this kid’s murder. I need to sleep for about a week.”

Venus flipped open her notepad. “Okay, you want to tell me how this stripper kid was involved with Glynis Parrish?” She gave me a look. “You sure you don’t want your lawyer present?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t need a lawyer.” I took a deep breath and started from the beginning. I handed over the file with the e-mails. Venus and Blaine both scribbled notes as I talked.  I explained how I’d seen Joey for the first time when I met Rosemary at Café Envie. I was explaining the Karen Zorn connection when Venus interrupted me.

“You accessed the database at this college?” One of her eyebrows went up, and she put her pad down. “I don’t think—“ she glanced over at Blaine, “—that we really need to know any more about that. And I don’t want to see anything you might have downloaded or copied from their database.” She smiled. “We’ll just call that an anonymous tip.”

I went on, explaining how I’d seen Freddy’s senior picture—complete with braces—and made the connection to Joey Rutledge. “I went to the Brass Rail last night and talked to him,” I ignored the knowing smirk on Blaine’s face, “and he told me all about how he knew Rosemary Shannon, and how he was there the night of the murder. And I planned on bring him in today to tell you all this himself.  My identification was all fucked up, so I knew we needed him to come forward.”

She sighed and closed her notebook. “Yeah, I’m sure you would have. This just sucks, you know? You’re absolutely positive he was the guy?”

“Every Wednesday afternoon, he picked up Glynis’s drycleaning and dropped it off at six. He ran errands for Rosemary sometimes. He thought it was her house.”  I cursed myself again. “I bought his innocent act, you know. I really thought he didn’t know what he was involved in.” I thought for a moment. “It’s still possible he didn’t know. But after I filled him in—he had Rosemary over a barrel. I’d be willing to bet he called Rosemary as soon as I left the bar.” I groaned. “Maybe tried to get money out of her, I don’t know. But his being there with her before she called anyone…her story was she came home and found Glynis right away was kind of blown.”

“You know as well as I do none of this will hold up in court, Chanse—it’s hearsay, and without the kid to back you up, no judge will allow it.”

“And a defense attorney would have a field day with you, buddy.” Blaine shook his head. “Your credibility is completely worthless, you know. Frillian paid you, first you were sure it was Freddy, now you’re convinced it was this kid. And all Rosemary has to do is deny all of this. It’s your word against hers. And you seeing the kid there—well, maybe he killed Glynis.”

“I know, I know.” I slammed my fist down on my knees. “I completely blew it. And now the kid’s dead because I didn’t think ahead. Why didn’t it even occur to me he’d call Rosemary?”

“You want to know what I think?” Venus glanced over at Blaine, who shrugged. “I think Rosemary’s our killer. Her story checks out, but barely, and it means nothing anyway. She could have just as easily killed Glynis, left the house and ran her errands, making sure everyone in every store and the waitress at Angeli remembered her—she made herself very conspicuous everywhere she went; making sure she talked to a clerk in every store about something strange—something they would be sure to remember later—and then went back to the house, met Joey there, let him in, she keeps him there and watches until someone comes along, and then gets him to leave and he’s seen…”