Neal Rafferty New Orleans Mystery #1: The Killing Circle (A Neal Rafferty New Orleans Mystery) (24 page)

“Look, Louie,” I said, “if you hadn't been so busy shooting at me, tearing up my place, and trying to scare me to death, we might have gotten this straightened out last night. Lucy and I don't know each other.”

“Bullshit,” he said. He looked at me with hatred. I think he knew Lucy wanted to dump him, and in his mind that meant there was another man. “I shoulda burned Curly's down when you were inside. It would have saved me a lot of trouble.”

Holy shit, I thought. Murphy is going to want to do a slow torture on this guy. “Louie, you saw me follow you out here tonight to find this place. Why would I do that if I knew Lucy? If Lucy was waiting here for me? And what about Al giving me the fish eye back in the bar? I'm on this island partially by luck and partially because I've been looking for Lucy since I found Garber's body Monday. It's taken me that long to put it all together. Think about it. Maybe she's telling you the truth about having to get out. The police are looking for her because they think she plugged Garber. Once they start asking a lot of questions, the whole blackmail scheme is going to come out. They're going to want to know what all those little gift bonuses were for. That wouldn't be good for Lucy or for you. Maybe she thought the best way would be to hole up until some of the heat let up. She couldn't very well tell you where she'd be if you were out of town. Think about it.”

A shaky left hand wiped the beads of sweat from his upper lip. “Yeah? The old lady told me she left Sunday and the paper said Garber was killed Monday.” He said it like that clarified the matter, but he looked confused. He stumbled backward to the sideboard and poured a drink. With the gun trained slightly above my head he gulped it down and took a handkerchief from a back pocket and wiped the back of his neck. The liquor had helped his shakes some so he poured another one and gulped it and then stood leaning like an old sock the dog had been chewing on. His brain was having a hard time assimilating.

“Maybe it wasn't me you were talkin’ to Al about. If you don't know him,” he waved the gun at me, “and it wasn't me you were hiding from . . .” He began to pace in front of the sofa, his eyes darting from me to Lucy in the chair at the side.

“Move over there,” he commanded Lucy, waving the gun at the sofa. She got up and sat close to the arm. Now it was easier for him to watch both of us. Something was forming in his mass of gray and he didn't want his concentration spoiled by having to watch two places at once. He went back and leaned on the sideboard, but wired now, not limp.

“I get it, you bitch,” he said. “Let's hear how it happened.”

“What, Louie?” she asked, her hands fidgeting nervously with the long tie belt drawing in the waist of the black dress she was wearing.

“How you killed him,” he hissed through his teeth.

Her mouth dropped open and then she managed a laugh. “Me? Me kill Stan? Why?”

“I thought you said he wouldn't cough up,” he sneered.

“That's right, but I didn't kill him. I never even saw him after Saturday.” He just stood there sneering, working himself into another fit. “I'll tell you what happened, Louie, but it's not what you're thinking.” She chattered nervously. “I had to get out—it all happened so fast I didn't know what to do. And you were gone, Louie. Who did I have to turn to?” Coyness started displacing the nervousness. She was working on him the way she knew best. “That Sunday, after you left, I stayed around the apartment. There was a knock on the door—it was Mrs. Garber pointing a gun at me. It's not like I had any choice about letting her in. She was standing there with that gun on me and telling me she knew all about the money Stan had been giving me. And then—I swear, Louie, you're not going believe this,” she laughed, “she tells me she's gonna kill me because I been having an affair with Stan. I swear, Louie, she meant it—she was going to kill me. So I did the only thing I knew to do. I told her it wasn't an affair but that I'd been blackmailing him because I knew he had another daughter. She laughed at that and said she already knew that, so why the blackmail. So I said, ‘Maybe you know, but your daughter doesn't.’ Well, that gave her something to think about, Louie. She told me she'd let me go, but that I better get out of town fast or she'd kill me.”

“You stupid bitch ...” Louie started, but she broke him off.

“Wait a minute, Louie, that isn't all. She left after she saw I started packing. As soon as she got out the door practically, I called Stan and told him I wanted ten grand for getting out and not causing any trouble. I tell you, Louie, it floored me when he said no. I figured he didn't have it, but I played it right. I swear, I did. I told him he had to get it and I'd give him a day and that's when he said I better get out or he would blow. What was I supposed to do? I mean, with that crazy wife of his running around with guns and stuff. I thought I better get out and wait for you to handle it. That's the way it happened, Louie, I swear.” She took a deep breath.

Louie thought that over for a while. “No,” he said finally, “no, that don't add.”

“What do you mean?”

“Since when were you afraid of a little old lady?” he asked. “What do you think old Louie is? A half-wit? Is that what you think? You don't remember telling me about Garber sayin’ his wife was getting on to the money and thought he was makin’ it with you? You don't remember that, do you baby? That was a long time ago. She's gonna come around with a gun now?” He was yelling again.

Lucy's hand jerked at the belt. “Uh-uh, Louie, you got it wrong,” she said cautiously. “Stan said she
might
start thinking that.”

“Shit. She's gonna kill you because you're having an affair with him but she's gonna let you go ‘cause you're blackmailing him? Let me tell you what happened. Mrs. Garber never showed up. You decided that it was a good time to give old Louie the slip. So you moved out of the apartment and holed up somewhere else, maybe with him"—he motioned at me—"maybe with that son of a bitch André And then you went to work Monday morning and told Garber you wanted the money right now. You couldn't wait for me so we could do it like we planned. You were too stupid to wait. So when Garber wouldn't cough up, that nasty redhead temper of yours flared up like it always does when you don't get your way. So you had a fight with him and you killed him. All because you wanted to cut ole Louie out of the goddamn action.” He started advancing toward her. “Isn't that how it went, baby? All because you wanted to cut me out.” His breath was coming in short gasps. “Isn't that it?” He had temporarily forgotten I was there. I started to move cautiously as he continued yelling, louder and louder, “Tell me, isn't it?” at Lucy. I was easing up off the sofa as I saw her right hand slip down along the arm under the cushion. Louie's right hand with the gun cradled in it had moved up to use the piece as a club, but before I had a chance to make my move, Lucy's hand came up with a .22 gleaming in it. She shot once. Right into his heart.

In a second Louie's sneer had crumbled into disbelief and he began to pitch straight at Lucy. She put her hands up to protect herself from his falling, but at the last instant he fell off to the side. I was already up. Lucy jumped up as soon as Louie hit the sofa, the .22 aimed at me. I figured I was gone, too, but she dropped it at her side and sagged into the chair with a slight moan.

I moved and took the gun from her. There was no resistance. Her eyes were half closed and a little moan escaped at the end of each breath. I poured her a drink and waited for her to snap out of it.

“You didn't count on him remembering this place, did you?”

She shook her head. “We only came here once, before my aunt died—it was hers—and he was dead drunk. And stayed dead drunk. Spent most of his time at the bar down the road. I never figured he would find it. I've been trying to get rid of the loser for six months now. I didn't want it to happen this way.” She shuddered. “He was so crazy. He showed up here tonight and he knocked me out before I had a chance to explain anything.” She put a hand on her jaw. “When I came to all the lights were out and then someone—you—started banging on the window. I just wanted the whole nightmare to go away. Everything. I wished I'd never done what I did to Stan. He had been my friend.” She was drained and tired and the illusion of beauty André had spoken of was trying to peep from under the cosmetics. I wondered why she'd gone wrong, but there were too many other things to think about.

“You mean the ten thousand dollars he gave you.”

Her head jerked up. “How do you know?”

“The check stub is still in the checkbook. The police know it's there, too.”

She smiled. “Not much of a crook, am I? You know, I don't think Stan really minded giving me all that money. He said he was glad to give it to me since I'd brought up his and Jeannette's little girl. I guess he felt sorry for me, too. I had gone crying to him because I was destitute even though I'd been working for twenty years, and he gave me the job and any money I ever asked for without question.”

“Why did you send him that blackmail note?”

She looked puzzled. I explained. “Oh, that,” she said. “I'd forgotten. Louie was responsible for that. Is it a bore or can I ask you how you know about it?”

“Garber's daughter showed it to me.”

Her face paled even under the powder. “My God. I never meant to cause that kind of trouble. How horrible. Damn Louie, anyway.” She began to cry. “I'm glad I shot him.”

“It was self-defense,” I said. “But what about Garber?”

She shook her head vehemently. “Not Stan. I didn't do that. I've been feeling horrible since I heard. I started feeling bad about the money after I got here. I was going to give it back. The check's still in there.” She indicated a closed door. “I haven't had the heart to cash it.”

“The police think you killed him”

“I didn't, but what difference does it make now? I wish I were dead.” Total defeat sealed the words.

For some reason, maybe the defeat, I believed her. For some reason I was sure that ballistics would show that the .22 I was holding had not been the murder weapon. “Is that story about Mrs. Garber showing up the truth?”

“Most of it,” she said indifferently.

“All except that you were already packed and left with her?”

She nodded, her eyes transfixed and dreamy. “Louie was right about that much—I was trying to get away from him, but not to cut him out of the money, but because he'd gotten so violent.”

“But you didn't leave town until the next day.” She looked at me questioningly. “You might as well come clean now, Lucy. You'll be cleared if you didn't kill him. That check was dated Monday.”

“Okay, so I was afraid Mrs. Garber would kill me. She looked like she meant business. I went to a motel that night and showed up early at the store. Stan was already there. I told him that she had visited me and that I was leaving town and asked him for the money. He wrote out the check and then the guy told me he wished me nothing but good luck. Can you believe it?”

“Did you tell him that his wife said she knew about his other daughter?”

“No, I didn't have the heart. You see, I wasn't so sure I believed her myself. I just couldn't bring it up.” Her eyes filled with tears. She tried to blink them away. “I was afraid she hadn't known before. I couldn't tell him I'd told her about Jeannette and everything just because she'd frightened it out of me. He'd been so much in love with Jeannette. But I guess if her daughter had that note, she must have known about it, too.”

“No, I don't think so. I'm sure her daughter never showed her that note.”

She didn't acknowledge the statement. It just didn't have the same meaning for her that it did for me.

“What kind of gun was Mrs. Garber carrying, Lucy?”

“Small, like that,” she said pointing at the gun I was holding, “with a pearl handle.”

I looked down at the .22. “Why didn't you believe Mrs. Garber knew about Lise André?”

“Brother, you sure know some stuff,” she said. “I thought something in her face changed when I told her that I was blackmailing Stan. I could have been wrong. I was afraid of her so I went into a lot of explanation about how it all had come about. She didn't seem to be really listening after I mentioned my friendship with Jeannette, and that I had been with Lise for all those years. She seemed to get, I don't know, nervous, like I'd struck a bad chord. I thought if she did know something, she didn't know the extent to which things had gone.” She stopped. Then, “You know all about those years, too, don't you? How did you get involved?”

There was no reason to tell her and I didn't want to go into it, anyway.

“Did Mrs. Garber hire you?” she pressed.

A knock at the door saved me from having to lie.

“Open up, Miss McDermott. It's the sheriff.” I recognized the voice.

I went to the door, opened it and handed him the gun. Slade's eyes almost popped out of his head. Shark stood behind him, but the only expression his face knew was a contemptuous sneer.

“So sorry, Deputy,” I said. “It looks like you boys are a little late for the action.”

34

How to Take a Life

It took a while to get everything iced down. Slade was so annoyed that I'd been in on the kill without him that he refused to let me talk to Lucy anymore that night. That was okay. What wasn't okay was the way he shoved me in a room with Shark while I gave my statement twice. Then Earl himself came in and I gave it again. And then one more time for the machine. He tried hard to pin something on me, but two hours later he decided that it was too much work, gave me my gun and told me to hit the road. He expressed hope that he wouldn't have to lay eyes on my mug twice in a lifetime. I shared the same hope.

Before facing the drive back to New Orleans I pumped myself up with a lot of coffee that never did do much to keep me awake but seemed to ease some pain.

I hit the city and drove straight to the hospital. The medicinal smells seemed especially strong and sickening as I walked through the corridors. The nurses’ heads raised and their eyes flashed disapproval as I pushed through the swinging doors and walked to their station situated in the center of the circle of tiny rooms. The monitors were all lit and beeping, busily sketching the lines that gave a visual representation of the heartbeats within the rooms. I had a thought about how they couldn't show the heartaches that accompained the beats, which was a pretty good indication of the shape I was in that morning.