Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel (23 page)

“What about this girl? Do you recognize
her?” I placed Haley’s picture in front of him.

He peered at it. “If our paths crossed, I
don’t remember. But, I meet many people that I forget.”

“She was a guest at one of Harry’s
parties. She was found in the Mississippi River.”

“Oh. That’s sad. The manager of her
apartment complex was just murdered, too. And your wife and daughter were
almost killed by a car bomb. Terrible coincidences, eh?”

“I see you’re up on current events.” Tara
spoke for me.

“I just watch the news. Half of
it’s
crime related.” His elbows rested on his desk, making a
pyramid up to where his hands met his chin.

I threw my left foot onto my right knee,
adding to the chair’s symmetry. “We’re trying to avoid getting a warrant for
Mr. Winslow’s client list. We really want to ask about one guest from a party
that no one will admit to.”

He folded his arms. “As far as I know,
none of Mr. Winslow’s parties fall in the realm of secret. And I have not been
to one of his events for months.”

“Harry Winslow was found dead this
evening.
That
hasn’t been on the news
yet.”

His small eyes finally opened. “That’s
horrible. How did he pass?”

“Hasn’t been determined yet. You’re
Russian, right?”

He sat straight, appraising me. “Yes. How
do you know?”

“Not by your accent. You got New Orleans
down. It’s your name - Alexander. And you have a European look to you. Plus, we
can’t find a record of you before the past decade. It’s like you didn’t exist
and then you come to New Orleans and buy LaPlace on Bourbon. How does that
happen?”

“If you are through asking me about Mr.
Winslow, then please leave. I am very busy.”

“Have you heard of Apex Industries?”

He stared at me – hard – like
I insulted him.

I continued, “Apex controls the Container
Terminal. They import Top Notch vodka.” I said, more than asked.

“Yes, one of our many spirits. Your
point?” He shifted in his chair.

“LaPlace on Bourbon… Is this your hobby?”

“I find hobby to be a dismissive word and
you’ve obviously never owned a restaurant.”

“I’ve eaten here recently with Mayor
Picaud.”

“Ah, Mayor Picaud.
A
class act, soon to be governor.
I trust that you enjoyed yourselves?”

“I’m more of a po’ boy man myself, but yes,
I must say the entire experience was excellent. Would you say that you and the
mayor are friends, or just business associates?”

“What business is that of yours?” He
dropped his eyes. “I understand that you and Mayor Picaud are close. He spoke
highly of you when he requested the table the other night.”

“I want to know the nature of your relationship.”

“I see. Perhaps I can put my social life
in perspective for you and your lovely, lovely partner. I don’t have any
friends that are business associates and I don’t have any business associates
that are friends. The two don’t mix.”

“I cleared my throat. “
One
more thing, Mr. Alexander.
Are you the head of a human trafficking ring
operating out of your docks? Do you sell women?”

In my peripheral, Tara reared back with
saucer eyes, but said nothing.

Alexander gave us no reaction at first,
but then laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“So, you don’t go to Molly’s Girls to
pick out the new crop? Cater Winslow’s parties to find the gems to sell
overseas? I’ll bet beautiful American girls go for huge bucks.”

His eyes seemed to grow darker. “I work
hard and I often work late. You want to know why, detective?” He paused.
“Because I have no family. No family to go home to. You are a lucky man to have
a loving wife and daughter.”

“You Russians love to veil threats, don’t
you.”

He waved me off. “Leave my restaurant
before I file a complaint.”

I pulled out my weapon to inspect it. “I
know warnings are popular these days. Well, here’s a warning. I’m holding you
responsible for anything that happens from here on out.
Eye
for an eye.
I love that saying.”

Tara grabbed my arm. “Lucas, let’s go.”

“Listen to the lady detective, before you
secure greater regrets in your life.”

I stood and leaned over the desk, putting
my face within inches of his. My eyes bore into his. I didn’t say a word. I
didn’t blink. I didn’t move. A few moments later, Tara pulled me back and we
exited.

#

A call to Heather gave me temporary
relief, but my day wasn’t done. The afternoon sun had long dipped out of sight,
allowing nocturnal establishments to lure tourists to the streets. Molly’s
Girls vibrated with life and the customers were gaining, most saving the
stripper experience until they were good and lit. Tara and I maneuvered through
the tables to the back hallway where I recognized the bouncer from last time.

“
Detectives,
how
are you?” He folded his arms as if on instinct.

“Ray here?” I asked.

“Mr. Corondelet didn’t come in today. Ms.
Tabitha’s here.”

“Can you get her for us?”

The bouncer didn’t move, but spoke into
his collar. “Ms. Tabitha, you have guests.”

A moment later, the stunning dancer-turned-manager
strolled out wearing an elegant red evening gown. “I assume you’re not here for
the show.”

“You look like the queen of the debutante
ball.”

“A canceled engagement, I’m afraid.”

“You expecting Mr. Corondelet anytime
soon?”

“That’s why I’m here now. He should be
here, but I believe he’s running late from a meeting in Baton Rouge, probably
gambling. He’s not picking up his phone.”

“We need to talk about Keri Sullivan… or
Cozy Robicheaux if you didn’t know her real name.”

Her tough exterior immediately evaporated.
“You guys want a Coke? Follow me to the bar.”

The music was just loud enough to cover
our conversation. Tabby ordered us three Cokes and then offered a secluded
table nearby. We sat close, like familiar college friends, with Tabitha in the
middle.

Tabitha started without prompting. “I
know she’s not Keri Sullivan. Last night, Cozy confessed to me that Haley
Robicheaux was her sister and how she’s been searching for the people
responsible. She’s in trouble, isn’t she?”

“She’s wanted for the murder of a local
drug dealer and is a person of interest in the shooting of Vincent Dean. I’m
afraid there may be more in her wake.”

“She killed someone?”

“When was the last time you’ve seen her?”

“Last night we had dinner at Antoine’s.
It was late and we were drunk, so I let her sleep on my couch.”

“She obviously doesn’t believe you’re the
killer,” I said. “With
your
being alive.”

“I suppose.”

“Where is she now?”

Tabitha glanced back and forth at us,
settling on Tara’s gentle eyes. “I don’t want to go to jail.”

Tara spoke with concern. “Why would you
go to jail?”

“For being an accessory or accomplice… Whatever
it’s called for knowing beforehand.”

“You would only be arrested for
obstruction of justice if you lie to us now,” I explained.

She exhaled while looking up at the muted
glow of the strobes. “I know where Cozy is.”

“Where?”

“I’m afraid of what she might do if
cornered. You can’t hurt her.”

“That’s the last thing we want. We’ll
give her every chance.”

“I know the NOPD. You’ll roll in with
sirens blaring and scare the shit out of her. Then what?”

“It’s just me and Detective Gray. We’ll
go in alone.”

“I have a number to her burner cell.
Would you be satisfied if I could just get her here?”

“She’ll run. Tell us where she is.” I
said.

“She won’t run. She’s at one of Ray’s
parties.” Tabby already had the number dialed. “Pick up, Cozy. Pick up.” She
waited, the hope drained from her face. “They probably took her phone. She’s
not answering.”

“We’ll go pick her up, alone and safely.”

“It’s an hour away. You’re going to call
it in, and then who knows what the Keystone Cops out there will do.”

“We won’t call it in.” I touched her
hand. “Tabitha, I give you my word Tara and I will drive out there to get Cozy
ourselves.”

Her lips pulled up into a tiny smile. “You
two have a special relationship, don’t you?”

“Despite myself, yes. Where is she?”

Tabitha hesitated, sucking in her cheek.
“She’s at The LeCoure Mansion on River Road.”

“Don’t call her again, but if she calls
you from a different location…” I squeezed her fingers. “…
tell
her to meet you back here and then give us a call. Like you, I don’t want to
see her hurt.”

#

For two hours Cozy mingled with some of
the countries most powerful political figures in a grand ballroom. High
ceilings held crystal chandeliers and tall round tables without chairs were
strategically placed apart on an immaculate red carpet. Men in bow ties passed
around little bites of food and glasses of bubbly. She observed many old and
unattractive men talking with young, beautiful women.
Nothing
odd about that.

A bell sounded and the men acted as if it
was last call. All the women filed into a satellite room and waited.
Eventually, a sturdy man in a glittery Mardi
Gras
mask
escorted her by the hand up a winding staircase, past portraits of Confederate
soldiers. They stopped at a room where the man held out a key for Cozy to view.
He turned and unlocked the oversized door.

“The safe word is coconut.” He stepped
aside.

“Coconut,” she repeated.

The
man didn’t enter the room, but he shut the door once she entered. The
four-poster bed had a mattress that seemed unusually high, but more luxurious
than any she’d ever felt. The furniture matched the era of the house, as far as
she knew, including uncomfortable looking paisley chairs with busy patterns and
a dazzling chandelier. Elegant paintings with gold leaf frames adorned the
walls and in the center of the room lay a large green area rug on shiny brown
hardwood and not a speck of dust.

Her outfit had been laid out, specific to
her size, as Ray must have planned on her showing. Cozy stripped down naked in
complete silence, putting on a red, leather,
skin
-tight
dress with thigh-high boots. She strutted back and forth, getting used to the
character she was to play.
He wants to be
dominated
, she thought with a smile. She could pull that off.

“On your knees, dog.” She swatted the
horsewhip onto the mattress. “Lick my boots.” She laughed, pretending to kick
him in the ass, and then growled in the mirror with a devilish sneer. “You…
Are… Pathetic.”

A knock on the door startled her. It
opened a crack and an older man with graying hair peered inside. “Mistress
Keri?”

Time to begin. “Get your sorry ass in
here. Now.”

“Yes, Mistress.” He shuffled in, wearing a
sharp pinstripe suit and power tie.

“You think I’m impressed? Strip out of
those rags before you make me really angry.”

After he tossed his shirt and pants
aside, Cozy secured a dog collar and leash on top the dresser, wrapping it
around his wrinkled neck. They played the game, back and forth for twenty
minutes and Cozy held her own. She had to force herself not to gut this
disturbed individual by remembering he had been with Haley. He probably spent
most of his day treating people like shit; always in control and this was his
way to let go. She lured him onto the bed as she knotted up lengths of nylon
rope that had been supplied. Once gagged with his hands tied to each post, she
got down to business.

#

“Coconut! Coconut!”

The senator’s arms and legs were pulled
tight, his erection long gone. Cozy closed the mouth-zipper shut on his leather
mask. “Say it all you want, it won’t make you safe.”

She waved her switchblade and his eyes
grew wider than the narrow slits that allowed sight. He frantically mumbled
something as his frail body flopped like a fish. When his energy finally
subsided, she took his thumb and placed the tip of the switchblade under the
manicured nail, scraping at its underbelly. “I need some information.”

Incoherent sounds vibrated under the mask
as his fingers stiffened, not yet curling under. His eyes pleaded with her.

“You want to say something? Okay, but if
I unzip your mask, you have to stay quiet. One shout for help and this blade
goes in your throat.” She pushed the tip against his jugular. “Got it?”

He nodded and she pulled the zipper open.
He fumbled through his sentence. “What do you want?”