Casting Bones (11 page)

The beer gone warm, he pushed it aside.

‘And was he in this Krewe?'

‘Detective Archer, he was the grand leader of this Krewe. A powerful, cruel man who won his place by domination.'

‘Apparently that power has ended.'

She smiled faintly, shrugging her shoulders.

‘Maybe. But as long as he lives, he poses a threat. You may find this hard to believe, Detective, but when someone is impotent, they often find other ways to impregnate. As long as this man is alive, he is a concern.'

‘That's it? Rayland Foster, in a nursing home with no way to communicate to the outside world, is still a danger?'

‘Detective, this reprobate wears the tattoo of a coiled snake on his right wrist.'

The coiled serpent. He'd seen it on Judge Lerner's pale, bloated hand. Maybe she was on to something.

‘The snake is a voodoo symbol, but apparently it is the symbol of Krewe Charbonerrie as well. Rest assured, his tattoo and the symbol of Krewe Charbonerrie has nothing to do with the spirit of voodoo. I can guarantee that. I feel very strongly that his tattoo physically ties him to the Krewe.'

Reaching into her bag, the petite lady pulled out a small brown pouch. ‘This, Detective, is for you.'

Archer picked it up and studied the brown cloth. It fit in the palm of his hand. Whatever was inside was lumpy, uneven, like tiny twigs and stones.

‘It's
gris gris
,' she said. ‘Powerful stuff, made from a swamp man's ingredients.'

‘Swamp man?'

‘Matebo, a man my mother holds dear. That's not important.'

‘And this
gris gris
?'

‘I made it for you. Keep it with you at all times.'

‘And why would I do that?'

‘It will keep you safe.'

‘Am I currently in danger?'

The young girl took a deep breath, held it for a second, then let it out.

‘I know you are skeptical right now. But you are walking into some serious situations. I feel it. Life and death.'

‘Really.'

‘You've been in that situation before, Detective Archer. In Detroit. You survived. This time, without some intervention' – she pointed to the bag – ‘you may not be so fortunate.'

Archer looked over his shoulder, searching for his waitress. Finally spotting her, he signaled for the check. When he turned back, Solange Cordray was gone.

His eyes searched the small area, but she had disappeared and there was a sensation in his ears as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

T
he streets were crowded with tourists, even at this early hour. Archer walked to his car, kicking cheap plastic beaded necklaces, to-go drink cups and beer cans into the gutter. Street cleaning was a full time job in this city. He saw the bobbing blond head in the crowd and blocked the view and the idea from his head. Just blend in, ignore the pain, the visions of her. Archer drove back to the station, deciding to check on the Krewe and on Solange Cordray's background before he returned to his tiny cottage. The girl had grabbed his attention and as far-fetched as it seemed, he hoped she could bring some serious information to the case.

‘Hey, Q.' Detective Josh Levy called out as Archer entered the bullpen. ‘We tore up the judge's house today.'

He turned and nodded. ‘Anything interesting?' Another piece of the puzzle.

‘Not much to look at from the outside. A little place down in the Garden District. Dead end street. Guy lived alone, but lived well.'

‘Yeah?'

‘I'm no connoisseur of art but this guy had some classy stuff. Some pretty fancy pieces. Take a look.'

Levy held out his iPhone as he scrolled through photographs of some of the paintings in Lerner's home. A couple drawings of nudes, men and women, and some nicely framed city scenes, possibly Paris or London.

‘Nice furniture, sixty-eight-inch flat screen, and a cream-colored Jag convertible in the garage. I could learn to live like that. We've got the Jag and we're going through it.'

‘He was a judge. You know they tend to make a little more than detectives.' He smiled at Levy.

‘Strange coincidence happened while we were checking the place out.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Welker is outside, taking a smoke break, and down the road comes a car. Now this guy, Judge Lerner, lives on a dead end street, so according to the neighbors there's always somebody driving down this street, and turning around in Lerner's driveway. They finally realize it's not a through street. But this was a bit unusual.'

‘And you're going to tell me why.'

‘The car, according to Welker, was a cream-colored Jag. Identical to the one in the garage.'

‘There are people who have the money to buy those kinds of cars. It can't be that unique.'

‘Driver pulls into the drive, sees Welker and our unmarked car, backs up and peels out. Maybe you're right. It could be a strange coincidence. I don't know if we'll ever know.'

‘Did you run it?'

‘Of course. Nothing yet.'

‘We're grasping for anything,' Archer said.

‘You know, someday I'll go to law school and get me a promotion so I can afford some high-end car. But here's the kicker. Check it out.'

He held the phone up and Archer stared at the screen.

‘What am I looking at?'

‘A bunch of small photos that sit on his white Young Chang baby grand piano. About forty mug shots of kids that we think he sentenced. That's Lerner' – he scrolled to another photograph on the screen of two men standing in front of the same Young Chang, the same collection of framed mug shots in the background – ‘and the guy next to him, smiling, is the warden at the juvie prison up the river. Russell Jakes. And there are maybe a couple hundred more of these framed mug shots scattered around the house.'

‘He's proud of his record.' Archer studied the picture, wondering what kind of man would glorify his conquests.

‘Look, he's got some kind of number on each photo.' Levy pointed. ‘You can see the ones closer to the front. This smacks of spiking the ball, Detective.' Levy gave him a frown.

Archer paused for a moment.

‘You're a cop. You should applaud the arrests, and the convictions. That's what we're here for.' He knew the detective was right, but here he was, standing up for the judge.

‘Not necessarily.' Levy turned from the phone photograph. ‘These are kids, Q. Young, screwed-up kids. You were one, I was one, and I venture to say that ninety percent of the people functioning today as adults were screwed-up kids.

‘What's your point, Levy?'

‘Not necessarily a point. More like an observation.'

‘That would be?'

‘Here's a guy who put some serious effort into exalting in his convictions. He wanted the world to realize that he'd put these juveniles behind bars. When I was a patrolman, I was judged by my collars, Q, but sometimes I wasn't proud of them. Oftentimes they were folks who were flat-busted broke and just looking for their next meal. So I understand that not every kid who is busted is a hard-core criminal who should be displayed on some judge's piano. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

He did. ‘Maybe he was proud of the fact that the kids would come out and go straight?'

Levy squared his jaw. ‘That doesn't happen. You know it and I know it. They call these prisons correctional facilities but there's no correction going on. Hell, more than fifty percent of the juveniles in jail right now are repeat offenders. They don't go straight. It's more like half of them go straight back to jail. The phrase “correctional facilities” is a joke.'

He was right. Short sentences, long sentences, it made no difference. The young people went back to the streets, to the drugs and to the same conditions that put them in prison in the first place.

‘Address books?'

Levy nodded. ‘We're going through them.'

‘Other photos? Girlfriends? Anything else jump out at you?'

‘House was pretty much sterile. Except for those photographs. Mug shots, each one. Like a trophy shelf.'

‘The neighborhood?'

‘Yeah, we found a lady who pretty much stares out her window most of the day. Doesn't watch TV, just watches the comings and goings of the neighbors. This house, as I said, it's on a dead end street, and unsuspecting drivers sometimes wander down there and have to turn around and go back. Lerner was at the end, so his driveway was a turnaround spot for a lot of these people.'

‘And?'

‘She's watching,' he paused, ‘what she
thinks
is about six hours before we found the body, and she sees a black Cadillac Escalade pull into Lerner's driveway.'

‘License?'

‘No.'

‘Description of the driver? Passenger?'

‘Maybe some guy talking to Lerner by his garage but she lost interest. Figured it was another driver who wants to turn around and leave.'

‘Still' – Archer was searching for anything – ‘bring her in. Maybe she'll remember something if we coax?'

‘All right, but I think she's a bit of a flake.'

‘Invite her.'

‘I'll do it, Archer.'

The officer walked away.

Archer pulled the calendar. He concentrated on the day before they'd found the body, the day of and the day after. Trace the steps that the man took the last forty-eight hours of his life. And keep asking why. Why did Lerner venerate his sentences with photos in his home? Why did a cream-colored Jag high-tail it out of the neighborhood when the driver saw detectives working the scene? Why did Solange Cordray receive a mystic message from the former head of Krewe Charbonerrie?

Too many whys, and until he answered them all, he was afraid this case was not going to be solved.

His cell phone buzzed and Archer answered.

‘Archer, there's a press conference happening tomorrow morning.'

‘And?'

The sergeant continued. ‘The lieutenant, chief and mayor are all going to be there.'

‘And just what the hell are they going to say?' Archer was bristling. The sarge was probably just down the hall, but he couldn't be bothered to check and see if Archer was in the building.

‘They're going to say they are very close to charging someone with the murder.'

‘We need a little more time. They can't make this shit up.'

‘Don't have much time, Q. This was a judge. It's like a cop. Everything else pales in comparison, you know what I mean?'

He did.

‘If you've got something, Quentin, bring it now, because the mayor is telling the public that charges will be filed by week's end. Got that?'

He got it. Loud and clear.

‘You're going with the runner? Duvay?'

‘End of the week.'

‘And the real killer will just laugh and walk.'

‘We're giving 'em something, Archer. It may be political, but it tells the people we're on the ball.'

And the truth was, they were far from the ball. Some ex-con was going to be charged for something the poor guy knew nothing about. It was time to get very serious about finding the real killer.

‘Check out the headlines for tomorrow's
Advocate
online. That paper is forcing our hand.'

Archer ran it on his computer.

COPS STYMIED BY JUDGE'S MURDER.

‘You can read on if you want to, Archer, because the story is worse than the headline. The words
inept
and
incompetent
are repeated. We've got to show some progress. You have a prostitute murdered, a drug dealer, some poor black in the projects – they don't ride us about that. You kill a cop or a judge …' He let it hang.

The detective was very much aware of the power of the press.

‘Archer, you know we probably have the guy. Strand found a gun. It's a big step. The mayor's going to comment, possibly the governor, and who knows, maybe the president next. He tends to mouth off on local issues.'

‘Well …'

‘No
well
. We've got a guy who took off running when there was a confrontation. I'm starting to think that if he isn't our man, at least he's a link. He was scared, Archer. He ran. We want to tie him to this murder. This
Advocate
story, it just doubles the pressure. You honest to God can't imagine. We're going with Duvay week's end, and that's that.'

‘Sergeant, do we want a conviction or do we want to find the person who actually killed the judge?'

‘Jesus, Archer. If the kid looks good for the hit, please, get on board, OK?'

‘I'd rather bring in the murderer, Sergeant. Not someone we've framed.'

S
olange Cordray showed up in a Google search. Five mentions, one relating to her involvement in a renovation project on Dauphine Street and two mentioning her in certain social situations.

‘
Solange Cordray and husband, financier Joseph Cordray, attended the festive event at Woldenberg Park …
'

The two that especially interested him were dated a year later. The first mention was factual.

‘
Solange Cordray was granted a divorce from Joseph Cordray.
'

The date, place and time were listed. The second mention dealt with some of the terms of the settlement.

‘
New Orleans financier Joseph Cordray tried to hide several million dollars in assets from his ex-wife, Solange Cordray, to avoid paying out in his divorce settlement, according to charges filed by the woman's attorney. Cordray, a venture capitalist has major holdings in a company called Secure Force which owns twenty-five private prisons in a three state area.
'

Judge Lerner was putting juveniles in a private prison just outside of the city. Detective Levy had just shown him a picture of the prison warden standing by the piano with Lerner. They were friends or at least acquaintances. What did he say the warden's name was? Jakes. Russell Jakes. Archer keyed in another search.