Lost River (40 page)

Now, if nothing else, she could still spend her days and nights going over the best moments: that instant when the stunning idea came to her; meeting Louis and finding in him a pliant servant; the murders without motive, one after another; and, finally, meeting Valentin St. Cyr face-to-face and recognizing an exotic creature, like herself...

She sighed deeply, shook her head in slow regret. So be it. Who knew, there might be another chance for her. All the great figures from history had risen from failures. Another golden opportunity could be waiting for her just down the road.

With that thought to cheer her, she got up to don her coat. It was late and she was ready to go home.

They were approaching the curb in Whaley's Model T when he caught sight of a figure exiting the building. Before the Ford had come to a full stop, Valentin jumped down from the seat and ran across the street. McKinney and Whaley followed a few seconds behind him.

The squeak of the iron gate swinging wide startled her, and she turned to see the three men stepping through the portal and then fanning out: Valentin St. Cyr and two others, one short and one tall. She emerged from the shadows and came toward them.

"I'm looking for Thomas," she stated. "My driver. Have you seen him? I'd like to go home now."

"I'm sure he's gone," Valentin said. "He doesn't want any part of this. I don't blame him."

"Then he's going to hear from me," Evelyne snipped. "If he spent less time chasing the girls and more time paying attention to his—"

"Louis Jacob is dead, Mrs. Dallencort."

Evelyne stopped for a second, then gave a dismissive shrug of her shoulders. "That's no surprise. What happened?"

The detective said, "I shot him."

She mulled the news for a moment before saying, "He was a foolish boy." She glanced around with some impatience. "I still need to be carried to my home."

Valentin nodded toward Detective McKinney. "The detective is here to escort you downtown," he said.

"Downtown?" Her lips pursed. "I live on Perrier Street."

Stepping forward, McKinney said, "Please come with me, Mrs. Dallencort."

"What for?" She was getting annoyed.

"You're going to be placed under arrest."

"Arrest?" Now she laughed lightly.

"Yes, ma'am. For murder."

Evelyne glanced from face to face, and gradually the cunning light returned to her eyes. "I didn't murder anyone." She crossed her arms in a regal posture. "You have no reason to arrest me." She waited for a moment, then chuckled again, musically. "Murder? Who has proof of such a thing?"

The Creole detective stared at her. "I'll testify to what you said upstairs. And there was a witness."

She glanced his way. "Who would that be?"

Valentin understood. Each had heard only part of what she'd said, and who'd believe a rough rounder like him, anyway. In fact, who'd believe any of it? A society woman plotting a series of murders in order to take over Storyville? It made no sense. And he had shot dead the one person who could tie such a scheme to her.

The detective gave a slight shake of his head. She was nothing if not a clever woman. He glanced at McKinney, who was watching with a frown that said he didn't like what he was hearing.

Maybe Evelyne Dallencort would get away with it. It was likely, in fact. Still, Valentin wasn't about to let her toddle off to her nice home, and McKinney wouldn't be inclined to offer her the courtesy, either. Let her sweat.

Evelyne had given herself quite an escape hatch. And Valentin had done away with the one person who had anything on her.

He regarded her for another moment, then turned to the policeman. "There's a call box out on the corner," he said. "You know where to find me." He jerked his head at Whaley. "Let's go back to Storyville."

They were waiting at Mangetta's: Valentin, Each, Tom Anderson, Whaley, and the saloonkeeper, who kept the wine flowing and plates of provolone, prosciutto, and hard bread full. They'd been there for hours, and the night was creeping toward dawn.

Valentin would get up to use the telephone, then come back, shaking his head. "Nothing yet."

As he sat half listening to the others, it occurred to him that somehow he had known that once the dust settled, he'd land at one of Frank's sturdy tables. As the conversation went on without him, he felt as if he was seeing Storyville laid out before him with every detail clear to his eye, a street map in three dimensions. No, it was
four,
he could divine the movement through time over the hours and days since the trouble began.

When he tracked and shot William Brown, he had reached down for old nerve endings to help him on this way. Brown was easy prey, a hopeless, hapless, crazed fellow who had no idea that he was being sent out to kill and then die.

For his part, Valentin had been caught in a web that had been woven by Evelyne Dallencort. In all, eight men were dead and Justine had nearly joined them. He shuddered privately for a moment, imagining what might have happened had the shot he fired gone astray. At the same time, he had a notion that he had somehow willed the bullet into Louis Jacob.

Frank was eager to hear more details of what had transpired. The detective wasn't inclined, so Each jumped in and, with some help from Whaley and Anderson, went through the night's adventure.

Valentin's thoughts drifted away again. He wondered how Evelyne had come up with her crazy scheme. At some point she met Louis Jacob, and they conspired to strike terror into the heart of the District. No one was safe. The target was Storyville and everyone in it. They had done a good job. It was true that no one had come as close to toppling the scarlet empire.

Anderson still didn't get it. Who was this woman and what did she want?

Coming out of his musings, Valentin said, "How much is Storyville worth?"

"What do you mean?"

"In a month how much money goes in and out?"

The King of Storyville paused, then said, "Almost a quarter of a million dollars."

There was a hush. The number seemed to take on substance and float above the table. With twenty square blocks of sin, it equaled three million dollars a year at a time when ten dollars a week was a fair salary.

The King of Storyville was unimpressed. He had heard the number before, written it out time and again, and bandied about by other men of importance.

"So she wanted her hands on the money?" he said. "Isn't she already plenty rich?"

Valentin said, "You know some people never have enough. And what she had was all her husband's money." He paused. "And of course she wanted power over all the women. The mansions. The saloons and dance halls..." He smiled. "She said you could keep the Café, by the way."

"Well, that was generous," Anderson said. He shook his head in wonder. "So she thought she could take over just by killing a few men?"

Valentin said, "She probably would have murdered more to get what she was after."

"To prove that I couldn't control it anymore."

"That's correct."

"I suppose she was right." The King of Storyville sighed.

"What about her partner?" Whaley said. "What was his name?"

"Louis Jacob," Valentin said. "Honore's son. I don't know why he got caught up in it. Except that he was stupid. Or greedy."

"I think it had something to do with the father," the King of Storyville said.

"I wonder what he thinks of his son now," Valentin said.

Anderson gave him a sober look. "He's grieving over his death."

The detective said, "Mrs. Dallencort was going to get rid of him, anyway. That fellow she sent to the Café was probably going to go after him next. She couldn't afford to have him stay around. Not with what he knew."

"Our own Madame Lafarge," Tom Anderson murmured.

The men at the table produced blank looks, except for Valentin, who understood and smiled slightly.

"So where is she now?" Anderson said.

"McKinney took her in," Valentin said. "He wasn't sure what he could do, but he arrested her, anyway." He stared absently at the glass before him. "I think she'll walk free."

"I think so, too."

The men looked around. Justine was standing in the doorway with James McKinney, who was wearing a crooked smile.

"Delivery for Mr. St. Cyr," he said.

Valentin stood up. "You made a good trade."

He pulled a chair out for Justine while Frank fetched another for the policeman. Fresh glasses appeared before they were settled.

"What about Mrs. Dallencort?" the detective said.

McKinney looked toward Justine, allowing her to speak first. She described how she had been placed in a cell in the colored women's section. It was Picot's doing, and he claimed to be holding her as a material witness to a shooting. To her surprise, Evelyne Dallencort was placed in the next cell. But only briefly, until the police could make room for her on the white side.

"Or because Picot wanted to see if you two were somehow in cahoots."

Justine nodded gravely. "Yes, maybe so."

Valentin couldn't take his eyes off her. She avoided his gaze.

"At first, she didn't say a word to me," she went on. "She just watched me like I was something in a cage at the zoo. She did start talking, though." The men waited for her to continue. "It was women's talk. She asked me if I was the one who was 'intimately associated' with the Creole detective. That's how she put it." She shrugged. "A little while later, the officers came in and took her away. I think to question her."

"And let her go," Valentin said.

"That's right," McKinney said.

"So she just walks away now?" Anderson said. "There's nothing to hold her on?"

McKinney shook his head. "Not now, anyway."

"She's a clever woman," Valentin said. "She had it planned all along. It didn't work the way she hoped it would. But she made sure she had a way out if it came apart. And it did." He paused thoughtfully. "But she got close."

"I can't believe she thought she could pull it off," Anderson said.

"She saw Storyville as ripe for the picking," Valentin added. "Louis must have told her that you were done and that the District was falling apart and was going to get shut down unless someone stepped in. That would be like closing a gold mine."

"So she came up with this plan."

"And that's all it was until she decided to try it. Starting with finding William Brown."

Justine said. "Where did he come from?"

"Jackson," Valentin said. "The hospital."

She stared at him briefly. "Jackson? Was that why—"

"Why Bolden spoke my name. Why he wanted me out there. He overheard them say my name." He stopped to sip his wine. "They faked his death somehow. Moved him out and had the records fixed. Mrs. Dallencort would certainly have the money to bribe anyone who was willing."

The Sicilian said, "That one man did all the killing?"

"Not the last one. What was his name?"

"Parks," McKinney said. "I think the night after Mr. Valentin shot Brown, Louis murdered him. Probably Mrs. Dallencort ordered him to. Or maybe he decided to do it on his own. To up the stakes." He paused. "And it could be that he was the one who took care of the drunk they found by the cemetery. The one they called Stovepipe."

Valentin said, "That poor fellow was just in the right place." He drew a design in the air. "The wrong place, I mean."

"Was that a star?"

"He drew five-point stars like that everywhere he went," the detective said. "I saw dozens of them scratched on the wall in Jackson."

Mangetta said, "
Per che?
"

"That I don't know," Valentin said. "We'll never know. Something he had stuck in his brain." He looked at McKinney. "Did you see the scar?"

The cop said, "It was there, all right."

Each looked between the two men. "What was there?"

McKinney said, "Mr. Brown had the pattern of a star cut into his torso. The doctor said it was an old wound. Probably happened when he was a child."

The explanation brought a moment of silence.

"So," Valentin said presently. "Louis would have told the woman about him, and she came up with the plan. Two houses form one line."

"And one cut," McKinney added.

"That's right. They decided to use Honore Jacob's properties to fill in the next ones. They could get the body into the first one with Louis's help. I don't know about the others. I mean, why involve his own father?"

"I suspect he despised him," the King of Storyville said. "Thought he was weak. The fool who let the family fortune go."

"And Mrs. Dallencort would have used that, too."

Anderson was incredulous. "I still can't believe she devised the whole plan."

"Well, she did," the detective said.

After a few moments' silence, McKinney spoke up again. "There was that fellow they found in the crib back on Robertson Street."