Murder in the Rue St. Ann (32 page)

I put the gun on the table and knelt down beside her, putting my hands on her shoulders and pulling her dead weight up to her knees. I put my arms around her, as she drew in breath finally, the scream’s volume still echoing in my aching ears and in the furthest corner of the room. Instead of screaming again, her entire body sagged lifeless in my arms and began to shudder and convulse with sobs. I reached over for her water and handed it to her. She drank from it, trying to pull herself together, losing control into the agony again for a moment, and I held her. When it passed, I handed her the water again.

She let out a deep breath. “You’re sure?” She pulled away from me.

“Yes.” I said gently.

I saw a glimmer in her eyes, deep inside their brownness, and I recognized it as steel. She was a strong woman. She’d pull herself together eventually, would get through this. I picked up the gun again.

“Charlie did this.” She said, her voice quiet. “And I am going to kill him.” She looked at me, one eyebrow raised, and I felt a chill. “One day, he will pay.”

“About the gun—“

“I gave it to Mark that very same day I hired you.” She laughed, wiping her eyes. “Ricky had convinced me Mark was catching on to him, so I had to hire a private eye to take the ‘heat’ off. It all seems so stupid now. Why did I go along with him?” She shook her head. “Sweet little boy playing at grown up games.”

“But Ricky was already dead—“

“He was going to Houston.” She said, her voice devoid of tone or inflection. “He couldn’t call me while he was gone. I hired you on Monday…and after you left Mark’s office he came by to see me. To confess.” She looked away from me. “He knew you’d figure it out at some point. He’d called Charlie and told him he was out of it. Charlie told him he was a dead man, so Mark was going to skip town. Just disappear. He had a friend who’d help him.”

Paul, I thought. That was why Paul had come to see him that night. Paul could get him on a flight as a guest, as he had done me.  And there’d be no real record of him flying out.

“I gave him the gun.” She smiled at me. “He needed it more than I did—I’d never use the damned thing. He left and  I tried calling Ricky but he didn’t answer his cell. I was going crazy and I didn’t know what to do—so I called my old friend the U. S. Marshal. I told him everything that was going down. Mark could turn, and they could use that to make Charlie turn—or at least put him behind bars. But by the time they got there, Mark was dead. Killed by the gun I gave him.” She shuddered.

“And Paul?” I could hear the desperation in my voice.

“Honey, if the Feds have him, I don’t know anything about it.” She held up her hands. “I’m sorry. Go ahead and shoot me, I don’t care, but I swear to you, I don’t know anything about him.”

“Who killed Mark?” I knew the answer to that. Zane. Zane, who’d been dead for a few years. “Why did Zane kill Mark?”

“Zane?” She looked at me. “You keep saying that. Why do you think Zane killed him?”

“Never mind.” I put my gun back in its holster. “Look, I’m sorry—about, well, you know.” How do you properly apologize for holding someone at gunpoint? I’m sure Miss Manners has never been asked
that
.

I walked back out to the street. I was doing it again. I’d sworn to everyone I knew I’d never go confront a possible killer armed with just a tape recorder again. This time, I didn’t have the tape recorder, but I had my gun. It was a false sense of security, I knew, as I walked down to Dauphine Street. I know the statistics of people being killed by their own guns are ridiculously high. The last killer I’d confronted had also lived on Dauphine Street.

I stopped at the corner of the 1200 block. I pulled out my phone and dialed Venus. “Hey Venus, Chanse MacLeod.”

“What do you need?” her tone was, as always, businesslike.

“I know who killed Mark Williams.”

She lowered her voice. “I told you to stay away from the Williams murder.”

“I don’t care about that!” I waited for a cab to go by. “All I care about is finding Paul. Besides, you can call the Feds when I get off the phone.”

“Go on.”

“Zane Rathburn—only that’s not his real name.” I went over everything I’d found out. “I am walking up to his house now.”

“Stay away from there!”

I hung up and put the phone back in my pocket, then I patted my gun. I walked up to Zane’s house. It was a brown brick double; with cement stairs leading from the sidewalk to the porch. Zane’s half was the one to the right. I knocked on the door; I could hear a television inside and felt adrenaline rushing through my veins. My ears were ringing a bit andmy palms were sweating as footsteps approached the door. The curtains pulled back an inch or two, then swung back as the deadbolt clicked back and the door opened about five inches. “Yes, Chanse?” Zane stood in the crack of the door. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with the original Charlie’s Angels on it. His eyes were about half shut and his face was blank.

“May I come in?” I kept my voice calm and level.

“Why?” He blinked at me.

“I need to ask you a few questions, and I’d rather not do it here on the street.”

He nodded.
Bingo,
I thought as he opened the door and stood aside to let me pass. The television  in the living room was tuned into the Weather Channel. He gestured to a sofa. I sat down, pulling out my notebook. I looked around the room. Other than the furniture, it was bare. No knick-knacks, no personal belongings of any kind. He wasn’t much of a housekeeper, either. Dustballs crowded the corners, and the hardwood floor hadn’t been washed in weeks.

I swallowed.
Stay calm
. “I wanted to go over your movements on Monday again.”

He fluttered a hand through the air. “We’ve already been over this.”

“What time was it you saw Ricky Dahlgren on Monday?”

He frowned. “You know, I’m not really sure it was Ricky, after all. I just saw someone out of the corner of my eye, really, and I just assumed it was Ricky because who else would it be?” He gave me a very little smile. “I told the police this already, Chanse. They were here last night.” He leaned forward a little bit. “If Ricky was dead already, I couldn’t have seen him, now could I?”

“And you told the police that?”

“It’s a common error.” He sat back. “Only human, you know. We see what we think we’re supposed to see. I tried to help come up with a description of the man I saw.” He shrugged his right shoulder.

He was good. I almost believed him myself.  I knew he hadn’t seen anyone—I just couldn’t prove it.

“And you left to go to dinner around five?”

“Yes, that’s right. To go get ready for dinner. I had a date.”

“Danny DeMarco, that’s right.” I fumbled through my notes. “He’s straight, you know that?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “Really, how much more of this is there? I’m busy, Mr. MacLeod.”

“Really?” I smiled. “I thought you closed down the business.”

“I’m moving back home.” He stood up. “And I promised the landlady I’d be out by five today.”

I stood up to. “Back to Bogolusa?”

“Yes, to my parents. As I am sure you can understand, I can’t really afford to live here in New Orleans anymore.” He walked over to the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me—“

“Your name isn’t Zane.” I said. “And you’re not from Bogolusa.”

He stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Look, I don’t care about that.” I said quickly. “I don’t. All I want to know is where is Paul?”

“Paul?” He looked confused. “I don’t know where your boyfriend is.”

“I’m serious.” I put up both of my hands. “I don’t care who you are or what your game is. I’m not a cop. Just tell me where Paul is and I’ll get out of here.”

Suddenly, it seemed like everything kind of shifted, even though all that actually happened was his lips tightened and his eyebrows moved a little bit. The quiet, soft spoken, subservient gay boy was gone, and in his place was a cocky arrogant man with shrewd eyes and hard lines to his face. He laughed. “I don’t where your little boy toy is—nor do I give a shit.” He kept laughing.  It was a harsh sound, like cloth tearing. “I don’t know what you think you know—“

“I know you killed Mark Williams.” I reached inside my jacket for my gun. “You walked through the back door in his office to his apartment and shot him. You then walked back into the office and packed up your bag and went home to get ready for your date.”

“Is that so?” He kept grinning at me, even after I pulled the gun out and trained it on him. “Should I be scared? You’ve got a gun on me.”

“Where is Paul?” I cocked the trigger. “I’ll shoot you.”

He raised both his hands. “Go ahead.”

I took a deep breath. I started a mental countdown in my head.

‘DROP THE GUN!”

Two men wearing flack vests, guns trained on me, burst into the room from the back of the house. I dropped my gun and put my hands up. “Get down on the floor!” one of them shouted. I got down on my knees and then lay flat on the floor. One straddled me and grabbed my arms, wrestling them back into handcuffs. None too gently, I might add. Then, once my arms were secured, I was dragged to my feet and slammed back into the wall. I looked off to the right as Zane was being escorted out the front door. “What the fuck do you think you were doing?” one of the men screamed into my face. He was wearing safety goggles but had thinning blonde hair. He was tall, almost as tall as me, and strongly built.

“I—I want a lawyer.” I said.

“He wants a lawyer.” He mimicked me. “Let’s get this piece of garbage out of here.”

They shoved me back through the house and out the back door. I was pushed out along a path and then to a big dark car with tinted windows. The guy with the thinning hair opened the back door. “Get in, asshole.” He said.

The guy behind me guided my head through the door and shoved me into the seat, climbing in behind me. The guy with the thinning hair went around and got into the driver’s seat. “We’re going for a little ride, asshole.” He said, starting the car and pulling out into the street.

The numbness of the shock started to wear off a bit. I was under arrest of some sort, but hadn’t been read my rights. That could only mean one thing.

The Feds.

I cranked my head to look out the back window. The street was empty. Where the hell was Venus and the cops? “How did you guys get there so fast?” I asked.

“We’ll ask the questions, asswipe.” Was the answer from the front seat.

I sat back. My head ached, and my circulation in my arms wasn’t exactly the best. I was pretty sure I was bruised in a couple of places from being banged around.

They hadn’t gotten there fast, I reasoned. They’d already been there. The Feds were protecting Zane or whatever his name was. I’d almost messed up their plans, whatever they were, and they weren’t happy. They weren’t going to listen to me, so it was best to keep my mouth shut and keep asking for a lawyer.

Loren McKeithen, to be exact. Time for him to earn some more money.

 “I want a lawyer.”

I’d said it about a thousand times since the U. S. Marshals dragged me into the Federal Building and put me into one of their interrogation rooms. It was grueling. I hadn’t worn a watch, so I had no idea how long I was in there. They’d trade off every once in a while, playing “good cop, bad cop.” They threatened me. They threw questions at me. They said they were going to lock me up for a good long time. I’d be old and infirm before I got out.

“I want a lawyer.”

We’re going through your life with a fine-toothed comb, they said. We’re going through your phone records. We’re searching your apartment and going through your computer.

“I want a lawyer.”

Why were you threatening Zane Rathburn with a gun?

“I want a lawyer.”

On and on it went, threats and more threats. Every so often one of them would try to reason with me. I never bothered to learn their names. Fuck ‘em. Zane Rathburn was a cold blooded killer, and they were protecting him for whatever reason of their own. Yeah. My fucking tax dollars at work.

I had my head down on the table. I was exhausted and thirsty and had to piss. The door opened again. I didn’t bother to look up. Fuck’em, they could threaten the top of my head from now on.

“I told you to stay away from the Williams case.”

Venus.

I picked my head up. She set a bottle of water on the table. I grabbed it and took a long drink. I burped and set the bottle back down. “Yeah, well—I told you I didn’t give a rat’s ass about who killed Williams, Venus. All I want is to find Paul.”

She sat down across from me, rubbing her eyes. “Yeah. I knew you wouldn’t leave it alone.”

“Where is he, Venus?” my voice sounded rough. “What did Zane do with him?”

“I don’t know where he is.” She reached over and grabbed both of my hands. “He says he doesn’t know anything about it.”

“That’s bullshit, Venus, and you know it.”

She dropped my hands and stood up, walking over to the big mirror, which I knew was a one way window. The Feds were watching, listening. I resisted the urge to flip them the finger. “His name is actually Vinnie Castiglione.”