Chapter Twenty-Four

I awoke early, again the mocking sunshine, perfect days of clear skies as if nature thought she could make up for her furies of the late summer.

What if Katrina hadn’t happened, I wondered as I lay in bed. Or even if the storm had come, the levees and floodwalls had held?

If wishes were horses, we all would ride. Something my mother would say to me when I was little. Where did that come from? Oh, yeah, that pesky subconscious. I swung my legs out of bed, trying to figure out what my sub-brain was up to as I wiped the sleep from my eyes. It seemed pretty obvious—Katrina had happened. I couldn’t wish it away. Or maybe I just wanted that mythical perfect moment of childhood, when I was cared for and loved and the adults around me could make all the problems disappear.

If Katrina hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t be sleeping in my unheated office; Cordelia wouldn’t have spent a week in hell and be struggling to get over it. We’d be back together. I didn’t know how I could know that, but I did. Then I realized that I did know how I knew that. I’d forgive her. Duh. Why hadn’t I thought of that before? I headed to the bathroom and a shower.

Lauren Caulder was a compelling and attractive woman. What if she had thrown herself at me? What if I’d worked with her everyday as Cordelia had? A hand on the arm, a shoulder rub, a lingering hug. Return to the same place the next day.

So instead of buying a little red sports car as a mid-life crisis, Cordelia had a fling. It was just sex. Well, not that anything is just sex, but sometimes it really is just wanting that brief flash of flesh, and sometimes it’s an expression of love forever.

The one place she hadn’t mentioned interviewing for jobs was New York City, where Lauren Caulder lived. I turned on the water, waiting for it to get hot. Then remembered that it wasn’t going to get hot until the gas lines were repaired and they weren’t likely to be fixed in the next ten minutes. I filled the sink half full. Today would be another chilly sponge-bath day.

If Katrina hadn’t happened, I’d still have walked in on them, then run out, fled to the shipyard in the bayous. But instead of having to suddenly evacuate from the storm, I’d have stayed there. Probably long enough for Cordelia to have come out to find me. I would have had my well-deserved blowup. She would acknowledge that I had a reason to be enraged and apologize. Probably several times. Reality is that I’d have required at least three before responding. She would have given me three. She would have fixed it.

That was our pattern, perhaps a part of why we worked. Cordelia was calm and stable. Me, not so much. I’d fly off—sometimes with good reason, other times not—and she’d be there, calm, waiting, talking me down. Giving me time, space, what I needed to work things out. She was the rock; I was the wind.

Katrina had broken my rock. After ten years together, it was my turn. I’d have to take over her role, be calm and stable and look for ways to find a way back to each other instead of being the one who railed and fumed.

Could I do it? Could I do it ever? Can I do it now?

I plunged my face into the cold water, quickly scrubbing it, then just as quickly drying myself. For the rest of my body, I dipped a washcloth in the water, but was just as hasty with the washing.

Let her go—it’s broken and it can’t be fixed. Or be different—and better—than I’ve ever been before. That was my choice.

I wrapped myself in a big towel, trying to get warm and dry.

Could I do it? It scared me to think about trying. I could go there when she got home around four. If I couldn’t at least be a decent person, I might do better to skip seeing her again. Dallas wasn’t that far away. In six months to a year, we could probably be friends again. Or avoid ever seeing each other again.

I dithered for a moment, trying to decide whether to put the coffee on before I got dressed or after. Clothes won. I was too cold to be naked a second longer than necessary even if it meant delaying the caffeine.

I couldn’t think about Cordelia anymore. I had a lot to do today, a lot of things to worry about. I’d delegate worrying about her to my sub-brain. Maybe by four o’clock it would tell me whether to go see her.

A couple of granola bars and a banana would do for breakfast. Plus a big mug of coffee.

I sat in front of my computer. It was time to work on the one case someone was paying me for.

I didn’t have a lot to go on. No one wants to think that someone is deliberately trying to do them harm. The Overhills were no different. Even if they didn’t lose any money, crime eats at your soul. Makes you suspicious of those around you. Makes you wonder, is it punishment for sins or just a brutal randomness that could strike again? I could understand their reluctance to suspect those around them.

Jared had sent me a list of employees fired in the last six months. It had three names on it. Two were in prison on drug-related charges that didn’t seem to have much to do with the day job. One had moved to Hawaii. None of them seemed likely, especially as they were in positions—night maintenance, custodian—that wouldn’t require much contact with the Overhills.

It had to be someone who intersected with the Overhills and Alma. The records she had uncovered were public, so in theory someone else could find them as well, but that seemed unlikely. Blackmailers weren’t usually archive hounds.

I went to the company Web site, not that I expected to find out much. I’d looked it over before, but this time I was culling through all the names listed. It was a stretch, to go through names of the top managers to see if I could discover anything like a gambling problem that might make someone resort to extortion.

It was tedious going. All I could find was apple pie and rosy cheeks. The top dirt was a speeding ticket from three years ago.

After about two hours I broke off and started looking at photographs of various events. No, I wasn’t expecting to see someone sharpening a knife in the background, but body language can be telling and it at least might give me a way to winnow the list.

The truth was we might never know who the blackmailer was. Culling through these names was like looking for a needle in a haystack when I had no i.e. if this was even the right haystack. The most likely way to catch them—I assumed more people were involved beyond the two on the telephone—was to set up a fake payoff and apprehend whoever tried to pick up the money. Then hope that person would snitch on the higher-ups.

Company picnic. New hotel opening. Employee of the month. Blah blah. Helping construct a new playground. Company softball tournament. Visitors from the West Coast. Visitors from the East Coast. Visitors from Europe. Visitors from outer space. No, that was our congressional delegation. Decorating the office for Christmas. Decorating the office for Mardi Gras. It seemed that any picture that didn’t have radiantly smiling people wasn’t posted.

Wait. Decorating for Mardi Gras. Third from the left, second row. Mildred Groome. Alma Groome. Not a common name, although it was possibly just a coincidence. I hurriedly looked through my notes. Alma’s brother Calvin had married a white woman over a decade older than he was.

I stared intently at the woman. She tried to look younger than she was, dyed blond hair, eye makeup obscuring the lines around her eyes. What was it that Mrs. Frist had said? Teased blond kind of woman? This one could fit the bill. I printed the picture.

I needed to ask Jared about her. Just as I was about to pick up the phone, it rang.

It was Marilyn Overhill. “She called again.”

“When?”

“Just now. I literally hung up the phone with her to call you.”

“You talked to her?”

“Yes, unfortunately. I was the only one home.”

“What did she want?”

“The money. She said we have to have it this evening by ten o’clock. She was very insistent about that.”

“Where are you supposed to meet her?”

“She wouldn’t tell me. Said she’d call later and let us know.”

“Were you able to get her to call back at a specific time?”

“No. I tried. I informed her that we had to go out and she told me that was too bad, that someone had better be hanging around the phone or we’d regret it.”

“Same person? Or at least the same voice?”

“Yes. The woman who first called. She didn’t talk long, like she was in a hurry. Just that we had to have the money by tonight or all our, quote, shit would be smeared over everything, unquote.”

“This might be the time to call in the police. Probably the best way to capture her and whoever she is working with will be when they attempt to get the money. That’s my advice, but it’s your choice. Some people have paid blackmailers off to avoid the publicity and having the authorities involved.”

“And just let this woman and her cohorts walk away with it? I think not. Should I call law enforcement?”

“I have contacts there. I can if you want me to. Again, your choice.”

“Would you do it? This is out of my comfort zone by a few thousand miles.”

I agreed and, glancing at my watch, asked if it was okay for me to drop by and get a copy of the phone call.

“It’s not like I can go anywhere. I have to wait around for an important phone call.” Her words were etched in acid.

I called Joanne, waiting on hold for about ten minutes before finally speaking to her. I updated her on everything. Before she could ask I told her I’d send her a copy of the latest phone call and e-mail the company photo, and the cherry on top, anything that Jared told me about Mildred Groome, I’d immediately pass on to her.

“You’d better,” she admonished me. “You get a ringside seat, but it’s our show now. Call for anything and everything.”

Then it was a call to Jared to ask about Mildred Groome. The best he could do was tell me the name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place her. I gave him Joanne’s fax number and e-mail and told him to send anything he could find to both of us.

I looked at my watch. I needed to get moving if I wanted to get uptown, retrieve the recording of the phone call, and make it out to Kenner at one to fetch Nathalie.

As I was gathering what I needed to take with me, I called Liz.

“Where do I go from Kenner?” I said in greeting. She had caller ID, she’d know it was me.

“Still working on it. Trying to get all the players in the same location. A doctor and a social worker, who’d have thought it would be so hard. Probably around Touro, exact location TBA.”

“That’s close enough for now. I’ll make sure to bring the car charger for the cell phone. I’ll give you a call once I have her on board.”

“Thanks. You’re a great partner. Drinks and dinner after this is all over?”

I must have hesitated, as she said, “As a thank-you for helping me do my job.”

“If we can find a decent restaurant that’s reopened, you’re on the hook.”

Then it was time to make my appointed rounds. I had my laptop, cell phone, phone charger. Pens, paper, tampons. What else did I need? Gun.

Cordelia hated for me to carry the gun, but if I went by to see her, I’d leave it in the car. Unless I wanted to have sex with her one more time. Ouch, the humor was too black even for me.

One advantage of so few working stoplights was speed, no waiting for the light to change. Rarely was more than one car at any given intersection. I was in front of the Overhills in twenty minutes.

Marilyn greeted me at the door with, “No phone calls yet. Guess I’ll be waiting a little longer.”

Technology is wonderful. I could capture the phone call on a jump drive, leaving the recording device in place. Once I had saved it, I could download it to my computer and e-mail it to Joanne.

As I was doing this, I explained what was going on to Marilyn. Someone from NOPD would be here shortly. They might well ask her the same questions that I did. She was stoic enough to reply only that at least my questions had given her time to think about the answers. I wasn’t quite sure how NOPD would handle this, but they knew what they were doing. If she or any of her family had questions or concerns, I’d be around to help and advocate for them. NOPD wanted to catch the crooks. My job was to look after Brooke and her family. Those were mostly the same goals, but not always.

She let me have the security code to their wireless system so I could send Joanne the audio file. I made sure she had my cell-phone number and also Joanne’s. I trusted Marilyn Overhill to use them only if needed.

I did a quick calculation. I just needed to pick up Nathalie. I was assuming that I could drop her off, or at least decline to be the designated driver. I’d be done with her by about two, three at the latest. Cordelia was leaving for the airport around six. That meant that, no matter what happened, I could easily be back here by seven to be with them during the most crucial time. I quickly sketched out my schedule to Marilyn—being rather vague—”an important errand for another client and a meeting”—assuring her that I would be back this evening and that she should call if anything happened, or even if she had any questions.

Then I was out of her house and heading for the interstate to go pick up Nathalie.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14