Hall, Jessica (5 page)

"Knock yourself out, pal." Terri stalked past him.

Their witness had seated herself at the conference table inside
the interview room. It felt a little stuffy, so Terri opened a window before
asking Sable if she wanted anything to drink.

"May I have some water, please?" Her voice sounded raspy
and strained, but that might have been from the smoke.

As Terri got a cup from the cooler and filled it, she kept an eye
on her partner. J. D.'s usual method with witnesses was to sit down, put them
at ease, and charm all the details out of them. He was good at it, too. Her
partner never had a problem making anyone feel as if they could tell him
anything. She'd probably told him way too much about herself over the years.

Not this time, though. J. D. didn't open the interview by
consoling the victim, didn't establish rapport, didn't do anything the way he
usually did. He didn't even sit down, but slowly walked the length of the room,
watching Sable with the single-minded intensity of a starved junkyard dog
presented with a wounded rabbit.

Or a rejected lover, looking for a little revenge.

It didn't make sense to Terri. Sable Duchesne was a very pretty
woman, but hardly J. D.'s type. He stuck to
high-maintenance Garden
District debutantes who never wore white after Labor Day and had their names
plastered all over the society pages. Lately he'd been spending a lot of time
with one particularly obnoxious Creole debutante, Moriah Navarre, and if his
mama had her way, he would be married to her as soon as possible.

Marc LeClare's death would definitely upset J. D.'s father, and
possibly put Elizabet Gamble's wedding plans on the back burner. That worked
for Terri—any excuse to keep from shopping for a dress was okay by her, and
she'd never been too crazy about the idea of J. D. marrying The Deb.

"Here you go." She handed Sable the water, and noticed
the wounds on her palms again when she accepted the cup. "You sure you
don't remember how you got those splinters, Ms. Duchesne?"

Sable examined her hands. "I think I tried to get out through
a window."

As Terri sat down, J. D. came to stand over Sable, not touching
her but getting a little too close. The witness ignored him completely.

Terri cleared her throat and gave her partner a direct look.
Get
on with it,
she mouthed.

"Are you living in New Orleans now?" he asked.

Sable drank some of the water before she answered. "No."

He circled around her chair, as if trying to draw her attention to
him. "Why were you at that warehouse this morning?"

"I was looking at it as office space." She stared down
at the cup. "I think I should speak to an attorney."

"You'll speak to me now," J. D. told her.

After a minute of silence, Terri decided to give her a
gentle
prod. "Ms. Duchesne, you're not being charged with anything. We only want
to know what happened."

Sable's shoulders hunched. "I don't remember much." She
sounded scared and defensive.

Now J. D. will play her.
Terri had seen him soothe
any number of other shaken witnesses, reassuring them while coaxing the
information from them.

J. D. clamped one hand on the back of Sable's chair and grabbed
the hair at the back of her head. "Who hit you?"

"J. D." Alarmed, Terri got to her feet.

He didn't pull Sable's hair, but pushed it out of the way and
examined her scalp. There was a large swollen knot under her hair. "Did
you see who did this?"

Dark red hair flew as Sable jerked her head to one side, away from
his touch. "No. I didn't see anyone."

"Bullshit." He jerked her chair around so that she was
facing him. "What happened in that warehouse? Who hit you?
Answer
me."

"I don't know." Sable turned her head to look at Terri,
anger glittering in her eyes. "You said I could make a phone call. I want
to make it now, please."

"J. D.," Terri repeated, with a warning note this time.
"You can make your call in a minute, Ms. Duchesne."

Her partner used his hand to grab Sable's jaw and turn her face
back toward his. "Where did all this blood come from? How did you know
Marc LeClare? Why were you there? Who set the fire? Did you see who hit
you?"

They were almost close enough to be kissing, Terri thought, but J.
D.'s voice hovered just below a shout.

"I
don't
remember." Sable had her hands folded in
her
lap, so tightly that all her tendons stood out like cables ready to snap.
"Get your hands off me."

Terri suppressed a sigh. "I think we need a break. J.
D.?"

He ignored her and clamped his other hand around the base of
Sable's throat. "Vous
me répondrez!"

"Je ne peux pas vous aider,"
she
hissed back.
"Laissez-moi seule."

Terri knew a lot more about Sable Duchesne then, and it only added
to the problem. Since her partner wasn't hearing a word she said, she went
around the table and kicked him in the shin. "Hey. Back off."

He straightened and let his hands fall away. Under his jacket, the
muscles in his arms and shoulders bunched. "I'm not going to hurt
her."

"I don't care." She pointed to the door. "Take a
walk—cool off. Do a few laps around the building.
Now."

J. D. gave Sable one last look, then left.

Terri's partner simply didn't lose his temper. Ever. Seeing it
happen scared her, enough to make her drop her own guard for a moment.
"What is it with you two?"

Sable averted her dark brown eyes, but not before Terri saw a
suspicious shimmer. "Nothing."

Terri swore under her breath. "Here." She found a box of
tissues, and put it down on the table. "You'd better pull yourself
together, lady. That dead man was going to be our next governor. You are in for
a full course of trouble, and J. D. is only the appetizer."

Sable lifted her chin. "I'm not afraid of J. D."

When Terri stepped outside the interview room, she found J. D.
leaning against the wall, staring at the ceiling tiles. How did a wealthy
Creole society son like him get involved with a backwater Cajun girl? Terri
wasn't sure she wanted to know. "Want to take a shot at me now?"

J. D. thrust his hands in his pockets. "Maybe."

Anger wasn't something she was used to feeling around her partner.
She trusted J. D. with her life, and she wasn't about to let him screw up his.
"I'm glad you're getting a laugh out of this, because I'm not."

"You're crowding me."

"Gee, I'm all broken up about that. Maybe you forgot—we don't
do the bad cop/worse cop routine, and she's not even a damn suspect." She
shoved at his shoulder. "What were you thinking, putting your hands on
her?"

He muttered something vile under his breath. "She won't talk
to me in front of you. Give me five minutes alone with her. I'll get the
answers."

Her jaw sagged. "Do I really look
that
stupid to you?
You want to blow this whole case because you got a hard-on for her?"

"It's not that and you know it." J. D. looked up at the
ceiling, then back at her. "Christ, Ter, I know her. She's just
scared."

"Really. That woman is a witness—the only witness so far—to a
felony arson, and maybe a murder. The DA isn't going to put up with her little
amnesia act for a second. Not even if she was your
wife."
Then it
hit Terri, and she smacked her palm on her forehead. "That's it, isn't it?
You and her?"

"It was a long time ago." J. D.'s gaze never wavered.
"I need time alone with her. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

"Shit." Terri rubbed her eyes. In the five years they'd
worked together, J. D. had never asked her to bend the rules. The fact that he
wanted to now only made things worse. But he was her partner. "All right,
I'm going to get some forms and bring her a phone. You've got ten minutes to
kiss and make up with your sweetheart." When he would have gone back into
the room, she grabbed his sleeve. "And when I get back, I'm dusting her
for prints, so keep your hands in your pockets."

He nodded and went in. Terri walked down the corridor, glancing
back once to see him closing the blinds.

J. D. Gamble in love with a Cajun girl. His mama must have had a
stroke. Well, at least things can't get any worse.
Terri
saw J. D.'s girlfriend standing at her desk, and groaned.
Oh yes, they can.

"Detective Vincent." Moriah Navarre sat down in J. D.'s
chair and crossed her thin, tanned legs. She wore a tan silk blouse with khaki
shorts and had tucked her golden hair up into a trendy little fedora. Chunky
gold and diamond jewelry glinted at her throat and ears. The blouse clung just
enough to show off every curve of her natural assets. "Is Jean-Del
available?"

Every male in the detective squad room appeared mesmerized by
Moriah's chest, or legs. Terri could almost hear the drool starting to drip.
"Just a minute, Ms. Navarre." She picked up the phone and dialed the
number for the current time and weather conditions. She listened to the entire
prerecorded message while the elegant blonde frowned at her. To appear busy,
Terri wrote out what she needed to pick up from the
grocery
store, then set the receiver down before reaching for a file she'd closed out a
week ago.

The young socialite shifted her weight and sighed a few times.
Once she looked pointedly at her wrist-watch, which naturally matched her
jewelry.

Terri let another five minutes pass, but she needed to get back to
check on J. D. She glanced up and smiled. "Sorry, we're a little busy
today. You're looking for J. D.?"

The diamonds in Moriah's earlobes sparkled as she lifted her chin.
"Yes. He's going to take me to lunch."

Terri wondered if she knew about Sable, but figured she'd hear it
from J. D. soon enough. Probably would be best to get her out of here for now.
"He's interviewing a witness to an arson," she finally said.
"Getting a statement usually takes a while."

"You should have mentioned that before." Moriah slowly
rose. "Perhaps Cort will join me instead."

Despite the sympathy she felt for the girl, Terri heard her own
voice go flat. "Cort's in Biloxi, at a conference. His brother Evan's
flying in this week, but oh, that's right, he's bringing his wife." She
smiled. "Looks like you've run out of Gambles."

"Aren't you up-to-date on everyone's whereabouts?" J.
D.'s girlfriend produced a pretty laugh. "Part of your work, I
suppose."

Terri seriously doubted Moriah Navarre knew anything about work.
The Deb had gone to the best schools in Europe, served as her father's hostess
when her mother was "on the Continent," and otherwise devoted herself
to not breaking a sweat. She'd dated all three Gamble brothers, vacillating
between Cort, Evan, and J. D. for some time before settling on Terri's partner.

Like comparison shopping, only for men instead of handmade Italian
pumps.

Moriah's flirtatious wave at one of the younger detectives made
Terri decide to end things before she snapped out something she'd enjoy.
"Any message for J. D.?"

"Yes. Tell him to call me as soon as he's free. Oh, and
remind him that he needs to get the final fitting for his tux for Saturday
night." She gave Terri a small smile of insincere commiseration.
"Sorry we won't be seeing you there."

Terri imagined lepers would be more welcome than she was. "J.
D. invited me, but I already had plans."

"What a pity. I think you'd look marvelous in white, myself.
Something simple, with a few flounces here and there to de-emphasize those
narrow hips and shoulders." She studied Terri's face. "Perhaps more
cream than white, with your skin tone. You are so very dark, aren't you?"

Moriah's family lineage stretched back to the influx of refugees
seeking asylum after Napoleon fell at Waterloo. Terri wasn't too sure who her
grandparents were. "I'll give J. D. your message." She said it the
same way she would
nice shot, bitch.

"Thank you so much, Detective."

She watched J. D.'s girlfriend saunter out, then listened to the
other cops mutter in low voices about Gamble's great luck with the ladies.

Sable closed her eyes and rested her head on her folded arms. She
could have wept, but the tears had
retreated as swiftly as J.
D. had. Now she only felt numb. The same way she had that night, ten years ago.