The Dollmaker (14 page)

“Call me a friend of the family.”

“No offense, Detective—”

“Dave.”

“You don’t look like the type of guy Graydon Losier would hire to wipe his ass, let alone invite to a Saturday soiree.” JoJo took a long drag on his cigarette and turned his head to cough out the smoke. He put a handkerchief to his mouth until the hacking fit was over, and when he brought it away, Dave saw spots of blood on the white linen.

JoJo tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket and acted as if nothing had happened. “But let’s say you are working for her old man. I still don’t get what you’re doing here. The cops already know who killed Nina.”

“That’s news to me,” Dave said. “Last I heard, they hadn’t made an arrest yet.”

“Don’t mean they don’t know who killed her. You want a name, all you gotta do is pick up a phone and call one of your old buddies down at the station.”

“I’d rather you tell me.”

JoJo motioned to a passing waitress, and a few seconds later, she brought him over a drink and a fresh Coke for Dave. He could smell the whiskey in the glass and pushed it away.

“If something’s wrong with your drink, I’ll have my girl bring you something else.”

“The drink is fine. I’m just not thirsty.”

JoJo smiled for the first time. “Now that surprises me. I had you pegged for a drinking man.” He gestured with his cigarette. “Something about the eyes. They always give away a man’s vices.” He lit a fresh cigarette from the butt in his hand. “Let me ask you something, Dave. You ever wish you could go back in time? Maybe to just one specific moment when a decision you made changed the entire course of your life?”

“All the time,” Dave said.

“Lately, I find myself thinking about the summer of ’62. That’s when my older brother gave me my first smoke. I was eleven years old. He stood there laughing his ass off while I puked up my guts behind the smokehouse. So I decided to show him what a big man I was, and for the past forty-five years, I haven’t gone more than an hour or two at a time without a cigarette in my hand. Except maybe when I’m sleeping.”

“What is it? Lung cancer?”

JoJo’s gray eyes showed surprise. “Most people assume emphysema. How’d you know?”

“I had an uncle who had it. I recognize the symptoms.”

“Helluva a way to go, from what I hear.”

“I can think of a few worse,” Dave said. “At least you made it this far. That’s more of a shot than Nina Losier got.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with that girl’s death. You’re wasting my time and yours if you think I did. Like I said, the cops already know who killed her.”

“And I’m still waiting for you to tell me.”

JoJo propped his elbows on the table and cupped one hand over the other. “Ever hear of a little cockroach named Jimmy Caisson?”

“Nina’s boyfriend?”

“He’s the kind of guy that likes to smack around his women. Puts a real tingle in his joystick, I reckon. You know the type. Beats the shit out of the old lady on Saturday night, then comes crawling back on hands and knees a couple days later begging for another chance. This time Jimmy got one too many chances.”

“There’s a problem with your theory, JoJo. Jimmy Caisson has an airtight alibi. At least a dozen witnesses can place him in a Biloxi casino on the night Nina was murdered.”

“Yeah, that’s what I hear. Interesting thing about that alibi, though. Jimmy has a cousin who looks enough like him to pass for his twin. They came in here together one night, I couldn’t tell the two assholes apart. And I’ve known Jimmy since he was knee-high to a piss ant. If those witnesses saw the cousin in that casino instead of Jimmy, it’d kind of blow a hole in his story, wouldn’t it?”

“You told the police about this cousin?”

“They know. What I still can’t figure out is why you’re here.”

Dave was starting to wonder the same thing himself. If the police were in the process of breaking Jimmy’s alibi, why would Graydon Losier feel the need to hire a P.I.? And why had Angelette brought the case to Dave?

Easy answer. She was after something.

“All right, let’s say Jimmy Caisson did kill Nina. Let’s say the police can eventually prove it,” Dave said. “That still leaves Renee Savaria.”

The cigarette continued to smolder in JoJo’s hand. “Ancient history.”

“Not to her family. Not to me, either.”

JoJo shrugged. “You got a guilty conscience about something, go talk to a priest. Leave me out of it.”

“Have you ever been to an AA meeting, JoJo?”

“No, why?”

“One of the steps to recovery is to admit to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. Seven years ago, I destroyed evidence that may have allowed Renee Savaria’s killer to go free. You’re the only person I’ve ever admitted that to.”

“What am I supposed to do? Applaud or something?”

“No, you just get to sit there and hear me out. A couple of days before my daughter was kidnapped, Renee’s roommate gave me Renee’s diary. Some of the last notations were a set of initials and an address on Chef Menteur Highway. The location was one of your old massage parlors, JoJo. She went out there to meet someone, didn’t she?”

“Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. Seven years is a long time, and my memory’s not what it used to be.”

“Think hard,” Dave said. “Because whoever Renee met that night turned out to be her killer. I’d put money on it. And then he used my daughter’s kidnapping to coerce me into destroying evidence that could have incriminated him.”

“You can’t prove any of that.”

“No, but I bet you can. I always suspected you were holding out on me, JoJo. I think you still are. You’ve been protecting Renee’s killer all these years, but a guy in your condition has to ask himself, what’s the point? Why not come clean while you still have the chance?”

“You think where I’m going one little confession is going to make any difference?”

Dave shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”

JoJo’s hands were steady and his eyes never flinched, but Dave could see a thin film of sweat glistening above his lip. “You really believe all that bullshit they teach in Sunday school?”

“Yeah, I do.”

JoJo took another long pull on his cigarette, then stabbed out the butt in the ashtray. He was silent for a moment as his gaze strayed to the runway, where a blonde who looked no more than eighteen danced in nothing but sequins and stilettos.

“There was this guy. He used to come in here a couple times a week. Big fucker with a scar all the way down the side of his face.” JoJo traced a finger along his jawline. “He had a thing for Renee. He used to set up these private parties for him and his friends, and he always made sure she was one of the girls I sent out.”

“What was his name?”

JoJo took out another cigarette, but didn’t light up. Instead he tapped the end against his hand. “You sure you want to take the lid off this crap hole? It may be old shit down there, but you start digging around, it’s still gonna stink. And nothing you do will bring that girl back.”

“It won’t bring her back, but maybe it’ll finally give her family some peace. They’ve had to live with the knowledge that Renee’s killer has gone free all these years. They need justice for their dead daughter and I need to make things right. I think you do, too.”

JoJo stared out at the crowd, then slowly ran his gaze back to Dave. “Does the name Clive Nettle mean anything to you?”

A memory clicked and a cold wave of dread washed over Dave. “He’s a cop.”

“Yeah, that’s right. They were all cops at those parties, and some of them wore some pretty heavy-metal brass on their chests. And for obvious reasons, they were mighty particular about who they let in.”

“Who are we talking about, JoJo? Give me some names.”

He took a sip of his drink. Condensation ran off the bottom of the glass and dripped onto the tabletop. “I can’t give you any names. Nettle was the only one I ever had any dealings with. He always made the arrangements, sometimes for cash, sometimes in exchange for looking the other way if my liquor license wasn’t exactly in order.”

“Where did these parties take place?”

“Motel rooms, mostly. One or two times at an old farmhouse off the highway. Somebody I used to know owned it.”

“What about your massage parlors?”

“If the money was right.”

“Was the money right the night Renee was murdered?”

JoJo licked his lips. “Put it this way. An offer was made I couldn’t refuse.”

“What happened?”

“Nettle wanted more than a lap dance that night and things got a little rough. When Renee fought back, he lost control. Most of the brass ran for the bushes when the screaming started, but a couple of the cops stayed behind to clean up the mess. They hustled me out of my own joint, and the next thing I know, Renee’s being fished out of the drink.”

“And you just kept your mouth shut.”

His eyes met Dave’s across the table. “What was I supposed to do? I open my trap, next thing I know some trigger-happy cop is outside my back door with a sawed-off shotgun pressed against my temple.” He gestured with the unlit cigarette. “Besides, those bastards had it all figured out. It’d be their word against mine. And anyway, who’d give a shit about a dead stripper? Girls like Renee are a dime a dozen in this town. In a week’s time, nobody would’ve even remembered her name. But then you got put on the case, and you didn’t go looking for the easy answer. You kept digging and digging until that diary turned up. If somebody hadn’t gone and snatched your little girl, they would’ve found another way to stop you.”

Dave’s hands clenched into fists underneath the table. “Was Nettle the one who made those calls to me?”

“He never struck me as the type of guy who could think too fast on his feet.”

“Then who did?”

JoJo shrugged. “I’ve told you everything I know. We’re squared now, right?”

“As far as I’m concerned we are.” Dave struck a match and lit JoJo’s cigarette, then shook out the flame. “But my absolution isn’t exactly the one you need to worry about, JoJo.”

D
ave walked back to his truck, but instead of climbing in, he headed down Decatur to a little corner restaurant named Dessie’s.

Odessa Birdsong was known city-wide for her fried chicken, smothered pork chops and dirty rice, but it wasn’t the menu that drew Dave to her place that day. He and Dessie’s son, Titus, had once been partners, and Dave still remembered some of Titus’s old habits. Every day as soon as his watch ended, he’d stop by the restaurant to check on his aging mother. Sometimes he’d stick around and help out if she needed him; other days he’d take off after only a few minutes. But he never failed to go by and see her. Dave figured this would be a good time of day to catch him there, though the way their partnership had ended, he wasn’t so sure Titus would want to see him.

Someone had painted Dessie’s name in bright green letters across the plate glass window and replaced the apostrophe with a smiling red crawfish. As Dave pushed open the door, the scent of frying meat engulfed him. The place was small, with a wall of booths on one side and a few rickety tables jammed together in the center. Ancient wooden fans stirred a perpetual cloud of grease smoke that hovered near the tin ceiling, and Dave could hear a radio playing somewhere in the back.

He glanced around. At lunchtime the place always had a line out the door, but now the only patrons were two elderly black men seated in one of the booths eating catfish and hush puppies, and a younger man at a table by the window, with a bucket of crawfish and a layer of newspaper spread in front of him. They all glanced up when Dave walked in, then went right back to their meals.

The girl who stood behind the register looked to be about fifteen or sixteen. She was slim and beautiful, with a cloud of wiry curls brushing her shoulders and a complexion the color of milk chocolate. She’d been reading a magazine, but greeted Dave with a bored smile.

He didn’t recognize her at first. Last time he’d seen Titus’s youngest daughter, she’d been a little kid, only a year or so older than Ruby, and now here she was, all grown up. Dave’s chest tightened as he smiled back at her.

She tucked a bunch of stray curls behind one ear. “You want a table?”

“I was hoping I might catch your dad here. You’re Melaswane, aren’t you? Titus’s youngest?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” she drawled, and propped an elbow on the counter.

Dave couldn’t help smiling again. “You don’t remember me?”

“Nope.”

“I’m Dave. I used to work with your dad. We were partners once.”

She shrugged, as if the name meant less than nothing to her.

“Is Titus around?”

She traced a lazy pattern on the counter with her fingertip. “He’s in the kitchen pinching crawfish with Gran’ maman.”

“Do you think you could go back there and tell him I’m here to see him?”

“I guess.” She got up from the stool she’d been perched on, and as she pushed open the kitchen door, another cloud of smoke wafted out. “Daddy! There’s some man out here wants to see you.”

Dave could hear loud talking in the back and then Melaswane said petulantly, “I don’t know. Dave or somebody.”

The door closed behind her as she stepped into the kitchen, and a few moments later Titus came out, wiping his hands on the stained butcher’s apron he wore.

He paused with his shoulder against the door. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

At fifty-five, Titus Birdsong was still an impressive-looking man. He stood at least six-three, with broad shoulders, bulging forearms and fists the size of small hams. Ten years ago, when Dave moved into Homicide, Titus had already been a legend. One of only two black detectives in a division of twenty-four, he’d been about as welcome as a fur coat at a PETA rally in the early days of his career. He’d had to contend with slashed tires and racial slurs, and someone had even stuffed dog feces in his desk drawer one time. But eventually his outstanding arrest record got noticed by the brass, and he became one of the hottest detectives in the department to watch. In time, he’d even managed to win over most—but not all—of his colleagues with his old-fashioned courtesy and good humor.

By the time Dave came along, Titus had already burned himself out. His passion and drive for the job was a thing of the past, but Dave had never really minded his partner’s low-key approach to their investigations. Titus’s ego was also a thing of the past, and Dave had learned a lot from the older detective. But more than that, he liked and respected Titus as a person. Their amiable working relationship had forged a strong bond between the two men, and now Dave felt a twinge of guilt that he’d been the one to betray their friendship.

He walked over to the counter and sat down. “Long time no see.”

Titus let the door swing closed behind him. “You up and disappear for God knows how long and you got nuthin’ else to say for yourself?”

“The last few years have been pretty rough,” Dave said. “I wasn’t exactly in a sociable mood. And all that flack you caught from the crap I pulled before I left…I didn’t want to cause you any more grief.”

“Then why you come here now?”

“I need your help with something.”

Titus cocked his head. “Now, don’t that just beat all?” But in spite of the disdain dripping from his voice, a glint of curiosity appeared in his green eyes, and Dave knew he had him hooked.

“Have you got a few minutes? This won’t take long.”

“Grab yourself a cold drink and go on outside. It’s cooler out there than it is in here. I’ll be out directly, soon as I get the crawdad juice washed off my hands.”

He disappeared back into the kitchen, and Dave walked over to the old soft drink cooler near the register and took out an icy Coke. Then he went out the side door and down the steps to the patio, which was just a small pad of cracked concrete shaded by a live oak. The sun was starting to dip, and the light that drifted down through the branches shimmered like specks of gold across the tabletop. A breeze ruffled the elephant ears that grew along the wooden fence, and the scent of barbecuing meat hung heavy and succulent on the afternoon heat.

Dave sat down in the shade to wait for Titus. He came out a few minutes later with water droplets still clinging to his thick, graying hair. He’d put on a fresh shirt and the cotton looked as stiff as a cardboard box. His wife, Addie, had always had a thing about starch. Titus used to say his shirts were so rigid they were like wearing straitjackets. Dave always wondered if Titus’s laundry was somehow a metaphor for his marriage.

He sat down across from Dave at the picnic table, his gaze dropping to the Coke. “Got some longnecks over there in an ice chest.”

“I’m sticking with soda these days.”

Titus squinted against the splashes of sunlight. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Some days better than others,” Dave said.

“You mind if I have a cold one?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Titus got up and went over to the cooler at the bottom of the steps. The bottle he removed from the chipped ice looked cold and dark, and when he unscrewed the cap, a breath of frost rose up from the neck. “I still ain’t believing you’re here,” he said as he came back to the table. “I thought sure you’d be catfish bait by now.”

“You and me both,” Dave said. “I’m doing okay, though. I’ve still got my P.I. license and I’m working out of Morgan City nowadays. I do a lot of workmen’s comp claims for the oil and gas industry, and a couple of attorneys I know use me for surveillance and research, stuff like that. Not exactly stimulating work.”

“It keeps you in the game, though.” Titus took a thirsty swig of his beer.

“That’s about it.”

“You ever think about coming back to the show?”

“Too late for that, Titus. I burned too many bridges when I left.”

“You never can tell. We’re shorthanded these days. Somebody put in a good word for you, it might make a difference.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. Besides, I’m not here about my old job. I want to talk to you about the Nina Losier case. I heard the investigation has hit a dead end and Graydon Losier is looking to hire a P.I.”

Titus flicked the beer cap toward a trash can at the bottom of the steps. “Who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s just what I heard. Then I get to New Orleans and I find out that NOPD is about two seconds away from busting a guy named Jimmy Caisson for Nina’s murder. Now I don’t know what to think.”

“Sounds to me like somebody’s yanking your chain, kid. Who you been talking to?”

“I heard it from Angelette Lapierre.”

The beer bottle froze in midair, then came down with a hard thud against the table. “Oh, hell, no. Tell me you ain’t all up in that shit again. Dave, what’s the matter with you? That woman ain’t caused you enough grief by now?”

“I can’t lay my problems at Angelette’s doorstep, Titus. She never held a gun to my head.”

“Everything but. You’re only human and Angelette Lapierre is like a bitch in heat. Ain’t too many men I know who’d walk away from that kind of action.”

“It still doesn’t excuse my behavior. I did what I did and now I have to own it. But Angelette and me, we’re through. Whatever we had is finished.”

“Don’t sound that away to me.”

“It’s over, trust me.” Dave traced the scar above his left eye. “I hadn’t even seen her since I moved to Morgan City. Then she called me up the other day and wanted to meet at the Crescent City Bar over on Bourbon Street.”

“Jubal Roach’s place?”

Dave grinned at Titus’s expression. “Jubal was on his best behavior, even without you having my back.”

“Maybe he’s mellowed in his old age.”

“Or maybe I have. Anyway, that’s when Angelette told me that Graydon Losier was unhappy with the progress of the investigation and wanted to hire a P.I. She even said she mentioned my name to him.”

“And you believed her? Damn, boy, when you gonna catch a clue? Graydon Losier’s got more clout in Baton Rouge than Jesus Christ himself. If he had a problem with the investigation, he wouldn’t need to hire a P.I. He’d just call up one of his buddies in the statehouse to lean on the superintendent.”

“That’s the way I see it, too,” Dave said. “But what I can’t figure out is why Angelette came to me in the first place.”

“Maybe she wanted an excuse to see you.”

“I don’t think so. I think she has another agenda.” Dave paused, his gaze going to a set of tiny handprints at the edge of the concrete slab. “Titus, how well do you remember the Renee Savaria case?”

“Well enough that I don’t like where I think this conversation is headed.”

“Angelette made it out that the police were ignoring a possible connection between the Losier investigation and Renee Savaria’s murder.”

Titus shook his head. “You still don’t see it, do you? She’s playing you, Dave. She’s chumming the waters with all this Savaria mess, and now she’s got you chasing after her hook like a big ’ol suckerfish. If you really want shed of that trouble, do yourself a favor and haul ass out of N’ awlins tonight. Forget you ever heard of Angelette Lapierre.”

“I wish I could, but it’s not that simple.”

“It never is with you, kid.”

He tried not to wince at the older man’s tone. “I talked to JoJo Barone right before I came over here. He told me something I can’t walk away from.”

Titus put a matchstick in his mouth and sat back, as if trying to distance himself from Dave and his problems. “JoJo Barone is a low-life scumbag who’d sell his mama’s soul to cover his own ass. He ain’t exactly what I’d call a reliable source.”

“Did you know he’s got lung cancer?”

“I knew he had something. Looks like a walking corpse these days. I figured it was a bad case of the boogie-woogie flu, but whatever the hell he got, don’t expect me to get all choked up about it. You find yourself getting sentimental over a guy like that, maybe you need to stop and ask yourself how you’d feel if it was your daughter he been pimping out of the back room of that dump on Bourbon Street.”

Dave flinched and glanced away.

“Shit, man.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Titus sat slumped over the table, his expression contrite. “I hate like hell I said something like that to you.”

“Forget it. You’re right about JoJo. He is slime, but he’s also dying, and I think he was being straight with me this time. Titus…he told me a cop killed Renee Savaria.”

The older man’s gaze swept the yard and patio before coming back to rest on Dave. “I didn’t hear that.”

“Titus—”

“I’m serious. Don’t drag me into this shit, Dave, not this time. You need to believe a creep like JoJo Barone, that’s on you, but I don’t want no part of it.”

“You’re already in it, Titus. The Savaria case was ours, and you and me both dropped the ball. I know what happened to me after Ruby went missing, but where were you? What happened to Renee’s file once I resigned? You just shuffle it to the bottom of the pile and call it a day?”

Titus’s eyes sparked with anger. “You sure you want to start throwing around accusations like that? ’Cause if that’s the game you’re looking to play, let’s have at it.”

“I screwed up,” Dave said. “I admit that. It took me awhile, but I’m finally on the right track. And I’m trying to right some old wrongs that have been eating at me for too damn long. But it’s not just about me. That girl’s family needs justice, Titus. We owe them that.”

“Maybe what they need is a little peace. You ever stop and consider that?”

“Renee Savaria was killed at a private party by a cop named Clive Nettle.”

Titus started shaking his head, but Dave just kept right on talking.

“There were other cops at that party and they helped cover up what he did. And then I destroyed evidence that probably kept him out of prison.”

“Don’t say no more, Dave. I don’t need to hear this.”

“Yes, you do. We were partners. I should have been straight with you years ago about Renee Savaria’s diary.”

Titus put his hands on the table. His fingers were large and blunt and his nails were clipped almost down to the quick. “You don’t need to say anything more because I already know what you did.”

Dave stared at him in shock.