Vieux Carré Voodoo (7 page)

“And you said the police don’t have any leads on his
killer?”

“No.” His eyes got wet again, but he seemed to shrug it off.
“The sheriff said it was more than one person…I mean, the house was trashed. And
they tortured him before they killed him.” His voice broke, and my heart went
out to him, the poor kid. “I don’t know what they did to him—I don’t want to
know.”

“And nothing was missing?”

“Not as far as I could see. I mean, I didn’t know what all
he had in the house.” He shrugged. “But it didn’t make any sense, you know? I
mean, what could he have had that someone would want so bad…” He paused and
swallowed again.

So bad they would torture him to find it.

I got up and walked over to my desk. I handed him one of my
business cards. “All of my numbers are on there,” I said, “so if you think of
anything else, let me know.”

“So you’ll find Moonie?” His face lit up. He really was a
gorgeous young man.

“I’ll do my best.” I led him to the door. “I’ll get started
in the morning.” I shut the door behind him, cutting off his thanks.

I walked back into the living room and plopped down on the
couch. A case! I felt positively rejuvenated. Besides, looking for Moonie would
help me pass the time until Frank got back.

I picked up the joint and sparked it up again. I grabbed a
notepad and started making notes.

The easiest way to find Moonie would be to contact the
Veterans Administration. They would have records—they might not be willing to
open their files to me, but I was sure after I told them the story, they could
find out the names of the other guys who served with Marty Gretsch. But if I
couldn’t convince them, maybe Storm could do something. My older brother was a
dreadful tease who loved to pick on me, but he was also one of the best lawyers
in New Orleans. And wasn’t there some law that allowed people to request
records? What was it called?

Damn, it was good pot.

Oh, yeah, the Freedom of Information Act. I made a note to
look it up online and find out what information could be requested.

My cell phone started ringing. I answered. “Yo.”

“You coming to tea?” It was my best friend, David. “I’m down
at the Pub already. You’re late.”

I glanced over at the clock on my mantelpiece. “Oh, man,
sorry about that. I was meeting with a client.”

“Well, get your ass down here—there are hot guys
everywhere.”

I sighed, and debated with myself. There wasn’t really
anything I could do until the morning, anyway. “All right. I’ll be there in a
few minutes.”

“Well, hurry your ass up.” David hung up.

I wandered down the hall to get dressed.

NINE OF SWORDS

Death of a loved one

I had a slight buzz going as I headed home from the bars
about nine.

David had been right—the bars had been packed. They usually
were on holiday evenings. After spending the day with family, most guys couldn’t
wait to get to the clubs and get their gay on. It was a lot more festive out
than a usual Sunday, and everyone seemed to be drinking quite a bit more.
Usually, I love to meet people and flirt, but I hadn’t been into it tonight.
Frank and I had an open relationship in theory, but so far neither one of us had
strayed—and anyone I would have met would have been a poor substitute for him.
Instead, I avoided making eye contact with anyone and just stood in a corner,
nursing beers while David kept a running commentary on the fuckability of every
guy who walked past us. Every guy I saw I compared to Frank—and they came up on
the short end of the comparison. Finally, David zeroed in on a hot young
Hispanic, and as they went through the gay mating ritual, I tossed my beer
bottle into the trash and beat it out of there. I said good-bye, but David was
so caught up with the Hispanic I don’t think he even noticed.

The evening was cold, and I shivered a little bit. The rain
had passed, but the sidewalk and streets were still slick and wet. I walked down
Bourbon Street, stopping into the Nelly Deli to get a Coke. A cute guy was in
there, waiting for his food, and he started cruising me. I just smiled and took
my Coke to the cash register.

When did you turn into such a dull boy?
I scolded
myself as I walked home.
You’re in an open relationship, and even if you
don’t want to hook up with someone, there’s no harm in flirting with people.

It wasn’t just about missing Frank, though. As I took a swig
of my Coke, my mind went back to Levi.

I felt really sorry for him. I couldn’t imagine how rough it
would be to be all alone in the world at that young an age. I was glad I’d taken
his case. Was it likely his grandfather’s killers were after him? Probably not,
unless they thought he had whatever it was they’d been looking for in his
grandfather’s house. I made a mental note to do an Internet search for
information about his grandfather’s murder when I got home. All I needed was the
name of the investigating officer. I doubted he’d give me any information about
an open case, but he could let me know if he thought Levi was in any danger. The
most important thing was to find Moonie. He had whatever it was they wanted.

I wondered again what the three young GIs had done over
there.

I turned the corner onto Governor Nicholls and stopped dead
in my tracks.

A block ahead, past Royal Street, several police cars were
pulled up on the sidewalks, their lights flashing. An ambulance was parked in
the middle of the street, its lights also flashing. I recognized the van from
the police crime lab. Several cops had cordoned off the block and were keeping a
crowd of people back.

I sighed. The crime rate had been going back up in the city
as more people returned. There had been several shootings in the Quarter in
recent months, and the residents were starting to get restive. I debated just
turning down Royal and walking home down Barracks Street, but curiosity got the
better of me.

“What happened?” I asked a tall, beautiful woman with red
hair when I got to the crowd behind the barricade. She was holding a gorgeous
King Charles spaniel on a leash. I leaned down to pet the dog. It started
jumping on my legs excitedly.

“Down, Rambla,” the woman commanded. The dog ignored her and
placed her front two paws on my thighs. “Some poor man fell from a balcony, from
what I gather.” She shook her head. “It’s a wonder there aren’t more balcony
accidents. He was probably drunk.”

I scratched the spaniel’s silky ears and cooed at her.
“That’s a good girl, yes.”

I straightened up. The dog started sniffing around my feet.
“Which balcony?”

“The one above the candle shop.”

My heart sank into my shoes. I left her and pushed my way
through the crowd of spectators to the barricades, all the while telling myself,
No, it’s not Doc, it can’t be Doc, I was just there this afternoon, it’s not…

I took a deep breath.

There was a body lying in the middle of the street, covered
with a tarp from the coroner’s office. The feet were uncovered, and I saw a pair
of navy blue loafers and navy blue pant legs.

I grabbed hold of the barricade as my body started to sag.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a door open, and two
police detectives I recognized walk through it out to the sidewalk.

It was Doc’s door.

I turned my eyes back to the corpse.

I looked up at Doc’s balcony. There were several cops up
there, and someone was dusting the railing for fingerprints. A camera’s flash
went off. I felt the beer in my stomach trying to come back up. I took a deep
breath and fought the nausea down. Tears started to well up in my eyes.

Memories started flashing through my mind. I saw Doc
lighting a cigar and enjoying a glass of bourbon as he explained the
sociopolitical situation in the Middle East to my parents. I remembered Doc
explaining to me the significance of the Stonewall Riots and the birth of the
gay rights movement. I remembered Doc, who always hung a black wreath on his
door on the anniversary of Lee’s surrender at Appomattox, arguing with my mother
that it wasn’t racist to take pride in ancestors who fought on the wrong side of
the Civil War. I could hear Doc saying that the only good Republican was a dead
one. And I remembered how kind he had always been to me. I remembered how, after
the flood, he had told Frank and me that how we chose to move forward with our
lives was more important than anything awful that had happened to us that year.
I remembered him telling us we had to grab for every brass ring life offered to
us, and that the worst thing would be to look back on our lives and regret not
doing things, not taking chances, not living our lives.

I choked back a sob.

No, no, no! There must be some mistake, it can’t be Doc
there under that tarp, it must be someone else, there must be some mistake, yes,
that’s it, Doc can’t be dead.

“Venus!” I shouted at the two detectives. “Blaine!” I
started waving at them.

Venus Casanova is a tall, striking black woman of
indeterminate age. She wears her hair cropped short, and years of exercise have
kept her body fit and strong. Her partner, Blaine Tujague, is a sexy guy in his
early thirties with dark black hair and bright blue eyes. I’d dealt with them
before on several murders I’d gotten involved in, and while I know I got on
their nerves, they were thorough professionals.

Venus made a face when she saw me, and started walking
toward me. Her heels clicked on the pavement. She was wearing a navy blue
pantsuit over a yellow silk blouse. Her eyes narrowed, and she sighed. “Scotty
Bradley. What are you doing here?’

“Is that”—I swallowed—“Benjamin Garrett?”

“Let him through,” she said to the cop standing in front of
me. The cop stood aside and let me pass. She turned her back to me and started
walking over to the corpse. I followed her. “We’re not sure who this is, there
was no ID on him. But he came from that balcony up there, and the name on the
box is Benjamin Garrett,” she said, squatting down next to the tarp. “Can you
handle taking a look?”

I nodded, and took a deep breath. She pulled the tarp back.

I felt gorge rising up in my throat. “It’s him.”

His face was down against the pavement. Blood was pooled
under his face, and his nose was flattened. There was no sign of his glasses.

She replaced the tarp and waved for me to follow her.
Somehow, I managed to get back to my feet and start walking. My mind was numb,
but that was better than hysteria.
Doc is dead, Doc is dead, Doc is dead
kept running through my head like some kind of twisted refrain.

I followed her until we were standing underneath Doc’s
balcony. “At least this time you didn’t find the body,” she said, her face
impassive. She folded her arms. “No offense, but I was hoping I’d never see you
again.”

“None taken. I was kind of hoping the same thing, to be
honest.” I turned and looked back at the corpse. “What happened, Venus? Did he
jump?”

Venus’s face didn’t move. “We’re trying to figure that out,
Scotty. When did you last speak with him?”

“I—I just talked to him this afternoon.” I leaned against
one of the balcony support posts and took some deep breaths. “Oh, no, no.”

The numbness was starting to spread through my body. I made
an effort to pull myself together. I wasn’t going to allow myself to melt down
in front of Venus Casanova, no matter how justified it was.

“This afternoon? How did he seem?”

“The same as always.” I shook my head. “Fine. He was
perfectly fine. I was heading up the street to ride in the Easter Parade. I
walked under his balcony—”
Was it just six or so hours ago?
I swallowed
again. “And when I came out he dumped water on me. He invited me up, gave me a
towel, and I hung out with him for a little while. I was afraid I was going to
be late, so I left and he invited me to stop by again tomorrow afternoon.” I
looked at her. “He wouldn’t have done that if he was planning to—you know.” I
couldn’t bring myself to say it. “And I can’t believe in six hours he would have
gotten depressed enough to—you know.”

Venus watched me, and when I had myself back under control,
said, “How did you know him?”

“He’s an old family friend. He taught my parents in
college.” I turned my back on the street. I didn’t want to keep looking at his
body. “I’ve known him my entire life. He is—
was—
a really great guy—a
little cranky sometimes, but he was old, you know?” I thought of something. “He
walked with a cane, Venus. He had hip problems, I think it was—and he also had
heart problems. I think he had a mild heart attack last December. I don’t think
he could have climbed over the railing. No way.” As the words came out, I knew
what they meant.

The only way he could have gone over the railing was if he’d
had help.

That made it murder.

But why would someone want to murder Doc?

“You’re sure he gave you no hint of any trouble this
afternoon?”

I thought for a moment. “You know, he got a phone call while
I was there. I don’t know who it was—he took it in another room. But when he
came back his face was flushed and he was having trouble breathing. At the time,
I just thought he might be having another one of his attacks, you know? I wasn’t
sure, though, because I wasn’t completely sure what was wrong with his heart. I
think it was a heart attack.” I was babbling, so I clamped my mouth shut and
stopped talking. I wrapped my arms around myself. I was shivering.

“You think it may have been the call that upset him so
much?”

I nodded. “It had to be. I was worried about leaving him.
But after a few minutes, he was back to normal, so I thought he was okay.”

Venus looked out into the street for a moment before turning
back to me and shrugging. “At first, it seemed pretty clear that he jumped. But
when we saw the inside of his apartment…” She let her voice trail off. “You’re
positive he couldn’t have jumped?”