Upside Down

33

From his desk out in the bull pen, Manseur could see-through the open door of his office-Captain Suggs sitting at his desk. Normally on Saturday, Suggs would already be sitting on the porch of his fishing cabin near Pass Manchac, sucking expensive hooch out of a plastic cup and casting bait out into the murky water, hoping to catch fish he wouldn't eat.

None of the detectives in the bureau had mentioned the fact that the Porter/Lee case had been snatched away from him, but Manseur knew that they were all aware of the slight. And even though it wasn't because of anything he'd done, most of them would still figure that the reason was based on some delicious failing on his part-or that it was because his partner, Larry Bond, wasn't there. When your close rate was as high as Manseur and Bond's was, the less successful couldn't help but pray for an occasional failure to even things out. Maybe the reason Manseur was so angered was that his successes gave him-if not additional height, fuller hair, a few less pounds or a more aesthetically pleasing face-a certain luster that camouflaged his physical appearance.

Manseur's phone rang. He lifted the receiver without taking his eyes from the report on his computer screen.

“Detective Manseur.”

“Detective Manseur, this is Buddy Lee Toliver, sheriff in Assumption Parish. We met a while back when you were on the Teddy Trepanier murder. Mindy Trepanier was telling me the other day how decent you were to her during the case and how thankful she was that you brought her some peace of mind along with the justice.”

Manseur remembered the small, frail woman whose only son had been murdered in Armstrong Park by a crack addict for a grand total of three dollars and a Shell credit card. “That was kind of Mrs. Trepanier. What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

“Well, I hope it's more in the nature of what I can do for you. I just fished a blue Range Rover out of the Bayou, and it seems you have a BOLO out on it. Involves a homicide.”

“A fifty-seven-year-old woman-wife of a retired U.S. marshal. He's in intensive care at Charity and probably won't live. I don't guess you caught the driver for me.”

“Maybe so. I meant it involves a homicide here. There's a guy with the vehicle, and maybe he was the driver who hit your couple. All I can tell you is that somebody set the Rover on fire with a man's body inside it, then pushed it off into the bayou using another vehicle. Only trouble was that the water was about six inches too shallow and some fishermen spotted the roof sticking up through the algae. There's tire tracks in the mud coming in and going out. I did get a cast of both sets, and one matches the Rover.”

“What about an autopsy?”

“Well, he got cooked real good. I'd like to run him over to your M.E. We usually do that since we don't have a real pathologist. We make do with a retired pediatric surgeon who does autopsies because nobody in their right mind will let him operate on a live child. This corpse has a dented-in skull, and I don't need an autopsy to tell me he was murdered. Tell the truth, I'm hoping he expired over there in New Orleans and was driven here for disposal.”

“When is he coming over?”

“I'll have the Rover towed to your garage so your people can process it. Corpse is ready to leave out of here now. I'll have him on a table in your M.E.'s suite within the hour. If he died here, I guess we'll work it, and we'll have better information to go on. With any luck he died on your side of the fence, and I'll read about you solving it in the newspaper.”

“I hope he died here too, Sheriff,” the New Orleans cop said bluntly.

Manseur suppressed a joyous yell. He dropped the receiver into place. His excitement was diminished by the sight of Suggs strolling across the bull pen toward his desk, carrying a steaming mug of coffee.

“How's the Trammel hit-and-run coming?” Suggs asked. “The old retired marshal and his wife.”

“The Rover just turned up in Assumption Parish with a corpse inside it-torched and pushed off into the bayou. Body is already on its way over.”

Suggs's frown deepened. “You mean somebody killed the driver?”

“Sheriff says there were tire tracks from a second vehicle on the scene, and his skull was crushed in.”

“So, like maybe some kid out joyriding hit the Trammels. And he had a pal follow him out to get rid of the Rover and the perp killed him and drove his car back. Something like that, you think?”

“It might be,” Manseur said cautiously. “It tracks that the driver killed the only person who could tie him to the event. Could be a kid, as far as I know. M.E. will give me an age.”

Suggs's brow creased. “Kids are psychos these days. It's those damn video games. Did you know that Trammel fellow had some friends? I've fielded calls this morning from the assistant director of the USMS, and Texas congressman Ross Fulgam. Seems Trammel's father was a Texas Ranger, killed on the job. Trammel was a decorated veteran.”

“I knew he was a decorated vet. I'll keep those VIPs in mind. You want to ‘red ball' this one?”

“Not just yet. It's early. If you don't have it in the bag by Monday, we'll take another look. I'm just giving you a heads-up that there are going to be some people watching over your shoulder. I assured them both that you will get it cleared fast. Keep accurate records… just in case. We need to cover our asses on this one.”

“I'll give it my undivided attention.”

Suggs started away, then turned back. “I want you to know that despite our not seeing eye-to-eye on the Porter thing, I have absolute confidence in your ability. Bond will be back on Monday”-Suggs actually managed one of his pained smiles, which looked to Manseur like something a funeral home director would wear when a grieving family opted for the cheapest casket available-“but I expect you'll have this solved by then.”

Manseur nodded impassively at his boss. “Sure looks like you were on the money on the Porter/Lee. All that evidence they found in that house. More than you'd expect to find.”

“Well, she's an amateur, and Tinnerino and Doyle are damn good cops who use old-fashioned police work. Girls that age aren't all like your daughters. The Porter gal is the sort of misfit other kids pick on-classic type to shoot things up. She was probably on her way to the school to even some scores and her Mom got in the way.”

“Nothing like good old-fashioned police work.” Like picking a suspect out, then beating a confession out of him.

“Tinnerino and Doyle are closing in on her,” Suggs said. “Just a matter of time.”

An alligator's lifetime, unless Faith Ann Porter climbs in through their open car window while they're asleep. Captain Suggs was the only thing that stood between Tinnerino and Doyle and dismissal from the squad for any number of just-cause reasons. The single positive consequence of the pair's laziness lay in the fact that, since they spent as little time around the office as possible, the productive detectives weren't constantly exposed to Suggs's rewarding their obvious incompetence with his praise and protection.

“Well, carry on,” Suggs said.

“I am going to solve this one before Bond gets back,” Manseur told Suggs's backside. Despite the lack of sleep he'd suffered lately, Manseur felt energized. He wondered if Deputy U.S. Marshal Massey was in town yet. With luck he would talk to Massey before Suggs did.

As Manseur watched the captain make his way back to his office, he felt a sensation of excited anticipation very like the one he'd had as a schoolboy waiting patiently for his teacher to open her desk drawer and find the grass snake he'd hidden there.