Black Joint Point

32

Claudia thought a good police file on a major case should contain not only the pertinent data, but read like a well-crafted short story or novel. The motivations, the fears, the human failings should all be subtly suggested between the lines of forensic data and witness statements. David thought her attitude nuts when they were married, told her if she wanted that from a file she needed to take a creative writing course.

The New Orleans police made a guess that the redhead called Zack was one Zachary James Simard, so the investigators thoughtfully sent his record along. The photo was indeed Zack, sallow face, pouty lips, calculating glare. Degree in finance from LSU, from a family from Lake Charles. Suspected of handling money and accounts for a drug-and-prostitution-fueled crime ring based in New Orleans that stretched eastward to Pensacola and over to Beaumont. Five years ago he’d done two years in a state pen in Louisiana on a marijuana-possession charge. He’d stayed clean since, or at least clean enough to avoid charges thus far and therefore avoid the pressure to testify, to make a deal with the Feds. He had dropped out of sight two weeks ago.

Gar Johnson, aka Gary Paul Jackson, born Gerald Paul Jones. Suspected of being a hired gun; suspected in a slaying in Biloxi and a double homicide in New Orleans. The victims were all drug dealers who, the police suspected, skimmed profits. The pair in New Orleans had been a young married couple, both mediocre jazz pianists tapping a living out of the second-tier club scene, dealing coke to the well-heeled on the side. Every finger on the couple’s hands had been broken before they were shot; both the man and the woman had been raped and then their bodies dumped in a ditch in Algiers, a tough neighborhood. Claudia’s stomach roiled.

Gar had served two stretches, one for armed robbery, and he’d been at Angola prison during Zack Simard’s time there. They had been released within a month of each other and both headed for New Orleans. Maybe they’d been sweeties in prison.

She turned the page.

Daniel Villars Mouton. From an old-money family, he was the last of the Moutons, living in a grand house in the Garden District. But Danny had a record. Petty theft, shoplifting history books from a bookstore. Then the charge of forgery she knew about that had been dropped. A brief stint in a pricey mental clinic in Metairie, apparently checked in and then checked out by his only cousin. The Villars middle name was real, a family name handed down with pride, and Danny’s reading about the great love of Laffite’s life apparently fueled the delusion he was descended from the pirate. One diagnosis of schizophrenia, another diagnosis of bipolar disorder. A charge of marijuana possession that had been plea-bargained into nothing. Maybe the drug connection was how he’d met Gar and Zack.

Beneath these papers were notes and reports compiled from the investigation into the murder of Danny’s cousin. Less than a month ago the man had died in a burglary gone wrong. A back window had been forced. Phillip Villars, age fifty and a widowed antiques dealer in the French Quarter, staying at his cousin Daniel’s house during the remodeling of his own home, had apparently surprised an intruder and been killed with a single gunshot to the forehead. Left dead in a downstairs hallway. His cousin, Daniel Villars Mouton, found the body later that evening after returning from a trip and phoned police. Danny was questioned extensively, given his background, but he had an ironclad alibi – visiting friends in Charleston, South Carolina, for the past week, every hour accounted for – and neighbors and friends said for all his eccentricities Danny got along well with his cousin, the last two members of a faded family. Note on the file that the New Orleans police had no further leads. Just a report that Danny Mouton quickly dropped out of sight after his cousin’s funeral.

He’d gone into hiding, she thought. Running and hiding from Stoney, maybe.

Not everything Danny had said was a lie. She covered her face, thought of his odd mix of earnestness, gallantry – he had saved her life when he could have let Gar rape and murder her – and absolute craziness. There might have been a decent person in there, someone who wanted to accomplish much, derailed by psychosis and drugs. A wasted life. She closed the folder.

Fingers tapped at the bedroom door; Claudia’s mother stuck her head in. ‘David’s here,’ she said. ‘Brought brownies. Your favorite.’ Tina retained a great fondness for David.

‘Thanks.’ Claudia followed her mother into her little living room, David stood there, in full-dress uniform, sweaty patches under his arms, his Stetson in his big freckled hands. Tina Salazar disappeared into the kitchen with the brownies, where she could still hear but pretend not to.

‘I just wanted to see if you were okay,’ David said.

‘You phoned this morning, David. I’m still the same.’

‘But still. You had such a horrible ordeal, hon.’

Hon. Like they were still married, still tethered to each other. He hadn’t wanted the divorce. At times she had wondered if parting was the right thing, if perhaps she had sold him short. Maddening one minute, sweet the next, and she finally tired of the inconsistencies.

They’re still searching the bay for Danny Laffite’s body,’ David said. ‘Assuming he’s dead in the first place or that he drowned when his boat sank. But nothing.’

‘Have they raised Danny’s boat yet?’

‘Probably tomorrow. Where do you think he is?’

‘I don’t think Danny would give up,’ she said. ‘It’s entirely possible he killed Stoney Vaughn. He might have killed him, dumped the body somewhere. But he thinks this jewel and gold are in Port Leo, he won’t be leaving.’ She turned back to David. ‘I absolutely don’t see him sinking his boat for any reason, though. I guess I think he’s dead.’ She wondered for a moment, And if he’s not, you think maybe he might try to find you? ‘Maybe he grabbed Stoney, the boat wrecked, and their bodies are in the bay.’

‘Maybe,’ David said, glancing at Tina.

‘I’m going for a walk,’ Tina Salazar announced. ‘Just down to the store for some milk to go with the brownies.’ She kissed Claudia’s cheek, patted David’s shoulder, scurried out of the apartment.

‘She wants us to be alone,’ David said.

‘I think you might be overanalyzing,’ she said, although she knew he was right.

‘Can I ask you how long you’ve been seeing Ben Vaughn?’

She owed him no answers but since he was involved in the case there was no point in arguing. She wished, though, he’d sent another investigator to talk to her. Of course, he wouldn’t. ‘Not long. A couple of weeks. Very casually.’

‘Is he nice to you?’

‘Very nice and pleasant. Did you expect he would be an asshole?’

‘His brother sounds like a prime one.’

‘I only met Stoney once,’ she said, ‘except for maybe back in high school.’

‘I think Stoney Vaughn got scared and he ran to protect his money, and now he can’t surface. I also think your boyfriend’s protecting him. If he blocks this investigation in any way, he’s going to be in serious trouble.’

‘Wouldn’t that just be perfect? How disappointing for you it wouldn’t be your case.’

‘Stoney Vaughn’s house is in county jurisdiction. Just might be mine.’ He sat down in the reading chair next to the sofa.

‘So what does that mean, David? You’re going to make trouble for Ben?’

‘You could help us, Claudia. Find the brother. Get Ben to talk.’

She said nothing.

‘Oh, gee, would that ruin your shiny new relationship if you helped us out?’

‘Don’t be this way.’

‘I really hope you’re not protecting Ben yourself, Claud. Know anything about your boyfriend’s brother you’re not sharing? Places he might go, resources he might have?’

‘Absolutely not.’ She stood. ‘I told you, the FBI, everything Danny Laffite told me.’

‘And that’s being followed up on,’ David said. ‘Especially whatever grudge Danny had against Stoney Vaughn. Danny Laffite did have a cousin murdered in New Orleans last month. He was telling you the truth. We’re determining if Stoney Vaughn was in New Orleans those days.’

Oh, don’t let this be true, she thought. It will kill Ben.

‘If your boyfriend’ – the term said like he had mud in his mouth – ‘knew anything about his brother committing a murder, he’s an accessory.’

‘You’re correct,’ she said quietly. ‘But if you start an unfounded witch-hunt against Ben, I’m going to have your badge for it. Promise you, David.’

‘Whoa. Passion. Haven’t seen that from you in a while.’

‘Don’t bait me. I won’t bite.’

He hesitated. ‘The last thing in the world I want is to see you hurt.’

‘Unless you can do the hurting.’

‘I’m going to tell you something no one knows. It’s not to make you mad or to try to win sympathy or to gain advantage.’ He crossed his arms. ‘I still love you.’

Claudia said nothing.

‘So I don’t want you hurt. By anyone, including me.’ He stood. ‘I get around you, my mouth starts running because I’m mad still. I’m trying my best not to be. Enjoy the brownies. I’ll call you if we hear anything about Vaughn or Danny Laffite.’

‘All right.’ She didn’t know what else to say.

She watched from the window as David went down the stairs, putting his Stetson back on, heading to his sheriff’s department cruiser. She watched him pull out of the parking lot. She picked up the phone, wanting to hear Ben’s voice, but knowing he needed his rest.

Instead, she went back to the bedroom and opened the file from New Orleans.

Phillip Villars, the wrong place, the wrong time. Single bullet in the middle of the forehead. Thuy Tran died in a similar way.

If Stoney had been involved, where was this journal now, the one Phillip Villars had been killed for? If Danny was right, Stoney had it. Or knew where it was.

She had access to the house, to Ben, that might help her. And she could do it to protect Ben.

Yes, do that. Find the evidence against his brother and Ben may hate you.

Her mother came back with the milk, and out of duty Claudia ate two brownies.

‘Nice of David to bring these,’ Tina said.

‘Yes,’ Claudia said. ‘He says he still loves me.’

Tina stopped a brownie halfway to her mouth.

‘He’s full of crap,’ Claudia said. She told her what David said.

‘David’s all angry and hopeful at the same time,’ Tina said. ‘Maybe he loves you. But he wants you to squirm a bit, sweetie, feel as torn as he does. And if he can get you to sabotage your relationship with Ben, better for him, he thinks.’

‘You’re not taking his side?’ This was a change.

‘Today I’m taking your side,’ Tina said, rolling her eyes. ‘Enjoy the moment.’

‘But David’s right,’ she said. ‘I could get to Ben faster than anyone else could, if he’s holding back.’

‘You cops. You can never let anything be.’ Tina ate her brownie.

Claudia kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘I think I’ll go by the hospital, see Ben.’

But she didn’t. Instead, Claudia drove to Copano Flats, toward the big Vaughn house.