Cold Blood

Chapter 19

Raoul Corbello snuck into his uncle’s bar, and stayed near the doors, just where the old wooden counter ended. He leaned back against the windowless wall as the barman sauntered down towards him.

‘Mexican, and a shot of bourbon on the rocks,’ he said, collar turned up, his shades still on.

‘Sure, Raoul, but let’s see your money.’

‘Fuck you, Zachery Blubber.’ But he slapped twenty bucks down.

Zak opened a beer, banged it on to the counter and sauntered back for the bourbon. ‘So how’s LA, man? You get all that fancy gear there?’

Raoul shrugged. His nose was running and he sniffed as Zak leaned against the bar, sliding the bourbon glass forwards.

‘Cool, it’s cool.’

‘You look like you need to chill out.’

Raoul knocked back the bourbon and reached for the beer.

‘Your brothers are workin’ out back.’

‘Uncle Fryer around?’

‘Sleepin’, like always at this time. Place was jumpin’ last night, he played so much he got his big old lips swollen up, but he sure as hell can play that beat-up bugle o’ his.’

Raoul sniffed again, wiping his nose with his shirt cuff. He took out a thick roll of notes and peeled off another twenty. ‘Same again, have one yourself.’

Zak eyed the wad, and slowly moved back along the bar. ‘Don’t mind if I do, brother, don’t mind if I do.’

Raoul had to wait a while as a couple of customers needed refills. He was beginning to get the shakes and wondered why the hell he’d come back. He’d get more than the shakes when he showed his face back home. What had seemed like a good idea was now beginning to pale.

Zak passed another beer and bourbon along, holding up a glass to indicate he’d taken his drink and started to chinwag with two old boys huddled at the far end of the bar.

‘Zak, eh, Zak man, come on down here a second, will ya?’ Raoul said loudly, gulping down his beer.

‘What you want?’ said Zak, handing out beers and tossing the empties into a crate beneath the bar. He kind of knew, so he opened a drawer under the till and took out a packet. ‘This what you want, bro?’

Raoul put his hand over the plastic bag. Zak leaned forward, whispering that it was good home-grown gear, he could vouch for it.

‘You got any skins?’ Raoul asked, peeling off fifty dollars.

‘Shit, man, what you want me to do, smoke it for you?’ He reached into the back pocket of his pants and tossed down a squashed pack of rolling papers.

The two Corbello boys were filthy from stacking all the crates, ready to load up the truck, when Raoul appeared in the back doorway of the bar. They yelled and flung their arms around him, and then sat in the outside John as he rolled up three big joints, one for each of them.

‘How come you workin’ out back here?’ Raoul asked. They were hesitant to begin with but after a few drags they told him that Fryer was getting heavy. They giggled as they said that when their Aunt Juda got hold of Raoul he’d get some heavy-handed activity. Raoul laughed, saying he was cool, and started telling them about his Mustang, his dealin’ and his thievin’ of their aunt’s hoard of cash from under her bed. She could try beating it out of him, but he wouldn’t tell her where he’d stashed what he hadn’t spent. They were both in awe of their older brother, and the more stoned they became the more they got to bragging about carvin’ up a whitey. Raoul listened, his eyes drooping, not really believing their stories, not really caring. They rolled up some more joints, and started messing around as Raoul took a leak, having to prop himself up against the shack wall to piss straight.

‘Eh! How’s Ruby?’

‘Oh man, she’s gettin’ so in with Mama and Juda she don’t have time for us.’

‘She getting into all that voodoo shit, huh?’

The two boys, now hurling empty bottles against a wall, didn’t really pay any attention. Fryer Jones looked down from his dirty window, pulling the sacking curtain aside. He could see his three nephews that might even be his own sons, but he sure as hell didn’t like what he was seeing. They were whooping and hollering and smashing up bottles. He drew on his dirty old jeans and had a good scratch before he made his way down the stairs. He was well hungover. It had been a good night, too good, and he was still buzzing.

‘Eh, Zak, gimme a pick-up, will ya?’ he shouted down, and Zak was waiting for him with his usual glass of snake’s eye.

‘That Raoul’s turned up,’ he said.

Fryer knocked back his pick-me-up in one, and kissed his swollen lips. ‘Yeah, I see him, and I had enough o’ my fucking relatives to last me a lifetime. Give us another, I need something to waken me up before I get my belt off to those little no-good shits.’

Lorraine was washing her hair: she’d had a good few hours’ sleep and was feeling, if not a hundred per cent, at least a lot better. She had stopped drinking, and hadn’t had a drop since she’d been at Caley’s hotel, but she wasn’t congratulating herself, just hoping she’d be able to keep it up. All around her in the room was Rooney and Rosie’s baggage, but where they were she had no idea. A second later, though, Rosie banged on the door.

‘It’s us, Lorraine,’ she shouted.

‘It’s open,’ replied Lorraine, still rubbing her hair dry.

Her partners came in and Rooney sat heavily on the bed — unlike Lorraine, he hadn’t caught up on sleep from the night before, and he yawned, resting back on the pillows.

‘I banked the cheque, the teller said it would take a couple of days to clear. Where have you two been?’ Lorraine combed her hair and began to dry it with the hair-dryer.

‘With Harper,’ Rosie answered.

‘He’s got five guys, plus him makes six, and you and me. He doesn’t want you to go in, Lorraine.’

‘I want to be there. Did he get a search warrant?’

Rooney shook his head. ‘He didn’t say, but I doubt it. They’re all ex-cops, two grand each.’

‘What?’ Rosie said, astonished.

‘For twelve thousand dollars, it’s worth it,’ Rooney said.

Lorraine switched off the hair-dryer. ‘And Nick Bartello’s dead. If he was alive, Bill, he’d get a hell of a lot more from his share of the one million bonus, so quit beefin’. And you, Rosie.’

‘I never said anything!’

‘Right, but you were thinking about it,’ Lorraine said, checking her hair. The ends were still damp, so she turned the dryer on again and began to curl them over a brush. She watched Rosie and Rooney in the mirror: both looked exhausted, Rosie yawning and Rooney’s eyes drooping as he leaned back on the pillow.

Nobody spoke, and Rooney nodded off and began to snore. Eventually Lorraine switched off the dryer and went back into the bathroom to dress. When she came out, Rosie was also fast asleep. Lorraine smiled: sometimes the pair of them were like two kids, and she felt worried about the idea of involving them in the scene at Fryer’s bar. She didn’t want anything to happen to them, not now that they’d found one another at last.

She stared at them, and then sat down and wrote a note. She left it on Rooney’s big heaving chest, packed her bags and carried them out, closing the door quietly behind her. Neither woke. The note said: ‘Don’t stay for Mardi Gras, see you back at my new place. Good luck. L.’

Lorraine left her cases at the desk and walked out to pay off François. He was still hovering, even after she settled his bill, asking if she needed him to take her to the airport, astonished she wasn’t going to stay on for the Carnival.

‘Thanks, but no thanks François. You take care now.’ She walked off, and he counted out the dollars. She’d given him a bonus, fifty dollars more than he’d asked for. He grinned, a happy man.

Lorraine walked out into the French Quarter. It was a muggy evening and the street was crowded as more and more tourists flooded in. Purple, green and gold were everywhere and there was already a carnival feeling in the air, but she didn’t feel in a festive mood.

The six men were waiting in two patrol cars down a side street. They were smoking, wearing dark glasses, all the car windows open. Lorraine got in beside the obese Officer Harper, and smiled as he introduced her to the men squashed in the back seat.

‘Cash up front, Mrs Page.’

She opened her purse and took out an envelope. ‘Twelve grand, right? Half now, half when we’re through.’

Harper turned to look at the officers behind him, they shrugged. He got out of his car and waddled to the car behind him, leaned in the window, had a brief conversation and then returned.

‘Okay, but you’d better not try to put anything over on us.’

Lorraine smiled. ‘You think I would really try it on with you guys? Come on, I know you’re taking a big risk.’

It seemed to do the trick. He nodded, his cheek jowls wobbling.

‘So how do we work it?’ she asked quietly.

Rooney grunted, and his body jerked. He lifted his head. ‘Shit, what time is it?’

Rosie murmured as he eased himself off the bed. The note fluttered to the floor and he picked it up. The room was in darkness so he turned on the bedside lamp.

‘Rosie, wake up, girl. Rosie!’

She blinked and swallowed, and then sat up with a start.

‘She’s gone. Read this.’

Rosie took a moment to adjust to the light, and then read the note. ‘What should we do?’

Rooney hesitated, then crossed to the bathroom. ‘Check if there’s a flight out of here. If there isn’t, we’ll stay.’

‘We’re going to leave her?’

‘Just see if there’s a flight, sweetheart.’

Rooney splashed cold water over his face and patted it dry with one of the damp towels Lorraine had used. It smelt of shampoo, and he lowered it from his face, staring at himself in the mirror. He felt old and tired, wondering what the hell he was thinking of doing, getting himself engaged at his age. Had he really suggested she move in with him? He sat on the edge of the bath, wishing he’d taken his shoes off before he fell asleep; his feet felt swollen.

Rosie called out that there was a flight in an hour and a half.

‘Gimme a second,’ he shouted back. He didn’t know what to do. Not knowing what the hell Lorraine had arranged with Harper or when they were going to do it, or for that matter why. What did she expect to gain? He sighed.

Rosie was brushing her hair when he walked out. ‘I gave them your credit card number, that okay?’ She watched him plod across the room, and she turned. ‘Bill? You want to leave or not?’

‘I’m thinking about it, Rosie.’

She’d been thinking about it too, and virtually asked him the same questions he had just asked himself.

‘I mean, what does she expect to find at the end of it?’

‘I dunno, Rosie, maybe someone scared enough to say they saw Nick, who knows? I think she’s throwing away good money, but that’s just my opinion.’

‘It’s mine too. I liked Nick, of course I did, but it’s a long shot, isn’t it? We don’t even know if he was in Fryer’s bar the night he got killed. Even if she was to find the gris-gris, even if whoever did kill Nick was dumb enough to hang on to it, they wouldn’t have it in the bar, would they?’

‘I don’t know, Rosie.’ He hadn’t meant to snap at her, it just came out that way.

‘Listen, if you feel guilty about going, we’ll stay.’

‘I don’t feel guilty.’

‘Fine, then we’ll leave, yes?’

He sat down, said he needed a drink, and Rosie flung the brush on to the dressing table.

‘We can’t hang around, Bill, the flight goes in an hour and a half.’

‘I heard you the first time, Rosie.’

‘So, I am repeating it.’

Rooney stood in the lobby as Rosie checked out, looking at Lorraine’s suitcase waiting behind the desk.

‘Bill, if you want to wait, you’d better say so, they got people wanting her room. Which means if we do check out and stay on we’ll have nowhere to stay for tonight. It’s Mardi Gras, Bill, the hotels are all filling up.’

He suddenly made up his mind. ‘You stay with the bags, I’ll go over to Fryer’s bar.’

‘But what about the plane?’

He turned on her angrily. ‘We fucking miss it. Hell, if we have to we’ll hire a private plane, okay? Just wait here.’

Rooney walked out. Rosie felt near to tears; he’d never been angry at her before, never snapped at her the way he just had. But then she understood why — he was worried about Lorraine. For all his complaints about her, he really cared about her, and if Rosie thought about it, so did she.

‘Excuse me, is Mrs Page checking out or not?’

Rosie glared at the receptionist who was getting more frazzled by the day. It was always the same at Mardi Gras; she hated it.

‘Yeah, I’m checking Mrs Page out, but we need to leave the bags here, is that all right?’

The receptionist sighed; she was knee-deep in people’s luggage as it was. ‘I guess so, but the hotel can’t take any responsibility for them.’

‘Fine, I’ll take the goddamned things out with me.’

Rooney tried in vain to flag a cab down. The pavement was crowded, there were people walking arm-in-arm down the streets. More jugglers and clowns had appeared on the scene, passing out leaflets for all the forthcoming events, people already getting into the spirit. Fireworks were going off in all directions, they whizzed and banged overhead, and lit up the dark sky. A Dixieland band was playing, or rehearsing, stop-starting. It was like he had stepped on to a fairground Ferris wheel and couldn’t get off. He pushed and jostled his way along the street, eyes peeled for a vacant cab, and he couldn’t stop the feeling of panic rising. He didn’t know what he was getting so het up about — his personal life or Lorraine. Or maybe it was just the memory of Nick Bartello, but he had a hideous feeling of something coming down, and his frustration at not being in control of it made it worse. She was somewhere with a bunch of guys, and probably bad ones. She was alone, and he shouldn’t have let her go without back-up. He was her back-up man, her partner now, and he’d never be able to live with himself if something happened to her, because for all her faults and her headstrong ways, he cared about her, more than he ever dared admit. And one thing he knew, she was one hell of a cop, in the Force or out. Lorraine was in a class all her own. ‘Taxi!’ he yelled.

Rosie sat outside the hotel on the small terraced area. She was not the only person sitting by a sea of luggage. There were a lot of back-packers and families, some licking ice creams, some becoming irate with their tired-out kids, and the persistent noise of the fireworks was giving her a thudding headache.

François tooted his horn and waved over. Rosie jumped up and waved back frantically. He grinned, then realized she was gesturing for him to join her.

‘Can you get all these bags on board?’

‘Sure, you want to go to the airport?’

‘Yeah, eventually, but first can you get me over to Fryer Jones’s bar in Ward 9? Lorraine’s there.’

He jumped out, opened the trunk, and began hurling the bags inside.

Rooney was sweating. He had got into a near fist-fight with a drag queen who had flagged down the same taxi, but as he or she was a good foot higher than Rooney, he’d walked away. Now he turned as he heard his name shouted out, and he looked this way and that. Then he heard Rosie’s voice and he pushed his way through a crowd of people before he saw her waving to him from across the street in François’s car. His panic rose as he nearly got knocked down by a kid on a bicycle with three other people somehow balanced on it as well.

‘What’s happened? You heard from Lorraine?’

‘No, get in and shut up,’ she said.

Rooney sat beside her and she nudged François to get a move on.

‘We going to the airport?’

‘No,’ she snapped. ‘Fryer Jones’s bar, all right?’

He grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. ‘She’s my partner, Rosie.’

‘She’s mine too, in case you’ve forgotten.’

Boom went another firework, and a rocket exploded over their heads. ‘Carnival getting started!’ shouted François gleefully. ‘Man, this place hots up, don’t you just feel it all coming down all around you? This place is crazy, man, it goes wild, real wild.’

Ruby placed the steaming bowls of crawfish stew on the newspaper that served as a tablecloth. Juda, Edith and Sugar May dug in. They had chilled beers and big chunks of bread, and they ate hungrily as they had been working all day on the float. Baskets and baskets of fresh flower-heads had been delivered, and each one was to be placed around the throne to make a sea of colour for the Queen to step over as she was led to her throne.

Ruby was barefoot, wearing just an old underslip. Her hair was pinned up off her face as she’d worked up a sweat. They were tired but they would all be up and working the following morning. It took a lot of time and loving care to get the floats ready, and all the hard work only built up the excitement until it was like being drunk with it all.

Juda dunked her bread and sucked on it; it was good to be back home, good to be free. She had decided not to go back to LA, even if Elizabeth Caley offered her a fortune. She was not leaving home again. She broke off a piece of bread and was just about to dip it into her bowl when she saw the newspaper article.

‘Missing Movie Star’s Daughter — Body Found!’

‘Move your plate aside, Sugar May.’

Juda inched the newspaper around to read it. ‘They found her, they just found Anna Louise Caley.’ She pulled the paper from the table and wiped off the crumbs. ‘Oh, my Lord, she was buried in... Oh my, oh my.’

Edith looked at her sister. ‘What’s that, Juda?’

Juda folded the paper into a roll, staring at Ruby.

‘They found poor little Anna Louise Caley buried in a garden, under suspicious circumstances, it says.’

Ruby continued to eat, sucking her bread loudly.

‘Where, Juda?’

Juda kept on looking at Ruby. ‘In Miss Tilda Brown’s back yard. You know who she is, don’t you, Ruby?’

Ruby looked up and her eyes were glittering, her voice soft, almost purring. ‘I know who she is, Aunty Juda, she tied a dressing-gown cord round her neck and hanged her little self.’

Sugar May put her hand over her mouth and giggled, and received a slap across her head with the newspaper. Edith now looked in confusion at Juda, who slowly pushed her chair from the table and stood up. She wasn’t wearing her wig or false eye-lashes, just an old smock dress, her cropped grey hair thinning at the crown.

Ruby tried to be nonchalant, still dipping her bread into her bowl, but she would not look up, did not want to face her aunt. She was scared of her, even more so when her big body loomed over the table.

‘Ruby, remember what I told you, play with the devil and he’ll come for your soul.’

‘No he won’t. And whatever I done, Fryer’s taking care of, like he’s taking care of my brothers. Nobody is ever going to know nothing.’

Edith was still confused, looking from her sister to her daughter. ‘What you two talking about?’

Juda walked to the door. ‘She knows, Edith, Ruby knows, and Fryer never took care of nobody but himself. That is the way he lives. He sold to the devil a long, long time ago.’

Edith was really worried now, and she pushed her half-finished supper away, following Juda out.

‘What you done?’ Sugar May asked in a whisper.

Ruby had just taken a mouthful of water, and she turned on Sugar May, hissing, and the water sprayed from her mouth like a jet.

‘I just used my powers, Sugar May, I just used my powers.’

Sugar May scuttled out after her mama, and Ruby sat alone. Then after a moment she reached for her mama’s bowl, and tipped it into her own. She continued eating, delicately dipping her bread into the bowl and sucking it. She felt no guilt, no remorse for what she had done, or what she had begun. After all, she had only given them what they had wanted.

Elizabeth Caley sat at Lloyd Dulay’s side, looking composed and as beautiful as ever. She wore black, out of respect for her daughter, and everyone there had whispered their condolences. The Dulays were old money, and the whole of New Orleans society had accepted the invitation out of curiosity, wanting to see Anna Louise’s grieving mother with their own eyes. Elizabeth did not let them down. She was composed and distant, as if frozen with grief and shock. She was starring in another movie, and she acted the part to perfection. She knew Robert would ask for a massive settlement, but she didn’t care. She had more money than she knew what to do with. Money had never been a priority for Elizabeth, she had grown up with it, always had it and never considered being without it. She was going to be invited to every Mardi Gras ball and top-level function in New Orleans, as she had since she was a child. She was famous, now even more so because of her tragic daughter. She was sitting next to Lloyd Dulay, the man she had always loved. She was his prize guest of honour, but tonight she didn’t relish it — tonight she no longer cared. She had determined there would be no more secrets, all she was waiting for was the right moment. It came when Lloyd rose to ask everyone to lift their glasses to Elizabeth Seal.

There was a polite murmur, none expecting her to speak, but she stood up like a queen. She held her glass in her right hand, lifting it a fraction.

‘A long time ago, I was given the lead role in a film called The Swamp. I was sixteen years of age and excited at the prospect of becoming a star. I paid no heed to the fact that I was to portray the great voodoo queen, Marie Laveau. I did not consider the culture that Marie Laveau brought to her people, it was just a movie, and I was going to be a star.’

Elizabeth gave the performance of her life, but it wasn’t scripted, it came from her years of torment, from the nightmare during filming when she had been taken and raped, curses written in blood on her body. She told them all about the doll she found in her trailer, a doll bearing her face, cursing her and any offspring that she might conceive to live in the hell of the living dead, and condemning Elizabeth Seal to spend the rest of her days feeling the weight of the great queen’s coffin lid pressing on her heart. And as those gathered became frightened by her driven, emotional declaration, they knelt before her as she at last admitted, ‘I am black and I have hidden behind a white skin. I have been punished and cursed for abusing the great voodoo goddess, Queen Marie Laveau. Every child my womb conceived was also doomed to live under her shadow.’

It was all so clear to Elizabeth what she should do, exactly what she should say, and the impact her words would have made her feel stronger than she had ever felt in her wretched life. She was going to free herself, she would be free. No need for Juda anymore, no more nightmares, it was all over.

Elizabeth still held the photograph of her daughter Anna Louise, as the drugs distorted her mind so that she truly believed she was there, dining alongside Lloyd Dulay, and that it was all taking place. He was in fact waiting impatiently downstairs when Missy came running from the bedroom, unable to wake Mrs Caley. She had screamed to him that something bad had happened.

Lloyd Dulay felt for Elizabeth’s pulse; it was very weak. She opened her eyes only once, and smiled at him, saying that everything was all right now, it was all over. Her black gown was laid out in readiness for the dinner, with matching shoes and sequined purse. By the time the doctor arrived, she was dead. She looked peaceful and calm, a sweet innocent smile on her lips. He sat down in a chair close to the bed.

‘Oh, Elizabeth, my little queen.’

Harper looked at his men. He was sweating as he listened to the radio and then rehooked it back on the dashboard.

‘They’re standing out back ready. We go in via the front, let’s keep this as tight as we can, no shooting unless... Well, we done it before, so here we go.’

He looked at Lorraine. ‘Stay back, once we got the place quiet you can come in, but not until I give you the word. Let’s go!’

Fryer Jones was sitting with Raoul at the far end of the bar, trying to get him straightened out enough to take him home and face his Aunt Juda. His two brothers were out in the yard lying stoned among the beer crates they were supposed to have been stacking. There were only the usual regulars dotted around the bar, it never hotted up until after midnight. Sugar May had crept in, and was hiding out down the back, talking to one of the hookers, thinking she was someone to emulate, when it happened.

Fryer looked in astonishment as the big motherfuckers charged in from the back yard and through the front door. Even Zak gaped. Nobody had bust them for years, they paid a high price for it not to happen, so nobody was sure what the hell was going down. Glasses were shattered, mirrors cascaded into jagged pieces as the thugs came in, screaming and shouting for everyone to back up against the wall. It was a raid. Customers raised their hands in terror as they were thrown up against the wall, others ran for cover under the old bar tables.

Fryer turned on his bar stool and yelled in fury, ‘What you motherfuckers doing, for chrissakes?’

Batons clipped heads, boots kicked groins, as everyone inside the bar tried to disappear into the walls. The more the cops yelled and hit out, the more Fryer Jones screamed abuse. The cops were laying into the customers, asking between fists and batons what their names were. One of the thick-set cops had virtually thrown the Corbello kids on to the floor and they lay curled up as the boots went in, screaming and shouting they hadn’t done anything.

Raoul was hauled by his hair from his bar stool next to Fryer, but not one cop touched Fryer himself.

‘You better have a fucking good reason for this, you motherfuckers,’ Fryer screamed.

Lorraine couldn’t wait any longer and walked into the bar. It was mayhem, screaming and shouting, people huddled in corners, crying and hunched up as the boots and batons still went in.

Lorraine shouted, ‘This is for Nick Bartello, Nick Bartello!’

Fryer squinted in the darkness down to the end of the bar.

‘His throat was cut down an alley, one block from here.’

Fryer shook his head and pointed. ‘You are a crazy bitch, you know that?’

As they spoke, cops were hurling the drugs taken from the drawer beside the till on to the bar. Two more moved up the narrow back staircase to Fryer’s private quarters.

Rooney walked in as Fryer Jones spat a spray of his beer over Lorraine. ‘You gonna pay for this, you fucking whore. Nobody come in here and takes over my bar. Nobody!’

‘You want to bet, Mr Jones? I wouldn’t bother, we already took it over.’

Rooney edged closer and said to one of the cops kicking the shit out of a guy caught between the tables, ‘I’m with her, I’m with Mrs Page.’

Lorraine turned, and seeing Rooney she gave a quick grin before turning back to Fryer.

‘We will all walk out, Fryer, when you give us the names of whoever cut Nick Bartello’s throat. That’s all we want, all I want, no charges, you all hear me? No charges, but we want who cut my friend’s throat.’

One of the cops searching upstairs appeared in the doorway behind the bar. ‘Mrs Page?’

Lorraine turned to the cop, who gestured for her to come closer, and chucked Nick Bartello’s wallet on to the bar. Fryer looked, and then pursed his lips, swearing. He had fucked up, he had meant to destroy it. But he kept smiling. ‘This is gonna cost, you motherfuckers, this is gonna cost.’

Lorraine moved closer to him, and then reached out. He had on the necklace or a similar necklace to the one Nick had been wearing.

‘This is yours, Mr Jones, is it?’

Fryer looked at her, and laughed. ‘Sure is, honey, we make ’em for the museum, how many you want, huh? You fuckers are not even here on a warrant, are you?’

The second cop walked in from the backstairs. He held up Nick Bartello’s licence in a small plastic bag and tossed it down.

Harper looked over the wallet and the licence, then at Lorraine. ‘These your friend’s?’

Lorraine fingered the empty wallet, looked at the licence, and said, ‘Yes, these belonged to Nick Bartello.’

Harper held his hand up. ‘Okay, back off everyone, come on, quieten down in here. Quiet!’

He turned to face Fryer Jones and took out his handcuffs. ‘Okay, Fryer, you overstepped yourself, this is one you won’t wriggle out of.’

‘I never saw them before in my life!’ Fryer said calmly.

Harper clipped on the handcuffs, roughly pulling Fryer’s hands behind his back.

‘Well, they was under your pillow, Fryer, and they may very well have your prints all over them. So let’s walk out nice and quiet, shall we?’

Fryer Jones bowed his head. He could see Raoul shaking in one corner, his brothers huddled under a table, and Sugar May crying with the hookers. Fryer eased off his stool, his hands cuffed behind him. He was pushed past Lorraine, and he stared at her.

‘You got the devil in you, lady.’

Fryer Jones leaned back in the patrol car and closed his eyes. He could never name his own kin, maybe one of them even his own blood, so he sighed, and asked if they could bring him his trombone. It made Harper turn and stare, because he had reckoned in all honesty that Fryer had nothing to do with this Nick Bartello. He leaned out of the window and shouted to one of his pals, ‘Get this old buzzard his fucking trombone.’

Lorraine sat in the back of François’s car and wept. Rooney one side and Rosie the other. They just held her tightly between them, she didn’t need to say anything. In fact, they all felt tearful as François asked if they still wanted to make it to the airport.

They got there with five minutes to spare, bags and baggage intact.

Fryer Jones played his trombone in his cell until other prisoners asked for him to shut up, as they couldn’t sleep. He sat there in silence, staring up at the small window of his cell. He wouldn’t name the Corbello boys or Ruby or any of them. He guessed it was time he took responsibility, time he paid his dues, so he admitted to killing Nick Bartello. He didn’t ask to talk to a lawyer, the only call he made was to Juda Salina. She came, as he knew she would, all done up in her turban and false eye-lashes.

‘Elizabeth Caley’s dead.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Anna Louise Caley’s body was found.’

‘Uh huh.’

She sighed, not meeting his eyes. ‘Ruby is ready to be crowned, no guilt, no remorse. That girl worries me — she’d better straighten out.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Raoul’s back, with only half my savings.’

‘And I’m goin’ away for a murder I did not commit.’ He gripped the bars with his gnarled hand. ‘I’m doing it for you, Juda. You take over my bar, you keep those two young ones in line.’

She gently stroked his hand. ‘Why are you doing this, Fryer?’

He gave her that gappy gold-toothed smile. ‘Because once you were young and beautiful like Ruby. Nothing stays young or beautiful, Juda, only memories. Take care now.’

Juda wanted to cry, but she just walked away. She could hear him playing his trombone a long time after she left. She could still hear it in her small bedroom at Edith’s. Life played tricks on you like that, hearing things that weren’t there, seeing things that were about to happen. Life was full of strange things, especially in New Orleans and always just before Mardi Gras.

Rosie stood with her bags all packed, and two big boxed crates. Her apartment seemed suddenly bare.

‘Well, I got everything,’ she said sadly. She looked around again — stripped of her things, the place looked bigger. ‘If you are staying on, Lorraine, you should get a better kitchen put in.’

Lorraine smiled. ‘I intend to, Rosie, I’ll get the place done up. It’s a waste of money moving somewhere else, this will do me fine.’

Rosie chewed her lip. ‘You can always call me if you need someone in the office, you know, part-time. I’ll always be willing.’

‘And able. Yeah, I know, you told me four, no, five times. Now, the cheques, you got the two cheques?’

‘I certainly have,’ Rosie said, patting her purse.

Lorraine smiled. ‘You know, I never thought I’d be writing out cheques for that amount, and from my own bank account. We’re rich, Rosie, we all got over a quarter of a million, so, you feeling happy?’

Rosie nodded. ‘Well, not quite up to the brim, but I guess we’ll make it work. I’m gonna give it a try, and you try to keep up the meetings, won’t you? Keep on going, because I’d hate to see you blow this chance, Lorraine.’

‘Rosie, I know I almost lost it, but I promise you I’m off the stuff now, and if it makes you feel any better, I give you my word that I’ll keep going to the meetings. I’ll contact Jake to be my sponsor, how’s that?’

Rosie kissed her, and then hugged her tightly. ‘Oh, hell, I’m gonna miss you.’

Before Rosie could become tearful, Rooney arrived and tooted from the street. Rosie began to take her bags and boxes and cases down, and he appeared, moaning as he helped her carry all her bits and pieces.

‘I don’t know if this is gonna work, Lorraine, but at least...’

She laughed. ‘You’ll give it a try? And you know there will always be a job open for you at Page Investigations, I’ve told Rosie that too. Office will be open Monday morning — you got the number?’

‘Right, thanks.’

Eventually it came to the real goodbyes; it was a bit awkward. They didn’t really know what to say to each other because for all the offers of work in the future, Lorraine knew it was the end of their partnership. Neither Rosie nor Rooney had actually said it, but she just knew. They all knew.

‘We might sort of go on an extended honeymoon,’ he muttered.

‘Great, you do that, but I will be invited to the wedding, won’t I?’

‘Hell, don’t be stupid.’

There was nothing left to say, but it was the last moment and they hung on to it. They seemed not quite to know how to walk out of the door, so Lorraine pushed them through it, saying that when they were settled they would all have a big celebration dinner, but until then they should just piss off and leave her alone.

Rosie started to cry, so Rooney told her to go on ahead, then turned back to Lorraine, half closing the door.

‘You know, if you need me for anything I’ll always be there for you, any time you feel, you know... if this drinking problem rears its head. You call me, call us, and we’ll be right with you.’

Lorraine reached out and held him close. ‘Bill, I’m okay, but I appreciate what you just said.’

He stood holding her for a few moments more, then turned abruptly and walked out, the screen door banging shut behind him.

Lorraine slumped down on the sofa bed, which she would now no longer have to sleep on. She would have Rosie’s room all to herself, and she suddenly felt good, looking around the room. Her room. Her apartment. She would start to redecorate the next day, and lay on the old sofa thinking about colour schemes, and drapes, and then she sat up sharpish, swearing. She’d forgotten him, in all the excitement of returning home and banking the million dollars, she’d forgotten him, forgotten her promise.

The kennels were just closing when she arrived. She’d made the promise, and she wouldn’t go back on it, but she began to doubt it when the kennelmaid started saying that he’d been a packet of trouble from the day he’d been left. He had attacked every one of the helpers and every canine they had in residence, and was now kept in solitary confinement.

Tiger didn’t greet her, he sat at the far end of his wire meshing, his blue eyes beady and angry.

‘Hi, kiddo, it’s just me, I’m afraid. Nick’s not gonna be able to take you home.’

He still sat, and then he bared his teeth.

‘Listen, man, it’s up to you, but I am the best bet you got. I walk away and it’s the lethal injection, know what I mean?’

The beady blue eyes froze, and she bent down.

‘Come on, Tiger, they want to close up, and I’m tired.’

Tiger slowly got to his feet, his head hung low as he padded towards her. Then his big bushy tail started to wag slowly.

‘Okay, man, we’re out of here.’