Murder in the Rue Ursulines

Chapter Five

I started sweating as I walked hurriedly up Esplanade Avenue. A cool breeze was blowing from the direction of the river, but with the air so damp and warm and heavy, a thick blanket of gauze was dropping down over the entire Quarter, making it feel haunted. The street lamps acquired a halo effect, surrounding their white light with a rainbow circle of color. The streets were silent other than the clip-clopping of a mule’s hooves in the distance and every once in awhile, a wisp of voice would break through the silent fog, a broken fragment of a sentence swallowed again into the quiet. As I crossed Bourbon Street, the headlights of a yellow Toyota caught me by surprise and I jumped onto the opposite corner, my heart pounding from the close call. That would have been five hundred points in Jephtha’s game, I thought to myself, shaking my head. I took some deep breaths to calm myself, and started walking again.

Loren hadn’t had to tell me Frillian’s address. The location of their house wasn’t a closely guarded secret. Everyone in New Orleans had known within moments of their decision to buy a house here which properties they were looking at-and the smoke signals were already floating before the ink was dry on the bill of sale. To outsiders, the idea of any sort of privacy in the French Quarter may have seemed insane-but ironically, if privacy was your main concern in choosing a home, the Quarter was actually the place to go. Many of the homes were hidden from the street by massive brick fences with broken glass embedded in the top, or coils of razor wire to deter those with criminal intent. Even those houses whose front wall brushed the sidewalks were closed off once the shutters were shut and latched.

And Frillian’s home was one of the most secluded houses in the lower Quarter. It was L-shaped. One narrow side of the L touched the sidewalk. The shutters were always closed on that side. It was brick, and a seven-foot brick wall that leaned towards the street extended from that edge of the house all the way to the wall of the next house. The previous owner had opted for razor wire rather than broken bottles for the top of the fence. Almost in the very middle of the fence was a solid black iron door, with a mail drop slot at about waist level.

A few yards further down was a black iron garage door. On the other side of the brick fence, tall bamboo lined the inner side, so that a passerby could just catch a glimpse of the upper floor of the house, where it sat on the very back of the lot. Nothing inside the fence was visible from the sidewalk. A riot of bougainvillea spilled purple flowers and green leaves over the top between the gate and the garage door. Black hitching posts with horse’s heads lined the gutter. Next to the gate, a gas lamp flickered through the fog.

As I approached the door, I glanced up and, inside the bougainvillea, saw a tiny security camera pointing a small, glowing red light at me. I resisted the urge to wave at the camera. There was a bell to the right of the door, and I was reaching to press it when the door swung open silently.

“Come on. Get inside before someone sees you.” A man about my height, dressed completely in black, grabbed my left arm and pulled me inside. I weigh 240 pounds and stand six-feet-four in bare feet, so this was no mean feat. He slammed the door behind him and I got a good look at him when he turned back to me. He was actually a few inches taller than me, and he had the solid, thick body of a power lifter. He had to weigh at least three hundred solid pounds. His biceps strained at the sleeves of his tight, short-sleeved black cotton shirt. He was also wearing pleated black pants. He looked to be in his forties; his head was completely shaved. His eyes were dark brown, and his face was creased with lines radiating out from his eyes and the corners of his mouth. “Sorry to be so rough.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “But you wouldn’t believe what the paparazzi will pull to try to get in here.” He stuck out a huge hand. “Jay Robinette, head of security.”

His grip was strong, and I got the sense he wasn’t even using a tenth of his strength to squeeze my hand. I was grateful for that, but when you’re built like that, you don’t need to show off how strong you are. “Chanse MacLeod. Nice to meet you, Jay.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Chanse. Everyone’s waiting for you in the carriage house. That’s where their offices are.”

Inside the brick wall, it was like stepping into a park. The garage door opened onto a cobblestone carport. There was a black town car parked next to a bright red Mustang convertible. The rest of the courtyard was green grass with a fountain in the center. The house, a long two-story building with a gallery on the second floor, actually ran along the left side of the lot, beginning at the sidewalk. Across the courtyard was a two-story carriage house. Thick rosebushes lined the brick walk that led to the front door of the carriage house. I followed Robinette along the brick path, glancing over at the main house. Two children, one dark, the other Asian, were watching me from one of the upstairs windows. I waved at them. They stepped back, allowing the curtains to close. One of Frillian’s causes was adopting third world orphans, I recalled. Robinette knocked once on the carriage house door, opened it, and stood aside to let me pass.

“Chanse!” Loren crossed to me and shook my hand. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. He’d taken off his suit jacket, showing patches of sweat on his wrinkled shirt. He’d loosened his tie at the neck, and he reeked of stale cigarette smoke. “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”

I looked around. “No problem. I was already in the Quarter.” The entire bottom floor of the carriage house was just one big open room, with a small kitchenette at one end. The walls were covered with work by James Michalopoulos, a local artist who specialized in paintings of New Orleans architecture in bright colors, but with the perspective slightly off. I’d always wanted one of his paintings, but they were way out of my price range.

A DVD player mounted on the wall was playing classical music; Mozart, I thought. Just above it was a large flat-screen plasma television. A ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. Bookcases lined one wall, and at the far end of the room, two desks were pushed against the wall. One was neat, the other had papers and folders scattered all over the top of it. Freddy and Jillian were seated beside each other on a long wine-red sofa. Jillian was smoking a cigarette, the smoke curling gently around her head, but her hand was shaking. Those glacial eyes were unreadable, but she gave me a slight smile and nodded her head at me.

Freddy’s eyes were red, and he kept swallowing over and over again, licking his lips. His hair was disheveled, sticking up in every direction, and he still hadn’t shaved. He looked like hell.

I turned back to Loren. “What’s going on?”

“Glynis Parrish is dead.” Jillian crushed her cigarette out. “Murdered. Clubbed to death in her house.”

I couldn’t have heard that right. “What?” I turned to Loren, the numbness of shock spreading from my brain down my spine. “How-“

Loren wiped at his forehead with a handkerchief and shoved it back into his pants pocket, only to start sweating again. “Her assistant came back to the house and found her about an hour ago.”

“And we called Loren.” Jillian said, sucking on the end of her cigarette.

“She called here? Why would she do that?” I looked over at Freddy. His eyes were watery, and he was biting his lower lip. “You did tell her to call the police, right?”

“Of course I did.” Jillian snapped. “She was hysterical, not thinking clearly. Of course, I asked if she was certain Glynis was dead, but she said she checked for a pulse, and there wasn’t one. I told her to hang up and call 9-1-1.” She shook her head.

I can certainly attest to the horrible shock of discovering a dead body. It’s happened to me more times than I would prefer. “Did she say anything else?”

“Apparently, Glynis was hit over the head with her Emmy.” Jillian’s voice shook a little bit. She glanced at Freddy.

“That Emmy meant everything to her.” Freddy said in a monotone.

My God, I picked up that stupid thing, I thought, a ball of acid starting to form in my stomach.

Loren patted at his forehead again. “Of course, the police are going to check the phone records-and how is it going to look when they see Rosemary called here before she called them?”

“It’s going to look bad, is how it’s going to look.” Jillian stubbed her cigarette out. “Can’t you just hear the news jockeys? Why did Glynis Parrish’s assistant call Frillian before she called the police? What are they trying to hide?”

I couldn’t believe my ears. A woman was dead and she was worrying about what the papers would say? “Um, I’m sorry, but-“

“You think I’m a cold bitch, don’t you?” Jillian lit another cigarette, her shaking hand barely able to click the lighter on. “This is a terrible tragedy, make no mistake about it, Chanse. I didn’t want her dead, and I certainly didn’t want this to happen. But going to pieces about it right now is the worst thing Freddy and I can do.”

Freddy opened his mouth and then shut it again.

Jillian blew smoke towards the ceiling fan. “This is going to sound incredibly callous, Chanse, and I want to make it clear that on a personal level, I’m horrified. I just frankly feel kind of numb right now. Poor, sweet Glynis.” She swallowed. “This is a horrible, horrible thing to have happened. I feel terrible because I knew and liked her. Her family and friends and fans are going to be devastated. But this is going to be a nightmare-not just because we lost someone we were close to-but because this is going to be prime scandal material.” She patted Freddy’s leg with her free hand, which was still trembling. She seemed like she was barely holding it together.

“This is going to be a feeding frenzy for the media. This could have a serious impact on our work with Project Rebuild-if people think we’re involved somehow…and the press is going to have a field day with this. It’s going to be news all over the world.” She stubbed the cigarette out angrily. “And that stupid assistant calling here-what was she thinking? One would almost be tempted to think that she was deliberately trying to cause trouble for us…” she waved her hand. “But I suppose there’s no sense being angry with her, the poor thing. It must have been quite a shock to come home to find Glynis murdered like that…” She shuddered and her eyes filled with tears. She wiped at them angrily with her free hand. “DAMN it.”

“It is going to look bad-” I started to say, but she interrupted me.

“Assistant calls Frillian before police,” She made air quote marks, letting tears slip from her huge eyes. “That’s going to be the headline, you know. They’re going to drag out all the nonsense about the divorce again. People will speculate that we did it-it doesn’t matter that neither one of us could have done it.” She sighed. “And those damned e-mails she was sending us…well, you read them. It’s going to look like we killed her to shut her up, keep her from spilling some big secret about us.” Again she grabbed Freddy’s hand, squeezing it tightly, “There isn’t anything, of course. I want to keep those e-mails out of the newspapers.”

“But-“ I was confused. I remembered her saying at Loren’s office, there are things about us we don’t want anyone to know. “I don’t think that’s going to be possible, Jillian. The police will check out her computer, And they’ll find them-so it would be better to be up-front about it-otherwise, the police will think you’re trying to hide something.” I shrugged. “It seems to me that unless the e-mails are evidence, there’s no reason for anyone outside of the investigation to ever know about them.” She seemed a bit paranoid.

She glanced at Freddy, and turned back to me again. She bit her lower lip. “There has to be a way.” She let go of Freddy’s hand. “Okay, we weren’t completely honest with you this morning. We suspected Glynis was sending the e-mails, but we didn’t want to tell you that, because we wanted you to have an open mind, not focus on her in case we were wrong. My mother? She isn’t smart enough to send e-mails, frankly.” She gave a bitter laugh. “My mother isn’t sober long enough to learn how to work a computer. And now we know Glynis sent them, anyway… What we want you to do now is find out who killed Glynis.”

I shook my head. “That’s best left to the police, Jillian. They’re better equipped to handle this kind of thing, and I’m not going to have access to the evidence.”

“The police are going to be under pressure from the media-and every blogger in the world. Everyone is going to be focused on us.” She made a face. “We want to release a statement through our publicist saying that we’ve hired you to help the police look for Glynis’s killer.”

I couldn’t believe her self-absorption. I wasn’t a reporter, but it seemed to me like the real story was Glynis’s murder-not Frillian.“With all due respect, Jillian, I’m not sure how I feel about being used as a public relations ploy.” I was tempted to remind her of how O. J., after his farce of a trial, had claimed he was going to devote the rest of his life to finding the real killers of his ex-wife and Ronald Goldman. The comparisons were going to be made, in my opinion, and no one would take my hiring seriously. “If you really want me to find Glynis’s killer, I’ll do what I can-but like I said, the police have all kinds of access…”

“It’s not a publicity ploy.” Her voice was firm. I recognized the tone-she’d used it when she’d played Mary Queen of Scots. “With no offense intended, I’m not sure I trust the police. In these kinds of cases, they always seem to botch things up. And I certainly don’t trust the New Orleans district attorney’s office. This is going to be very high-profile, Chanse-it would be even if we weren’t involved.” She wiped at her face. “Glynis was a celebrity too-and she was a pretty nice person, to boot. I liked her. She and Freddy were still close. I want her killer found, Chanse. This case has to be solved. Glynis deserves that.”

I could understand her concern. As long as Glynis Parrish’s killer was free, her murder would haunt Freddy and Jillian-and their careers. No one would ever forget it. It would be headlines for months, maybe years. Then there would be books, documentaries, maybe even movies. Everyone would have an opinion, and Jillian was right. The blogosphere would go crazy debating who killed Glynis. Glynis’s entire life and career would be put under a microscope. Personal information she would have never shared willingly with the public would undoubtedly leak out of the police department and the district attorney’s office-things that could prove embarrassing to Frillian. E-mails, phone records.

Everyone who had anything to say or write about the situation would make a nice sum of cash selling information and stories to the tabloids. The stigma would follow them around for the rest of their lives-the question was, would their careers hold up under the dark cloud?

The thought of the feeding frenzy that was about to explode made my blood run cold.

And the murder of a movie star was a public relations nightmare for the rebuilding of New Orleans.

The city’s rising crime rate had made national news. One broadcaster had even called living here “like being in the Old West.” What nobody ever mentioned was that crime had been a huge problem before the flood. When the filthy water receded and the rebuilding began, we’d all kind of hoped that with the help of our federal government, the problems that existed before would be solved. Instead, the government had washed its hands of New Orleans, and the body count started to rise again. The question was, would the media fixate on Frillian, or the crime rate of New Orleans? Or would it be both?

And how would this affect the rebuilding of the city’s film industry?

Film had become a big business in New Orleans over the last ten years. A concerted campaign had been launched by the city and the state to lure filmmakers and television producers to the city; it was called “Hollywood South.” The city, recognizing that it simply couldn’t depend so heavily on tourism, had bent over backwards to make the Hollywood types welcome here. After all, the movie industry was recession proof; tourism wasn’t. When the flood had effectively destroyed the tourist industry, with the media doing its part to discourage tourists from returning, the city’s economy remained in ruins. So getting the film industry back was vital to the recovery effort-and the unsolved murder of a movie star was sure to cripple those prospects. It would be a disaster that could finish off Hollywood South once and for all.

I felt sick to my stomach, and wondered if my friends Venus Casanova and Blaine Tujague would be assigned to the case. They had one of the best records in the department for closing cases. But the political pressure would be intense. Obviously, the mayor and the City Council would be pressuring the police department to wrap it up quickly.

“All right,” I said slowly, trying to ignore the warning bells going off in my head. Stay calm and focused, Don’t get stressed out. You need to do this for the city. “You said earlier that neither one of you could have done it. Why is that?”

Jillian glanced at Freddy. “We were together all day.”

I stared at Freddy. That feeling in the pit of my stomach got worse. I closed my eyes for a moment and pictured myself walking down Ursulines again. The door slamming, the guy in the sweatshirt and jeans. “That’s not possible,” I said, keeping my voice level and expressionless. “Freddy, I saw you by yourself earlier this evening.”

Freddy seemed to snap out of his shock. “What? What are you talking about? That’s just not possible.”

“What are you saying?” Jillian’s tone dripped ice.

“I was meeting a friend for dinner at Port of Call. I parked on Burgundy, and was walking up Ursulines around five-forty or thereabouts when I saw you coming out of Glynis’s house.” I folded my arms. “You were wearing a pair of jeans and an LSU sweatshirt.”

Freddy and Jillian looked at each other, their faces pale.

Freddy said, “How would you know where Glynis’s house is?”

“I interviewed her there earlier today.”

“You’re absolutely certain?” Loren said grimly. “You’re sure?”

I thought back, and nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure.” The room was silent.

“So you’re saying you saw Freddy coming out of Glynis’s house during the time she might have been murdered?”

A headache was starting to form behind my right eye.

“That’s not possible.” Freddy shook his head. “I was here all afternoon. Jillian and I spent the afternoon with the children, and, around five, we came over here to the carriage house, to review scripts. We’ve been here ever since.”

“When did you get here, Loren?”

“After they called me-around seven, wasn’t it?” He looked over at them.

Her face tight, Jillian nodded.

“Are you sure, Chanse?” Loren asked again. “Are you absolutely certain it was Freddy you saw? Think, Chanse. Are you positive it was Freddy you saw?”

I opened my mouth, and shut it again. My burger was churning in my stomach, and I felt like I was going to throw up any minute. Also, I was beginning to doubt myself. Loren was a damned good attorney, and that’s the role he was playing-he was cross-examining me. I closed my eyes and thought back. “Yes, I’m certain.” But now I wasn’t quite as certain as I had been.

“How far away were you?” Loren asked.

It was like being on a witness stand-which is something I’ve never enjoyed. A good lawyer can make you doubt yourself, twist your words to make it seem as if you were saying something other than what you meant. I swallowed and estimated the distance. “About twenty yards, maybe. I was under a street light, and when he walked under the streetlight just down from the house, I saw his face clearly. It wasn’t foggy yet, and yes, it was dark already, but I got a pretty damned good look at his face. And my eyes are good-I just had an examination a few weeks ago. They’re twenty-twenty.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just someone who looked like Freddy?”.

“How many people look like a movie star?” I replied, raising my eyebrows. “Like Freddy Bliss?”

Freddy shook his head. “I’m telling you, it wasn’t me. It couldn’t have been.” His voice was shaky.

I stared at him. There was no point in arguing with him-he wasn’t going to change his story.

And he was an actor. He fooled people for a living.

Who would believe me over Freddy Bliss? And Jillian Long?

After all, I was just a gay private eye no one had ever heard of…

Loren went on. “You may have seen someone-” he emphasized the word, “come out of the victim’s-Glynis’s-house right around the time she may have been murdered.”

And I was in her house a few hours earlier. I handled the murder weapon.

I was starting to feel really sick to my stomach. “I saw Freddy.” I insisted.

“You were mistaken.” Jillian said, her voice rising. “You couldn’t have seen Freddy. He was here with me.” She crossed her arms.

“I know what I saw,” I replied.

“God fucking damn it!” Jillian exploded, lighting yet another cigarette. “I’m not going to argue with you.” She shook her head. “I know you’re wrong.”

I opened my mouth to make a sharp retort, but Loren cut me off.

“Jillian, if Chanse thinks he saw Freddy coming out of Glynis’s home, you’re not going to talk him out of it-and you shouldn’t even try. He’s a witness in a murder case.“ His tone was gently rebuking, implying that there could be legal ramifications. But I also noticed and bristled inwardly at the use of the word thinks

“Fine, fine.” Jillian turned to Freddy, and stroked the side of his face. She turned back to look at me. “You know, the great irony of all this is that in death, Glynis is going to get what she always wanted-to be a huge star. She’ll be a much bigger star in death than she was when she was alive.” She sighed. “It’s so wrong.” She covered her face with her hands and began to cry.

I’d seen her do that in Life in a Northern Town. She got an Oscar nomination for that movie.

“Get him out of here.” She said between sobs. “I don’t ever want to see his face again.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It was quite a performance.

“Come on, Chanse, I’ll walk you out.” Loren opened the door.

Once we were outside the brick wall, standing on the sidewalk, Loren lit a cigarette of his own. “Christ, what a fucking mess this is turning into.” He exhaled, leaning back against the brick wall. “Well, I’m sure their million-dollar-a-year attorneys will soon be flying in and bumping me off this case. It can’t come soon enough.” He looked at me. “I recommend when you get home you unplug your landline.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“They’re releasing that statement in time for the ten o’clock news locally, and its going to break nationwide at the same time.” He shook his head. “When they talk to the police, they’re going to have to tell them about the e-mails and hiring you.” He made a face. “Leaks happen, Chanse. That’s going to get out-everyone in the world is going to be calling you once that story breaks. I don’t know if the news about Glynis has broken yet. Every reporter in the country is going to want ‘your story’ after that statement is released, and they’re going to be relentless, Chanse. And when they find out you’re a material witness?” He shook his head. “Do you have any idea what this is going to do to your life?”

I still felt like throwing up. “I can handle it.”

“Then do me a favor. Just hide out and get a lawyer. You know the cops are going to want to talk to you. For tonight, just hide the fuck out. For God’s sake, get yourself a good lawyer before you talk to them.”

“A lawyer? What the hell do I need a lawyer for?” I could feel my mind starting to slide down that dark path again, and I took some deep breaths. Imagine you’re on a beach, with the waves gently rolling to shore, and the sun is baking your skin while you lie on a towel.

Loren stepped closer to me and lowered his voice. “Chanse, you’re walking on dangerous ground right now. This is going to be bigger than the fucking O. J. Simpson case, Robert Blake, and Phil Specter fucking combined! Hell, I don’t know if I can handle this shit myself. Jillian wasn’t kidding when she said there was going to be a media circus. When she and Freddy got together, her ‘stealing’ him from Glynis was major news. Glynis was even on the cover of Vanity Fair, as the ‘wronged wife.’ Now, someone’s killed her. You may or may not have seen Freddy Bliss coming out of her house around the time she was killed. You also worked for Freddy and Jillian-and you know all about the e-mails. Hell, you were the one who found out where they came from. Yeah, you fucking need a lawyer. You needed a lawyer about an hour ago-and do not under any circumstances talk to the police without your lawyer. And I know Casanova and Tujague are your friends-but you can’t even trust them. Do you understand me?”

“I-“ I stared at him. I really hadn’t put that much thought into it. The concept that I would be a news story had never occurred to me. I’d killed two people, and both times it was maybe three paragraphs buried deep inside the pages of the newspaper. With a sinking feeling, I remembered Kato Kaelin.

Could my life bear that kind of scrutiny?

“People are going to offer you money for your story,” he went on. “That’s got Jillian and Freddy scared as hell. Sure, you signed a confidentiality agreement, and I hired you…the e-mail thing was bad enough, but you’re now a material witness in a major murder case.”

“I know what I saw.” I stuck my hands in my jacket pockets. “I saw Freddy, no matter what Jillian might say. They’re lying, Loren.”

“We shouldn’t even be having this conversation,” he replied. “I’m violating all kinds of ethics here. I’m talking to you now as a friend, not as a lawyer. Please listen to me, okay?” He ground his cigarette out with his shoe. “Depending on what evidence is in that house, those e-mails look bad for Freddy. A reputable eyewitness saw him leaving the scene of the crime around the time it may have happened. If Freddy wasn’t a major star, the police would haul him based on that alone.” He sighed. “I’m a good lawyer, but if they arrest him, they’re going to have to bring in a real heavy hitter. That lawyer is going to have to discredit you and your testimony, Chanse. I don’t doubt you can handle yourself with the police…” His voice trailed off. “I’m really not trying to scare you, Chanse…but think about it. You got a big check from Freddy and Jillian today. You were in Glynis’s house earlier today. You were in the vicinity of the house around the time she was killed. What do you think a lawyer would make of that in court?” He folded his arms. “Maybe you confronted her and there was an altercation…you see where I’m going with this?”

My fingerprints were on the murder weapon, unless the killer wiped it clean.

“She was alive when I left the house.” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Her assistant can testify to that.”

“Do yourself a favor.” He reached into his wallet and handed me a business card. “Give this guy a call. I’ll phone him and let him know you’re calling.” He nodded and shut the door behind him.

I looked at the card.

STORM BRADLEY, ATTORNEY AT LAW.

I put it in my wallet. Feeling a little nauseous, I headed back to my car.