Greg Herren - Murder in the Rue Ursulines

“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.