Greg Herren - Murder in the Rue Ursulines

I was starting to agree with him. I was stupid.

“Please tell me you deposited the check yesterday afternoon, before the murder.”

I bit my lip. “Um, no. I haven’t been to the bank yet.”

“So now the district attorney could make it seem as though they bribed you last night to change your story.” He sighed. “Chanse, when you go in to talk to the police, you cannot tell them you were positive it was Freddy you saw and then changed your mind. You can’t. You saw someone coming out of the house you thought resembled Freddy, is all. You didn’t see his whole face, did you?”

“Well, no. Like I said, he was wearing a hoodie sweatshirt with the hood pulled down low over his face. All I really saw was from about the nose down. He did look a lot like Freddy.”

“And if Freddy’s arrested, the district attorney isn’t the only person you’re going to have to worry about, my friend.” He laughed. “You don’t think Freddy Bliss isn’t going to have the best team of criminal attorneys money can buy? He makes twenty million dollars for every movie he’s in. He has more money than he knows what to do with…and his lawyers are going to move heaven and earth to convince the jury you aren’t reputable. And it won’t be that hard. Freddy and Jillian aren’t just anyone. They’re fucking world famous movie stars, Chanse. The jury, no matter how much they try to be objective, won’t be-they’ve seen their movies, they know what they’re doing here in New Orleans, they’ve been all over the television news and the newspapers and magazines. People feel like they know them, like they’re friends or distant relatives. And with no offense intended, who are you?” He gave me a nasty smile. “Have you ever killed someone, Mr. MacLeod?”

I licked my lips. “Yes. In self-defense.”

“More than once?”

I squirmed a bit in my chair. “Twice.”

“Were you ever charged for these killings, Mr. MacLeod?”

“No, as I said, they were in self-defense.”

“You were a police officer, weren’t you, Mr. MacLeod?”

“Yes, for two years.”

“Are you acquainted with the investigating officers in this case, Venus Casanova and Blaine Tujague?”

I stared at him. “Venus and Blaine are assigned to the case? Yes, I know them both quite well.”

“Were they by any chance the officers who investigated the two killings you committed?” Again, he used that accusatory tone that made me want to punch him in the face.

“Yes, they were.”

“Okay, let’s stop there for a minute.” Storm replied. “You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?” He shook his head. “O. J.’s lawyers were able to convince a jury that despite all the overwhelming evidence against him, the entire Los Angeles police department had entered into a conspiracy to frame him, and may have even murdered Nicole Simpson and Ron Goldman themselves to bring O. J. down. How hard would it be to be to convince a jury that Venus and Blaine conspired with you to frame Freddy Bliss? Not hard at all.”

“The two men you killed were murderers. You saved the city-and the police department-a lot of hassle and the cost of a trial by killing them, you know that?”

“That isn’t what happened!” My mind was starting to spin out of control. “Glenn Austin was trying to kill me-and Lenny Pousson was holding a gun on me and several other people…” I was having trouble breathing.

“Are you all right?” There was concern in his voice. “We can take a break, if you need to collect yourself.”

“Let me get some water. There’s a fountain in the hall, right?” It was the beginning of an anxiety attack. I got up, black dots dancing in front of my eyes. Focus on your breathing, you’re on a warm beach with white sands. I staggered out into the hall and drank, taking small sips, trying to keep my breathing steady. When I was back under control, I walked back into Storm’s office. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Since the flood, I occasionally have anxiety attacks. I can control them-but sometimes…”

“I totally get it. No need to explain to me,” he replied in a gentle tone. “Did you stay, or did you evacuate?”

“I evacuated.”

“We stayed.” Storm replied, a weird look coming over his face. “I sometimes think those of us who stayed behind had it easier-I mean, those of us whose houses didn’t go under. Well, mine did-I lived near Broadmoor-but my grandparents have a house in the Garden District and we went there, my wife and I, and the rest of the family.”

“Where are you living now?” I took another sip of the water.

“Still with my grandparents.” He shrugged. “What can you do?”

“I’m sorry.” We all had stories. In the months after the flood, as everyone came back with their own horror stories, we sometimes got tired of talking about it. But, as I told Paige, we couldn’t cut people off and not let them talk about it. Talking was helping people heal, even though it reopened our wounds. There was a long time when it seemed like none of us would ever be able to move on, because just when we established some semblance of normality, of control, we’d run into someone else who’d just come back. They’d have to tell their story, and you’d have to tell yours, tearing the scab off the wound.

He waved his hand. “Well, we’re rebuilding. It’s just taking forever. You have no idea how bad I want to get back into my own house. Can’t really complain-I’m living in the height of luxury in a mansion instead of a FEMA trailer-but it’s not home.” He shrugged. “You ready to continue?”

I nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Why were you hired by the defendant, Freddy Bliss?”

“I was hired to find out who was sending him threatening e-mails.”

“And did you find out?”

“Yes, they were sent from a laptop computer registered to Glynis Parrish…” I stopped. “Oh my God.”

“Exactly. You were hired to find out who sent the e-mails. You found out it was Glynis Parrish. You were on the street, the very block, she lived on around the time she was killed. You have killed two people before, in ‘self-defense.’” He made air quotes with his fingers as he said self-defense. “Loren, or whoever Freddy’s attorney is, should it get that far, is going to need to create a reasonable doubt in the jurors’ minds. Ask yourself, Chanse-if you were on that jury, trying to decide if Freddy Bliss, a movie star you feel like you know, someone you are familiar with, killed his ex-wife-or was it this shady private investigator, deeply connected to the investigating officers, who has already killed two people and gotten away with it-possibly with the assistance of the police?” He finished his coffee and set it down on the table. “And the police are going to be looking long and hard at you too. The police are never really thrilled with coincidences-at least that’s been my experience. And now…”

“Uh…Storm…there’s one other little coincidence you should know about.”

“Oh, Lord. I don’t think I like that tone.”

“There’s a good chance my fingerprints are on the murder weapon.” I told him about handling the Emmy.

And now, sitting in the very same interrogation room I’d been taken to after I’d killed Lenny Pousson, a psycho who’d been responsible for the deaths of at least thirty people, I could feel my mind starting to go down the dark path of terror. But Venus knows me, she’s my friend, she knows the circumstances in which I’ve killed before. She’s not going to believe for a minute that I killed Glynis Parrish. Deep breaths, Chanse, you can’t have an anxiety attack in here.