Greg Herren - Murder in the Rue Ursulines

I interrupted her, before she launched into another tirade. “You said she claimed she was raped?”

“Yes, I said it twice, I believe. Aren’t you listening to me?” Her voice rose in agitation. “She went to some damn fool fraternity party. I told her and told her, those fraternity boys are nothing but trouble, everybody knows that. Find some nice Catholic boy, I told her, but oh, no! She couldn’t be bothered with a nice boy. Probably had some damned fool idea one of them rich boys would marry her. Huh. There’s only one thing rich boys want from girls like Karen, and it isn’t to marry them, I can tell you that.” She paused for a moment, and I could hear her breathing into the phone. I was about to ask another question when she started talking again.

“The Sigma Pis, I think it was. She came home early one morning and told me someone drugged her at a party and some boy raped her in his room while some other boys watched! How my heart broke for my poor baby! I was furious. So Monday morning, I marched right into that dean’s office and filed a complaint. Had to take the day off from work, and for what? More of her lies. Turns out she’d been stalking the boy, telling people they were in love, and threw herself at him at the party. There were witnesses. And not just the boys, either. Some of the girls at the party said so, too. Everything she’d said to me was a lie. That boy just didn’t want her, and she wanted to make trouble for him. I have never been so embarrassed in my life. Turned out she was doing all these things for him-and sleeping with him, and she made up her mind that he loved her and was going to marry her-and it was all in her head.” She snorted. “If only she hadn’t been too old to spank!

“The dean threatened to expel her…I lost a day’s work so I could go be humiliated. That was when I was done with her, you know. I told her to pack her stuff and get out of my house. And do you think she was even sorry? She wasn’t.” She sighed. “I’ll carry that boy’s name with me to the grave. It was Ricky-Ricky Osborne.” She made another noise. “I think he was from Newton? Such a nice, handsome boy he was. Very respectful to me, and apologetic. And once he got those braces off his teeth, he’d be a real lady-killer. I suppose that’s why Karen tried what she did.”

“Thank you, Ms Zorn, you’ve been very helpful. Do you have a picture of Karen you can fax or e-mail to me?” I crossed my fingers.

“I don’t have a fax machine and I don’t have a computer.” She whined. “I guess I could have my brother do it. Where should I send it to?”

I gave her both my e-mail address and my fax number.

“If you see her you tell her to call her mother. I haven’t talked to her in at least ten years, and my health isn’t good.” She whined. “I’m ready to let bygones be bygones.

“I’ll do that. Thank you, Mrs. Zorn.” I hung up the phone.

I went to a search engine for private eyes, and typed in KAREN ZORN, OLPE KANSAS, and the year of her birth. My phone rang as I waited for the results to come up. It was Paige. I flipped it open. “Hey, Paige, you’re not going to believe…”

“I just quit my job.” She interrupted me. Her voice was shaking. “That fucking bitch Coralie…”

“What the hell happened?” I didn’t know what to say. Paige loved her job.

“She killed my story, that’s what. That has never happened to me once in all the years I have worked at that fucking newspaper. And when I asked her why, she told me that it wasn’t in the quote paper’s best interests to run a story so critical of Frillian unquote. I told her to shove Frillian up her ass, and then I quit.” She sighed. “It was a matter of time, really, and better to quit now than keep being driven insane by her incompetence.”

“What are you going to do?”

“ Crescent City magazine offered me their editor-in-chief position earlier this week.” She exhaled. “I told them I’d think about it-thank God I didn’t just say no. Anyway, how did things go with the trainer?”

I filled her in on everything I’d uncovered thus far, and when I finished, she said grimly, “So our Freddy is a rapist? Can’t wait for that bitch Coralie to find out about that.”

“Accused rapist.” I corrected her. “And possibly a murderer, to boot.”

“Well, I didn’t get anything of use out of either the maid or the massage therapist.” She replied. “They liked Glynis, thought she was really nice, blah blah blah. They didn’t much care for Rosemary, though. There was nothing specific, really, they just didn’t like her. What’s next?”

“Well, I’m waiting to see if Loren calls me back.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Chanse.” She warned. “You should give all of this to Venus and Blaine and let them handle it. Don’t go meet with Frillian. They’re dangerous, obviously.”

“Okay.” I said noncommittally. “What’s next for you?”

“I’m going to go interview Rosemary, I think.”

“Okay, well call me when you’re finished. I’m curious to know what you think of her.”

“All right, later.” She hung up.

I turned back to my computer. The information on Karen Zorn had finished loading. She’d been listed at her mother’s address until she got an apartment in Emporia-right around the time of the rape accusation. Well, that made sense-her mother had said she’d thrown her out. Poor thing, bad enough she was raped and then wasn’t believed, but to have your own mother throw you out over it. But that apartment was the last listing for her, and she had only lived there for a year.

Karen Zorn had disappeared. A year later, the dean and his wife had died in a fire. The next year, Tim Dahlke had died. Another year went by and Bobby Wallace had also died.

All right around the time Freddy Bliss had been launched as a star in Hollywood.

My phone rang again. “MacLeod.”

“Chanse, it’s Loren McKeithen.” He sounded perturbed. “Look, I got your message and I passed it along to Freddy and Jillian. They want you to come by their house. They want to talk.” He paused for a moment. “Who the hell is Karen Zorn?”

“That’s not for me to say.” I replied. “Call them and tell them I’m on my way over.” I hung up.

I made two photocopies of everything Jephtha had given me. I placed them into envelopes. I address one to Venus, care of the French Quarter precinct. The other I addressed to Paige. I stamped them. I walked back into my bedroom and got out my gun. I checked it to make sure it was loaded, and slipped on my shoulder harness. Once it was secured, I put on my black leather jacket and stood in front of the mirror. The jacket had been specially made for me to hide the shoulder holster. I smiled at myself. I would drop the envelopes in the mail on my way to the Quarter. So if by chance I disappeared, they wouldn’t get away with it this time.

I got into my car and drove out of the parking lot, being swarmed again by hyenas. I smiled and waved at them, the stereo blasting. This time I didn’t care if they followed me. There was going to be a much bigger pack of them in front of Frillian’s gate, anyway. In fact, I hoped they did follow me. The main witness, visiting the prime suspect?

I was sure www.tarnishedtinsel.com would have a really good time with that.

I dropped by the post office on my way downtown and dropped the envelopes in the one of the outside drop-boxes. I found a place to park on Touro Street, just inside the Marigny. I crossed Esplanade quickly. Some of the hyenas had followed me, but they were trying to find parking. For the first time in my life I was happy that parking in New Orleans was such a joke. And I’d been right-the pack in front of Frillian’s brick fence was at least five times the size of the one in front of mine. I pushed my way through the crowd, ignoring the cameras and the questions being thrown at me. The gate opened just as I reached it, and I jumped inside. It slammed shut behind me.