Amanda Stevens - The Dollmaker

“They know. What I still can’t figure out is why you’re here.”

Dave was starting to wonder the same thing himself. If the police were in the process of breaking Jimmy’s alibi, why would Graydon Losier feel the need to hire a P.I.? And why had Angelette brought the case to Dave?

Easy answer. She was after something.

“All right, let’s say Jimmy Caisson did kill Nina. Let’s say the police can eventually prove it,” Dave said. “That still leaves Renee Savaria.”

The cigarette continued to smolder in JoJo’s hand. “Ancient history.”

“Not to her family. Not to me, either.”

JoJo shrugged. “You got a guilty conscience about something, go talk to a priest. Leave me out of it.”

“Have you ever been to an AA meeting, JoJo?”

“No, why?”

“One of the steps to recovery is to admit to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. Seven years ago, I destroyed evidence that may have allowed Renee Savaria’s killer to go free. You’re the only person I’ve ever admitted that to.”

“What am I supposed to do? Applaud or something?”

“No, you just get to sit there and hear me out. A couple of days before my daughter was kidnapped, Renee’s roommate gave me Renee’s diary. Some of the last notations were a set of initials and an address on Chef Menteur Highway. The location was one of your old massage parlors, JoJo. She went out there to meet someone, didn’t she?”

“Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. Seven years is a long time, and my memory’s not what it used to be.”

“Think hard,” Dave said. “Because whoever Renee met that night turned out to be her killer. I’d put money on it. And then he used my daughter’s kidnapping to coerce me into destroying evidence that could have incriminated him.”

“You can’t prove any of that.”

“No, but I bet you can. I always suspected you were holding out on me, JoJo. I think you still are. You’ve been protecting Renee’s killer all these years, but a guy in your condition has to ask himself, what’s the point? Why not come clean while you still have the chance?”

“You think where I’m going one little confession is going to make any difference?”

Dave shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”

JoJo’s hands were steady and his eyes never flinched, but Dave could see a thin film of sweat glistening above his lip. “You really believe all that bullshit they teach in Sunday school?”

“Yeah, I do.”

JoJo took another long pull on his cigarette, then stabbed out the butt in the ashtray. He was silent for a moment as his gaze strayed to the runway, where a blonde who looked no more than eighteen danced in nothing but sequins and stilettos.

“There was this guy. He used to come in here a couple times a week. Big fucker with a scar all the way down the side of his face.” JoJo traced a finger along his jawline. “He had a thing for Renee. He used to set up these private parties for him and his friends, and he always made sure she was one of the girls I sent out.”

“What was his name?”

JoJo took out another cigarette, but didn’t light up. Instead he tapped the end against his hand. “You sure you want to take the lid off this crap hole? It may be old shit down there, but you start digging around, it’s still gonna stink. And nothing you do will bring that girl back.”

“It won’t bring her back, but maybe it’ll finally give her family some peace. They’ve had to live with the knowledge that Renee’s killer has gone free all these years. They need justice for their dead daughter and I need to make things right. I think you do, too.”

JoJo stared out at the crowd, then slowly ran his gaze back to Dave. “Does the name Clive Nettle mean anything to you?”

A memory clicked and a cold wave of dread washed over Dave. “He’s a cop.”

“Yeah, that’s right. They were all cops at those parties, and some of them wore some pretty heavy-metal brass on their chests. And for obvious reasons, they were mighty particular about who they let in.”

“Who are we talking about, JoJo? Give me some names.”

He took a sip of his drink. Condensation ran off the bottom of the glass and dripped onto the tabletop. “I can’t give you any names. Nettle was the only one I ever had any dealings with. He always made the arrangements, sometimes for cash, sometimes in exchange for looking the other way if my liquor license wasn’t exactly in order.”

“Where did these parties take place?”

“Motel rooms, mostly. One or two times at an old farmhouse off the highway. Somebody I used to know owned it.”

“What about your massage parlors?”

“If the money was right.”

“Was the money right the night Renee was murdered?”

JoJo licked his lips. “Put it this way. An offer was made I couldn’t refuse.”

“What happened?”

“Nettle wanted more than a lap dance that night and things got a little rough. When Renee fought back, he lost control. Most of the brass ran for the bushes when the screaming started, but a couple of the cops stayed behind to clean up the mess. They hustled me out of my own joint, and the next thing I know, Renee’s being fished out of the drink.”

“And you just kept your mouth shut.”

His eyes met Dave’s across the table. “What was I supposed to do? I open my trap, next thing I know some trigger-happy cop is outside my back door with a sawed-off shotgun pressed against my temple.” He gestured with the unlit cigarette. “Besides, those bastards had it all figured out. It’d be their word against mine. And anyway, who’d give a shit about a dead stripper? Girls like Renee are a dime a dozen in this town. In a week’s time, nobody would’ve even remembered her name. But then you got put on the case, and you didn’t go looking for the easy answer. You kept digging and digging until that diary turned up. If somebody hadn’t gone and snatched your little girl, they would’ve found another way to stop you.”

Dave’s hands clenched into fists underneath the table. “Was Nettle the one who made those calls to me?”

“He never struck me as the type of guy who could think too fast on his feet.”

“Then who did?”

JoJo shrugged. “I’ve told you everything I know. We’re squared now, right?”

“As far as I’m concerned we are.” Dave struck a match and lit JoJo’s cigarette, then shook out the flame. “But my absolution isn’t exactly the one you need to worry about, JoJo.”

Dave walked back to his truck, but instead of climbing in, he headed down Decatur to a little corner restaurant named Dessie’s.

Odessa Birdsong was known city-wide for her fried chicken, smothered pork chops and dirty rice, but it wasn’t the menu that drew Dave to her place that day. He and Dessie’s son, Titus, had once been partners, and Dave still remembered some of Titus’s old habits. Every day as soon as his watch ended, he’d stop by the restaurant to check on his aging mother. Sometimes he’d stick around and help out if she needed him; other days he’d take off after only a few minutes. But he never failed to go by and see her. Dave figured this would be a good time of day to catch him there, though the way their partnership had ended, he wasn’t so sure Titus would want to see him.

Someone had painted Dessie’s name in bright green letters across the plate glass window and replaced the apostrophe with a smiling red crawfish. As Dave pushed open the door, the scent of frying meat engulfed him. The place was small, with a wall of booths on one side and a few rickety tables jammed together in the center. Ancient wooden fans stirred a perpetual cloud of grease smoke that hovered near the tin ceiling, and Dave could hear a radio playing somewhere in the back.