City of the Dead Read online

  “They will. And when they do, we’ll be the first ones suspected. She had the ring.”

  “And you think, what? We should just march into the police station and tell them what we did and why?”

  There was an uncomfortable silence in the dim corner. Outside, the afternoon summer thunderstorm had just passed, leaving the sagging old room in almost complete darkness, except for the random flicker of candles and the glow of the ATM machine by the bar.

  “Why couldn’t we?”

  “You think they’d believe us?”

  Another silence, punctuated by a distant rumble of thunder and the closer growl of a Harley gliding past the open windows. “So what now?”

  “For now we get back to business.”

  “And the sister?”

  There was a laugh. “Leave it to Eddie. He says he wants to take care of her.”

  “Will he?”

  “One of us will. We don’t have a choice, do we?”

  Ten

  Chastity woke to another still, sullen morning. The temperature and humidity hovered in the nineties. The wind had died completely, and the sun beat down without respite, even though clouds always seemed to be massed at the horizon.

  On the little TV Kareena kept on the kitchen counter, a swirl of orange took up the screen. Tropical storm Bob lay off the north coast of Puerto Rico. With sustained winds of 70 miles per hour and a surface pressure of 986, Bob was building into what might be a meteorological miracle. A very big hurricane in the middle of June.

  Kareena was thrilled. First estimates were that Bob would sweep across southern Florida and into the Gulf of Mexico. If the jet stream held, it would usher the storm right into New Orleans.

  Chastity felt the approach of all that water build right in her chest. She watched that hypnotic curl of color on the TV and knew that it was zeroed in on her. She didn’t care what anybody else thought. Lloyd had prophesied it the day before, and he was right, She was about to be punished for whatever was left to punish her for.

  “You said Faith decided to retire from donation,” she said to Max, cell phone to her ear as she sat at Kareena’s table making inroads into the Boudreaux coffee supply. “The clinic said they had to ask her to stop.”

  There was a slight pause. “I didn’t want to put it like that.”

  “Was she having problems with depression, Max?”

  Another, longer pause. “She was grieving for her mother.”

  “Was Faith seeing a psychiatrist?”

  “No. Heavens, no. She said she knew more about their business than they did. After all, her masters is in psychology.”

  “So she isn’t on any antidepressants?”

  “No. I told you. Check her bathroom vanity, if you want.”

  Ah yes. The bathroom. “Who put the pictures of my father all over Faith’s bathroom, Max?”

  Max all but hiccupped with the sudden change of direction. “Pardon? What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I’m not sure, but it could be important. Who, Max?”

  “Why, Faith, of course. She still adores her father.”

  With that, every other question on Chastity’s list vanished.

  “Chastity?”

  Chastity stared off into the sea of lime green that was Kareena’s kitchen walls. She thought of a million and one tiny, forgettable incidents from her childhood that she could never forget. She thought of the thick stew of distrust, shame, and competition her father had brewed among her family. She thought of poor Hope, caught in the middle and squeezed to death.

  She thought of how comfortable she’d been no more than a week ago. How she’d managed to control all that noisome waste from her past with ritual and a small bag of rocks.

  Chastity wondered if she’d actually thought this search would make it better. It hadn’t. It was making it worse. Everything she’d been shoving down into the dark was starting to bubble up around her like a toxic soup.

  “Faith hates her father,” she said, and still wasn’t sure she believed it. Faith had been Daddy’s girl. It had been up to Hope and Chastity to vie for his attention.

  And they had.

  “Oh, no,” Max said. “I’m sure you’re wrong.”

  When it sounded as if he were about to expound on that, Chastity shied. “Did you know that Faith had a child, Max?”

  Max sounded bemused. “Yes, Chastity. I did. It was before me. A mistake she rectified.”

  A mistake. What a tidy word for what must have been a devastating time in Faith’s life.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He hesitated. “You think it could mean something?”

  “She was going through an emotional crisis, Max. Everything could mean something. Had she been in contact with the baby?”

  “No. She never expressed an interest in it after telling me about it. She simply felt I should know.”

  “And you don’t know when it was born or anything?”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  Maybe, faced with the end of her reproductive life, Faith had become obsessed with her own child. Well, Kareena was looking for a birth certificate. She’d find out.

  “One last thing, Max. Faith’s address book. As far as I can tell, nobody from the Arlen Clinic is in it.”

  Not even Eddie Dupre. Chastity hadn’t noticed until she’d sat down the night before and read the thing beginning to end. All in all, she’d counted six Suzies and four Emilies. But no Eddies. If Dr. Petit was telling the truth, that shouldn’t have made sense.

  “Well, she didn’t really see those people much after she stopped going,” Max said. “She thought it important to devote her time to her family and her mother. You’re not quitting.” Not a question so much as a statement.

  Chastity sighed. “No, Max. I’m not quitting.”

  Not when there was a dead body somehow involved. Not when none of her questions had been answered. Certainly not when all these new questions kept piling up.

  So Chastity hung up, slipped on her sunglasses, and prepared to spend another fruitless day interviewing women who planned social events, all the while feeling like she was making things worse instead of better.

  New Orleans had no centralized homicide bureau. Subscribing to the “local cops know their own neighborhoods best” theory, the department let each district handle its own cases. The only exception to that edict was the Eighth, the French Quarter district, since any homicide at the core of the tourist area was such a potential red ball. Homicides in the Eighth were caught by the Cold Case squad up at police headquarters in Duncan Plaza.

  If not centralized, the information was at least coordinated. When a call came in anywhere in the city, Cold Case recorded it in The Book, a large ledger that sat on a wall desk in the Cold Case office. A pin marked the site on the large district-by-district map on the wall. Then every Tuesday morning at ten, the lieutenants from each district gathered at the Cold Case squad room to compare notes, just to make sure they hadn’t overlooked anything.

  On this Tuesday the curious case of the fake-emerald-bedecked body in the bayou over in Jefferson Parish was presented by the lieutenant from the Eighth District at the behest of Detective Gilchrist. They made mention of it this Tuesday because the case reflected on a person who was still missing from New Orleans, who had a high-profile husband, and who had a forensic nurse sister who was down there nosing around.

  It was just a heads-up. After all, the current opinion was that the missing person had tossed her now worthless ring once she didn’t need it anymore, and the Jane Doe had found it just in time to wear to her funeral. Notes were taken, opinions rendered, and jokes shared, especially about the nun-in-an-emerald-ring-at-a-hurricane-season-party aspect of the case. Sergeant Obie Gaudet, one of Cold Case’s vets, was given the file, just so they could put a name on it and be done. Then they moved on to the triple homicide from the B. W. Cooper Housing Project, which would eventually be tagged to some yos from the Magnolia Projects. Business as usual.
r />   Back in Jefferson Parish, Detective Dulane sent a missing persons alert out on the wire. He checked every convent in town that might be missing a nun and ran by the shelters. He contacted the Times-Picayune to run an article asking for information that might lead to the identification of a young woman found in Bayou Segnette who might be connected with Mrs. Faith Stanton of New Orleans.

  Now it was time to meet with Dr. Willis. Chastity Byrnes was right. They needed a full cut on this woman. There were just too many unanswered questions to leave any stone unturned. Or any organ uncut. Pulling his weapon out of the drawer, Dulane snapped it into his holster and headed out to cross the parking lot.

  He had a feeling about this floater. He had a feeling about Ms. Byrnes. He didn’t want to be the one she made look stupid.

  “You’re kidding,” Chastity said when James pulled to a halt before a nondescript marble building set in the middle of noisy, vulgar Bourbon Street. “This is Gallatoire’s?”

  “They were here first,” James said.

  They’d spent the last three days tracking down the names in Faith’s address book. Today, they were to talk to Susan Wade Reeves, who had seen Faith get into that cab. And it being lunchtime on Friday afternoon, they knew just where to find her.

  Chastity really wasn’t in the mood for this. She’d just gotten off the phone with Kareena, who’d told her with apologies that there was no record to be found locally of an infant born to Faith Marie Byrnes. There was, however, a record of Lloyd Burgard.

  “That boy’s a four-star paranoid schiz. A regular at our psych unit. He keeps stoppin’ his meds because the New Orleans Saints tryin’ to steal his soul.”

  “The football Saints?” Chastity had asked. “What I’ve seen of them, they couldn’t steal a lateral pass.”

  “Oh, yeah. They stealin’ souls, stealin’ identities, stealin’ that boy’s shorts, all I know. But that Lloyd, he crazy.”

  “But what do the Saints have to do with fertility clinics?”

  “Ah, that’s what’s so beautiful. See, the Saints, they say to Lloyd, You save some bebes over at those bad places, we not steal your soul.’ So Lloyd, he try and save him some bebes.”

  “Uh-huh. Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Bob ain’t a tropical storm anymore. An hour ago, they made him a hurricane of his very own.”

  Chastity fought a fresh set of shakes. She knew an omen when she heard it.

  And that was how she walked into Gallatoire’s.

  Chastity wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Pristine white tablecloths, deep carpet, hushed, reverent tones. The inside of Gallatoire’s resembled nothing more than an ice cream parlor. With high ceilings and tile floors, the place echoed with conversation and laughter. The walls were covered in green fleur-de-lis wallpaper, and the tables were bare and comfortable. The waiters wore white jackets, but they were all singing “Happy Birthday” to one of the tables, and the rest of the room seemed to be participating. It was loose and easy, the way Chastity always imagined a good family would be.

  “I’m sorry. Ms. Reeves just left,” the maitre d’ said with a hesitant smile. “Excuse me, don’t I know you?”

  Chastity did her best to smile back. “I’m Faith Stanton’s sister.”

  The maitre d’ actually patted her arm like a nanny. “Of course. I’m so sorry. The police talked to us, but we simply couldn’t offer anything. She seemed fine. In fact, better than I’d seen her in a while.”

  Chastity paid attention now. “I’d heard that she hadn’t done well since my mother’s death.”

  “She got so…quiet. But she came. Every week. Dr. Stanton made sure of it.”

  “Did she eat with anyone in particular?”

  “Why, no. It depended on the week. Mrs. Stanton, of course. Dr. Stanton’s mother. Friends, acquaintances.”

  “Is Mrs. Stanton here today?”

  “No. Not during the summer. Mizz Ellen is in Italy. But Mizz Webster’s here, if you want to talk to her. The police did.”

  “Webster. She was also there when my sister got in the cab.”

  “Yes. She’s right over there. And sweet as they come.”

  Mizz Webster was the size of a hummingbird. Gray-haired, bright-eyed, and as bubbly as a debutante, she patted Chastity’s hand the entire time she talked to her. Yes, she knew dear Faith. No, she hadn’t had lunch with her that last day. Yes, she thought for sure she’d heard the words fertility clinic. Which one she didn’t remember, and she’d been trying to recall, especially since she’d heard that her dear Faith had gone missing.

  “Would you remember seeing the cabdriver?” Chastity asked.

  Mizz Webster was already shaking her head. “He was colored, dear. And he had statues on his dashboard. But then, everybody has statues on their dashboard down here.”

  Chastity left with Mizz Webster’s best wishes and an invitation to tea, but no real sense that she’d made progress. She found James parked at the corner watching the street life.

  “How many cabdrivers are black and have statues on their dashboards?”

  He never looked back as she slammed the door. “At least a third.”

  “Great. I need a new favor.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m naturally curious. What?”

  “I need you to go in with me on these interviews. I’m missing stuff. Forgetting stuff. I just realized I hadn’t even thought to talk to Max’s mother about Faith’s well-being.”

  “You want to do it now?”

  “Can you drive to Italy?”

  “I could sure try.”

  “How ’bout we talk to this Susan Reeves on Prytania first? It’s probably on our way.”

  The house was everything Kareena had promised. About a block square with porches and colonnades that would have made the Greeks weep with envy. Lush landscaping with huge magnolias, live oaks, crepe myrtles, rhododendron, and jasmine, all tucked behind a high wrought-iron fence to remind folk just where the demarcation between fantasy and reality existed. All on a street that seemed to be erupting around the roots of the huge trees that reigned there.

  Susan Wade Reeves resided in the smaller coach house to the rear.

  Small being relative. This one had two stories and could have sat about four coaches and a Hummer.

  “I’m just not sure what I can do for you,” she said in response to Chastity’s introduction.

  The three of them settled in the salon, a small, tidy room with priceless antiques and fresh flowers. Susan sat on the couch, framed by the front window. Chastity and James were perched on matching Chippendale chairs, like supplicants before the master. Chastity wasn’t sure it was accidental.

  But the effect was lost when Chastity realized that Susan Wade Reeves looked…well, twitchy. Unsettled. It could have been because she couldn’t quite keep her eyes off James, which shouldn’t have been a surprise. Clad in his Grateful Dead T-shirt and baggy-assed jeans, he was lounging in his straight-back chair as if he were in a club, his scars livid in the sunlight that poured in behind Susan Reeves’s head. He even made it a point to lay that clawed left hand on his thigh, where nobody could miss it.

  Maybe she should have brought him to all her interviews, Chastity thought. If he could keep people off center like this, she might get more information than she had.

  “You had lunch with Faith at Gallatoire’s,” Chastity said to Ms. Reeves.

  Susan Reeves pulled her attention back to Chastity. “Well, yes. But that’s all. We worked together on some charities.”

  “Did Faith say anything odd to you?” Chastity asked. “Something maybe you wouldn’t think was important at the time?”

  Susan Wade Reeves exuded the quiet control Chastity had seen in all the women she’d interviewed. Her clothes were careful, her dark brown pageboy precise, her makeup reserved. She smiled like a debutante and ruled the room like the social doyenne she was. But her hands were tight in her lap, and her smile was pasted on like a mask. And she couldn’t quite keep her eyes off James.r />
  “I really can’t remember her saying anything specific,” she said. “We were discussing the fall fund-raiser for Hope House. I was pleased because it was the first time Faith had really participated since her mother passed.”

  “She didn’t mention plans after lunch?”

  “No. I’m really not close enough to her for that. As I said, we simply talked about our projects.”

  “I see,” Chastity said. “You told the police you heard her tell the cab-driver she wanted to go home.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “But why would Mizz Webster believe she heard that Faith wanted to go to a fertility clinic?”

  Susan Reeves blinked a couple of times, twisted a signet ring on her pinkie. “The only thing I can think of was that Mizz Webster was talking to quite a few people at the time. Everyone feels obliged to say good-bye to her, you know. She’s that kind of lady.”

  Chastity could hardly argue with that. “Do you remember what the cabdriver looked like? What company it might have been?”

  She seemed to think a moment, her focus on the red tulips on her coffee table. “No. I’m sorry. I was talking to people myself.”

  “You don’t know about her work with the Arlen Clinic?”

  “The Arlen Clinic?”

  “A fertility clinic in town. Faith spent some time there.”

  “No.” She flashed a brief, tight smile. “As I said, I know her from lunch. It’s really the only time I see my old social set.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  For the first time, Chastity got an honest reaction. Ms. Reeves laughed. “You want the truth, Miss Byrnes, I’m as queer as Alice B. Toklas. That just doesn’t sit well with some people.”

  “My sister made you feel uncomfortable?” she asked, surprised. Faith was the last person Chastity would have thought would make an issue over lesbianism.

  Ms. Reeves ducked her head. “No. To be honest, she didn’t. But then, more women eat at Gallatoire’s than just your sister.”

  Well, at least Chastity still knew something about her sister. “Can you think of anyone else I could talk to who might know more?”