Casting Bones (12 page)

Jakes, Russell. Warden.

The hits appeared immediately. Hundreds of postings, all mentioning one Russell Jakes, Warden, at River Bend Prison. River Bend Prison, a part of Secure Force, a holding company for twenty-five private prisons. Duvay had been an inmate there.

And he suddenly remembered. Archer had recently seen an article regarding public versus private prisons. The private groups, cutting expenses to the bone, made a fortune compared to state and federal facilities which drain government coffers.

Scrolling through the information he found what he was looking for. Mixed in with prison history and statistics were new stories of charges that had been filed against River Bend and Warden Jakes. Charges of harassment, physical abuse, favoritism – the list went on.

Many of the juvenile offenders who saw Judge David Lerner were sent to River Bend. Now, Solange Cordray was coming to Archer with information about the death of Lerner, and her ex-husband had been a major stock holder in Secure Force and River Bend. He closed his eyes and rubbed the lids with his fingertips. It might mean nothing. Still, it was an interesting coincidence.

Sergeant Sullivan approached his desk.

‘Hey, you're here. Thought you'd be out gathering evidence or …'

‘I'm here. Are we going to visit the
Advocate
headline again?'

‘Don't be flippant with me. It's a big deal, Detective. A huge deal. Like it or not, we live in the media and if they say we're even more inept than before, there are repercussions. The state, Feds, everyone steps in and they take even more control. But here's another big deal. Got a complaint on you about half an hour ago.'

‘Me?' Maybe the pickpocket? Doubtful.

‘Intimidation.'

‘I've been asking questions, Sergeant. You want me to solve this murder, I've got to get under some people's skin. It's part of my job. But I don't think I intimidated anyone.' Hell, it's what he did, he and every other homicide detective. When they chained a suspect in the interview room and kept them up for hours, trying to break them? That would qualify as intimidation.

‘Judge Richard Warren, juvenile—'

‘I know who he is. Didn't like my line of questions.'

‘Says you almost threatened him.'

Archer shook his head. ‘I'll try to improve my bedside manner.'

Sullivan frowned.

‘Sergeant, I didn't threaten him, I warned him. We've actually sent out warnings to all the judges. A precaution to watch where they walk, drive, who they talk to, whatever.'

‘Jesus, Archer. We're going to get crucified tomorrow in the paper. Please, just find this guy, or sign on that Duvay is the killer. OK?'

‘I may have some inside information.'

‘Inside? What? Who?'

‘Can't say. But it involves Lerner's association with a Krewe.'

‘A crew? What kind of a—? Oh, a Krewe.'

‘Have you ever heard of Krewe Charbonerrie?'

Sullivan studied him for a moment, a dark look on his face.

‘What about them?'

‘Apparently Lerner was a member.'

The sergeant nodded. ‘Someone told you this?'

‘Yes.'

‘And you think, or this person thinks, that membership in this Krewe may have something to do with the murder?'

‘Yeah. But they're not sure how it links.'

The man let out a long sigh.

‘Detective Archer, I hope that's not the case. This organization lists some pretty powerful people on its roster.'

‘Politically powerful?'

‘Powerful. They don't go public with their membership roster. However, speculation runs rampant and they are probably powerful enough to stop this investigation if they wanted to.'

‘Really?' A group of Detroit cops had brought the drug ring investigation to a screeching halt. He knew how that worked.

‘Let's hope this is just a wild goose chase. You don't want to fuck around with these guys, Archer.'

‘So you're telling me to pull up short if it looks like this group was involved?'

Sullivan clenched his teeth and paused.

‘Look, we are always under pressure. But I've never felt it like this before. How many cases are you working right now?'

Without hesitating Archer answered, ‘Seven.'

‘Drop every one. I don't care what it is. I'll assign someone else. Let's get this one solved, because I just got definite word that the governor will probably be on the phone for this press conference tomorrow. The goddamned governor, Archer. He's going to want to say that we are very close to a charge.'

‘Can we just do our job?'

The sergeant looked down at him, circles under his eyes, his face haggard and pale.

‘How do I play this, Sergeant Sullivan? I'm new in town. If there are rules—'

‘I've watched you, Archer, and I've heard stories about your Detroit experience. You're the kind of guy that if there are rules, you'd probably break them. You tried to take down the Detroit force, right or wrong, and created quite a problem. You had to leave. Well, I can't have you doing that here. We've got enough of a problem without you piling on.'

‘Someday I'll give you the facts, Sergeant; and by the way, rules are highly overrated. Sometimes you get in more trouble if you enforce the rules.' Archer looked into his superior's eyes. ‘How do you want it?'

‘You be damned careful, and report to me on any progress. Report to me on any problems. When you intimidate someone, when you decide it's time to break a rule. This is some uncharted territory you're dealing with. Let's just hope that this lead goes nowhere.' He glanced at his watch. ‘Week's end …'

‘You've made your case, Sergeant. You're charging Duvay.'

The sergeant straightened up, put his hands in his pockets and started to walk away. He turned back to Archer when he entered the hallway.

‘You're positive that Lerner was a member of Charbonerrie?'

‘Pretty sure.' Based on the word of a mind-reading Voodoo Queen. Maybe he was stretching it. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe this was getting way too serious to be trusting some female witch doctor. But Solange was compelling.

‘That's the thing about that Krewe. You never know who is a member. You could say something to their face and you'd never know it.'

Sullivan sounded like it may have happened to him.

‘I thought these organizations were social. They helped sponsor Mardi Gras, children's programs, stuff like that.'

‘Yeah. That's what you'd think. And some of them are. Some of them go beyond that and work hard to raise funds for charitable organizations. Women's shelters, the Make-A-Wish Foundation, inner-city kids' clubs.'

‘These guys?'

‘I've never heard of them sponsoring any type of non-profit.' Pausing, he stared at Archer. ‘It's made up of a lot of influential people. Very connected. They've got connections to the very top.'

‘Mayor's office?'

Pursing his lips, Sullivan stared off into space for a moment, alone with his thoughts.

Finally, ‘I'd guess a lot higher than the mayor,' he said. ‘If this group wanted to shut down a business, big, small, they could do it. State wide.' He rolled his eyes. ‘Hell, they
have
done it. I don't pretend to understand it all, but it's a lot of rich guys who will do whatever it takes to get richer and keep that wealth; and if you're not with them, you're against them. It's a very powerful society and very secretive and again, I've said way too much all ready.'

Archer saw the frown lines on the man's face, etched into his pale skin.

‘I don't get the impression that Lerner was a rich man.'

Sullivan nodded. ‘I agree. But you never know. There are millionaires working here. On our own force. Had a detective a couple of years ago. Turns out he was worth a couple million. He probably could have quit, but he liked the job.'

‘What happened to him?'

‘Got killed in a car accident while he was on duty.'

‘If it's any consolation, this Krewe thing is just one of the leads I'm working. I need to talk to Strand about the warden at River Bend, Russell Jakes.'

‘What about Jakes?'

‘Lerner was sending him a lot of prisoners. There was a collection of mug shots of juvenile offenders displayed on the piano in Lerner's home, and a photo of him with Jakes was in the middle of them.'

‘You're stepping into a lot of shit, Archer.'

‘It's what's out there.'

‘Jakes is a tough guy. He's been brought up on charges numerous times for his treatment of prisoners, treatment of staff—'

‘And what I saw online says he's skated on all of them.'

‘Largely because the prison is owned by a private company. If it had been State or Fed, chances are he would have been forced out. As it is, every time he walks on another charge, he gets that much stronger. Stock in that company is pretty healthy and the shareholders tend to keep someone who's making them money.'

‘You know,' Archer stretched and took a deep breath, ‘I feel right at home. We had the same bad characters in Detroit.'

‘And you got out of town.'

‘No one is going to push me out of this town.'

‘You've seen the murder statistics, Archer. They don't push you out of New Orleans. They carry you out of town in a coffin. Buy into Antoine Duvay, Archer. The kid had a gun and a reason. This could be a lot easier for everyone.'

He stood there in the doorway for a moment, then walked out of the room.

Archer glanced through his handwritten notes once more, making sure he'd left out of his report any mention of Solange Cordray. Getting up to use the restroom he returned to his desk and saw someone had riffled through his papers. They were just slightly shuffled. He glanced around but there was no one in the room.

Couldn't trust anyone.

T
he photos were on Archer's computer. Fuzzy, long shots and close-ups of the car and license plates.

The accompanying note was short.

Q, this is what we have so far. Late-model Chevy sedan, looks like an Impala. We've got three cameras, three angles, but as you can see, only a partial on the plate. Running it, but trying to be careful. You understand. We've got families, Archer. TL

Tom Lyons, one of the handful of cops who believed in him. One of the cops who was putting his career – hell, his life – on the line to find Denise's killer.

Archer printed off the pictures. He wanted to study them, memorize them, hang them on his wall at the cottage. Along with the phone calls and the intrusions at his cottage, it was all part of the puzzle. He knew why they killed her. Now he needed to know who had run her down.

T
he stories were told by candlelight, by firelight, by moonlight, by starlight. Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau had danced topless, breasts exposed in their splendid glory, with a snake named Zombi wrapped around her supple frame, taunting the men in her audience, mocking the young women who stared wide-eyed as the voluptuous voodoo priestess worked her way through the throng. People of both sexes, all colors, would reach out to touch her, feel her firm flesh, caress her breasts and buttocks. Some of them felt her loins and encouraged her to touch theirs. The act of healing, affirmation and lust. Some of them, men and women, stripped naked and danced on the bare earth, where sometimes a massive orgy occurred. Hundreds of locals and dozens of visitors, who needed to see it for themselves, convened on the grounds deep in the bayous and later on Rampart Street, whipped into a frenzy, believing that the vision they saw would fulfil their dreams. Wealth, security, love, prosperity: dreams that were fueled also by the fermented drink served from large oak barrels.

The high priestess, Queen Marie, would solicit white married men of wealth, finding them fine mistresses of color to bed, house, feed and clothe. The voodoo madam. She accepted up to one hundred dollars from white businessmen who wanted to eliminate rivals and she accepted up to one thousand dollars from local judges who were determined to be re-elected.

This is what she heard, read, and this is what disturbed her. So many people believed that the spirit of voodoo was sexual in nature. The queen had turned the serpent into a sexual organ. Sex, salacious moments, baptism by sperm, retributions, whatever they wanted would be granted by the voodoo witch.

Solange Cordray lit the thin blue candle, silently praying to a special spirit.

‘The void, the voodoo emptiness, let it be filled with the power to heal my mother. This I pray and send the scent of my candle to the goddess of health. Loa, hear me. Make my mother whole again.'

The gods were tired of hearing from her, she was certain of it. Yet it gave her comfort and a feeling of being needed. She would go to her grave seeking a way to bring her mother back to full mental stability.

Twenty minutes later the candle was a puddle of wax, and then it extinguished itself. She heard it, the slight whoosh of air that rustled the papers on the counter. The spell had been cast. No naked dancing, no snakes slithering over her oiled body. If it took all of that to save her Ma, she would do it. But in her heart she knew this was all in the hands of the spirits, and all she could do was continue to pray.

A
rcher decided to check in with Strand as he walked to the streetcar. He figured he might as well make good use of his time. Past the jail with its stainless steel concertina wire boundaries, the bail bond stores, and the carry-outs with garish window signs advertising po-boys, check-cashing, fried chicken and lotto tickets. Across the cracked, pitted pavement to the next block where everyone on the sidewalk seemed to be on their phone. Not a soul looked up or acknowledged him. As he pulled out his phone to call Strand, it rang.

‘I heard they did Lerner's house today.' Strand was already home and Archer could hear the drone of a TV in the background.