Casting Bones (23 page)

Archer was silent for a moment. If he had the answer, he'd solve the case. What the hell
did
all of those three do? Better yet, what did those three know? Did they have information that determined their fate? Information that they took to the grave? Because all three were going to their grave. And the other common thread didn't escape him. Two of them had been interviewed by him.

Archer shrugged his shoulders and walked back to his desk. Strand was nowhere to be seen. He'd admitted that he did some side jobs for some important people in the city, possibly members of Krewe Charbonerrie. Strand had admitted to Archer that he may be involved in getting these power players information, and as much as Archer considered asking that Strand be removed from the case, he'd seen the effect of whistle-blowing on another officer. It destroyed his life in Detroit.

‘Oh, Q, the lady is supposed to be here in about thirty minutes. You want to sit in on the interview?'

‘Lady?'

‘Lerner's neighbor. I interviewed her and she saw the black Escalade. Remember? You asked for a follow-up interview.'

‘Yeah, yeah. Of course, include me. God, we need some new information.'

‘I don't think she's going to remember much. Didn't when I talked to her, but …'

‘Call me as soon as she shows. An eyewitness is golden, Levy. Even when they think they didn't see anything, they did.'

N
ancy Olds showed up, her fiery red hair mimicking her personality. They moved her into a conference area and brought her bottled water.

‘I watch everything that goes on down my street,' she stated emphatically. ‘I mean, someone has to pay attention. We get a lot of wackos who visit our neighborhood, a lot of weirdos, and most of my neighbors either work or are not interested in who invades our space. I'm the watchdog, Detectives. Someone has to be.'

‘Mrs Olds,' Levy nodded at her, ‘on the afternoon in question, what did you observe happening on Judge Lerner's driveway?'

‘Told you before, Detective, I happened to glance out of my kitchen window and saw a young man in a T-shirt and jeans confronting the judge.'

‘Confronting?' Levy asked.

‘Feet about three feet apart, arms folded over his chest. I would say he was confronting the judge. Yes. I would.'

‘You could see this from your window? The man with arms folded? The confrontational attitude?'

‘I'd be more than happy to bring you to my home and show you my window,' the lady said. ‘I have a great view.'

‘So what transpired?'

‘Detective, I already told you. There was a conversation that obviously I was not privy to. They seemed to be arguing, back and forth. Then, a black Cadillac Escalade pulled into the drive. Usually these cars, they pull into his drive, back out and leave. This one didn't. The car sat there for four or five minutes. I remember watching the clock on my microwave.'

‘Cadillac Escalade?' Archer asked.

‘It was. Damned if it wasn't. Shut off my view entirely. I couldn't see anything that was happening. That car blocked all the activity.'

Archer glanced at Levy.

‘You didn't happen to notice the license plate number?'

‘No.' She seemed almost indignant. ‘If I was sure of the license number, I would have told you.'

‘Too bad. It would help our case,' Archer said. ‘Are you sure you can't remember some of the numbers, letters?'

‘Well, our house is not close enough to see details like that, although as the car passed my house I did notice
some
of the numbers. I did jot those numbers down. Nothing concrete, Detective. It all happened rather quickly, and I didn't know how important this information might be.'

Archer swallowed a smile.

‘Yes, ma'am?'

‘The first three were one-two-four, then an eight; I couldn't see if there was anything in between. The last letter was B, but there was mud obscuring the space between the eight and the B.'

‘Was that it? Are you sure?'

‘Of course I am, Detective. I have excellent eyesight.'

Levy excused himself and walked out of the room to check Mrs Olds's information against registrations. Time was of the essence.

‘Well, thank you for coming in, Mrs Olds.' Archer reached out and shook her hand. ‘It's observant citizens like you who help us solve crimes and bring criminals to justice. And we sincerely appreciate all of your cooperation. Keep looking out your window and let us know if you see anything else suspicious.'

‘I try to do what's right,' the woman said as she rose from the chair. ‘There's been so much activity at that house recently, I can't keep track of it.'

‘I'll walk you out,' Archer said.

‘Are they selling the property?'

‘I have no idea, ma'am. Don't even know who is the next of kin.'

‘My husband was interested. Said it would make a good investment property, once the story settles down.'

Archer nodded, reaching the exit.

‘Detective, there's one more thing that I found a little strange.'

‘What is that?'

‘Well, not more than three minutes after the black Cadillac left the house, another car drove down the street and pulled into Judge Lerner's driveway. Then I saw that car drive up again when the police were at the house later.'

Archer nodded. ‘You mentioned this happens frequently. Vehicles come down to the dead end assuming it's a through street.'

‘Oh, it does,' she said. ‘However, this was a little different, and very strange.'

‘How's that?'

‘The car was a cream-colored Jaguar XK-E. Same exact car as the judge owned. It was like he was pulling into his driveway. Only Judge Lerner's garage door was still up and his Jag was still in the garage.'

‘Did you get the plates on that car as well?'

‘I have them written down on my calendar,' she said.

J
onathon Gandal took a sip of his coffee, then a gulp.

‘Will you be ordering breakfast, sir?' The black waiter stared accusingly at Gandal, his lip curled. The coffee crowd did not tip well and he didn't want to waste his time on this guy.

‘Maybe,' he answered. ‘Someone is meeting me and I guess we'll decide then. Thank you.'

The waiter walked away in disgust.

Gandal looked out the window, across the street. Just a block and a half away was the muddy Miss, and he almost wished he was on a riverboat, headed downstream. He turned and watched the door of the Mississippi River Bottom, where his boss had asked for the meeting.

Things were shaky at the moment. His situation was not as positive as it had been just a week ago. Looking out at the gray bank of rain clouds over the Mississippi River he shuddered, worried not only about the stormy weather front but his own stormy future. He'd simply followed orders, hadn't he? How those situations had transpired wasn't his fault.

‘Jonathon.'

‘Mr Garrett.'

Richard Garrett, impeccably attired in pearl-gray slacks, a soft, white silk shirt and royal blue silk necktie sat down across from him.

Garrett smiled as a second waiter in a bow tie brought him a cappuccino.

‘How are things, John?'

As if nothing was wrong.

‘Fine, sir. I mean, we've had some setbacks, but—'

‘This is your definition of fine? This is what you consider “setbacks”?' He slapped his palm down on the table, rattling the coffee cup.

Garrett wore a sarcastic grin as he folded his hands in front of him. Speaking softly he said, ‘We sent a warning, execution-style, telling people to shut up. We got rid of the judge who was going to go public with our business. We sent a message that if anyone talked, if they gave anything away, the same thing could happen to them. Isn't that what we did?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘And what happened, Gandal?' Garrett's intensity increased but he kept his voice low, sinisterly quiet. ‘All of a sudden these other judges are lined up to give their opinions. They can't wait to talk to the cops. Apparently that warning we sent didn't do a damned bit of good, did it?' He inhaled, seemingly getting more energy from the smell of the fresh-brewed cappuccino.

Garrett leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his chin resting in his folded hands. ‘So the decision by you and the board was to get rid of the ones who might talk. The solution was to eliminate two more of the judges, one who was involved and one who knew what was happening and was possibly getting ready to talk to the cops. Ones who were likely to give information to this Quentin Archer. And now, since these two judges come to tragic endings within minutes of each other, there's no question that this is a plot. Did it not occur to you, Gandal, that killing two judges in a matter of minutes might raise suspicion from the police? Jesus.' He spread his hands on the table. ‘The cops are all over this. This thing could, probably will, explode in our face, Gandal.'

‘Mr Garrett, I …'

‘You're shit, Jonathon Gandal. You're literally shit. There's going to be more law enforcement scrutiny on this case than any I can think of in modern times. And the sad thing is, this part of our establishment, this portion of our business that you are involved in isn't even that big of a deal. Do you understand? We make a lot of money, yes, maybe twenty million, but the money we make on this one project isn't worth the hassle, John. Lives have been taken, lives have been put at risk, and for a very small part of what we are about. I do not intend to gamble the Krewe's future on this incident. Do you understand?'

‘Sir, I am sorry, but there were others involved in the—'

‘You're sorry? You certainly are, Jonathon. You are fucking sorry. But that's another matter. Right now I need some solutions.' Garrett's hands were now pressed together, a stern look on his face.

‘We made the deaths appear to be accidents. No one can prove that they weren't just accidents.' Gandal was sticking to his guns.

‘Yes, you did. Both deaths appeared to be accidental. Someone cut off on the road and a purse snatching with an unfortunate ending. Accidents. I agree that you tried. But you also had someone kill those two at almost the exact same time. A little too convenient. And three juvenile judges in less than a week? Come on, man. You invited trouble.'

‘Regardless of who's at fault, what are we going to do?'

‘How many people are involved, John?' Garrett's voice was hushed, a low whisper. ‘Besides you and your contact, how many were actually involved?'

Gandal glanced around the room, wondering how many people knew. He had to go with what his contact had told him.

‘The man said that probably two people were responsible for each death. So, four people may have been involved.'

‘OK, so there are five people, five including your contact, who were intimately involved in the killing of the two judges, am I right?'

‘Yes.'

‘And your contact, the fifth person, he doesn't know who you represent?'

Gandal shook his head, speaking in a hushed voice. ‘God, no. He has no idea. I've never mentioned anyone to him. I cut the check from a place we own, the Blue Bayou Restaurant in Metairie. Ownership is buried so it would take years to trace it to us. Our contact uses a seafood company front to cash it. The bank account only lasts for a few days.' Shaking his head, he continued. ‘I don't know who he hires or how he pays them. There's no way Blue Bayou can be tied back to us. It's a dead end. I swear to you, Mr Garrett. There's no way this gets back to you or the Krewe.'

Garrett stared at the serpent tattoo on his wrist and considered the immediate chain for a moment.

‘There's always a way, Gandal.'

‘No. No. No. There are layers of privacy, secrecy. We covered every base.' The man was sweating.

‘So those two involved in the death of Judge Lerner, they know nothing of the Krewe, myself or the board?' Garrett's voice was harsh, a whisper but a harsh whisper. ‘You're sure about this?'

‘They only know our contact person. They don't know who I am or what I represent. They have no knowledge of the Krewe. So you see, we're clean. We are in no danger of being discovered.'

Garrett stared at him for a moment. The number of people involved was almost unmanageable. Two people for every killing plus a director, and then there were those that Gandal didn't even know about. The board, along with Warden Russell Jakes and the investor Joseph Cordray. He shook his head. Jakes, Cordray, they were relatively safe confidants. As were the three members of the board. Again a safe bet, but what about that voodoo lady. The cute girl who threw the bones and cast spells, the ex-wife of Joseph Cordray. He'd almost handed her the entire situation. Somewhat naive of him. Did she have a clue? About her ex? About him? Garrett closed his eyes for a moment, trying to see the solution. Solange Cordray. She was dangerous. He'd trusted her advice, and even though he'd been secretive, this woman had the power to know more than anyone had told her. The girl could very easily know what his mission was. She was a witch. Not to be trusted. He'd been a fool to go to her for advice, and her ex-husband had subtly warned him time and time again. Joseph Cordray had warned Garrett to stop seeing her but he hadn't paid attention.

‘No danger, Mr Garrett. No way this is traced back to the Krewe, to me.'

Jonathon Gandal wiped his brow with a napkin. Garrett watched, realizing it wasn't
that
warm in the room.

‘Gandal, I think you are an idiot to believe that. What if I were to tell you that not only the Krewe was being mentioned at homicide, but my name as well?'

Gandal shook his head. ‘Sir, let me say something. First of all, I am not thrilled with your depiction of me as an idiot, and in defense of my position, I did exactly what the board asked me to do. As far as I know, I did exactly what
you
asked me to do, lines of communication being what they are. Secondly, if the homicide department is mentioning you or the Krewe, it did not, I emphatically repeat: it did not come from this end.'