Tony Dunbar - Tubby Dubonnet 06 - Lucky Man (19 page)

Flowers had knocked on doors but gotten nowhere until he caught Mr. Armstrong rocking on his porch.

“The only thing the old man would say was ‘It’s a mighty hard world,’ but he kept tipping his head toward the house next door, like there was something funny about the place. ‘It ain’t none of my business, but you might look around underneath that house,’ he told me. So I did.”

***

Crawling on hands and knees behind Flowers, Tubby cursed silently. He was trying to keep from getting cut on the rocks and glass and little bones when he encountered Purvis, hiding behind a tilted brick pier staring at the two intruders in terror.

“That ain’t much of a witness,” Tubby said to Flowers, brushing off his clothes. He rarely used that word. He couldn’t get the stench of the crawl space out of his nose.

“He gave us a man and the color of the man’s car. Maybe he could identify the man if he saw him again.”

“Right. Imagine how he’d look in court.”

“You think we should call the city, or get him a doctor or something?”

“What the fuck do I know,” Tubby said, disgusted. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Through her screen door, Mrs. Chin watched the two strange men get in their van and drive away. She wondered what they were doing in this neighborhood.

***

At the Upperline, the reflection of candles flickering in the windows and the quantity of booze in the drinks put everything in a relaxing glow. Sapphire, Raisin, Cherrylynn, and Flowers were all Tubby’s dinner guests. He was thanking everybody for their help. The first course was drinks, which everybody was enjoying except the host, who was sticking to ginger ale. The appetizers pleased him more, fried green tomatoes with shrimp remoulade and spicy shrimp with jalapeno cornbread.

And by the time plates of roast duck, garlic-crusted Gulf fish, and veal grillades with mushrooms, peppers, and cheddar grits had been passed around, the turmoil of the last few days was far from anybody’s mind.

Those so inclined were embarking upon dessert when the door swung open, and a barrel-chested man entered. He came to their table.

“Good evening, Mr. Dubonnet,” he said.

“Good evening, Officer Kronke,” Tubby relied. “Would you join us for coffee?” He hoped the answer was no.

“I’m afraid not. I’ve got your car in the pound, Dubonnet. It was picked up on Highway Ninety, at a crime scene. Now I’ve got orders to pick you up for questioning.”

Before Tubby could protest, Sapphire piped up with, “Mr. Dubonnet had nothing to do with any crime. I was with him the whole time. You cops are the ones who ought to be questioned.”

So Kronke picked her up too. Tubby did not want to create a riot at one of his favorite restaurants, especially with two uniformed policemen glowering though the window at him. He barely had time to toss Cherrylynn his American Express card on his way out the door.

***

“You have an arrest warrant for me?” Tubby asked when they got outside.

“It’s like this,” Kronke said earnestly. “I’ve got a subpoena requiring you to testify before a grand jury this afternoon. Which is now past tense. You didn’t show up. So I can arrest you now.”

“What subpoena? I never was served with any subpoena.”

“I’m serving you now. Get the picture? You want to come with me in my car or go with them to get booked?” He pointed his chin at the two cops leaning against their patrol car.

Sapphire held Tubby’s hand in the backseat of Detective Kronke’s maroon sedan.

“This is like a police state,” she complained. “I’ve seen this kind of stuff in the movies.”

“There, there,” Tubby consoled her. “Think of all the damages you’ll collect for wrongful arrest.”

“There’s no arrest involved,” Kronke said from the front seat. “You’re coming with me voluntarily.”

“Nobody’s going to believe I left dessert sitting on the table at a first-class restaurant to go to the police station voluntarily.”

“We’re not going to the station.”

“Where are you taking us?” Sapphire demanded, before Tubby could.

Kronke didn’t answer. He cruised up Napoleon Avenue to Broad and over the interstate, but he passed the turnoff to the jail. Their destination was a white concrete building a few blocks away.

“Here we are,” he said pulling up to the curb marked LAW ENFORCEMENT VEHICLES ONLY. “You’re so important, you rate a personal audience with Marcus Dementhe himself.”

He held open the back door, and Sapphire got out, followed by Tubby.

“We don’t have to talk to anybody, do we, Tubby?” she asked angrily. They were crossing the lawn. Animals scurried under the bushes.

“No, I suppose we could leave,” he said, glancing up and down the dark, empty street, “but let’s hear what the man has to say.”

“See, I told you it was voluntary,” Kronke chuckled, leading the way up the steps. He had a plastic card that made the doors open. They took an elevator to the top floor. The lights were on in the lobby, when the doors opened, and at the end of the hall the district attorney’s door was open.

Marcus Dementhe was posed behind his desk, reading a stack of papers in blue binders by the light of a green lamp. Tubby waited at the door until he looked up.

“Come in, Mr. Dubonnet, and who is this with you?”

“I brought her along,” Kronke said, “because she said she was with Dubonnet last night.”

“Very well.” The voice was cream. “And what is your name.”

“Her name is Sapphire,” Tubby said, “and what’s the point of bringing us down here?”

“You are on the verge of being charged with several felonies, Counselor, including aiding and abetting an escaping murderer, and I am doing you the courtesy of questioning you first.”

“Who escaped? What murderer?” Tubby fumed.

“Why don’t you wait outside, Detective?” Dementhe instructed Kronke. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

Kronke departed and closed the door behind him.

“The accused murderer, won’t you sit down, is a gentleman named Lucky LaFrene. The victim was a man named Max Finn. We believe Mr. LaFrene may also have killed your so-called client, Norella Finn, and faked her suicide, or else he may have run away with her. I don’t know which.”

“LaFrene escaped?”

“Yes, in a boat. He eluded officers detailed by my department. In the process two police department watercraft were destroyed. Luckily, no one was seriously hurt. Can you please explain for me why your car was parked on the highway near Mr. LaFrene’s fishing camp?”

“Hey, I know you,” Sapphire interrupted.

The district attorney frowned at her.

“What’s that button you’ve got on your coat?”

“It stands for Fully Reliant on God,” Dementhe informed her.

“Yeah, I know you, Mr. Frog. You’re the guy who raped me. It’s you, all right,” she said, leaning over his desk to put her face close to his. “You were a big buddy of Max Finn’s back then. You could just hop right into bed with him and hump his girlfriend.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dementhe said sternly.

“Sure. Let’s hear you say ‘Sweet Mary’ a couple of times. I know your voice.” She turned to Tubby triumphantly. “It’s him, the guy who got into bed with me and Harrell or Finn or whatever his name was and made me have sex.”

“This is preposterous!” Dementhe stood up and wagged his finger at Sapphire.

“Why you holier-than-thou sonofabitch!” Tubby got between them. “You ought to be in jail yourself.”

“Get out of here,” Dementhe yelled.

“I’m going to sue you personally,” Tubby yelled back. “Aiding and abetting something. I’ve got you now. You and Max Finn worked together, huh? What did you do, tell him to hire one of his girls to set up Judge Hughes, and then kill Finn to make him shut up about it? And did you kill Sultana, too, so she wouldn’t talk.”

“I’ve never killed anybody, you idiot! She killed herself!”

“Oh, so it was you who dumped her body. Maybe it was a murder and maybe it wasn’t, but by God it’s your fault either way, and I’m enough of a Louisiana lawyer to know that if you cause any harm by your fault, you pay!”

“Out! Out!” Dementhe ranted.

“You’re going to pay lots,” Sapphire promised.

“Detective Kronke! Get these people out of here!”

Tubby offered his arm to Sapphire, and together they made their exit.

Kronke rode with them down the elevator.

“What did you do to make the old man blow his cork?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you over dessert, Detective. If you can get me back to the restaurant quickly, my party may still be there. I think I have some information that will make your investigation much more productive.”

***

Tubby’s theories left Detective Kronke more than a little confused.

“You tell me Marcus Dementhe is ‘responsible’ for the death of Max Finn, but the coroner admits he doesn’t know how the hell you force gambling chips down a man’s throat. You say the DA is ‘responsible’ for the death of Sultana Patel, which the coroner has not even classified yet. You say my suicide of Norella Finn is not a suicide at all, but a woman terrorized into leaving the country by Marcus Dementhe. Is there any other crime you say the DA has committed?”

“He raped me,” Sapphire said.

“Which you say happened when you were naked in bed with Max Finn having consensual sex, and you know it was Marcus Dementhe because he has a button that says FROG on it—”

“That’s the story,” Tubby cut in. “Do what you want to with it. If the man does not have criminal liability, I bet I can still prove his civil liability for the damage he has caused to all of these victims.”

“What you’ve got here is a murder case without a murder in it. This is not my department,” Kronke said, and left, his coffee cup empty.

“You’re going to sue him?” Sapphire asked.

“I don’t know,” the lawyer admitted. Sapphire’s case was not so great, if you wanted to be objective about it, and further public inquiry into the deaths of Finn and Sultana would produce the very embarrassment that Al Hughes was trying to avoid.

“My first concern,” he said, “would be to protect you.”

“I’m pretty good at protecting myself,” Sapphire said, sticking her lip out bravely. “I’ve got a lot of friends in this town.”

***

Tubby asked Cherrylynn to come into his office the next morning for a private talk.

“I know I may not be the world’s best boss,” he told her after she sat down. “And lately I’ve just been, I don’t know, mad at everything. So, I’m trying to say I can understand why you’ve not been very happy here. I’m going to try harder, and—”

“Mr. Dubonnet,” Cherrylynn interrupted, “you’re not the reason I’ve been unhappy.”

“I’m not?” he asked in surprise. “Why I thought—”

“No, I’ve been going through some stuff of my own. It’s had nothing to do with you.”

“Well, gee. I guess I’m relieved. Is there anything I can help you with? I would really like you to stay here, Cherrylynn. You’re a big asset, is what I mean.”

“Oh, I know that, Mr. Dubonnet. If you must know, I’ve been having some questions abut my own sexuality. That’s all. It was nothing to do with you.”

Mouth open, Tubby just stared at her.

“And then Rusty, my old whatever, showed up and like an idiot I let him hang around for a few days, and then I thought I might be pregnant, but it turns out I’m not.”

Tubby closed his mouth.

“I was very upset, of course, and then, you know, I was listening to
The Bob Show
on the radio and there was this man on from the Louisiana Department of Revenue talking about how they had lots of unclaimed money and you just had to call their telephone number.”

She smiled, for the first time, in weeks it seemed.

“Anyway, I called the number and gave them my name and, did I ever tell you I was married once?”

Tubby’s brow furrowed. “Of course. You eloped in the twelfth grade.”

“Right. Well, did you know he died? He got smashed in a car wreck in Dulac, right where you turn off to Cocodrie. Amazingly, he had a life insurance policy from his J.C. Penney credit card. The money was just sitting there because he spelled my name wrong. With the interest I’m supposed to get fifty-five thousand dollars.”

He returned her smile.

“Anyway, I think I’m getting some things resolved. I’m a little happier about myself and my job. I expect I’ll stay around here for a while, if that’s okay with you.”

“Why, sure. I don’t know what else I can say.”

“Not a whole lot.” She stood up. “It’s nice talking to you like this. Maybe we should do it more often.” She beamed at him and left the room.

Stay tuned for the next installment, Tubby told himself. Clearly, I am not the center of the universe.

***

“I would like you to talk to the coroner again,” Tubby told Flowers. “What’s his name?”

“Todd Murphy.”

“Tell him to get off the fence on Sultana Patel. Damn right she was murdered, and the murderer is Marcus Dementhe, but Murphy doesn’t need to know that. Once he calls it a homicide, the police will get back on the case. I guarantee that they’ll find some trace of her blood on him or in his car and that will be the final scandal for our DA.”

“Sure. I can try, Tubby. I can’t force him to make a decision, though.”

“Yeah? Well just remind him how fifteen chips went down Finn’s throat and how, according to Murphy, only five came out.”

“Okay, but what if Dementhe’s, you know, thoroughly cleaned the car he used to carry Sultana’s body?”

“How the hell do I know? A guy that slimy must have left a trace somewhere.”

“Check. By the way, did you ever find out what the connection was between your friend Jason Boaz and Max Finn?”

“No. I haven’t had a chance. It doesn’t seem too important now.”

***

He called Faye Sylvester. The kid who answered the phone dropped it on the floor, but Faye finally picked it up.

“Hi,” he said. “I was just wondering how you were.”

“Busy. How about you.”

“Well, it has been hectic here. I’ve had a big fight here with the DA, Marcus Dementhe,” Tubby said proudly, “and I think I’m about to nail the sanctimonious bastard.”

“Marcus Dementhe? What’s he into now?”

“You know him?”