Big Bad Easy (14 page)

“Nope. They’re afraid of angering me.” He had not even an inkling of what Decker could be talking about. Besides seeing Zara, Jameson had walked a very tight line, behaving perfectly in everything pertaining to his job. Whatever dirt they thought they had on him had been invented by someone. Maybe a joke.

“For a good cop, you are clearly clueless.”

The constant ribbing was getting to him. His face became hot, and he caught his fists clenching. “Decker, I don’t want to deal with this shit. We’re trying to solve a murder and keep another woman from dying.”

“A woman in which you have a vested interest, and now which everyone knows about.”

Jameson stood, not worrying about the seemingly stalled computer search with its spinning clock stuck in one position. He strode over to the other cop’s desk. “Spill it, Decker.”

“Guy in a patrol car saw you in her apartment last night. He said you were entangled with her. From his face, I’d say the two of you were more than talking.”

Everything they’d done in the front room, where the woman had no curtains at all, had been talking. He’d go shopping today to change that. He saw a rod over the window. He could get some good looking panels to cover that big opening. “The man’s exaggerating. I went over to tell her that the guy we arrested wasn’t the one who stole her purse.”

“Ah. Say what you want, but something had to look cozy.”

Jameson thought back to last night, trying to remember what happened before he’d heard her orgasm and sunk his cock into her ass. His memory fuzzed. The sex had been that great. “I’m not going to say we didn’t do anything, but I’m not that stupid to show it to everyone now that I know about the voyeur. Hell, with her, I’d love for all of you to know what a fine woman she is inside and out.”

“She’s got a rocking body for sure. Anytime you want to parade her around here, I’ll bring popcorn and a camera.”

“Shut up already. What did you want me to look at?”

“These.” Decker picked up a folder. “Photos from Velasquez’s apartment. Some have men. Those are the ones on the top.”

“I’m going to ask a question that might have been answered already.” Jameson took the folder from Decker and set it on the empty desk. He flipped it open. “Do we know it was a man?”

“Hand marks around the throat are larger, and she’d had intercourse.”

He didn’t recognize the first man in the photo so he flipped it over to reveal the next one. “Could be a woman with large hands and a vibrator.”

“Like another dominatrix?” Decker shook his head. “You know. I never thought I’d say that so much in the station. It’s all wrong.”

“According to MeShelle it would be off for a dominatrix to kill a sub or to mess with another one. It’s bad for business, or so she says.”

“How the hell do you know so many characters?”

“We live in The Big Easy, buddy. We all know characters. They just haven’t let you see that side of them. Ain’t no such thing as a simple person here. This city complicates us and leaves its dirt on us.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Just doesn’t seem like you to know a dominatrix or a stripper.”

“She isn’t a stripper. She’s a burlesque dancer. Different thing.” He kept glancing at the photos, searching for a face he knew. He shouldn’t be trying to find the guy that he wanted to be guilty. A more open mind was required, but Jameson had such a feeling about this. His gut hadn’t always been right, but they’d been accurate enough for him to trust one this strong.

“They both get naked.”

It took him a moment to figure out what Decker was talking about, but then he remembered talking about strippers and burlesque dancers. “You are without subtlety or class.” Another picture, another person he didn’t know. “Is anyone of her friends looking at these photos to tell us which one was the last boyfriend?”

“One of them came in this morning, all fired up like your new girl. She wants to nail the man who killed Velasquez to the city gates. That’s what she said.”

“Were you nice?”

Decker snorted. “I refrained from telling her we don’t have city gates. She was wearing a corset, tight pants, and that top wasn’t holding in the boobs. Big ones, going all over the place. They were the kind that make a man want to bury his face between them. I also had a feeling that she would pull out a whip, and I really didn’t want that to happen.”

“Yeah,” Jameson grunted. “No one wants to hear you scream like a girl.” He flipped through three more photos. All of them had a theme, Velasquez happy with women as they sat in a bar, glasses hoisted. There weren’t many with men. A tiny thread of doubt invaded his theory of who killed the woman.

“Now, this sounds like normal. You two fighting and insulting each other.” The captain smiled as he handed Decker a small package. “Woman just dropped these off for you. Said she didn’t have time to come in to the desk clerk.”

“How’d you get them?”

“I was walking in at the same time. You missed some amazing breasts, pushed up, spilling over. Makes a man want to—”

Jameson finished the captain’s sentence. “Bury his face in them?”

“Exactly. She didn’t say what was in there. I’m guessing more photos.”

“Good.” Jameson dropped the last of the photos he’d been perusing. “None of these show anything or anyone of interest, except to make me think that she liked women a whole bunch more than men.”

“Here.” Decker slid the package across the desk to him. “You get to look at them. I’m tired of it, and I don’t know what that kid looks like.”

“So.” The captain cleared his throat. “This person you suspect has no record.”

“Nope.” Jameson didn’t want to admit it, but no record didn’t mean innocence.

“Why do you think he’s involved?”

“It’s my gut.” He had nothing else to build upon.

Decker laughed. “Did you eat too much quinoa?”

A snarl escaped Jameson’s mouth. He hated this crap, this office insult barrage. Why the captain allowed it bewildered him. “You said it wrong, shithead.”

The captain shook his head and frowned. “Whatever it is, Kelly, be sure before you go after the kid. Proof, real proof that he knew the dead woman. You know, and I know, that gut feelings don’t hold up well under cross examination no matter how strong they are.”

Jameson nodded. “I understand.” He held up the package. “I’m looking for it.”

“Please.” Decker stood and motioned to his phone. “I’ve got to meet with the coroner again. Says he has something new. I hate trying to park there.”

“Still good to see you two working together, and you could stop with the name calling.” The captain waved over his shoulder as he headed to his office.

“Get on to the coroner’s. I’ll go through these.” Jameson shooed Decker away and set to the work of browsing through photos. He read the note scrawled on a small piece of paper on top of the pictures first.

Found these in one of those old fashioned single-use cameras. They are from right before the MOMs ball in February this year. They aren’t of me. Dina must have given me hers to get developed since I used one that night, too. There are some of the guy that she took to the ball. Maybe they will help. Nialy

Jameson’s low spirits raised as he realized what he had. A photo of the skinny guy that MeShelle said was Velasquez’s last boyfriend. He spread the pictures out in front of him, wanting to look at all of them at one time. Twenty-four pictures, some fuzzy, one of a pair of dark-nippled and perky breasts. He passed that one over, but then paused. If he were like Decker, he’d make a copy and put it in the middle of the man’s desk. Except he wasn’t, so he didn’t, but the temptation proved difficult to resist.

He found a photo of the green man with antennae and some other disfiguring fish like scales on his face and body. Then a photo of Velasquez in full alien gear. She didn’t have scales, so he could easily tell it was her, especially with the green leather bustier and whip in her hand. Written on her arm was the phrase, “Dominating the solar system one planet at a time.”

Just underneath was one of those photos where the woman puckered her lips out so far that the Internet had labeled it the duck face. Velasquez’s arm blocked part of the frame, as if she were the one holding the camera. Next to her, the guy.

“Holy fucking hunches.” His gut tightened as he jerked to standing. “Son of a bitch.” Jameson was right.

****

Zara, tired from a long, frustrating day at work, bypassed Ida’s house as she made her way to the bar. She never kept alcohol at her place. Another tip that a soldier had shared with her. “Drink in public” was his rule, and she’d adhered to that. When she watched everyone else tossing back drinks and getting completely shit-faced, she lost her urge to order another one.

One snakebite was always enough for her, and not because it made her drunk. Drinking that mix of cider and ale served as her anti-anxiety medication because it meant she was safe. No looking over her shoulder. No worrying about a possible IED or suicide bomber walking into a crowd of people. That’s why she grabbed a drink most of the time, and she would need it with the raucous crowd that would be attending the birthday party at Ida’s house. The little girl might just be turning eight, but for the family it was another reason to celebrate in New Orleans-style.

As she entered the dark confines of the bar, she waved at Tim as he constructed a fried oyster po-boy. “How’s it going?”

“Terrible.”

She did a double take as she walked past the antechamber that served as a kitchen and ordering place. “Let me grab my drink, and then I’ll be back to talk.” She flagged down a bartender, paid for her drink in its plastic cup to go, and moved back to chat with Tim. “What made it a terrible day?”

“Did you know your new exercise partner is a cop?” Tim sneered, making his thin face thinner, almost gaunt.

Zara wanted to hide. She’d kept that information to herself, mostly because Tim didn’t need to know. Plus, she had to cover for Jameson as he jogged around the park looking for suspects. “Yeah. I knew.” A pit opened in her stomach. Tim wasn’t exactly a friend, but she didn’t like lying by omission.

“Well, he decided that I’m a suspect in a case he’s investigating.”

She straightened. Jameson had two cases, the break-in of her car and a homicide. She’d already told Jameson that Tim and Marcus weren’t the ones who broke into her car, and she assumed he’d listened to her. The other case couldn’t be it. Why would Jameson not listen to her? With a sour taste in her mouth, she asked Tim, “For what?”

His head dropped to his chest, but he didn’t stop working on a food order. “In a murder. Can you believe it?”

Something wasn’t right, and she needed to figure it out. “Let me get this straight. Jameson Kelly, big guy, lots of muscles, came here today to tell you that you’re a suspect in a murder?” Her head instantly hurt. Killers had been her friends, but that was war. They weren’t killing a woman because she had a new boyfriend.

“Yes.” Tim added fries to the basket of po-boys and punched a button on the wall that caused a number to show up in the bar. Shortly, someone would be in to get their dinner. “Freaked me out.”

“But, he didn’t arrest you?” What was Jameson doing? Shaking the bushes trying to get a rat to come out? Why would he think Tim would know the murdered woman?

“No.”

She couldn’t wrap her mind around this. Tim didn’t look like the type that could strangle anyone. The newspaper clearly said the woman was suffocated, but maybe he did it with something else? No. Tim wasn’t a murderer. Jameson had gone off his rocker. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t? He came here to harass me into giving something away.”

Feeling safe in the confines of the bar, she dared to ask, “Do you have anything to tell?” Maybe Jameson wasn’t crazy.

“No,” Tim yelled. “I didn’t even know she died. I don’t read the paper. Too many fucking people die in this city every day for me to care.”

The callousness of his attitude disturbed her. Every single person she’d had a hand in killing weighed on her psyche. She’d carry that for the rest of her life. She wished the thugs in this city had that kind of reaction to killing, but it was clear that some people in this city had no respect for human life. “Tim, that’s true. A lot of people die here, but if the cops have a connection between you and someone that’s been murdered, you have to cooperate. It’s best if you do.”

He moved from behind the food counter. She stiffened and relaxed almost as quickly. Tim was no match for her even with a weapon. “You’re just saying that because you’re in with that guy.”

“He’s a good person, but don’t turn this into something about me. Did you know the person who was murdered?”

“Yeah.” He took another step toward her. “Of course, I did. I used to fuck her.” He looked down at his feet and swore again. When he looked up, his face softened. “I’m sorry, Zara. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m scared. I don’t kill people, but the stuff he said…” He sucked in a breath and sobbed.

“Tim.” She put her arm on his shoulder, no longer worried about him attacking her. “Ask for a quick break. Come tell me what’s got you so upset. You know something.”

“No need. I can just spill it here.” He broke from her embrace to lean on the wall. “I did some kinky stuff with her, some far out stuff. She wasn’t into normal sex. I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

“Listen, you don’t know everything about me, but I’ve seen some horrible stuff and some crazy stunts that get men off. You won’t offend me. I’m beyond that.” She took a spot on the wall next to him. “Go on, Tim.”

He turned away from her, swallowing so hard that she saw his Adam’s apple bob. “She liked whips, spanking. Not being done to her, but to…”

“I got it.” She didn’t need him to finish the sentence. You couldn’t escape porn or erotica in the military.

“She also asked me to keep her from breathing so she could come harder. After I’d been whipped and all the other stuff that she did to me, I loved having that bit of control over her. She ended up being done with me, and I didn’t want to take her crap any longer.”

She hadn’t pegged Tim as a freak in the bedroom, but then, she didn’t want to consider what he did in private. “When did you break up?”