Imogene in New Orleans (27 page)

“What on earth were you doing in Thurston’s condominium?” Neil leaned closer, face-first. He got so close that Jackson saw a few hairs out of place on Neil’s mustache.

“I followed him after he fled from the hotel manager. Billy and I had just arrived at the pool when Thurston dashed through the courtyard, and Hill stormed out, yammering like he does, the little snot of a man. Can you believe he had a gun stuffed in his pants? A real gun. He asked if Billy and I had seen Thurston, which of course we denied, and as soon as Hill was out of sight, I followed Thurston.”

Neil grimaced. Jackson realized he needed to make his following Thurston sound much more innocent, so Neil wouldn’t be angry. “I wasn’t sure if Hill was going to shoot Thurston or not. He was flailing his arms around like a mother hen.”

Neil sighed and looked at the window. “The truth is I didn’t know where Allen went on Thursday night. He and I fought about Glenway…and he left. I don’t doubt he went to the ballet. He and I often went with Glenway, but I knew if I followed him there, we’d just continue to fight. And frankly, I didn’t want to fight anymore. I was just worried about our friend not showing up for our weekly Thursday dinners. Allen said I needed to leave him alone and let him work it out, which is his usual idea about things. It made me mad, like I was doing wrong by worrying.”

Neil paused and took a deep breath, then continued. “I didn’t like that Glenway had complained of the thefts all summer, and I didn’t like that he was living with a street hustler. I think Glenway died because he wouldn’t listen to me. That’s what I think.” Neil stared straight ahead at the back of the driver’s seat.

Jackson saw a little moisture form in Neil’s eyes. He waited a moment, so that Neil could collect himself, even though he wanted more answers. His forehead started itching. He tried not to let it bother him, but the more he tried not to think about it, the more he thought about it. He leaned against the seat and scraped the corner with his head until his coif moved a few inches back and forth. It was like lifting the lid off a pot of cooked beans. He could feel the heat releasing from his crown and he closed his eyes from the goodness of it. “May I ask you something else, Neil?”

“Sure.”

“Have you visited this place often? I mean, Glenway’s place in Algiers? You said you only visited it two or three times—”

“No, Jackson, I didn’t say that. Allen said that. I visited Glenway’s more than two or three times, especially in the past couple months. He was hiding here with Buddy, and he had stopped acting like himself. However, he never acted like himself when he had a new romantic ‘project.’ I tried to get him to visit more, but he wouldn’t leave the hustler. At one point, I told him I thought Buddy was the one stealing his figurines, and since we’re here in the alley behind his house, I was probably right.”

Jackson felt the sweat roll down his forehead. He didn’t mention that Buddy had already told on Neil for the many visits. He wondered why Allen had lied, though, about being at the ballet on the night of the murder and about the number of times Neil went to see Glenway in Algiers.

Jackson noticed the corner of the fence where Buddy lived, where the bougainvillea and wisteria and trumpet vine stopped. It looked as if someone had cut it back. He remembered seeing the same gap from Buddy’s sunroom, where Glenway painted. The gap was even more pronounced from the alley.

“Hey, Neil, look at the way the vines on the fence stop so abruptly.” He nodded in the direction of the fence corner. Neil had to do quite a bit of maneuvering in the floorboard to try to look out the window, and he was exhausted from the struggle. He took a moment to catch his breath then peeked outside. “That’s odd. It looks like a fresh clearing.”

The silence that followed was quickly punctured by a gunshot. “Hey,” Neil said. “What the hell?”

More gunfire rang out in the alley, and Jackson craned his neck to look out the window. At first Jackson wasn’t sure if he was hearing gunfire or cars backfiring, but that was clarified when more rounds were shot in rapid succession. Several bullets hit the bumper on Rogers’s car.

Neil buried his head in the back of the driver’s seat. “Duck, man. We’re under fire.”

They heard someone running toward the car as more shots split the air. The footsteps got closer and closer—clod-hopping, purposeful steps, shifting in the dirt and gravel.

Jackson heard the runner approach the car from twenty feet away. The crunch of the gravel got louder. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, a posture that befit his monastic garb. The footsteps were ten feet from the car and then five. He exhaled and then heard the words, “I’ve got to take these back or I lose everything!”

Twenty-Five

Rogers’s voice reverberated. It had a fierce, ringing pitch, as if he were speaking through a megaphone. “I got to have these back now!” he yelled again as he reached the car door. Another round of bullets hit the trunk.

Rogers called out to someone, but Jackson didn’t try to find out who. He stayed down in the floorboard. No way was he going to risk getting shot.

Suddenly, Rogers swung the car door open, scowled at Jackson and Neil, and threw the duffel bag in the passenger seat. He slid behind the wheel and jammed the key in the ignition. “Don’t you turds know we’re being shot at?”

Bullets whizzed past the car.

Neil yelled, “No, you’re being shot at. We’re handcuffed and restrained back here in the floorboard.”

Jackson said, “Who’s shooting? I thought that was you firing.”

Rogers mashed his foot on the accelerator, sending the car swerving on the dirt alleyway. “You thought I was shooting at my own car?” A bullet pierced the trunk. Jackson and Neil ducked low in the seat.

“Sonuvabitch. I’ll kill him.” Rogers jerked the wheel. The car bumped onto the paved road. He spun the car around with one hand and rolled down the window with the other.

“Are you crazy? Why are you headed back to the gunfire? Let us out!” Neil squirmed in his restraints.

“Shut your trap.” Rogers sped back down the alley, dust and dirt spinning out from the car’s tires. He pointed his gun through the window.

Jackson and Neil bounced on the floorboard.

“Damn.” A bullet whizzed by, too close for comfort, and Rogers ducked. It grazed the back window, and Jackson saw the glass slowly cracking in a spiderweb pattern with hundreds of tiny rivulets. Sunlight fragmented in the broken glass, and Jackson covered his head, thinking at any minute the broken window would come crashing down.

Rogers slammed on the brakes and yanked the gear shift into reverse. He unloaded six rounds in the direction of the unseen shooter. The sounds of guns firing cracked and pierced the air.

“Dammit, Rogers, get us out of here.” Neil tried to scrunch lower on the floorboard.

Rogers reloaded and reached his hand out the window. He fired his weapon in the direction of the shooter.

“We need to do something, Jackson. We’re about to die because of this lunatic.” Neil rose up a bit and peeked over the seat, yelling at the Lieutenant. “Rogers, I’m calling 911. I’ve got my cell phone out.”

Neil’s hands were bound, so he couldn’t reach in his pocket, but Rogers didn’t even respond. The bluff didn’t work.

Another bullet hit the trunk. Rogers cussed and then pulled his arm back inside. He stepped on the gas and tore down the alley in a fury, the car swerving back and forth until it bumped out onto the road again.

Once the shooting stopped, Jackson took a deep breath of relief. Neil’s bravado returned. “I doubt those figurines are really in the bag,” Neil said. “You probably created that elaborate shoot-out as a ruse.”

Rogers drove on.

Neil shimmied his way up in the seat and encouraged Jackson to do the same. “Come on, Jackson. Sit up like a normal human in a car, not like pitiful stowaways.”

They approached the bridge to New Orleans. Rogers stopped the car, grabbed the duffel bag, and chunked it into the back seat. “Go ahead, Neil, unzip the bag and check the figurines.”

“I would, but my hands are tied. How quickly you’ve forgotten that.”

Jackson could almost see the sarcasm dripping from Neil’s words.

Rogers reached in the glove compartment, removed a knife, and came over to open the rear car door.

Neil’s eyes got big, and he scowled at Rogers. “What are you doing with that weapon?”

“Shut up. I’m not gonna cut you. Just get out and turn around.” Neil did, although he twitched nervously. Rogers snipped the cords binding him. Rogers then walked to the other side of the car and unlocked Jackson’s handcuffs.

Neil shook his hands a few times, then got into the car and grabbed the duffel bag, extracting the figurines carefully. “Hey, Jackson, I bet the lieutenant hates to lose these. They would’ve fetched a hot nickel.”

Rogers huffed as he got back into the driver’s seat. “Oh, shut your trap.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Was I being rude?” Neil smirked as he continued, “Oh, I do believe acquiring these little pieces would be a good motive for murder. Gosh, there must be a quarter million dollars here. Look at this one, Jackson. It’s a voodoo queen. Look at those blue eyes. Glenway loved the vibrant colors of lapis lazuli. And this one, a trumpeter, with his instrument case open at his feet. These are amazing. Too bad for you, Lieutenant, they’ll be returned to Glenway’s estate…where they belong.”

Neil leaned back in the seat as if he were a dandy out for a summer drive. He said, “Hey, Rog, take your time returning to the French Quarter. Let’s enjoy this government-issued car for a while.” He rolled down the window and very nearly beamed at the old roads near the Old U.S. Mint.

The closer they got to Rogers’s home, the more the lieutenant squirmed. He sighed and grunted and twisted the steering wheel cover with his meaty hands. He finally spoke. “It’d be more beneficial if a man of the law held on to those pieces.”

“I’m sure you think so,” Neil said. “Unfortunately, certain men of the law can’t be trusted.”

The minute they turned into the lieutenant’s drive, Rogers reached in the backseat, grabbed the duffel bag, and jumped out of the car. He ran around to the back of the house. Jackson chased after him, running so fast that his nun’s coif fell into his eyes. “Ah.” He struggled to free himself from the costume.

Neil caught up with Rogers, who had his keys in the back door.

Neil said, “Forget trying to escape with that loot again, Rogers. It won’t do any good. We have enough information to take to police headquarters. Did I forget to tell you I have a picture of the broken curio you stole from Glenway’s? You know. The one right here in your backyard.” Neil pointed at the piece covered in a tarp. “And I’m sure they’ll be interested in the bullet holes in your car too. The authorities will sort it out for us.”

Rogers stopped and stood for a moment on his steps and then turned to hand the bag to Neil, who grabbed it with both hands.

Jackson threw the costume on top of the tarp.

Neil unzipped the duffel bag and said, “Meet us back at my house tomorrow, Mr. Pirate. I still think you killed Glenway.”

“I most certainly did not.” Rogers crossed his arms and stood as tall as he could.

“Then come prepared to prove it and help us find the person who did. Be there tomorrow evening at eight fifteen.”

Rogers huffed. Neil looked at him. “If you’re late or you don’t show, I’m not waiting. I’m making one phone call to my friend on the city council. You remember how to get to my house, don’t you? It’s the place uptown where you handcuffed me and chased Jackson. From my house, we’re going to the ballet and you’re going with us.”

* * * * *

After retrieving their car from behind Roger’s house, Neil and Jackson picked up Imogene and Lena and Billy at the Old U.S. Mint. Jackson noticed that they all were red-faced and dripping with sweat after the several hours of “shakin’ them bones, baby.” Billy looked worse than either of the women. He dabbed his face with a damp towelette on the way to Neil’s.

When they got uptown they all went inside and saw Goose was shadowing Allen, following him around the big table, hoping that something delicious might get thrown his way. Allen had a bowl of chips, which he and Goose were sharing. “Come on up with us,” Neil said to Allen as they walked toward the stairs to the rooms above. “We have to sort some things out.”

Allen and the dog followed the boys upstairs to the camelback room where Jackson started with the first question. “Allen or Neil, will you please tell me where Thurston’s from?

Where he grew up?”

Allan dropped a chip for Goose who was dancing around and said, “He’s got family in Demopolis, Alabama.”

“That makes sense. It would take an Alabama boy like Glenway Gilbert to create the nickname “Canebrake.” The Canebrake area in Alabama is named for the thick patches of bamboo that once grew wild there. Glenway was a clever devil.”

“Not clever enough, I’m afraid,” Neil said, as Jackson moved the piece of paper labeled “Canebrake” to the space under Thurston’s name.

Billy shook his head. “I thought Thurston was TH.” Goose lumbered over to him and rubbed against his leg.

“So did I,” Jackson said. “Until Rogers called someone named ‘TH’ for the figurines. And we drove to Algiers. Thurston lives on Royal Street near Glenway’s Studio, so he couldn’t be ‘TH.’ He has to be Canebrake.”

Billy twisted the cord on his blood pressure cuff. “Unless he was hiding the art over there. Or he could have a place in Algiers himself. Everybody else does. Buddy, Catfish, Lena.”

Jackson looked at him. “That’s true, but we didn’t see anyone but Rogers while we were there.”

Neil said, “And we were parked behind Buddy’s house in that alley. What if it was Buddy who helped Rogers steal Glenway’s carved pieces? No way Thurston did that. He doesn’t…he wouldn’t.”

Billy exchanged a knowing glance with Jackson. Neil always seemed to be defending Thurston. Jackson nodded, then turned to the other two. “Neil. Allen. You know we think the world of you, of your hospitality, and how good you’ve been to us and Imogene, but would you please come clean about Thurston? Why are you hiding your friendship with him? I saw the painting Thurston has of you guys in his house, the one where y’all are on the sugar plantation. I know it was framed by Allen. I know you’re closer than you’ve admitted. Allen, I think you hung out with him at the ballet the night Glenway was killed, didn’t you?”