The Gone Dead Train (38 page)

Billy rose from his stance. “Drop the gun. Let's do this right.”

Garrett came suddenly to life. He hurled the gun at Billy and heaved his body on top of the railing. Billy was on Garrett fast, grabbing for a handhold, but Garrett twisted and smashed an elbow into his jaw. Billy's head snapped back and he stumbled, his grip on Garrett broken. Garrett launched himself over the rail. Billy dove for the rail in time to see him roll down the slope and then pitch airborne over the edge of the retaining wall. Garrett landed on his back, angled across the first set of tracks, his head resting against a rail. One hand rose and dropped. Then he lay, inert.

He stared down at Garrett. Sirens yowled from three directions, cruisers and first responders making the scene. Red and Little Man. Augie and Dominique and Pryce—all victims of Garrett's pride.
Let the ditch doctors scrape the bastard off the tracks
, he thought.
I'm done
.

He'd pulled out his mobile to alert dispatch of Garrett's location when another sound came to him, a single horn blast. He knew instantly what it meant. Living on the barge, he'd learned to count down the seconds before a train's dual engines powered past. The engineer wouldn't see Garrett in time to stop.

He stared down the slope, knowing that if he jumped he could wind up in the same shape as Garrett. The horn blew louder. He owed the son of a bitch nothing, certainly not his life. At the street corner, the crossing gates came alive, bells sounding and lights flashing.

No one would blame him for not risking it. But if he didn't move now, right now, Garrett would die. He saw Augie's face before him, the warrior's face in the painting behind the catcher's mask. Augie's eyes smiled at him.

He knew what he had to do. “This one's for you, buddy.”

He swung over the railing, lowered himself to hang from the bottom edge of the balcony, and let go. The impact with the slope knocked him breathless. He skidded out of control, the grassy slope slicker than he'd imagined. Sliding down toward the edge of the retaining wall, he grabbed a handful of brush at the last moment. The brush tore away but slowed his drop. He hit the gravel bed below, somehow staying on his feet.

The bells rang. The horn blew nonstop. Garrett, who was lying twenty feet away, raised his head to see the black locomotive bearing down. His head fell back.

The engineer must have finally spotted Garrett, because the wheels locked in a high-pitched scream, sparks flying off the rails. Billy raced for the tracks, planning to grab Garrett's belt and haul him to safety.

The locomotive pounded down on him as he reached the rocky strip of ballast. He strained forward. Seconds left. Almost there. Then Garrett kicked out, connecting with Billy's shin. The ballast shifted, and his feet slid out from under him. He went down hard on a creosote tie, his face even with Garrett's, staring straight into the man's eyes.

“You can go to hell,” Garrett whispered.

The wheels hit with a furnace blast of hot metal and sound. Billy smelled grease and fire and the blood of damnation.

He rolled away.

T
he next day, iPhone videos of the events at the library appeared on YouTube. The videos immediately went viral. A German tourist on the gangplank of the
Memphis Queen II
captured the struggle on the balcony and Garrett's fall. His subsequent beheading by the locomotive was clearly visible.

Because of the sensational videos, the case was red-hot. The footage Jasmine Cooper taped of Billy's accusation at the ground-breaking connected Garrett to Augie's murder. The resulting firestorm compelled Middlebrook to arrange a media briefing at the CJC the next morning. He asked Billy and Frankie to stand on the dais behind him while he addressed reporters. They weren't expected to answer questions, only to make a good showing for the department, then disappear before anyone could corner them.

After the briefing, Billy and Frankie walked the half block west to the downtown First Presbyterian Church. They sat in the back while a church lady walked the rows of pews and placed hymnals in their slots. She kept her eyes averted but wore a secret smile, probably spinning young-lover stories to herself.

Billy liked the sanctuary's old-wood smell and the fragile, clean light coming through the east-facing windows. He'd been raised in church, but in the last year had fallen away after he'd discovered what Lou had done to little Rebecca Jane. Hearing a preacher go on about Jesus' good and faithful servants made him uncomfortable.

Who was good? Who was faithful? He didn't know anymore.

“I saw the train-track video,” Frankie said. “Close call.”

“I considered standing back, but I couldn't do it.”

She nodded. “Guys like you are always looking for someone to save.”

“That's not true. I had an opportunity to take Garrett down in the hallway. I wanted to. Payback, you know?” He stared at his shoes, a small smile coming to his face. “I decided against it. Too much paperwork.”

She rolled her eyes. “You couldn't live with yourself if you'd shot Garrett.”

“I don't know,” he said. “Guess it's a moot point. I caught the video of you whacking the guy in the head and kicking his gun. You're one tough chick;
48 Hours
will be calling.”

“Oh, shut up.” She leaned forward, rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “That was nothing. I was a lot more nervous at the briefing. All those cameras. What happens next?”

“You go back to work. I wait to see if the review board is going to give me the ax.”

She gave him a sidelong look. There wasn't much she could say about that.

“Middlebrook met with me this morning,” he said.

“And?”

“He said you're the one who broke the Poston case when you spotted Augie's watch on Dominique. He knows we were poking around in Red's investigation, but we can't be penalized for that. The case was closed.”

“Besides, we were right,” she said.

“They don't care. It's about procedure and regulations. I told you it would work out. With that video, you're a free ad campaign for the MPD. They'd be fools not to bump you up to an investigative squad.”

“Did Middlebrook say that?”

He shrugged. “We didn't talk about much except Garrett and the review board.”

She sat back in the pew, frowning. Her toes were doing a little tap dance on the carpet. “You've got to get through this.”

“Middlebrook says he'll back me. His statement to the board will have to include my interview with Pryce at his house. He warned that there would be repercussions.”

“But not dismissal,” she said. “They're not crazy.”

“Probably not. I'm not worried.”

He rested his arm on the pew, tipped his head back, and studied the walnut ceiling. His casual front was for her benefit. He was worried as hell. Now that he was on the chopping block, he wanted back on the force more than anything.

“They found the phone, laptop, and the missing photo,” she said. “Garrett had them locked up in his desk at home. If he'd locked up the watches and manuscript, he would've gotten away with it.”

“Pryce is out of the ICU. He talked to Dunsford, told him Garrett was supposed to be at his house around the time of the attack, so I'm off the hook for that.”

Frankie nodded. “Will Dunsford try to shoot you down at the hearing?”

“He won't want the board to look too deeply into how he mishandled those cases. And he'd be an idiot to start up with me. As it stands, he'll close four cases at once. He'll retire with the best stats in the squad.”

“That's okay with you?”

“No, but he'll be gone. He won't do any more damage. I may be gone, too. Or they may take away my stripes. Or try to move me out of homicide. But I'll be damned if I'll spend the rest of my career chasing down stolen lawn mowers.”

“That won't happen.”

“On the plus side, my paycheck is already built into the budget. For that reason alone, I may get a pass.”

She gave him a broad smile.

He slapped his thigh and stood. “It's been a pleasure, Mz. Police Goddess, but I have to go. I've got business that needs tending to.”

H
e drove to the Peabody where he found Theda Jones seated on a plush velvet sofa in the middle of the hotel's sumptuous lobby. She was flipping through a copy of
Vogue
, the automated baby grand plinking softly behind her. She wore a tailored jacket and jeans with her black hair coiled in a loose bun that exposed the elegant length of her neck.

“Miss Jones,” he said, noticing the carry-on bag tucked next to her feet as he approached. She'd asked for a one
P.M
. meeting, explaining that she was about to leave for Boston.

“Detective.” She stood and tilted her head toward the player baby grand. “That machine is butchering ‘Clair de Lune.' But we're not here to talk music.”

For privacy, they moved to a small table some distance away from the lobby bar.

“First, thank you for coming. I apologize for getting upset and leaving you so abruptly the other day.” She pulled an envelope from her pocket and removed the letter. “I wanted you to read Red's last letter.”

It was written out on the same staff paper he'd seen in Red's room and in the same hand that had made notations on “Old Fool Love.”

Billy slipped the letter back in the envelope. “How much money did Red send?”

She rested her elbows on the table and peered at him from behind her interlaced fingers. “Two money orders of a thousand each.”

Her gaze drifted away, drifted back. “People have used me all my life, everyone but Red Davis. He was the father I never had.”

Behind Theda's eyes, he glimpsed the little girl who'd come from a sordid background and been caught in a trap, yet she possessed an artless aura of confidence and privilege. Theda had talent and beauty, but like everyone else, what she really wanted was someone to love her.

“You don't know about me,” she said. “In New Orleans, I got involved in the kind of trouble a lady doesn't like to talk about. Then I met Red and Little Man. I was so desperate for a chance to get out, I believed the scholarship in Boston was true. I didn't know Cool Willy would go after them for helping me.”

She pressed her fingertips to her eyelids to stop the tears. “After you told me Willy had hurt them, I had to find out if he'd been involved in their deaths. I called friends in New Orleans, working ladies.” She looked up at him, embarrassed. “I asked if he'd ever talked about going after Red and Little Man, hurting them again. They said all he talked about was me. He loved me, wanted me back. I was the only one. Ridiculous, romantic stuff. Willy wants to build a new image.
William
wants to be classy. I'm part of that.

“The ladies said Willy didn't know where Red and Little Man had gone until the
Times-Picayune
reported Red's death. He left for Memphis Tuesday night. Said he thought he'd find me here.”

“Cool Willy didn't kill Davis and Lacy,” Billy said. “It was the man who died on the tracks.”

“I thought that might be the case.” She nodded, wiped her cheek. “I have to leave in a few minutes, and we still have the package to discuss. I no longer need you to sell what's inside.”

“Why's that?”

She cocked her chin toward the bar. “Check out the guy in the cashmere T-shirt, the one scrolling through his iPhone.”

“I spotted Cool Willy when I walked in,” he said.

“He paid for my last school semester. He thinks I'll come back to New Orleans to play in his piano bar after I graduate. That I'll be his girl, maybe his wife.”

“What about the competition?”

A slow smile crossed her face. “William Cooley is pussy-whipped for the first time in his life. I plan to keep it that way. I'm going to win that competition. I'm going to be a star. He'll fall in line once he gets the bigger picture. He's all about prestige.”

“And the package?”

“It's at the concierge's desk in your name. I didn't want Willy . . . William to see me pass it to you. He's bad about sticking his nose in my business.”

She stood and gave Cool Willy a wave. He threw some bills on the bar and stood. “Good luck, Detective. Thanks for doing the right thing by Red and Little Man. I plan to do the same.”

After Theda left, he went to the concierge desk and collected a box with a Boston address written on the side. He returned to the table. Inside the box were a stack of photos and a yellowed envelope that held a letter written on a piece of stationery with a
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
letterhead.