Unhinged (5 page)

“Can you think of anyone who might've wanted to hurt Ryan? Anyone he was seeing recently?” I said, giving Ron a break from asking questions.

“As far as I know, everyone liked Ryan. But ever since we stopped seeing each other, I hardly spoke with him. I can't help you there.”

Ron handed him his card. “If you think of anything, give me a call.”

“Don't worry. I will. The last thing we need is someone killing us because we're gay.”

“That may not be the motivation,” I said and spun around to head down the stairs.

Ron paused to give Kenny a little advice. “Hey, you ought to think about buying some deodorant. You smell like ass cabbage.”

“Thanks, Detective, but I choose not to bathe every day and contaminate my body with chemicals. Besides, the human scent is sexy.”

“Yes, human scent, not day-old roadkill.” Ron shook his head as he followed me down the stairs. “I don't think we should rule that guy out as a suspect.”

I agreed. “We could send Bienvenue into Breaux's undercover. He's done a lot of undercover stuff, right? I heard he's a cool cucumber.”

“Yeah, that's not a bad idea.”

The rest of the afternoon wasn't so eventful. Unfortunately, Josh the bartender didn't see anything. He smelled of soap and was honest and forthright, and his alibi checked out. The DJ Lamar was a dead end, and Kyle Singleton seemed to play dumb at first, but come to find out, he really was. I had never made light of anyone's lack of intelligence except for specific acts of ditziness, but this kid was a moron. I wasn't even sure if he knew he was working in a gay bar. After several questions, we were convinced he didn't know anything.

Everyone's separate accounts of Friday night were nearly identical in that they were especially busy and there wasn't time to pay attention to Ryan's latest screw. Josh backed up Toliver's statement that Ryan was one queer who liked it rough.

I
t was 5:45 p.m. I was tired and glad to be at my desk in a cool office. Still, we weren't any closer to finding the killer. One of our officers had located June's parents in Arkansas, and Greenwood called their local precinct, so they could inform them in person. No family had yet been found for Ryan Gant.

Ron called detective buddies who had stayed on the job after the hurricane to see if they had come across past cases with similar MOs. Occasionally I listened in to his phone conversations and was amazed at the number of people he knew. Most of each conversation started with who ended up where since Katrina.

I sorted through a stack of folders of sex offenders and ran the particulars through the computer for a match. I didn't recall ever hearing about murders like this, and I was doubtful that anything would turn up in the case files.

I couldn't stifle my yawns but tried to focus when I came to the realization I was barking with the big dogs now. This was my first major case and it was a doozy, but this was what I had wished for, right? I loved that I had this opportunity to save lives by taking down a murderer. Every angle had to be looked at; every fact had to be dissected and categorized. If something was missed, the press as well as the public could hang us. Cases like this could make or break a career.

Ron hung up the phone and abruptly rose from his desk. “All right, let's go down to Jo-Jo's Cabaret. It's time to question some strippers.”

This was probably going to be a detail that I would leave out when I told Jennifer about my day. Not that she'd mind that I was at a strip club, but it would give her plenty of ammunition to tease me with. “Did you get a boner looking at her boobs?” she'd say. Or, “Did you stay for a lap dance?”

“What did Greenwood tell you earlier when you were in his office?” I asked as we left the station.

His jaw jutted to the right. Something he did when he lied. “He said we have unlimited overtime, which means we eat, sleep, and breathe this case until it's solved or we run out of options.”

“Didn't we already know that?” I felt a headache coming on behind my left eye.

“He doesn't feel like a leader unless he states the obvious. I told him we weren't about to slow down, and I walked out.”

I parked on a side street around the corner from Jo-Jo's. This was the premier spot for strippers, showcasing some of the best surgery money could buy. The women were young, attractive, and could easily pull in two grand over a tourist-filled weekend.

“You ever been to this strip club?” Ron asked.

“Once for a bachelor party.”

He looked over at me with a grin. “You're not going to throw up when you see the tits, are you?”

It felt like my face was in front of a furnace. “No, I promise.”

“Word of advice,” he said before we entered, “don't mention coming here to my wife. You remember how old-fashioned Kathy is, right? She doesn't like a lot of things about this job and occasionally dealing with strippers is one of them. She'd lay a guilt trip on me about how much I enjoyed it after I tell her I didn't . . . even though I will enjoy it.”

I nodded.

The club's gigantic bouncer stepped aside when we presented our badges. His tuxedo must've had enough material to make a set of curtains.

We moved past the cashier and made our way into the dark main room. The stage was large enough for three strippers at a time.

Only one woman was onstage at the moment, spreading her legs to the tune of “Girls, Girls, Girls.” The one-candle tables were fanned throughout the club, leaving enough elbow room for lap dances. It was still early, and only about half of the chairs were occupied.

“Go question the bartender, and I'll start with one of the strippers.” Ron stepped down onto the sunken floor.

I moseyed up to the bar, trying to keep my thoughts on the case and not my surroundings. “I'm Detective Dupree. What's your name?”

The husky bartender put down the glass he was cleaning and sized me up. All the male employees were intentionally on the burly side. They came off as mean and intimidating, and it was effective for keeping the peace within the club. “Cory Parks. This about June?”

“What can you tell me about her?”

“Nice girl. She was friendly.” He picked up another glass and began to dry it off. It felt as though I had been dismissed.

“Did she have any enemies? Anybody who came to the club to see her in particular?” I was waiting to get a clear read off him.

“Not that I noticed. She'd been here about two weeks, and I only worked with her four or five times. I saw her talking with another stripper quite a bit. Marla Faber.”

“Any of the other employees she liked?”

“Hard to say who she got friendly with backstage. Some of these girls get pretty tight, and some just hate each other. You know chicks.” Cory grinned.

I nodded, assuming that stripping was like any other profession in the service industry. You wanted the best day, best time slot, and hoped to find that one table of men who were loaded with alcohol and money.

“What were you doing late Friday night into early Saturday morning?” I leaned over the bar and kept my gaze on him.

“Working. I work every night except Wednesday and Thursday.”

“Who's the manager of this fine establishment, and where is he?” I held my notepad up high as I prepped to write.

“You're early.” Cory's voice had lost strength. “He's due in at nine. His name is Doug Grass.”

“And the owner?”

“William Holden. He's here during the day but never on weekends.”

“Holden? Really?” I nodded and paused, letting him think the interview might be over, but I did have one last question for him. “Oh, Cory. I noticed you didn't seem too concerned about June's murder. Did you have a problem with her, or do you not like women? Or maybe it's the human race in general?”

Cory stared at me with glassy eyes, then said, “I have work to do if you don't mind.”

“All right, thanks. Keep your ears open, buddy. If you hear anything at all, call me.” I handed him my card. His apathy about June left a bad taste in my mouth. She was a human being, filled with the same hopes and dreams as other people, yet her identity was reduced to her profession, and there were worse things she could have been doing.

Billy Idol's version of “Mony Mony” erupted from the overhead speakers. Then a stripper onstage strolled off behind a black curtain as another with a cowgirl outfit came out.

I saw where the backstage entrance was and took the shortest path between tables. Ron was talking to one of the floor girls who gave lap dances. He was holding up her rotation.

The backstage muscle let me pass as I casually entered with my badge exposed. The big room behind the stage was basically an L shape with mirrors lining the left side and closets of costumes on the opposite. A counter beneath the mirrors was sectioned off for each stripper, but there was only one girl sitting there, the one who had just left the stage.

She had a kind of feline mystique about her and the perfect face for playing Catwoman on Halloween or maybe in
Cats,
the musical.

“I'm Detective Dupree.”

“Oh. Oh, shit.” She clutched her bare chest. “You don't know how many times I expect some lunatic from the audience to walk in here when the bouncer takes a break.”

“Sorry. I'd like to ask you a few questions about June Bieria. Did you know her?”

Her face relaxed and her arm fell from her chest when she took a breath. She reached for her robe. “I said hi to her once.” She put her robe on slowly, somewhat elegantly. The red and white kimono remained open for a moment until she finally slid it over her breasts.

“Is there anything you can tell me about her? Was there ever a man who came to see her or sat in the audience, asking only for her?”

She smiled and took her time like a true Southern belle. “Just about all of us have our fans or pervs, who come here for a certain girl. I don't know if June was here long enough for that.”

“Well, when you saw her around here, was there anything strange about her? Any peculiar habits or traits? Friendly? A bitch?”

“She seemed friendly. She said hi to us but never joined conversations, you know. I think she may have been a lesbian, ‘cause I've seen her staring at me and other girls in more than just that I-wish-I-had-what-you-have look. It was more like, I-wish-I-had-you-on-me look.” She giggled.

“All right, here's my card. Call me if you hear anything, okay?”

She smiled, showing moderately crooked teeth, but you only saw them if you got past her ruby-red lips. “I know you're investigatin' and all, but you can come back later for my second or third show, can't you?” She gave me a pouty face.

“I'm sorry, but I don't think that's going to happen tonight. I'd better get on with my questioning out there.”

I left the room feeling weak willed as well as hot and bothered.

Ron and I compared notes as we left Jo-Jo's and walked down the middle of Bourbon Street. The crowd had gotten dense, and it was hard to stay on a straight path. I eventually got to interview another stripper, and Ron had located the manager in the kitchen. Apparently Cory hadn't known he was on the premises. And, come to find out, the owner was right upstairs and came down to the kitchen to talk to Ron. I made a mental note that Cory was less than forthright.