Death by the Riverside (29 page)

No shadows appeared on the street. I made a run for Karen’s car. A red BMW is easy to spot, no time spent hunting for the right car to steal.

I got in, started it, and drove off. The siren got louder, then receded as I drove away.

I kept a lookout for any tails, but I doubted they would expect me to be driving an expensive red car.

I made a quick swing by my place to get a few things. My gun, for one. I tried Ranson again. Still no answer. I left a message, “Hi, gone fishing. See you upriver.” I hoped she got it. I tried Cordelia’s apartment. No answer.

Then I called Danny, hoping she was back. Elly answered and told me that she was still in Baton Rouge but would be back in the morning.

“I don’t want to sound too melodramatic, Elly, but if you don’t hear from me by then, tell Danny to get the police out to One Hundred Oaks Plantation.”

“Micky, what’s going on?” she asked, sounding worried.

“I’m playing a hunch. It might be nothing,” I said. “You’ll probably hear from me in an hour and Danny will wring my neck for worrying you.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Read a good book.”

“Call soon,” she said. I rang off.

I tried both of Cordelia’s numbers again. No answer and no answer.

I hoped I was wrong. That all this was a bad dream that I would soon wake up from.

I got back into Karen’s car and started driving. I only went below the speed limit at red lights and stop signs.

Every time I had come out here it had been a nightmare. First Barbara, then Frankie. “Not Cordelia,” I said aloud to the night. “Not her. No more sacrifices.” “As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods, they kill us for sport”—the line came out of nowhere.
King Lear.
Cordelia had died in
King Lear.

I drove even faster. It was only forty minutes, but it seemed an age before the gates of One Hundred Oaks Plantation loomed before me. I turned in, still going faster than I should.

Then there was the house, quiet and calm, a few lights on. Cordelia’s car was out front, but hers was the only one. I felt a tremendous sense of relief. I had been a paranoid fool and I was very glad of it.

I thought about turning around, not even saying anything. I also thought of waiting hidden on the grounds like some guardian angel sent to protect Cordelia James. But I didn’t think I would be a very good angel. I decided the only thing to do was knock on the door and try to explain why I thought she might be in danger and what I thought she should do about it. I could see her standing there, probably in a robe, with a look of bemused tolerance on her face as I made a great fool out of myself.

Then I remembered the shadow passing by Hutch. And Frankie. And Barbara. I no longer felt so foolish.

I pounded loudly with the big brass ram’s head knocker. I banged it again when I got no response. This is a big house and she’s probably sound asleep, I told myself. I pounded again. Then I tried the door. It was unlocked.

“Cordelia,” I called as I entered. “Cordelia,” I yelled again.

Something touched my temple. Something cold and metal. The barrel of a gun.

How comforting to know I was right after all.

Goon boy the third quickly patted me down and found my gun, then motioned me in front of him. He grunted directions at me and pointed me toward the ugly parlor where I had given Ignatious Holloway the film.

Alphonse Korby was there, sitting as if he already owned the plantation, along with my old friend Milo, and assorted goons and thugs. Off in one corner, looking pale and drawn, was Cordelia. Thoreau was sitting next to her.

“Miss Knight,” Korby said. “How nice of you to visit us. It saves us the time and expense of having to find you.”

“Anything to oblige a faithful family friend and respected businessman like yourself,” I replied. “Not to mention anti-drug campaigner.”

“Don’t push your luck, Miss Knight,” he responded, evidently not liking my greeting.

“Why? Will I get two bullets instead of one?”

“Micky, oh, Micky,” Cordelia said, shaking her head. “Why are you here?” But she knew why I was here.

“I was actually headed for Biloxi but I took a wrong turn.”

“You ain’t going to be laughing very long,” Milo opined.

“You two know each other?” said a man who had had his back to me when I entered. He indicated Cordelia and me.

“We’ve met,” I replied coolly, not wanting to give anything away. I looked at him, that handsome smiling face. “Raul Lafitte, police informant. How much do you get paid to be a murderer?” I taunted him.

He jerked up. “Keep talking, Micky” he replied, his smile back in place. “It’s too late to do you any good.”

“Maybe. You’re not as clever as you think. I’ve had you figured for a while now.” I was lying.

“How?” he demanded.

“Women’s intuition,” I answered.

“Miss Knight,” Korby said, “I would be interested in that information. Please tell us how you know Mr. Lafitte’s identity.”

“Lucky guess.”

“Milo, I am in no mood for Miss Knight’s jocularity. Convince her to answer the question.” Korby had the emotional responses of a lizard. His heavy-lidded eyes seemed to never blink.

Milo grinned. He motioned for two of the goon squad to grab my arms.

“No,” Cordelia protested, standing up. “Don’t hit her.”

“Beating helpless women.” Thoreau backed her up.

“This babe ain’t helpless,” Milo commented, still grinning.

“Frankie Fitzsimmons told me,” I answered. “Just before he died. You know, like in all those old movies.” I was stalling to buy time, not out of any desire to get my face beaten in.

“I see you’re going to be a good girl,” Korby said. “Now, tell us who you passed that information on to.”

I pretended to think for a minute.

“Everyone,” I answered. “People I passed on the street. The deli lady. At least three different winos…”

“Milo,” Korby interjected, “it’s late.”

“…and everybody I know on the police force and at the D.A.’s office.”

“Names, please,” Korby asked.

“They’ll be here soon. You can meet them,” I said, hoping it was true.

“Joanne Ranson, Hutch Mackenzie, at best,” Lafitte supplied. “It didn’t get beyond them. I had Ranson’s line bugged. She’s a lesbian, isn’t she?” he asked with a salacious expression.

“Joanne?” I didn’t want to play his game. “I’ve been trying to get her in bed for years, but there have always been too many men around for me to even get a chance. How many times did she turn you down?”

“The D.A.’s office, Miss Knight? Please explain,” Korby asked, evidently not interested in Joanne’s sex life. Lafitte had obviously propositioned her and she had just said no.

“A bluff,” I replied. I was not going to give away Danny.

“That’s not a satisfactory answer, I’m afraid. Milo, jog Miss Knight’s memory.”

“I always forget things when I get punched. Particularly names,” I quickly told him. I guess he didn’t believe me.

Milo hit me in the stomach, hard enough to double me over. I had tightened my stomach muscles, like you’re supposed to, but it didn’t seem to help much. In karate we would occasionally have classes in which you would stand still and let another person hit you. The idea was to find out what it felt like to be hit and to learn that you could take a punch.

Milo belted me again in the stomach.

No one in karate had ever hit as hard as he did. The blow staggered me. I would have fallen if the two thugs weren’t holding my arms.

“No! Stop it! You bastard!” Cordelia yelled.

She jumped between me and Milo. One of the nameless goons grabbed her arm to pull her away, but she wrenched free from him.

“How dare you! My grandfather was your friend. At a time when a lot of people weren’t. You’ll never get this property if you hit her again,” she spat at Korby.

“I’m sorry this distresses you, my dear. But I’m afraid some unpleasantness is required by the situation. However, if you can convince your friend to tell us what she knows, perhaps we can avoid the worst of it,” Korby spoke in his lizard-like tone.

“Let me talk to her alone,” Cordelia asked.

“That’s not possible. You have a minute. Do your best,” Korby finished.

Cordelia turned to face me. I tried to stand up straight for her sake. My arms were still being held.

“Let her go,” she said, but the order didn’t come from Milo or Korby, so the goons ignored it. “Micky…I’m sorry you’re here.” Then she stopped, just looking into my eyes. “I’m sorry,” she shook her head. She reached out and touched my cheek briefly, an aborted gesture in front of all these onlookers.

“Time’s up. Milo, continue,” Korby ordered.

“No!” Cordelia protested, but two thugs muscled her away. “Damn you!” she cried, still struggling.

Milo hit me again, this time on the jaw. I felt the stinging smart of a cut lip and blood started dripping down my chin.

“Frankie told me some other things, too,” I said, spitting out blood. Milo moved back, waiting for me to talk. “He told me how you liked to dress up with him, Milo. He said you were pretty good at it and that you really liked lacy, pink bras.”

“You fucking dyke,” he exploded, hitting me in the stomach and the chest in quick succession. But he was angry and sloppy and he got a little too close. They weren’t holding my legs. I kicked him as hard as I could in the balls. He bent over, grabbing his groin. I kicked again, before the goons holding me could react. Milo wouldn’t be punching me anymore. At least one of his hands had to be broken.

I got hit between the shoulder blades with the butt of a pistol for my efforts. The second blow knocked the air out of my lungs. I hung suspended between the two men, a sharp, mounting pain in my back. Suddenly they let go of me and I fell heavily to the floor. I lay there, gasping for breath, like a fish in the sand.

“Easy,” Cordelia knelt beside me. She had broken away from whoever was holding her. “Relax, if you can.” She put her hand on the back of my neck, calming me enough to get my breath. “Tell them,” she said. “They’ll kill you if you don’t.”

“They’ll kill me anyway,” I rasped out. “Better a dead hero than a dead coward.”

“Not like this.”

“Sorry I got here too late.”

“I haven’t time for this.” Korby’s reptilian voice cut in. “You are a very stubborn lady, Miss Knight. Perhaps we should try a different approach. Perhaps it will be harder for you to watch someone else being hit than to be hit yourself. You don’t want to see Miss James hurt, now do you?”

“You shit,” I choked out. I grabbed on to Cordelia and tried to hold her, but his thugs pulled her away. One of them slapped her hard across the face, then again from the other side.

“No! Stop it!” I yelled. They froze, waiting. “I admit it, I killed Jimmy Hoffa, not to mention kidnapping the Lindbergh baby.” The thug raised his hand again. “Joanne Ranson,” I said, preventing the blow from landing. “Hutch Mackenzie. I saw you kill him, you bastard. I don’t know who they told.”

“Me. I’m the only one,” Lafitte interjected.

“The D.A.’s office, Miss Knight.”

I shrugged. I didn’t want Cordelia to be hit, but I couldn’t write Danny’s death warrant to save her. The thug lifted his hand again.

“Danielle Clayton,” Thoreau said.

Damn him.

“And Ronald Newson,” I said to make it harder for them. I didn’t mind including Newson because he was a racist, sexist pig and deserved whatever he got.

“Do they know you’re here tonight?” Korby demanded. The thug raised his hand as if to hit Cordelia again. A trickle of blood was running from her nose.

Did they? Could they? And if it was possible that they were on their way here, did I want Korby to know?

“No,” I let out, admitting to myself it wasn’t likely. Even if Joanne was alive and if Danny got home, what were the chances of them getting here in time? “No one knows. And there’s no way they can find out in time…” I trailed off. I was unable to get up from the floor. There seemed no point in moving. “I’m sorry.” I looked at Cordelia. “I’ve fucked up again.” I could feel tears starting, tears of anger and frustration. They slid down my cheeks mixing with the blood from my nose and mouth.

“See, Miss Knight, you could have avoided all this, if you had told me that in the beginning. Now, Miss James, before Miss Knight interrupted us, we were discussing a business deal. You’re a reasonable woman and I’m sure you’ll charge me a fair price for this property. Your cousin Karen is a bit unrealistic in what she thinks it’s worth. I would prefer to deal with you. The documents await your signature.”

“Micky needs medical help,” Cordelia said, wiping blood off her face.

“Sign here and she’ll get it.”

“Euthanasia,” I said.

“No,” Cordelia retorted. “You calmly talk of murder as if property is more important—”

“To me it is.” Korby coldly cut her off. “I had no intentions of becoming personally involved with your demise, but events have rendered it necessary. I’m not surprised that redneck bungled your kidnapping, Miss James, but Miss Knight is only here through the sheer incompetence of those who should have known better.”

“You ordered Beaugez to kidnap me?” Cordelia demanded.

“I take advantage of the resources offered me. A few hints, your whereabouts and how gleeful the Holloways were at getting away with murder. A gun that was no longer needed. And fond wishes for success. That was all.”

“You killed him,” I shouted at Korby.

“Don’t be asinine,” he retorted. “Beaugez shot himself. Your grandfather was so helpful,” he turned to Cordelia, “he supplied me with all the necessary details. Such a trusting confidant.”

Lafitte came over to Korby and handed him his omnipresent phone. He listened for a moment then glanced at his watch.

“Dawn is in a few hours, Miss James. You have until them to think it over. I suggest you sign or you will find out how unpleasant things can be. I have no more time for this.”

Korby stood up. So did the rest of his gang.

“Lieutenant Lafitte and I are going to rendezvous with the stalwart Sergeant Ranson,” he continued, “to convince her of the error of her ways. You were very lucky last time, Miss Knight. This time some of my boys will keep you company and you shall not be so lucky. Milo, stay here and make sure they don’t get away.”