Skeleton Letters (24 page)

“What are you doing here?” was his first question to Carmela and Ava, as they scrambled out of the patrol car to greet him. “Did you touch anything?” was his rapid-fire second question.

“We wanted to talk to Brother Paul,” said Carmela.

“No,” said Ava.

Babcock looked from one to the other, confused. “Yes, you wanted to talk to him? Or no, you didn't?” he demanded.

Flustered, Carmela held up a hand, as much to stem his flow of questions as to steady her nerves. “Wait a minute. Yes, we stopped by to see Brother Paul. No, we didn't touch anything.”

Babcock seemed angered as well as confused by their presence. “Imagine my surprise when this was called in, to learn that you two discovered the body!” He swallowed, angrily. “So why
exactly
are you here?”

“We were making an inquiry,” said Carmela. Babcock was doing a slow simmer, but she knew he could explode like a runaway pressure cooker at any minute.

“It has to do with the circumstances surrounding, um, Byrle's death,” said Ava, glancing sideways at Carmela.

“The Coopersmith homicide?” said Babcock, looking startled.

“That's right,” said Carmela, fighting to remain calm.

“You're
investigating
,” Babcock spat out. Before Carmela could open her mouth to protest or utter a peep, he said, “That wasn't a question.”

“Okay,” Carmela said, sounding properly meek.

“And you two just
happened
to discover the director of this place . . .” He glanced at the hastily scrawled notes he'd written on the way over. “You two found Brother Paul Lupori hanging from the rafters in his room?” Babcock was incredulous. “Which means the two of you actually went inside his . . . whatever it is . . . his living quarters, his apartment?”

“Yes,” Carmela answered.

“Then you
did
touch something.”

“Just the doorknob,” said Ava. “Doorknobs.”

“This is a bloody mess,” Babcock fumed. He was stressing now, big-time. “Tell me
exactly
why you were here!”

“It's a long story,” said Carmela.

“Try me,” said Babcock.

“The thing is,” said Carmela, “we ran into Brother Paul over at St. Tristan's.”

“That's right,” said Ava, jumping in. “The morning after Byrle was murdered.”

“So, in your mind, that made Brother Paul a suspect?” Babcock asked. He seemed appalled by their faulty deductive reasoning.

“Well . . . something like that,” said Ava.

“Not exactly,” said Carmela.

Babcock was grim. “Please, one at a time.
Which
is it?”

“We saw Brother Paul more as a person of interest,” said Carmela. “And we thought . . . hoped, actually . . . that he might have some information for us.”

“Which is the reason we stopped by last night,” said Ava.

“You were here last night, too?” said Babcock. “Why?” A vein throbbed in his left temple, and Carmela hoped it wasn't a precursor to a heart attack.

“Helping in the kitchen,” said Ava.

Babcock put his hands on his hips and hunched his shoulders. “Frankly, I don't care if you were weaving baskets,” he said, in a tight-lipped growl. “Do you two know how
bad
this looks? Turning up at the scene of two different murders!”

“Was it murder?” Carmela asked, lifting her chin to indicate Brother Paul's living quarters. “Or suicide?” She glanced over Babcock's shoulder, where a team of crime-scene techs were pulling on blue latex rubber gloves and heading in with their equipment.

Babcock stuck both hands in the pockets of his suede jacket, turned his back on them, and strode forcefully away. He muttered to himself for a few moments, then came shuffling back.

“Here's what I want you to do,” said Babcock. “I want you to leave. To go home. And not breathe a word about this to anyone!”

“You don't want to debrief us?” Ava asked.

“I don't want to even
look
at the two of you right now!” yelled Babcock.

 

 

It was almost ten o'clock by the time they stumbled into Carmela's apartment.

“Well,
that
was an exciting conclusion to a bizarre evening,” Carmela said, as Boo and Poobah greeted her with exuberant snorts and wet kisses.

“I'm so upset I'm shaking,” Ava confessed. “Even my toes are vibrating.” Kicking off her muddy boots at the door, she added, “And when I get all wrought up like this, I burn energy like mad.”

“Which means . . . ?” asked Carmela. She pulled off her sweater and smoothed the white T-shirt she'd worn under it.

“Well . . . it means I'm hungry,” said Ava. She gave a guilty shrug. “Sorry. Sorry to always be imposing like this. Sorry to always be the needy girlfriend.”

“You're not,” said Carmela. “But I think I will put a tip jar on the counter.” When she saw Ava's morose look, she said, “Don't worry about it. It'll do me good to fix us something to eat . . . help my brain refocus.” She added a shaky laugh. “Help me to . . . depressurize.”

“You're a good mom,” said Ava, gratefully sinking down on the sofa. She reached a hand out to stroke Boo's furry forehead. “Isn't she a good mom? Don't you lovey-wovey her?”

“Don't get too carried away in there,” Carmela called, as she rattled dishes in the kitchen.

“Can I turn on the TV?” asked Ava.

“Be my guest. “You want your grilled cheese sandwich with Monterey Jack or cheddar?”

“Can I have both?” asked Ava. She hesitated. “Do you think Brother Paul was murdered? Or did he commit suicide?”

Carmela stuck her head around the corner. “Murdered. Definitely. The other is just too horrible to even contemplate.”

“The sin for which there is no redemption,” Ava muttered to herself, then made a hasty sign of the cross.

Carmela fixed two grilled cheese sandwiches, plated them, added dill pickle wedges and a handful of kettle chips, then carried everything into the living room.

“The news is just coming on,” Ava told her, as she grabbed one of the plates.

They watched a montage of fast-paced graphics that included snippets from Mardi Gras, scenes from Katrina, and a smiling news team standing in front of their mobile van. Then the camera moved in on Don Ankeny, KBEZ-TV's aging late-night newscaster.

“I don't think the TV guys will have picked up the Brother Paul thing yet,” said Carmela, gazing at the newscaster with his eighties-looking hair. “It's too soon for . . .”

“Brother Paul Lupori is the latest victim in this city's rising tide of crime,” announced Ankeny.

Both women stopped midbite and stared wide-eyed at the TV.

“Uh-oh,” said Carmela, a bite of sandwich suddenly stuck in her gullet. “Looks like Brother Paul made the news, after all!”

A
NKENY, wearing his trust-me-I'm-serious news face, continued: “In an apparent murder at the Storyville Outreach Center, the director was found hanging in his small apartment at the rear of the building.”

“Babcock's not gonna be happy about this,” said Ava. She picked up her pickle wedge and crunched loudly, as if to add emphasis to her statement.

“You never know,” said Carmela. “He could have tipped the TV station himself.”

“You think?” said Ava. She popped a chip into her mouth and leaned back against the sofa.

Carmela thought for a minute. “Or maybe not. Babcock's your basic law enforcement control freak, and he didn't seem one bit in control an hour ago. So probably the TV guys sniffed this one out on their own.”

“Uh-oh,” said Ava, pointing at the screen. “Look who else is on. The Wicked Witch of the West. Kimber Breeze.”

The camera switched from a two-shot of Ankeny and Kimber to a close-up of just Kimber.

“Does she look different to you?” asked Ava.

“Maybe . . . the Botox makes her look younger?”

“No,” said Ava, “to look younger she'd need a time machine.”

“Shhh,” said Carmela, studying the screen now.

“In an interesting sidebar,” said Kimber, smiling broadly, “Brother Paul Lupori was also affiliated with St. Tristan's Church, where the brutal murder of Byrle Coopersmith took place just three short days ago. While it is not known at this time if the two murders are connected, informed sources tell me that Carmela Bertrand, who was an eyewitness in the Coopersmith murder, was also at the scene of tonight's crime.” Kimber flashed her megawatt smile, then added, “Stay tuned to KBEZ for any and all breaking news.”

“Well, that's just fine and dandy!” said Carmela, throwing her hands up. “Now I'm publicly linked to
two
murders.”

“Huh,” said Ava. Then she turned to Carmela and said, in a thoughtful, questioning tone of voice, “Do you think maybe that's a good thing?”

Carmela exhaled with a loud whoosh. “Why on
earth
would you say that?”

“You've been poking around anyway,” Ava reasoned.

“That's because Baby
asked
me to. As a favor.”

“But now it's all out in the open. Your involvement, I mean.”

Carmela touched an index finger to her lower lip, trying to decipher Ava's words. “So you're saying . . . what? That Kimber's announcement could shake something loose?”

Ava nodded. “It's possible.”

“But who,” said Carmela, looking pained, “killed these people? I mean, is it the same person or are there two different killers?”

“No clue,” said Ava.

“Funny you should say that,” said Carmela, “because that's exactly what we need. One good, solid clue.”

“So let's put our heads together and try to figure out what happened tonight,” said Ava. “Who would do this? Who would hang Brother Paul?”

“What I want to know is
how
they did it?” said Carmela. “How do you hang somebody against his will? Force him at gunpoint? Knock him on the head and then string him up? I mean, how do you orchestrate this kind of grisly crime?”

“Scares the crap out of me just thinking about it,” said Ava. She gathered her legs under her and sat cross-legged, her hand cupping her chin, looking contemplative. “My addled brain keeps circling back to
who
.”

“I hear you,” said Carmela. She thought for a few minutes. “Tell me you're not thinking . . . Frank Crowley from the Seekers?”

“Dunno,” said Ava.

“If Crowley engineered Brother Paul's murder, he had to drive a whole lot faster than we did to even get back to the city.”

“Maybe Brother Paul's murder was already in the works,” Ava theorized. “Maybe Crowley and Brother Paul didn't get along.”

“I'm
positive
they didn't get along,” said Carmela. “Brother Paul seemed to take a certain glee in siccing us on him.”

“Good point.”

“On the other hand,” said Carmela, “it still could have been someone like Johnny Otis.”

“That seems like a shaky theory,” said Ava. “How would Otis figure in with Brother Paul?”

Carmela shrugged. “Maybe Johnny Otis was the one who killed Byrle and he pegged Brother Paul as a witness? Someone he had to get rid of, just to be sure.”

Ava considered Carmela's words. “I can sort of see that.”

“I can also think of a few other peripheral suspects.”

“You mean like Drew Gaspar?” asked Ava. She shook her head and her lush hair tumbled down around her face. “Doubtful. I don't see how Gaspar could have possibly been involved.”

“If Gaspar collects religious icons,” said Carmela, “he might have stolen the crucifix, killed Byrle in the confusion, and . . .”

“And what?” said Ava.

“And Brother Paul could have
seen
something?”

“You keep coming back to that,” said Ava. “Brother Paul as witness.”

“I know that.”

“That could be it right there,” allowed Ava. “Though the reasoning feels a little forced and thin. Oh man,
everything
feels thin.”

“But dead bodies keep piling up,” said Carmela.

Ava gave a nervous shiver.

As if on cue, the phone shrilled loudly, causing Ava to flinch. “Gotta be Babcock,” she muttered.

“Bringing with him tons of fallout,” said Carmela, wincing, as she snatched the receiver off its hook. “Hello?”

“Oh pussycat,” trilled Jekyl, “I have
très
exciting news for you!”

Carmela put a hand over the receiver. “It's Jekyl. He says he has exciting news.”

“Tell him about
our
news,” said Ava.

“Is that Ava I hear in the background?” asked Jekyl.

“That's right,” said Carmela. “And do we ever have news.” Even though Babcock had warned her not to breathe a word about the murder to anyone, Brother Paul's murder had just been broadcast into every living room in the nearby eight parishes. So . . . it wasn't exactly a big hairy secret anymore, was it?

“Okay, lovey,” said Jekyl, sounding intrigued. “You go first.”

“Well,” said Carmela, “if you turn your TV on right this instant, you might catch the tail end of a story about the murder of Brother Paul.”

“Brother who?” said Jekyl.

“This guy who was affiliated with St. Tristan's,” said Carmela.

“Wait a minute,” said Jekyl. “The guy you were going to question? You're saying he's been murdered?”