The Dead Play On (23 page)

Gus was also standing at the bar. Quinn himself was standing nearby, watching Gus. Billie was at a table with Father Ryan and Natasha. They were all there; they’d just moved around from her last drawing.

But this time there was more.

Craig was sitting on the bar, and while everyone in the room seemed to be doing something else, they were all really watching the little boy.

Danni finished the sketch and sat back. In a matter of minutes she had created detail and life. It was amazing, and yet...

Damned if he could figure out what it meant.

Other than that the killer had to be someone connected with La Porte Rouge, and they’d already been 99 percent sure of that.

He set a hand on her shoulder. She blinked and looked at him, and just like that she was awake again.

“Hey,” she murmured. “So...what does it mean?” she asked, studying her own work. “Do you think anything would have been different if we had known? If the Watsons had known? Or even if Jessica and Arnie had sped things up a little and gotten married?”

“We’ll never know, but things could be worse, too. Jessica and Craig could be dead, too.”

As he spoke, he heard Wolf barking. He and Danni both rose and hurried back into the hallway; the sound was coming from the main door to Royal Street, and they headed through the shop to see what was going on. Wolf was jumping excitedly and continuing to bark. Quinn took a look through the peephole.

Jessica was standing outside, accompanied by a police officer.

“Larue told me to deliver her directly into your hands,” the officer told Quinn as soon as he opened the door. The officer was grinning broadly.

Quinn realized he was standing there in boxer shorts. They were as well designed and more concealing than a lot of bathing trunks, so he just shrugged and thanked the man.

“Oh, and Larue asked you to call him as soon as you can.”

Jessica looked even more exhausted than he’d felt the night before, Quinn thought, and quickly ushered her in. Wolf greeted her as a friend.

“How’s your mom?” Danni asked, stepping up from behind Quinn.

“She’s good, but they’re going to keep her another night, or maybe two. She got a really good knock on her head when she crashed against the wall.” Jessica swallowed and looked around anxiously. “Where’s Craig?” she asked.

“Right here, darling girl, right here,” Amy said, coming from the kitchen with the toddler in her arms. “We’ve just been getting to know our grandson.”

Jessica turned white and looked at Danni reproachfully.

“The Watsons have been staying with us,” Danni said. “They figured things out on their own.”

Jessica looked as if she was about to crumple right to the floor. Quinn started to reach for her, but Danni pushed past him. “Come on into the kitchen, Jessica. You can sit down, see your son, have some coffee.”

Amy swept back into the kitchen with Craig, and the rest of them followed. Jessica fell into a chair, tears welling in her eyes. “We wanted to tell you,” she choked out. “We loved each other, we really did, even though we had our ups and downs. But we were careful. We used birth control. I didn’t know I was pregnant until he shipped out—and then I didn’t tell him until I could see him, face-to-face. And now, well...now we were working it out together. We were going to tell you. We just weren’t quite ready yet.”

“Jessica, you had your reasons. You don’t owe us a thing,” Woodrow said. “We’re just grateful you and little Craig are fine, and we want you to know we’re here when you need us.” He didn’t try to hug her, only offered her a warm smile that was so genuine that Jessica started to cry again, at which point Amy, still holding Craig, went to put an arm around her.

Danni smiled at Quinn and slipped out to the hall, catching his hand as she went.

“Let’s give them some time,” she said.

“Good idea. Besides, I think we ought to get dressed,” Quinn said.

“You have to call Larue,” she reminded him.

“As soon as I have clothes on.”

Billie walked in from the shop at that point, staring at them. “New look?” he asked.

“No, we’re running up to get dressed right now. How’d you and Tyler do last night after we all ran out?” Danni asked him. “Did Sharon stay and fill in for Jessica?”

“We were all right. Things seemed odd, though. The whole room just seemed tense to me all night,” Billie said. “But maybe that was natural. I mean, the bunch of you lit out like bats out of hell. Jessica screaming like that...it put everyone on edge.”

“We’ll be back tonight,” Quinn said. “This afternoon we— What the hell time is it, anyway?”

“Two o’clock,” Billie told him.

Quinn turned quickly to Danni. “We’d better get moving,” he said.

* * *

Danni was dressed by the time Quinn finished speaking with Larue.

She walked up to him with a questioning look.

“Larue is frustrated,” he told her. “He was talking to Grace, and she’s frustrated, too. She isn’t getting fingerprints, and everything that was used to bind and torture the dead men came from their own houses. We know the killer shot 9 millimeter bullets when he attacked Rowdy, Lily and Jeff, and that’s about it. They’ve had men watching Gus’s house, but Larue doesn’t have the manpower to follow his every movement. Same with Steve.”

“We know he’s changed his pattern, coming out earlier at least the one time,” Danni reminded him.

“I know,” he said.

“Costume shop records might let us know about a spike in purchasing if he’s using a certain place,” she suggested.

“Larue’s already tried that. No credit card records to tie either of our suspects to the costumes the killer’s used, and no one shop has sold all three recently. Whoever he is, he’s smart enough not to go to the same shop every time. Anyway, I’m going to run surveillance today.”

“Surveillance on who?” Danni asked.

“Gus Epstein.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Danni...”

“I’m going. And you won’t have to be worried about me, because I’ll be with you.”

He smiled. “Actually, it has nothing to do with me being worried. I was going to tell you that it’s usually the most boring job in the world.”

“And I’m not going to start an argument, but I suggest we drop in on Shamus. He was the one who went to confession, so we should see what we can get him to confess to us.”

“Good idea. We’ll stop by his place on the way to Gus’s.”

* * *

He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up big-time last night. He should have known. Fucking Arnie, he always had everything. First he had the magic sax, and now it was obvious that he’d also had Jessica. And when he found her purse one day and saw pictures of the kid—well, he’d known. He’d known then. Even so, he’d followed Jessica, just to be sure.

He’d barely kept his facade in place, he’d been so stunned. No wonder she’d never brought the damned kid around. No wonder she’d never shown pictures around. He was angry—and anxious. He needed that sax. Needed it
now
.

For a moment frustration almost overwhelmed him. This was a big city. It was filled with musicians. Any one of those bastards could have the sax.

No. It had to be someone with a connection—a strong connection—to Arnie.

He pulled out the picture again and studied it. Who else had Arnie known? Who else had he played with over the years?

It should have been one of the big guys, one of the top guys, but...

He studied the picture more closely. The Survivor Set, huh? Well, they weren’t all survivors anymore, were they?

He drew a deep breath and willed himself to be calm. It was all in the facade.

He had to choose a new facade.

And he had to get that sax.

* * *

Quinn called Shamus to tell him they were on the way over. Danni watched him as he spoke into the phone. He glanced her way as he repeated what had obviously been Shamus’s question. “Why? We just want to catch you up on last night.”

They could see Shamus watching through the window as they arrived. He opened the door as they reached the front steps, looking nervously up and down the street. A boy was riding a skateboard past his house, and an old woman was walking by with her groceries.

“Get in, get in,” Shamus said, sounding stressed.

The minute they were inside, he quickly closed, locked and bolted his door.

“I may get caught by this guy eventually,” Shamus said, “but I’ll be damned if I’m going to make it easy for him.”

“It’s always smart to be vigilant,” Quinn said.

“You guys want coffee or tea?” Shamus asked.

“Sure,” Quinn told him. “There’s never enough coffee to keep me awake these days.”

Shamus led the way into the kitchen. He lived in an old shotgun house; the parlor led right into the dining room, which led into the kitchen, where two bedrooms broke off to the side. The decor was Bohemian and retro hippie. He had drapes for doors and strings of Mardi Gras beads hanging from archways. A drum set took up most of the back bedroom. Danni could also see amps and mikes, along with several guitars set in stands.

“I don’t even own a sax,” Shamus said, reaching into a cupboard for mugs. “So while Arnie and I were friends, I don’t know why anyone would think I have his sax. But this guy is crazy, so I’m not taking any chances. I mean, why the hell attack Jessica’s mom then leave her alive and let her kid out and all?” he asked. “They’re both all right, aren’t they? Nothing’s happened to them since Billie filled us in last night, has it?”

“No, not that we know of,” Danni said. She perched on one of the stools by his counter. “Shamus, do you have any idea who could be doing this? Are you suspicious of anyone—did anyone ever say or do anything odd around Arnie before he died?”

“We all teased Arnie. We all said we could be just as good as he was if we had magical instruments, too,” Shamus said.

He already had a pot of coffee ready. He filled mugs for them and topped off his own. Then he reached up and pulled a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey from the cabinet and offered it to them. They shook their heads, but he added a liberal portion to his own mug then took a sip.

“I don’t. I don’t know anything,” he said.

“But Gus and Arnie didn’t always get along, right?” Quinn asked.

“Who told you that?” Shamus asked, frowning. “They got along fine except for...” He stopped and lowered his head to avoid meeting their eyes. “It was just the one time.”

“They had a fight?” Quinn asked.

“Yeah, sort of a continuing argument,” Shamus said. “But that can’t have anything to do with this. Gus has a temper on him, sure, but it’s because he cares so much about the music. He wants everything just right. All musicians hear things just a little differently or have their own ideas about how an arrangement should sound.”

“But something is wrong. Something
is
bothering you about him, right?” Danni asked.

“I promise we’ll never say that you were the one who felt something was off,” Quinn said. “If he’s innocent, we’ll find that out, too. Why do you think he could be doing this?”

“I don’t!” Shamus protested.

“Then what is it?” Quinn asked.

Shamus looked down, shaking his head. “Jessica,” he said quietly.

“What about her?” Quinn asked, and added, “Please, Shamus, if the man is innocent, we have to start looking elsewhere. Tell us what you know.”

Shamus sighed. “Gus and Arnie fought over Jessica. Gus saw how they flirted, and he told Arnie that if they wanted to be together, they’d better both get new jobs. He didn’t have any right to say it, but the thing is, he was into Jessica, too, and he could have made things unpleasant for them if he wanted to. And then, the morning after the Watsons’ house was broken into...”

“What, Shamus? For the love of God, just tell us,” Quinn said.

“He came here—to my house. He was wound tight, upset. He had a cut on his hand. And he—he had a gun on him. He told me it was legal, and for as long as someone was running around killing musicians, he was going to carry it. He’s my friend, you know. He and Blake and I hang around together, we see each other home at the end of the night, and I’ve tried to dismiss it, but...” He paused again. “I had to talk about it. I went to confession. Me mum back in County Cork would be proud. I went to confession because I needed to talk about it, but I didn’t want to betray a friend when I still can’t believe it’s him.”

“I understand, Shamus, I do,” Danni said.

Shamus lowered his head again. “He’s my mate, my friend. But—and God help me for this—I always find a way to be dropped off first. I leave him alone with Blake.” He looked up at them. “Do it—do whatever you need to do to find out the truth.”

“Excuse me,” Quinn said. He walked into the other room, and Danni knew he was calling Larue and telling him that they needed to go ahead and pick up Gus for questioning.

“He’ll never forgive me if he finds out,” Shamus said.

Danni’s phone rang just then, saving her from having to make a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep, and she excused herself to answer it.

It was Steve, according to her caller ID.

“Hey, Steve, what’s up?” she said.

He didn’t reply and her phone went dead. She looked over at Quinn as she tried calling Steve back. He didn’t answer.

She tried to tell herself that he had butt dialed her. If he was in trouble, he would have hit 911.

But anxiety ripped through her. “Quinn, tell Larue to get to Steve’s place. Have him send the closest officer there, too, and...let’s go, okay? Shamus, thanks,” she said.

And then she and Quinn were heading out to the car.

Chapter 16

QUINN PULLED OVER
to the curb just as the first patrol car arrived.

He jumped out and headed for the door, leaping up the steps leading to the house.

The door was open.

An officer came running from the patrol car. “Mr. Quinn, wait!”

But Quinn was armed and ready and through the doorway even as the officer reached him. Danni burst in behind them. “Steve!” she cried out desperately.

There was no one in the living room.

They heard a noise from the back, a scraping sound. Quinn followed it, pausing for a split second at every arch and doorway, even though he was certain the killer wasn’t there anymore.

He hurried forward, anxious to find Steve before Danni could.

He was in a back room.

He was tied to a chair, his head hanging down. Quinn feared the worst.

Trying to stop Danni was like trying to change the weather. She burst past him, sliding to her knees at Steve’s feet. “Steve!” she cried.

And Steve lifted his head, making it obvious why he didn’t reply; a kitchen towel was tied around his mouth, gagging him.

He tried to say something, but it was unintelligible.

“Hang on, we’ll get you out of this,” Danni said, searching for a way to release him.

Quinn knelt down beside her, pulling out his pocketknife. Steve had been secured to a wooden kitchen chair with a belt, two neckties and what looked like his cell phone charger. Quinn quickly ripped his way through the bindings and the gag.

“Just left...out the back,” Steve gasped.

“As what? What’s he dressed as?” Quinn asked.

Not that it mattered; the costume would be off by now, and tossed or stored where they would never find it.

“Woman,” Steve said.

“A woman?” Quinn repeated.

“Dressed...dressed as a woman.”

Quinn turned to head out in pursuit.

“Mr. Quinn, you need to wait for backup,” the officer said.

“We’ve already lost him,” Quinn said in disgust as he stopped at the open back door. He could hear sirens from the street and knew the place would quickly be filled with police.

He left Danni to calm Steve and stood in the doorway, looking out. It led out to a back lawn, slightly overgrown and filled with pieces of broken furniture Steve was apparently working on. There was a short wire fence at the back, a higher wooden barrier to the left, and bushes and trees to the right. He was heading to the rear then noticed something and turned toward the bushes. Part of a hedge seemed to be flattened; he walked out that way then passed through the neighbor’s yard and reached the sidewalk.

No one of either sex was running, or even walking, down the street. There was, however, a group of children playing in one of the yards. There were about seven or eight of them, and they were taking turns throwing a ball at a net attached to the family garage.

He trotted over to them. “Hey, kids,” he said.

They stopped; the kid holding the ball surveyed him gravely and then looked down the street to where several police cars were now pulled up on the sidewalk and the lawn.

“Did you see anyone running along here? Or walking? Did you see anyone at all who you don’t know?”

“Just the lady,” the kid holding the ball told him.

“The lady? What did she look like, and where did she go?”

“She was tall,” one of the other kids offered.

“Of course she was, moron. She was wearing heels,” a slightly older boy said.

“She had dark hair—long, down her back,” the first boy offered.

“She was funny-looking,” another said.

“Fat legs!” one said, laughing.

So their killer was a tall, funny-looking woman with fat legs—or a man in disguise.

“Thanks. Which way did she go?” he asked.

They pointed around the corner. Quinn began to run, his feet pounding hard on the pavement and then the grass as he cut across a lawn. As he ran, he heard the loud revving of an engine moving down the next street.

He kept running, hoping he could catch the license tag.

But it was no good. The car was gone, undoubtedly turning onto the highway beyond the next block. He stopped, doubled over as he caught his breath, and damned the fact that they’d missed the killer again.

* * *

Once he was untied, Steve seemed to be fine, at least physically. Danni kept a comforting hand on his shoulder as he trembled in reaction then finally looked at her and said, “Sorry. Guess I’m not hero material, huh? Asshole material, yes. I know it was stupid, but I opened the damned door. But it looked like a woman. In fact, at first I thought it was Jessica.”

“Jessica Tate?” Danni asked, frowning. “Why would she be here? Her mom is in the hospital, and her son—”

“I know. I thought she might have needed something—help, maybe, a shoulder to cry on,” Steve said.

“How well do you know Jessica?” Danni asked.

“I met her at the club, or I thought I did. But you know what? I’d run into her before. I realized that when we all had a night off and met up to see what was going on along Bourbon. We got to talking, and she reminded me that we’d met at a parish competition years ago.”

“And you really thought it was her today?” Danni pressed. It wasn’t surprising that people in the city knew one another. It just seemed odd that he’d thought she would come to him at a time like this.

“She looked kind of like Jessica,” Steve said. “I just saw a woman with long dark hair standing at the door. I admit, both my libido and my curiosity made me open it.”

Danni heard a commotion at the door and realized Larue had arrived.

He walked in, commanding, “Anyone touching anything, stop now. We’ve got to get something on this guy from someone.” He saw Danni sitting by Steve. “Of course you got here first,” he muttered.

“Steve was just telling me what happened after the killer got in.”

“He’d just gotten a knife out of my kitchen when you and Quinn got here. Without you guys...” Steve said dully. He shook his head, humiliated.

“Let’s go back to where you were,” Larue suggested. “You opened the door and...?”

“I opened the door, and he got me with a right to the jaw. I went down, and the next thing I knew, I was being tied up with my own stuff.”

“Why did you open the door in the first place?” Larue asked.

“It was a woman,” Steve said softly.

“The killer is a woman?” Larue said.

“I know some tough women,” Steve said, “but none with a right hook like the one that downed me. No, it was a man dressed as a woman. And he looked pretty damn real, at least through the peephole.”

Larue pulled out his notebook and asked Steve to go over everything that had happened. Grace Leon had arrived with her crew by then. She suggested that Steve might need medical attention, but he said he was fine for now and promised to see a doctor later.

Quinn walked back in then, and Larue ceded the floor to him. Between the two of them, Steve was asked nearly every possible question.

When they asked what color the “woman’s” eyes were, Steve was thoughtful for a moment and told them that they were yellow. “Like demon eyes,” he said.

“Seriously?” Larue muttered.

“Contacts, maybe?” Quinn asked.

“Probably,” Steve said.

Larue swore. “Bastard changes like a chameleon. He’ll be something else next time he strikes. We’re getting nowhere,” he said in disgust.

Quinn caught Larue’s eye and nodded toward a corner. Before he turned to speak to Larue privately, he said to Steve, “I’m sorry, but we need to know everything you can think of about what happened. Would you mind talking to us down at the station?”

“Not at all,” Steve said. “The truth is, I don’t want to hang around here alone.”

“We’ll get going, then,” Larue said. “Grace, I’m saying a prayer you’ll get a print.”

“He wore gloves,” Steve said. “Black lace gloves.”

“Of course,” Larue said drily. “Grace—”

“I’ll see what I can get, anyway,” she finished for him. Then she turned to Steve and said, “Before you go, I need to know where he was, anything you can remember him touching, anything at all that could help us find even the most infinitesimal bit of forensic evidence.”

“I’m all yours,” Steve told her earnestly.

Larue headed out to join Quinn, and a minute later Danni followed. When she stepped outside and joined them, they were already talking about Gus Epstein.

“We don’t have a single piece of real evidence,” Larue said. “The best I can do is ask Epstein if he’ll come in and tell us anything he can think of for the record. I can tell him we’re talking to everyone who knew any of the victims.”

“Why not just stop by and visit him? Make it look casual, less stressful,” Danni said. “Plus we could look around his place on the sly.”

“Good idea,” Quinn said. “Though if he is our guy, he’ll find an excuse not to let us in, not if he has any kind of evidence lying around.”

“Worth a try, though. You two stop in and see him,” Larue said. “It won’t look as suspicious if I’m not there. Meanwhile, I’ll try to figure a way to get a search warrant. Because if we don’t handle this legally, any evidence we find will get thrown right out of court.”

“If we don’t handle this some way,” Quinn said, “we’ll just have more bodies piling up.” He looked at Danni. “Let’s go,” he said grimly.

* * *

“I know why we can say we’re dropping in on him,” Danni said.

“Really?” Quinn asked her. “Why?”

“We’re worried about him. Steve was just attacked, and after the killer’s targeted so many people we know, we can tell him we’re trying to check on everyone we know and make sure they’re all doing okay.”

“Sounds good,” he told her.

When they pulled up in front of Gus’s house, Quinn saw that a patrol car was parked on the block. Larue had been doing his best to keep eyes on both suspects and possible victims.

Quinn pulled up directly in front of the house. He noted that Gus’s SUV was in the drive, just where it should have been.

He went around to Danni’s side of the car, but she was already out. “Be careful,” he warned her. “He does have a gun.”

“I know.” She patted her shoulder bag. “So do I.”

He nodded. “Yeah, you do, don’t you?”

He knocked on the door. There was no answer. He looked at her with a frown then pounded harder on the door. Still no answer.

The patrol officer down the street got out of his car. “He’s in there—has to be. I never saw him leave,” he called, hurrying toward them.

“Unless he went out the back,” Quinn pointed out. “Or someone went in.”

At least the cop had the grace to blush.

“I’m going around back. Be careful and stay covered,” Quinn said to Danni, who pressed herself tightly against the wall, out of range of the windows and doors.

Gun drawn, Quinn hurried around the side of the house, trying to see through the windows as he went. The house was dark; Gus could be sleeping, getting ready for another late night.

But he wasn’t, and Quinn knew it.

When he reached the small yard, he found that, as he’d suspected, the back door was open. Using his hip to avoid contaminating evidence—not that he expected there to be any—he nudged the door open farther. He moved quietly inside, finding himself in the kitchen. Muted daylight showed dust motes on the air. Nothing was on the stove; the room was as clean and neat as if it hadn’t been used in weeks. He moved through an archway into the dining room.

He thought, when he reached the parlor, that he would find Gus tied to a chair and likely dead. But what he found instead was chaos. Furniture thrown everywhere, the buffet drawers open, upholstery ripped to shreds. He quickly checked out the two bedrooms. They, too, were destroyed—but there was no sign of Gus.

“Coming out—house is clear!” he shouted before opening the front door. “No Gus, total destruction,” he said briefly.

Danni walked in, while the officer waited outside.

“Watch what you touch,” he told her then holstered his gun and called Larue, watching as Danni moved deeper into the house.

“Damn it,” Larue said as soon as Quinn finished describing the state of the house.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Quinn said. “His place is trashed, his car is here. I’m hoping he isn’t dead, but I have no idea, because he isn’t here. Why the hell would he have trashed his own house?”

“To put us off the scent?” Larue suggested.

“Quinn!” Danni called from the front bedroom.

“Hold on,” Quinn told Larue. He headed toward the bedroom.

Danni pointed under the bed.

He knelt down to look, and there, almost hidden in the shadows, he saw a
dottore
mask.

He stood up and looked at Danni, his heart sinking. He hadn’t wanted it to be Gus. He hadn’t wanted it to be anyone they knew. He’d wanted to find out the killer was a total stranger.

“It gets worse,” Danni whispered. She pointed to a framed picture hanging on the wall.

The picture Danni’s father had taken of the Survivor Set.

Arnie’s face was scratched out. So were Holton Morelli’s and Lawrence Barrett’s. There were slashes over Jeff’s, Brad’s and Jenny’s faces.

And there were checks on Tyler’s face—and Danni’s.

His stomach knotted, and he put the phone back to his ear. “Larue? You still there?We have to find Gus—and find him fast,” he said. “You’ve got to put out an APB, and you’ve got to say he’s armed and dangerous. He owns a Glock 19.”

* * *

It wasn’t easy convincing bar and restaurant owners to close down in NOLA—even when lives were at stake.

Even the owner of the Midnight Royale Café didn’t want to close, despite the fact that one of his house musicians had nearly been killed. His arguments were solid: no one had been attacked in a restaurant or a bar. Closing down was giving the killer just what he potentially wanted: the destruction of the local music scene. His final point, that there was no musician out there who couldn’t be replaced, earned him less sympathy. But eventually he agreed that a one-night shutdown might be in order.

It wasn’t as difficult with La Porte Rouge, where Eric Lyons ran the establishment for an absentee owner.