The Storm Murders (23 page)

Initially she drew close to him, kissed his forehead, but then backed off a few feet. As she turned, it seemed to Cinq-Mars that something was on her mind.

“What?”

She shrugged. “Just a thought. You’ll think it’s crazy.”

“Try me. That’s my way of doing business. Anyway, this case is nothing but crazy.”

“Just don’t laugh. Promise me.”

“Sandra,” he said. A growing irritation was evident in his voice.

“You want someone to be your feet in New Orleans? Your contact on the ground type thing, just as you’re supposed to be the FBI’s man on the ground here?”

“That’s about the size of it, yeah.”

“Dupree must be a busy cop, given the New Orleans crime stats. Agent Sivak, the same. Like you said. So what about Everardo Flores? I can tell you one thing about him. It’s my impression that he’d jump at the chance.”

“He’s no cop. He’s even, sort of, a suspect, although not really.”

“If he’s a suspect, so much the better. Keep your enemies closer, isn’t that what they say? Anyway, who else do you have?”

A ludicrous idea. For that reason, more than any other, Cinq-Mars liked it. He liked it a lot.

NINETEEN

His first call was to Pascal Dupree of the New Orleans Police Department. The detective had slipped him his home phone number before Cinq-Mars left town, but
É
mile chose to call him at work. Doing so lent a professional air to his inquiry, even if nothing in the matter could be deemed official.

“Funny. I was planning to ring you,” Dupree told him. “Swear to God. Got the note right here, written down in block letters and everything.
CALL
É
MILE.
I’ve been underwater, baby, swimming in the blue bayou. Y’all know how that goes.”

“I know what it’s like to be drowning in a swamp,” Cinq-Mars agreed. “Just not swamps with crocodiles.”

“Are you sure about that? You wrestled a few crocs in your day,
É
mile. Just not down here. This is alligator country, my friend. If you stayed on a spell y’all might’ve found that out firsthand.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Significant. I could go on all day.” Dupree seemed to be warming to the subject. Cinq-Mars heard the rustle of paper and the murmur of assorted voices in the background. Images arose in his mind’s eye of the detective at his desk, tie slackened, crooks and dealers being shuffled through to holding cells right before his eyes. “I’ll stick to the bare essentials. Alligators flee, crocs attack.”

Cinq-Mars released a chuckle. “That
is
a critical difference.”

“Crocodiles always show their lower teeth, that’s their best identifier.”

“I’ll remember that the next time I’m wading through a swamp.”

“It’s good to know. But here’s the thing. Hard to believe, but Louisiana is too cold for crocs. They like to bask in the sun to warm up. They can’t do that when it gets chilly in these parts. And it does go all the way down to chilly here, though not by your standards. Gators can live at the bottom of a swamp—in freshwater, by the way—even if the surface is being chopped up for ice-cubes. Crocs die in weather like that. They’re strictly tropical. And strictly brackish water or salt. You got to travel down to the base tip of Florida to find a croc sunning itself anywhere in the whole of America.”

“At least now I know where not to go looking.”

“Gators are pussycats.”

“If you don’t mind, I still won’t take one as a pet.”

“That’s advisable. Anyway I’m not offering.”

“Both of us, we’ve had our run-ins with gators and crocs.”

“That’s why you’re calling, I suppose.”

“What were you going to call me about?”

“To see how y’all were doing. To check on your wife. How’s she doing?”

Cinq-Mars let him know that they were both on the mend. Then he said, “I need boots on the ground in New Orleans, Dupree.”

“Just can’t let it go. Is that wise?”

“Probably not very. But have you ever known a situation in this life where it makes sense to yield to intimidation?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?”

He had a point. “Never mind,” Cinq-Mars said. “But I know you’re busy.”

“That’s God’s truth. I’d be lying if I said any different.”

“So I figured I needed to come up with something else.”

A momentary silence while Dupree did some thinking. “Well,” he said finally, “Sivak might say yes, but I’m guessing that she’s busy, too.”

“So you’re saying no.”

“More or less. Depends. Your wife was kidnapped. That’s an open file. I can pursue the case to a certain extent. But she was released with no ransom paid, so my superintendent won’t expect me to devote my life to the cause. That she was found on Danziger Bridge intimidates the brass, that has to be stated.”

“Within those parameters, maybe we can work something out. I was thinking about asking Everardo Flores.”

Another moment’s suggestive pause. “Y’all are joking, right? Or is that some kind of backhanded reverse psychobabble razzmatazz bullshit intended to change my mind? Won’t work,
É
mile.”

Sandra entered the room. Cinq-Mars tipped his hand up as though tilting a glass, mouthed the word “please,” pulled a beggar’s face, and she left to get him a glass of water.

“Do you know what he did before taking over hotel security?”

“Parked cars? Served drinks? Beats me. A bellhop?”

“Military police in the air force.”

The silence seemed respectful this time. “All right,” Dupree said. “I hear you.”

“He’ll need some hands-on supervision. A dose of semiofficial authority from time to time. Somebody who can debrief him face-to-face, a look-him-in-the-eye type scenario. I haven’t asked him by the way. Wanted to check with you first. I don’t know if he’ll be willing.”

“Don’t be a kidder,
É
mile. He’ll jump through hoops at the chance.”

“So my wife says. You’ll think I’m kidding again, but she’s the one who suggested it.” Cinq-Mars accepted the glass from Sandra.

“She’s a good woman,
É
mile. I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to know her better. To know you both better.”

“We had to eat and run.”

Dupree released a laugh. Then said, “If you like, I can go over to the Hilton myself. Talk to him about this. Look him straight on as you say and see how that goes down. You know, just in case.”

“Just in case he wants to do this too much, you mean.”

“Something like that. We saw what happened to Sandra,
É
mile. Y’all want him talking to the common folk, but still, this is not without risk.”

“Make sure he keeps his head down. Remind him. We don’t want him to spook the wrong people. Here’s the thing—he might be able to go over to that neighborhood and talk to the dead couple’s old neighbors and arouse no particular suspicion. That’s all I’m really talking about. All I’m looking for is a rehash of local opinion on the matter. Sandra suggested Flores, mostly because she thought he might be willing. Me, I’m thinking that he might be able to move around the scene and be invisible, not a presence to be feared. Set off no alarms. Obviously, my showing up got people agitated, including you, initially, for no damn reason. Flores shouldn’t have any effect. That way, no offense, he’s a better choice than you.”

He could see Dupree nodding and signaling to a colleague about another matter entirely, sipping his coffee and putting his feet down on the floor as he thought this through. Or perhaps Cinq-Mars was merely nostalgic for life in a cop room again.

“Are your feet on the floor yet?” he asked him.

“Say what, Emile? Come again?” For the first time, Dupree sounded puzzled.

“Never mind. Just curious.”

He imagined Dupree swinging around in his chair, planting his elbows on his desk. “Okily dokily,” he said from New Orleans. “We’re agreed. I’ll chat up Flores.”

“Fine by me. I’ll hear from you.”

“ASAP. Good talking to you,
É
mile. Y’all take care now. Say hello to Sandra. What a fine woman she is. Don’t forget to tell her I said so now.”

“Take care, Dupree.”

“As always,
É
mile, that depends.”

Cinq-Mars put the phone down and smiled at Sandra. “Thanks for the water. I felt I was back down south, parched. Detective Dupree sends his regards. He thinks you’re a fine woman.”

“I’m glad you didn’t argue the point.”

His next call went through to Agent Vira Sivak.

“Who this time?” Sandra asked, but he put a forefinger to his lips to request silence. The agent was answering.

“It’s
É
mile Cinq-Mars calling,” he said.

“I know,” she replied.

“Modern devices, hey? More information than you can shake a stick at.”

“How are you, Mr. Cinq-Mars?”

He didn’t know if it was because she was a woman that they spent time on the niceties, but he was certainly equally to blame. When they fell to silence, having discussed their general health and the business of modern life, he piped up with another innocuous question, this time about the weather. They wound up chuckling, for despite living in decidedly different climates, they both described their current conditions as
mild.
Which pleased them both.

“Traveling much?” he asked her then.

A momentary pause to process the odd query.

“Not at all. Why do you ask?”

He might have answered,
because it’s a technique, to wander all over the map so that the person you’re talking to doesn’t know where on the map you are.
Instead he said, “Idle curiosity. Just popped out. But to get back to my original thought…” He wondered if she could get back to that though, notwithstanding that he had made it virtually impossible.

Agent Sivak gave up on the quiz and asked, “Which is?”

If nothing else, he had lulled her into believing that he was a tad dim, or at the very least, past it. A view that Sandra, listening in, seemed willing to validate.

“Modern devices, Agent Sivak, and the information they reveal. Aren’t they something? I have a favor to ask, Agent.”

“Anything at all, Mr. Cinq-Mars.”

Perhaps he should not have insisted on being called
mister.
If she was addressing him as Sergeant-Detective he might feel less sensitive to being patronized.

“That’s incredibly kind of you. I was talking to Detective Dupree recently.”

“How is he?”

This time, she was the guilty party and he was not going to indulge the pleasantry. “Ah, he seemed fine. I could have asked this favor of him, but I’m not sure that he has the resources for me to trust the result.”

“As I said, anything you’d like, Mr. Cinq-Mars.”

He realized then that she pronounced his name remarkably well for an American. “Do you speak French, Agent Sivak?”

She laughed. “I’m sure you didn’t call to find that out.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. As I was saying, isn’t modern technology wonderful? A long-distance call used to be a big deal,
especially
if I was calling the States. Now, a penny a minute, or less than a penny, a fraction, I can’t remember now. To my mind, it’s virtually free. So I’m happy to talk all day.”

“Except that you want a favor from me that has something to do with modern technology, and if you don’t ask the question you won’t get an answer.”

She was on the ball, this one, he had to give her that.

“The night of my wife’s abduction—”

“Yes?”

“Everardo Flores received a phone call, to his mobile device—I don’t even know if we can call them phones anymore, they do so many things.”

“And what about that call, Mr. Cinq-Mars?”

“Could you trace it for me?”

“I’m sorry. Trace it? Which call?”

“The one from the hotel to his mobile device asking him to return to work.”

Her slow way of speaking suggested that she was doubting his intelligence or sanity again. “The call went from his hotel to his phone. What is there to trace?”

“Oh you know what I mean.”

She didn’t.

“Not trace. Track. Or something. Can you find out for me where he was when he received that call? Where on a Google map we might stick a pin? He said he was on his way home. I will feel more comfortable knowing that that was the case.”

“And not up to the mischief regarding your wife, in other words.”

“It’s a process of elimination.”

“All right. I’ll be happy to do that, Mr. Cinq-Mars. Is there anything else?”

“Possibly.”

“What’s that?”

“Alabama. Would you consider going? In my stead, as it were. Apparently, as you know, my wife and myself are to be harmed if we venture into the United States. Maybe we can go for a swim and a nosh just over the border, but we don’t really know that, do we? I hope she can visit her family. But anything related to business, police business, I mean, supposedly will result in harm to Sandra and myself. I realize that you’re busy. I understand.”

“What’s in Alabama?”

“The next of the storm murders in the series. I was hoping that you might poke around. But I know you’re busy. It is an imposition.”

With some reluctance, she agreed to consider his request. Something that Cinq-Mars was not expecting. Then she broached a matter of her own. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Do you mind, if, when I phone you, I call you
É
mile?
I have reasons to ask.”

“Reasons? You don’t need a reason. May I then call you Vira?”

“Thank you. I just wanted you to understand that—” She paused. This might be one of the times she was talking about.

“On occasion, you may want the call to sound informal,”
É
mile said what she was not free to explain at that moment. “In case someone is listening in from the desk next to yours. You want a colleague to think it’s a personal call.”

“That’s more or less the size of it.”

“No problem.”

He said to Sandra, after hanging up, “She’ll consider going. To Alabama. I can’t believe it.”

“Excuse me if I’m not as enthused as you,” she said.

“What’s wrong?”