Despite the fact that she was better off without her scumbag husband, she didn’t know that and he felt sorry for her. “We’ll contact you as soon as we know more. You’ll be the first to hear. And I’m really sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
They exited the home. While they had been inside, the crime-scene crew had arrived. The van’s powerful scene lights lit up the area as if it were lunchtime. Presently the photographers were doing their thing.
Tony looked at him. “What do you think, Slick? Could she have pulled the trigger?”
“Anything’s possible at this point, but I don’t think so. From the way she reacted, she suspected the business her husband was up to at the Hustle was of the monkey variety. But she had chosen to look the other way.”
“Because he was a good husband and provider.”
“Bingo.”
“What about his second career as drug kingpin?”
“Alleged drug kingpin,” Spencer said dryly. “Clueless.”
“I feel bad for her,” Tony muttered. “Life’s gonna suck big-time for a while.”
Spencer glanced at his watch, thinking of Stacy. Her gig at the Hustle should have ended thirty minutes ago. She would want to be here.
He flipped open his cell phone and dialed hers.
She answered right away. “Stacy Killian.”
“It’s me,” he said. “Where are you?”
“St. Charles, crossing Poydras. Why?”
“You’re going to want to make a stop on the way home.”
“From the tone of your voice, I’m not picking up doughnuts.”
“Gabrielle’s dead,” he said. “Shot to death in his driveway. We’re at the scene.”
“I’m on my way.”
23
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
2:35 a.m.
Stacy stopped in front of Gabrielle’s home, put the SUV into Park and climbed out. The crime-scene van was in place, scene lights turning night to day. She spotted the coroner’s wagon and wondered which pathologist had pulled the lucky number tonight.
After signing the log, she ducked under the crime-scene tape and headed for Spencer and Tony.
Tony caught sight of her first. “Yo, Stacy. That’s a new look for you, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. You like it?”
“If I say yes, promise not to tell Betty?”
“Hell no, dirty old man.”
He laughed. Spencer turned and smiled at her. “Killian.”
Even though they made no secret of the fact that they were lovers and lived together, on the job they never acted like anything but colleagues and fellow detectives.
“Malone,” she said, stopping beside them, “thanks for the heads-up.” She shifted her attention to Gabrielle. Deputy Coroner Mitch Weiner, it seemed, had pulled the lucky number. He was squatted beside Gabrielle, examining the body.
“What’s it looking like?” she asked.
Weiner glanced up. “Looks like a single shot. Back of the head.”
“Robbery wasn’t a motive,” Spencer said. “Wallet and bling are still on him.”
“More like an execution,” Tony murmured.
“If Gabrielle was what he seemed to be, a successful, straight-arrow businessman, I might consider this a ‘blood in’ kill.”
For several of the most notorious local gangs, the price to join was a kill. Just a random act of murder. Picking off someone like Gabrielle-wealthy, white, male-would earn the shooter extra glory.
“But knowing what I do about Gabrielle’s unsavory sideline, my guess here is drug-related homicide.”
Stacy nodded and flipped open her cell phone. “Has my captain been informed yet?”
“Not from us.”
Knowing he would not want to wait until morning to hear the news, she dialed his cell. He answered, sounding grumpy.
Stacy enjoyed working for Captain Cooper. He had worked his way up from a childhood in the Desire Housing Project. He was smart, fair but tough. Being a minority himself, he understood how tough a fight it was to overcome prejudice and earn equal respect in the world. Cooper had let her know from day one that he judged her on the quality of her work-and nothing else.
“It’s Killian.”
“Good news or bad?”
“Gabrielle’s dead. Shot execution-style at his home. I’m at the scene.”
“Son of a bitch. How’d you-”
“ISD notified me.”
“Malone?”
“And Sciame. You want me to contact Baxter and Waldon?”
“Don’t bother, there’s nothing they can do tonight. We’ll meet first thing, figure out where we go from here.”
“Borger might know something.”
“I want her brought in for questioning. Have a couple of uniforms drag her down to headquarters tomorrow morning.”
“Requesting permission to conduct the interview.”
“Granted. Operation’s blown now.” He coughed, the sound thick. “Tell Malone and Sciame we want in on every step of the investigation.”
“You got it, Captain. Sorry I woke you.”
“If you hadn’t, I’d have kicked your ass.”
He hung up; she closed her phone and turned to Spencer and Tony. “Captain Cooper wants full inclusion.”
“No problem.”
“I’m going to question Borger in the morning. I’m assuming you want in?”
“Absolutely.”
“If anything else comes up tonight, let me know. I’m going to catch some shut-eye.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
She and Spencer fell into step together. They didn’t speak or touch as they made their way to the street where her SUV was parked. She unlocked the door, climbed in and looked up at him. “I’ll see you at home.”
“I shouldn’t be too much longer.”
“Good. I’ll wait up.”
Hand on the open door, he leaned toward her. “There’s something I need to ask you.”
She frowned at the seriousness of his tone. “Sure. Anything.”
“I’m just wondering, with Gabrielle dead and the investigation blown…does this mean no more lap dances?”
24
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
9:20 a.m.
As planned, Stacy sent two uniforms to pick up Yvette and bring her in. The young woman hadn’t been at all happy about it and had made a scene. Enough of one, in fact, that they’d had to cuff her to get her into the cruiser.
Stacy wondered if Yvette would recognize her right off or if it would take a moment or two. Either way, she figured it’d be ugly.
She took a deep breath, then opened the door and stepped into the interrogation room. At the sound, Yvette stopping pacing and swung to face her.
“Hello, Yvette,” she said.
The young woman’s expression transformed from angry to confused. “Brandi?”
“Detective Killian. Stacy Killian.”
Confusion was replaced by understanding. “A cop? This is just wonderful. Fucking great.”
“I’m sorry, Yvette. I was just doing my job.”
“Right. Go to hell.”
“Why don’t you sit down? I have some bad news for you.”
“I’ll stand, thanks.”
“Fine.” Stacy crossed to the table, pulled out a chair and sat, facing the other woman. “Marcus Gabrielle is dead. He was shot last night outside his home.”
Yvette blinked three times, her expression almost comically blank. “I don’t under…Are you saying-”
“He was murdered. Getting into his car. Timing suggests he was on his way to see you at the Hustle.”
Stacy could see she was digesting the information, sorting through her feelings, struggling to focus on what Stacy wanted from her. Yvette Borger was a smart girl; she would quickly focus on her own survival.
It didn’t take more than a few moments. She crossed to the table, sat and faced Stacy. “I didn’t have anything to do with Marcus getting killed. I couldn’t have, I was at the Hustle. Just like you were.”
“You were his girlfriend.”