“I embellished,” she corrected. “And not to the cops-at least I didn’t think she was a cop.”
“You always tell the police the truth?”
“Yes.”
She said it with such earnestness, Stacy laughed out loud, then stood. Obviously it was time for the “bad cop” to take another whack at her.
“Go get her,” Patti muttered as she exited the room.
A moment later, she rejoined Malone and Yvette.
He glanced at her. “How was your coffee, Detective?”
“A little weak.”
“Weak? I find that hard to believe.”
“True. It’s usually overcooked.”
Neither of them were talking about coffee. Malone grinned and pushed away from the table. “If you remember something else or want to reevaluate anything you said to me, give me a call.”
He held out his card, which she took with a smile. “If you need me, Detective, you know where to find me.”
When the door clicked shut behind him, Yvette looked at Stacy. “He’s cute.”
“If you go for that type.” Stacy opened her folder, flipped through. “The people you met at the proper-”
“He have a girlfriend?”
Stacy narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I think he does.”
“Is it serious?”
“Very.”
“She have a ring?”
The question hit Stacy hard. She supposed a ring was the difference between “available” and “not.”
Just what were she and Spencer?
“You have his number,” she said. “Call and ask him.”
“I just might do that.”
Have a ball. “These people you met at the properties, they ever introduce themselves?”
“Never. We didn’t speak.”
“Did they ever leave with something they hadn’t arrived with?”
“And vice versa.”
“Like what?”
She shrugged. “Dunno. Didn’t ask.”
“I think we’re going to have to hold you.”
“For what? You have nothing.”
“You’re the closest thing we have to ‘something.’ Give me somewhere else to look, I’ll see what I can do.”
“I liked you better as Brandi.”
“I’ll bet you did.” Stacy smiled slightly and stood. “I’ll see that you get your phone call.”
“He had a partner,” she said quickly. “Seems to me, if Marcus was using his commercial listings as drop-offs or pickup points, his partner would be in on it.”
“Drop-offs or pickup points,” Stacy repeated. “Did I say that’s what was going on?”
Yvette glared at her. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
“Name?”
“Ramone.”
“Ramone what?”
“No clue. Marcus never said, I didn’t ask.”
“Tell me about him.”
“I don’t know much. I met him once.”
“Where?”
“The Hustle.”
“You dance for him?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t like the scene. Seemed anxious to get out. I figured he was gay.”
Stacy frowned. “If a man doesn’t get off on your brand of entertainment, he’s gay?”
A small smile curved Yvette’s mouth. “Pretty much.”
Irritated, both with Yvette and herself, she refocused on Gabrielle’s partner. “Ramone ever take you to one of the properties? Or arrange to meet you? Anything like that?”
“No. Like I said, I met him once. Marcus called him his ‘partner.’ That’s all I know.” Her stomach growled loudly. “Can I go now? Your gofer boys dragged me down here before breakfast.”
Stacy nodded and stood. “We’ll be in touch. I’ll get somebody to drive you home.”
“Don’t bother. I need the fresh air.”
Stacy set one of her business cards on the table. “If you think of anything, give me a call.”
“Like that’s going to happen.”
Yvette left the card on the table, stood and walked away.
Stacy watched her go, then joined Spencer in the viewing room. Patti had gone, but Captain Cooper and Baxter had taken her place.
“I’ve filled them in,” Spencer said. “Captain O’Shay’s handing it back to you guys. This is clearly DIU’s territory.”
Stacy nodded. “I agree.”
“Obviously Gabrielle was using his commercial listings as pickup and drop-off points.”
“Drugs and money.”
“He used Borger as a way to cover his own ass. If there’d been a bust-”
“Or a dissatisfied customer.”
“-she would be the one in the line of fire.”
“That’s why he paid her so much. Big risks, big money. That’s the way it works.”
“What’s with this Ramone?” Captain Cooper asked. “Why didn’t we know he had a partner?”
“If he’s a real estate partner, he was totally behind the scenes. He didn’t come up in any of our searches.”
“Check him out. Could be this Ramone decided he no longer needed a partner.”
“That’s what my money’s on,” Baxter offered. “Good old-fashioned greed.”
“When that’s done, I want Borger to look through the mug books. And run a list of all Gabrielle’s listings. I want every one of them searched. Get a warrant.”
As they began to file out, Captain Cooper stopped Stacy. “And Killian, let Baxter deal with Borger. I think a man’ll have better luck with her.”
That’s just what was irritating the crap out of her.
To the sound of her partner’s snickers, she agreed.
25
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
3:40 p.m.
Halfway across the French Quarter, Yvette regretted having declined the ride home. Heat radiated off the pavement in shimmering waves; her pits were soaked and her feet blistered. The “barely there” sandals she had slipped into before the cops escorted her out of her apartment hadn’t been designed for hikes in the heat.
Damn cops. Dirty lying pigs. They’re the ones who should be dragged from their homes and interrogated. She thought of Brandi-make that Detective Killian-and felt the all-too-familiar feelings of betrayal and hurt rise up in her chest.
She forced them back, defiantly. So what? She’d hardly known the chick. No skin off her nose.
Marcus was dead.
She stopped cold, the finality of that hitting her. She struggled to breathe, the humid air suddenly suffocating.
She hadn’t loved him. Truth was, she hadn’t even liked him. He had been a cheat. And a liar. A vicious prick who had nearly strangled her to make a point.
But his murder hit too close to home.
Cool air blasted her as a couple exited a restaurant called Big Bubba’s. She stopped, looked longingly at the poster in the window-a fried shrimp po’boy and frosted mug of beer-then ducked inside.
She took a seat at the counter and ordered a half shrimp sandwich and a real Coke. Sugar. Caffeine. Calories. The real thing.
The waitress set the Coke and a straw in front of her. She peeled away the wrapper, dropped the straw into the drink and took a long sip, thoughts turning once again to Marcus.
She could play Little-Miss-Innocent for the cops, but she had known Marcus was up to something illegal. Of course she had. Otherwise he wouldn’t have paid her so much.
She had suspected drugs, the obvious choice. But she hadn’t asked questions or snooped. She figured the less she knew, the better off she would be. The healthier, too.
Methamphetamine. Horrible shit. She didn’t touch the stuff. It turned people into cranked-up, paranoiac freaks.
The kind of people who dealt in things like meth wouldn’t think twice about icing a stripper to insure her silence.
Yvette noisily sucked down the last of the soft drink and ordered another. The waitress brought it and her sandwich; she dug in, thoughts racing.
Marcus still owed her five hundred bucks.
It occurred to her that she should feel bad about thinking that, but she didn’t. Marcus had brought this on himself. Not that she wished him dead, but it was hard to feel bad about the death of a really rotten human being.