As he approached the table he noticed that the… seriously stacked blonde was wearing a T-shirt with an inscription on the front but it wasn’t until he got over to the table that he could read it in the relative gloom.
“Aloof Elven Princess.”
His first reaction was to try not to laugh; he recognized the logo. It was from a website that lampooned the Lord of the Rings in quite humorous terms. His second reaction, which he hoped was unnoticeable, was total shock.
Don’t weird-out on me, he thought. Plenty of shirts around with princess on them.
“Deputy Mondaine?” he asked, showing the deputy his badge and ID. “Detective Sergeant Kelly Lockhart, New Orleans PD.”
Mondaine could lose some weight; he more than filled his black uniform, and he wasn’t wearing a vest. Of course, in a town like this they probably weren’t the utter necessity they were in New Orleans, either.
“Is that like, ‘I’m from New Orleans PD and I’m here to help you’?” Mondaine said, dryly. “The check’s in the mail?”
“I won’t c-” Kelly started to say then stopped at the expression on the blonde’s face. “Yeah, like that. I’m looking for a guy named Carlane Lancereau. Know him?”
“Lancereau?” Mondaine said, wrinkling his brow. “There’s some Lancereaus live up in the back bayou over Nitotar way. Carlane don’t ring a bell. Why?”
“He’s wanted for questioning in the Ripper murders,” Kelly said, pulling out one of the flyspecked chairs and sitting down. “Not a suspect, just a material witness. Last-seen person with one of the victims. An informant told me he’s come down this way. He may be staying with his family.”
“I’ll ask around,” the deputy said, taking a last bite of his jambalaya. “I’d say ‘you want to come along’ but people are probably going to tell me more if you’re not.”
“I understand,” Kelly replied. “You don’t mind if I ask around town, do you?”
“Not at all. I’ll be back in about an hour,” Mondaine said, standing up and ambling from the room.
“Hello,” Kelly said, looking at the blonde and wrinkling his forehead. “I suspect you’re not from around here, either.”
“No, I’m not,” she said, trying not to grin. “I was just passing through town last night. Stopped at the hotel and this morning my car wouldn’t start. Alternator. They can’t get the part until Monday.”
“Wonderful place to spend a weekend,” Kelly said, dryly. “So much…”
“Atmosphere,” the blonde finished, waving away a fly that was trying to settle on her straw. “I’ve decided to use the word ‘atmosphere.’ And if you end up staying over, don’t go out at night.”
“Oh?” Kelly said. “Why?”
“Alligators,” she replied, smiling slightly with no smile at all in her eyes. “They tell me they come right up in the town. Very bad idea to walk around at night.”
Kelly opened his mouth up to reply, then looked down at her chest again and closed his mouth.
“My eyes are up here,” the lady said, dryly, after the examination had taken up a few seconds.
“I know, I’ve made my decision,” Kelly replied distractedly, looking up a few moments later. “I was reading. Slowly.” He looked around and then frowned again, his entire face crinkling, then clearing. “Let’s take a walk,” he said, standing up and offering an arm.
“I have to pay my bill,” the blonde pointed out.
“Why?” Kelly said, grinning. “The deputy didn’t. Clearly the food is free.”
“I have to pay my bill,” she said, again trying not to grin.
Kelly waited while the lady paid her bill and even left a small tip, which he felt was excessive considering the quality of food and service he had seen. When she was done he accompanied her outside. It was slightly cooler outside under the trees than in the sweltering bait-shop.
“What’s your name, lady wearing the Secret Diaries T-shirt?” Kelly said as they walked to the edge of the parking area and stopped under a tree.
“Barbara Everette,” Barb replied. “57 Wildwood Lane, Algomo, Mississippi.”
“Barbara,” Kelly musingly. “Barbara… can I call you Barb?”
“Yes?” Barbara answered.
“Barb, I’m going to tell you a story,” Kelly said. “I am going to tell you this story, despite the fact that I find it fantastical, because I want you to know I’m talking to you because of the story and not because of your… remarkable endowments and pretty face. Although those certainly help.”
“Okay, tell me the story,” Barbara said, dryly. “And avoiding reference to my endowments will help your case.”
“Well then, once upon a time, this must have been, oh, yesterday?” Kelly said, looking up at the sky and nodding. “Yeah, yesterday. Once upon a time I went to visit a medium, bordering on small. Now, before you get hooked up on the ‘police using a psychic’ crap, let me explain that this medium, Madame Charlotte, is very good. But not, in my opinion, because she taps into mystic understanding that mortal ken should not wot of, no, but because she’s been tapped into the street for literally decades. She knows everyone, understands people and can make some pretty astute guesses. You with me so far?”
“Oh, yes,” Barb said. “You can even use words of more than one syllable.”
“Beauty and brains, how wonderful. Anyway, I went to visit Madame Charlotte to try to figure out where my old friend Carlane had run off to. Carlane is a pimp, a rather nasty one but there’s no reason to suspect he’s become a serial killer. However, I’m starting to get a real desire to speak to Mr. Lancereau, because people are hiding him.”
“What do you mean?” Barbara asked, wrinkling her brow.
“When you ask people about someone, and you’re working on a public case like the Ripper, they tend to be either very helpful or very uncommunicative,” Kelly said, trying to explain something it had taken him years to figure out. “If they’re being helpful but don’t know the person, they say things like ‘have you checked the phone book?’ And they’re helpful in random ways. Some of them are more common: ‘I don’t know him but I’ll call my sister she knows everybody’ and the phone book question. They don’t all say: ‘well, there’s some Lancereaus up Nitotar way but that’s out in the swamps and you’ll need a boat.’ ”
“That’s what the deputy said,” Barb pointed out.
“That’s three times I’ve gotten that identical response,” Kelly replied, holding up three fingers. “Which means that three out of three people in this town have been instructed on what to say in the event of questions. And that makes me very interested in Mr. Lancereau.”
“I didn’t go to New Orleans because of the Ripper killings,” Barbara said, her face working. “Are you telling me that he might be here?”
Kelly paused and looked around the town, frowning.
“There are at least six people involved in the killings…” he said, cautiously.
“How do you know that?”
“Semen traces,” Kelly responded, coldly.
“Thanks so much for the blunt answer,” Barb replied, wincing. “Go on.”
“Carlane Lancereau is not one of the rapists,” Kelly continued. “But I’m beginning to suspect he knows who they are.”
“And the chief deputy is… what? Hindering your investigation?” Barbara asked.
“Certainly not giving full support,” Kelly replied. “I’m going to be fascinated if he turns up with Carlane in an hour.”