The Lucy Ghosts

'Trimmler's been assassinated.'

'Shit. You're…I don't believe…When?'

'About two hours ago.'

'Why wasn't I called immediately?'

'I rang, sir. There was no answer.'

The Exec Director, recently married to a twenty six year old daughter of one of the leading society hostesses in Washington, remembered that he had switched his phone off when he set about proving his youth in their nightly bedtime romps. He'd forgotten to switch it back on and only remembered when he went to relieve himself in the bathroom fifteen minutes earlier.

'What happened?'

'Killed him and his wife. With a knife. Then hacked of Trimmler's arms.'

'What?'

'That's right. Left them shaped in the form of a swastika.'

'Jesus!' came the unbelieving answer.

'Maybe you should take executive advice, sir.'

'Okay. You at home?'

'Yes sir. I'm running it from here.'

'You told the DDI?'

'No. I wanted to talk to you first.'

'Okay. You tell him. Call him over to your place. And don't use the phone too long. I'll have to get back to you. We need a stenographer. I want a full report faxed here straight away.' The Exec Director was about to call the Head of the CIA, the Director himself. If anyone was going to ring the President of the United States of America at three a.m. in the morning, it sure as hell wasn't going to be his arse out on a sling.

The phone went dead in the DDA's hand. He put down the receiver. He'd already called in a stenog. She was next door, in his living room. Before he could get up from his desk the phone rang. He picked it up.

'Yes,’ he barked.

'Tucker, sir.'

'What is it, Tucker?'

'More trouble.'

'It can't get any worse.'

'The Englishman went out after he discovered Trimmler. Our driver took him up into the French Quarter. They just got back. I've had the Chief of Detectives call me. Says there was a shootout in the Quarter. Machine guns and grenades. Says one of our people was involved. I'd like to remind you that we authorised the Englishman to carry arms. He had a machine gun.'

'What makes you think it was him?'

'Because that's what our driver just told me. Seems he went after the guy who killed Trimmler.'

'How do you know that?'

'Driver told me. Something to do with a virgin's blood and piss. Sir.'

Ch. 47

Hilton Hotel

New Orleans

Louisiana.

Adam was still asleep when the DDA's trouble-shooter, Carter, hit New Orleans at five thirty in the morning. He'd brought two assistants with him, Windrush and Favor. They were runners, like Carter, but they were assistants to the assistant runner.

Marius, the other CIA driver, had met them off the private jet from Washington and driven them in his cab to the Hilton.

Their first meeting had been with Tucker, sleepy eyed and relieved to hand over responsibility to Carter.

'Snotty bastard,' remarked Carter when told about Adam. 'But he's right. He knows we can't let the cops take him downtown. Any idea why he should go on the rampage?'

'No. I think you need to speak to Frankie Mistletoe.'

'What sort of name's that?' sneered Favor. Windrush nodded agreement as a matter of course.

'What about the girl?' asked Carter.

'She's been fine. Just kept a watch on Trimmler like the rest of us,' replied Tucker.

It took nearly an hour for Tucker to complete his de-brief and Carter took him over the events of the last few days twice, just as the book said he should. The report included Frankie's trip to the cemetery with Adam and the ensuing squabble with the Chief of Detectives.

'Does Nicholson know that the cab driver's opened up to us?' asked Carter.

'No. I got that out of Frankie after Nicholson went to bed.'

'Do the police know?'

'No. Only those of us in this room.'

'Okay. Leave it like that for now.' Then he sent Tucker down to get Frankie.

While he waited he rang the Chief of Detectives at the New Orleans Police Headquarters. Their conversation was brief; Carter knew Washington had already contacted them and warned them off. The biggest battle had been with the FBI who wanted to stick their noses in. But that had now been cleared and the field was left to the Agency. But they had to move fast. The New Orleans P.D. would only sit still for so long before they'd want to resolve their own murders.

The Chief of Detectives, having been told to hand over responsibility to Carter, was understandably edgy, and Carter appeased him by telling him he needed all his assistance and would like them to work together on this one.

By the time Frankie wheeled himself in, Carter had pacified the policeman and agreed to meet him at nine a.m.

Nobody had told Carter that Frankie was disabled, and his surprise showed.

'We got equal opportunities in everything,' quipped Frankie. 'You're looking at your token disabled black member of staff.'

Carter was embarrassed and angry at not being told. 'So you took Nicholson up to the Old Quarter?' he started, after giving Tucker a reproachful glare. 'Take me through it, would you?'

There was a long silence when Frankie finally finished. 'And he took his weapons with him when he went into the cemetery?' Carter finally broke the quiet.

'Yes.'

'Where did he get the grenade from?'

'From me.'

'What the hell you doing with grenades?'

'This is a rough city. When you're committed to a wheelchair, you prepare yourself for all eventualities.'

'You didn't have to give him a fucking hand grenade.'

'He saw it and he wanted it,' Frankie lied. 'Hell, we're meant to be on the same side.'

'Did the girl know what was going on?'

'Nope.'

'But she went to the voodoo ceremony.'

'I think that was more a night out.'

'So why did he think it was this…Fruit Juice?'

'I already said. I don't know. He just got in the car, showed me this bottle and said it was Fruit Juice's calling card. Had to be Trimmler he was talking about. Nothing else was going to get him that mad. I mean, he's a pro. Trimmler's death makes him look bad.'

'Bad. And crazy,' chirped in Carter's assistant, Favor.

'He don't come over as crazy to me. He's bad, but he went in there after Trimmler's killer. Got him, too.'

'We don't know that for sure,' cut in Carter. 'And, even if he was right, he should've waited for orders. Damn it, he was under our command, not a fucking freelance.' This whole thing was already getting bigger than Carter. 'Unless he had another motive.'

'Sir?' asked Tucker, not comprehending Carter's gist.

'We're assuming that Nicholson was acting in our interests. It's time to consider if he had a different motive.'

'Why should he…?'

'You tell me. You've been with him.'

'I can't think of anything…not one thing that would make me be suspicious. He…He took his duties seriously. Never allowed a situation where Trimmler was in danger. Hell, he even took him off for the evening. If he was after him, that was the opportunity.'

'Not everything is as obvious as it seems. That's the first law of investigation. Is he still in his room?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Windrush. I want you up there. He doesn't go anywhere until I say so.' Carter turned to Tucker as Windrush left the room. 'I want to see him at nine. And I don't want him to know about our conversation.'

* * *

They didn't see Adam at nine because events changed everyone's plans.

Marius, Frankie's colleague, heard that another cab driver had taken a fare to the airport. The passenger had been a Russian or German and he wanted to catch the first plane direct to Germany or to New York where he would make a connecting flight. The cabbie had discussed it with his co-drivers as they waited for the morning rush to begin.