49
In half an hour I was leading Heather through the shadows of the dimly lit corridors of the old state court building. It was all coming back to me, just as I had remembered it: the dark wood, the glazed glass doors, and the high arched ceilings that sported ornate plasterwork.
Outside a courtroom, Canterelle had a file tucked under his arm, and he was strenuously arguing some point with his client. Then he noticed me, excused himself, and trotted over my way.
“Trevor Black,” he bellowed, “what y’all doing here?” Before I could answer, he lowered his voice and whispered, “I’d love a favor in return for what I did for y’all’s case in federal court by helping me with my case here in state court. I have got a client over there who just won’t accept the misdemeanor plea I have bargained for him. Y’all know how clients can be. . . .”
“Actually, Morgan,” I said, “I’m here on some urgent business. I need to know who the female lawyer was who was sitting next to my daughter at the ABA session. Kevin Sanders said you found out.”
“Indeed I did. Facial recognition didn’t give us enough. But we found her full name on her registration application —which was classified, by the way, so it took some time to obtain permission from the feds. Her name on the registration was Louisa Deidre Baldou. Her registration said she was from Washington, DC.”
The last name hit me like a bucket of ice water. “Where does she work?”
“Couldn’t find that out. Privacy issues. Homeland Security reasons too, I guess.”
“So she works for the federal government, then?”
“Possibly. By deduction.”
The money-ball question: “The woman’s last name, Baldou,” I asked, “any relation to Delbert Baldou, our swamp guide?”
“Can’t say for sure. Try a PI in town by the name of Turk Kavagian. He might know.”
I chuckled. The web of connections in New Orleans —the degrees of separation between the people who knew people —was growing more and more intricate.
As I turned to leave, I broke courthouse decorum and shouted down to Canterelle’s client in the corridor, “Hey, friend, want some friendly advice? Be glad that you’ve got such a good lawyer.”
I tracked Turk Kavagian down having lunch at a place called Mother’s, a redbrick diner that had the look of a three-story warehouse. It was jammed and noisy, so Heather and I pushed our way over to his table, where he was feasting on a catfish salad.
“When you called and wanted to see me,” Turk said, “I went ahead and ordered some grub for the two of you.”
Two huge po’boys were sitting on plates for us.
“Fabulous!” Heather shouted. I remembered that earlier she had passed up breakfast and I had followed suit. We thanked him and tore into the food.
Turk craned his head to check out Heather’s neck tattoo. “Nice tat,” he said. “What is that . . . a tree?”
“Yeah,” she said without blinking. “An umbrella tree. You know, those big spreading trees in Africa. I think they’re beautiful.”
“Why a tree?” Turk asked.
I had a flashback to the spat between us about that tattoo. Wow, that felt like a long time ago. But now I was enjoying the conversation; Turk Kavagian had unwittingly led her into it, and she was opening up.
“When I was a kid,” Heather said, “I used to watch this children’s TV show called Under the Umbrella Tree. I guess it was that and, well, other reasons too.”
It was a television show she had watched as a girl. It felt good to know that. But I wanted more. So much more I needed to know about my own daughter.
“Cool,” Turk said to Heather. He turned to me. “So, Trevor, you wanted to know about Louisa Deidre Baldou? I can tell you what I know.”
“Anything.”
“As I remember it, Delbert had this girl he was raising as a daughter, because of some family problems. She was a niece of Delbert’s. Everybody called her Deidre, but her given name was Louisa. Deidre’s father —Delbert’s brother —lost a daughter, Deidre’s younger sister. Her name was Lucinda.” Turk took a second, looked me in the eye, and then said, “She was the one we found at Bayou Bon Coeur.”
Wake-up call. I blurted out, “Abducted at the old Six Flags park . . .”
“Exactly. Well, after they found the remains of poor Lucinda, the father just fell apart. Booze and drugs and a busted heart, I suppose. They found him sitting in his easy chair one day. Died from an overdose. So, next thing, Delbert takes Deidre in and raises her.”
“Delbert became a substitute father?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened after that?”
“Deidre did good for herself. Really good. It sounds like she was close to being some kind of genius. Straight As. Scholarship. Ended up going to college.”
“What kind of school?”
“Something in science. Or technology.”
“Stanford?”
“Isn’t that in California?” He thought on it for a second. “Nah, that wasn’t it.”
“MIT possibly?”
“Yeah, that might be it. Definitely on the Eastern Seaboard. Big-name school.”
“And after that?”
“I can’t help you there.”
“We have information that she also became a lawyer. You know anything about that?”
“Would Delbert be willing to talk about her?”
“Don’t count on it. For some reason Delbert closes up like a clam anytime you ask specifics about what she’s doing now. Just says he’s real proud of Deidre, given all the family tragedy. And he grins real wide whenever he says it. But won’t say anything else about her.”
We finished eating, and against Turk’s protest, I paid for everything and said that Heather and I had to hurry on to our next destination.
Turk stuck out a strong right hand, gave me a crushing handshake good-bye, and wished us well.
When we were back in the rental, Heather led into a question. “Back at the hotel I told you something. That I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing at this point. Or where I should be going.”
“I remember.”
“So,” she said, “now’s your chance. Any suggestions?”
The best I could do was to put it into a question.
“Have you ever been to Washington, DC?”
She shook her head.
“I think the two of us should catch a flight to DC as soon as possible.”
“Why there?”
I said, “That girl we saw in the porthole of the boat two nights ago? We may be her only hope.”
She gave me a long look. “That sounds noble.”
I said, “I’m hoping it’s providential.”