Seventeen
I waited until four in the morning to return to the French Quarter to pick up my car. When I got there, I found a business card under the windshield wiper. It belonged to William P. Boudreaux, Chief of Detectives of the New Orleans Police Department. I turned the card over and on the back was written: “Please call me at your earliest convenience.”
I checked to make sure I wasn’t illegally parked; I wasn’t. I stuck the card in my shirt pocket and got behind the wheel, wondering what Detective Boudreaux wanted with me. Had I been seen earlier when I got the gasoline out of the trunk, or had someone somehow connected me to the fight outside of Pat O’Brien’s?
No, if that were the case, the police would have been knocking on my door instead of leaving a note on my car.
As I drove the several blocks to my apartment, I considered my options. I could pack up and leave again, abandoning all the efforts I’d made to create a new life here, or I could brazen it out and go see what the policeman wanted.
I laughed to myself. Neither option particularly appealed to me, but at least seeing this Boudreaux would let me know where I stood.
I decided to go and see the man, but I was going to do it on my terms. I certainly wasn’t going to walk into his office where I’d be trapped if they were on to me. This was going to take some careful planning.
The next morning, I went to the police station and told the officer at the information desk I had an appointment with Detective Boudreaux. He told me his office was on the third floor, in the homicide division. I followed his directions and entered a large room; there were desks arranged in orderly rows throughout the area, and a glass-enclosed office at the far end of the space. I could see a large, broad-chested man in shirtsleeves and a tie behind the desk, working on some papers. He had sandy brown hair and a close-cropped beard. The nameplate on the door read BOUDREAUX.
Before anyone could ask me what I wanted, I turned and made my way back down the stairs to the first floor and then out the door.
Taking up station at a small restaurant across the street, I ordered a cup of coffee and sat by a window where I could see the door to the police station.
It was 12:30 and I was on my third cup of coffee when I saw Detective Boudreaux come outside. He was with two other men and they stood on the stairs talking for a few moments before going their separate ways.
I threw a couple of dollars on the table and walked over just as Boudreaux was opening the door to his car.
“Detective Boudreaux,” I said, forcing my face into a smile.
He turned and gave me a quizzical stare. “Yes?”
I stuck out my hand. “Hi, I’m Dr. Albert Nachtman. You left one of your cards on my windshield last night.”
He took my hand, nodding. “Yeah. You were parked near a crime scene and I have a few questions to ask you about what you saw last night.” He hesitated. “Uh, how did you find me?”
“I arrived at the information desk just as you were leaving. When I told the man there I was supposed to see you, he pointed you out to me.”
“Oh. Well, Doctor, I was just heading for lunch. . . .”
“Me too, Detective. I work at a clinic and rarely take lunch, but this was the only time I could get away. How about we eat together and you can ask me your questions?”
“Well, I—”
“Today is red-beans-and-rice day at the Court of Two Sisters,” I said, mentioning one of the more exclusive restaurants in the Quarter. “I’ll treat you since I’m imposing on your lunch break.”
He grinned. “That’s a deal. I don’t get to eat at the Court very often.”
“I’ll meet you there,” I said, and walked off toward where I’d left my car.
On the way, I breathed a sigh of relief. If the detective had any suspicions about me, he would never have agreed to meet with me away from his office. Still, I would have to be very careful. One didn’t get to be chief of homicide without being very smart.
We met at the entrance and I suggested since it was such a nice day that we eat outdoors in the courtyard. After we ordered, Boudreaux got right to the point.
“Dr. Nachtman, there was a disturbance last night down the street from Pat O’Brien’s. Two men got into a fight. Afterward, my men canvassed the area and found your car parked nearby.”
I nodded. “Yes. I drove there directly after work, Detective. My clinic was exceptionally busy yesterday and I felt the need to unwind before heading home. I spent the evening listening to some jazz at a blues club on Dauphine Street.”
“What time did you get there, Doctor?” he asked, taking a small notebook from his coat pocket and making some notes in it as we talked.
“Oh, about six or six-thirty, I think,” I answered.
“And when did you pick up your car?”
“Not until this morning.”
That got his attention. “Oh?”
I gave him a rueful grin. “Yes. I’m afraid I had several drinks in the club and I didn’t think I should drive in that condition, so I walked home.”
“You live in the Quarter?” he asked.
I nodded and gave him the address of my apartment.
“And, when you parked, did you see anything suspicious? Any unusual characters hanging around?”
I laughed, trying to keep it light. “In the Quarter?” I asked, smiling. “There are always strange people on the street, but I saw nothing that aroused my suspicions.” I waited a beat, and then asked, “What do you mean?”
He sat back as the waiter brought our food. Once he’d left, Boudreaux chuckled. “Oh, like a man carrying a sword and a can of gasoline.”
I shook my head. “Now, that I would have noticed,” I said humorously.
He put his notebook away and bent to his food. “Well, it was just a shot in the dark. No one else seems to have noticed him, either.”
As I ate, I asked casually, “I understand you’re head of homicide. Was there a killing last night?”
He shook his head. “No, but one of my men thought the fight might have something to do with the Ripper killings.”
I shuddered. “I hope you found some clues to the identity of that fiend.”
“Unfortunately, no,” he said, mopping up the last of his red beans and rice with a roll. “But we did get a good description of one of the men.”
“That’s good,” I said. “Perhaps you can catch him before he kills again.”
“We’re doing our best, Doctor,” Boudreaux said, standing up and reaching into his back pocket for his billfold.
I held up my hand. “No, sir. This is on me. It’s the least I can do for our men in blue.”
He grinned and stuck out his hand. “Well, thanks again, Doctor Nachtman. I’ll let you know if we have any more questions.”
I stood up and took his hand. “Anytime, Detective, anytime.”
After he left, I sat back down and ordered a cup of coffee and let my muscles relax. It was obvious he had no suspicions about my story. Evidently, the witnesses hadn’t gotten a good look at me or he would have asked more questions about my alibi. Hopefully, this was the last I’d see of Detective Boudreaux.
As I sat there in the courtyard, drinking my coffee, I began to plan how I might go about locating the Ripper. Now that he knew I was after him, it was going to be much harder to catch him unaware.
I went back over our conversation in my mind. I remembered he’d mentioned something about a Council. Perhaps it was time for me to approach the local group and seek their assistance in ridding New Orleans of this scourge. After all, from the way he talked, they had to be as concerned about the unwelcome attention he was getting as I was.
My only decision was whether I wanted to get involved with another Vampyre Council. The last time I’d done that, it hadn’t gone so well.