Mark arrived just as Jodie opened the door and came out of the interview room with Brooks. They both looked a mess. Jodie’s make-up had worn off. Her eyes looked puffy. Her hair looked matted and tired.
Brooks looked as if he’d just been in a brain torture chamber. His hair was sticking straight out. His eyes looked red and sunken and he was bouncing in place, his large arms still manacled behind with Jodie’s handcuffs..
“He’s got to go to the bathroom” Jodie announced the obvious.
Kelly took Brooks to the men’s room. Jodie, as soon as she noticed Kelly stepped back in embarrassment, smiling faintly and running a hesitant hand down the sides of her hair.
When Kelly and Brooks were out of earshot, LaStanza and Mark started talking at the same time, But Jodie shook them off, declaring she had to go to the ladies room.
“I’ll be back in a second.”
Mark put the paper bags he was carrying on LaStanza’s desk and excused himself. He had to go too.
“What’s in here?” LaStanza called out behind the retreating sergeant, a hand over the bags.
“Just wait a minute!”
Mark looked worse than any of them, now that LaStanza noticed. He looked like an unmade bed most of the time anyway, but that evening he looked like a skid row mattress. The only way to describe the state of Mark’s hair was… Harpo Marx. His clothes looked like a dump site.
Jodie rushed back in before any o the others. She looked weary and her voice was a touch on the hoarse side, but there was not hiding her glee.
“I got an inculpatory on the double thirty.” she said, looking into LaStanza’s eyes, a wide smile on her face. “But he won’t bone up to the Batture Again.”
She looked back over her shoulder to make sure they were still alone before adding, “I think he’s ashamed of that one.”
“Good. You’re gonna work on it, right?”
“She turned back with an, “Of course.”
“You need anything in there?”
“No.” Her brow furrowed as she asked, “How did Kelly get here?”
“I called him.”
“Thanks,” she put a hand on her hip and gave him a good stare.
Jesus, he hadn’t thought. He shrugged and half smiled and said, “Better worry about Brooks.”
“I got him,” she explained, her voice dropping an octave.
“You got him by the balls,” LaStanza said. “Typical fuckin’ criminal idiot. Confesses to a crime that’ll send him to the chair but not to a sex crime.”
In Louisiana, if you murdered more than one person at the same time, it was first degree murder, and therefore a capital crime, qualifying for the ultimate prize, the electric chair. Kill someone above the age of twelve, who wasn’t a policeman or fireman engaged in their lawful duties, or while committing certain felonies and it was not a capital case. It was second degree murder.
The only way to pin a first degree murder rap on Brooks for the Batture Again would be to prove he had specific intent to kill or inflict great bodily harm and was engaged in the perpetration of one of several qualifying felonies: aggravated kidnapping, aggravated escape, aggravated arson, aggravated rape, aggravated burglary, armed robbery, or simple robbery.
LaStanza wanted that. He wanted it all. Reaching into his briefcase, he withdrew the plastic bag containing the button Jodie had found in the trunk of the Oldsmobile. He hand an idea.
“If he stays cagy, call me in and I’ll show him this and ten walk out.”
“Then I’ll hit him with it, right?”
“Right between the eyes.”
Kelly came back in with Brooks, followed by Mark, who still looked like the walking dead. Jodie asked Kelly to put Brooks back in the interview room. When the killer was behind the closed door, Jodie and LaStanza asked Mark for the scoop on the apartment search.
LaStanza liked the pictures of the women in red drawers best of all. They were cut out of magazines. Jodie glanced at them before turning her attention to the .22 Beretta.
“Firearms man’ll be in at five,” Mark explained, fighting back a yawn, “and we’ll compare it ASAP.”
“Good.”
Jodie took in a deep breath and started back for the interview room.
“Wait up,” LaStanza said, showing her a picture of a blond haired girl in a red and black bra and matching panties.
“See the edge?” He pointed the bottom end of the picture at her. There were teeth marks along the bottom of the page, as if someone had gnawed on it.
“Yuk,” Jodie said in a near whisper.
“Interesting,” LaStanza said. “I bet those dried marks on some of the others is semen.”
“Eck!” Jodie said.
Mark headed back to the bathroom to wash his hands again. LaStanza joined him but only after reminding Jodie to buzz when she needed him to enter with the button.
Kelly was at the coffee table when they returned. LaStanza went to his desk and dialed directory assistance to get George Lynn’s home phone number. Lynn woke after the ninth ring.
“It’s me, LaStanza.”
“Huh?”
“You wanna scoop the TV stations?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“We got the Batture Killer here at the office. Get a cameraman ready. When we’re ready for the Hollywood Walk, I’ll call you back and you can get it all. I’ll even type up a memo for you on it.”
“Sure. Yeah. Thanks!”
“Anytime.”
Snowood and Fel entered at that point, looking as if they had been trudging through a swamp. Fell looked up at the clock and moaned, “Look at the time. And I had a date!”
Snowood, brown saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth, gave LaStanza a long, disgusted look. He spit a huge wad of crappy tobacco into the wastebasket next to LaStanza’s desk. Wiped the residue of brown shit from his moustache on the sleeve of his shirt, Snowood cleared his throat and then drawled, “I’m real disappointed in you, Wyatt.”
LaStanza grinned up at the man, knowing an explanation would follow. Snowood did not let him down.
“You catch a triple murderer. With a gun on him. And you don’t shoot him. Mighty disappointing.”
“I’m leaving,” Fel said as he wheeled and walked out.
“Yeah,” Snowood drawled again, “I think I’ll mosey on outta here too. I’ll bet Bill Hickok and Wyatt Earp are both spinnin’ in their graves tonight.” The man in the soiled cowpoke outfit turned and moseyed out of the squad room, leaving tiny drops of brown in his wake.
•
At five, Mark headed for the crime lab with the Beretta. LaStanza passed him the .38 they’d taken off Brooks to compare against the pellets from any unsolved murders. Jodie buzzed LaStanza on the intercom ten minutes later. He scooped up the plastic bag and headed for the interview room.
Jodie stood and stretching and didn’t even look at LaStanza. Brooks was seated in the room’s uncomfortable folding chair. He was leaning forward, as a man who was used to wearing handcuffs would go to relieve the pressure on his wrists. Brooks glared at LaStanza, his nostrils flaring.
“He boned up to Batture Again?” LaStanza asked.
“Nope.”
“Guess he don’t have the balls to admit tat one.”
Brooks puffed his chest out in defiance but said nothing.
LaStanza had the bag behind his back. He pulled it around and showed it to Jodie. Grinning, he said, “This button you found in god ole Sammy’s trunk, it’s identical to the button missing from Margaret Leake’s skirt. And the blood in the trunk matched too. You can tell him we’re booking him with her murder anyway. We don’t need a confession. Let him explain to the jury how her button and blood got in his trunk.”
Leaning over, he whispered in his partner’s ear, “Remember the red panties.”
Jodie nodded.
“And then,” LaStanza added in an even quieter whisper, “break it off in his ass.”
Then he walked out.
He went straight for the coffee table and fixed up another pot. He was beginning to feel the exhaustion, but fought it. He made this batch of coffee extra strong. Then he joined Kelly at his desk and waited.
He was listening to his own breathing when Mark came clattering in, dragging his feet like a little boy. Mark looked even worse. He barely made it to Jodie’s chair before falling into it. Focusing a pair of bloodshot eyes at LaStanza, Mark said, “Bingo. The Beretta’s your murder weapon, all right.”
LaStanza was too tired to applaud. He just nodded and waited. He kicked his feet up on his desk. Kelly followed suit. Mark did the same on Jodie’s desk.
When Jodie finally came out, sunlight was creeping into the squad room. Kelly was sleeping. Mark was snoring so loud, he’d prevented LaStanza from dozing off. Jodie stepped up briskly, tapping her partner on the shoulder and handed him three cassettes and a host of Miranda Rights forms.
He looked up at her. She was beaming.
“He didn’t want to be listed as a sex criminal,” she said.
“Inculpatory?”
“Confessed to it all,” she said.
He could see she was too excited to sit.”
“Says he was all fucked up when he picked up Margaret Leake. She was walking down Prytania. She said she needed a ride. He figured what she needed was a man.”
Jodie started for the coffee pot.
“Then what’d he say?” LaStanza stood now and trying to stretch.
“He took her to the warehouse district and did her there. Says he can’t remember how it happened. He blanked out. She just died. He put her in the trunk and took her to the Lower Coast.”
“Blanked out?”
“He said he saw red.”
LaStanza joined his partner next to the coffee table.
“I asked about the red panties and he wouldn’t admit it, even when I told him I always wear red panties. He started sweating and breathing hard but he wouldn’t admit it.”
“Told him you had red ones on?” LaStanza liked that touch.
“Yep. He looked like I poured itching powder on him.”
“Did he tell you why he chose that spot on the batture?”
“No.”
The coffee was burnt so they left it. Before returning to the interview room, LaStanza grabbed the eighteen inch ruler from his desk and then called Lynn and told the reporter to be along Hollywood Walk in a half hour.
Brooks stood in the corner of the room and immediately complained about the cuffs.
“They’re too tight, man!”
LaStanza checked them. “They’re not too tight,” he said, “quit twisting your hands around.”
He lifted Brooks’ left foot, untied the man’s shoe and pulled it off. Then he withdrew the ruler from his back pocket and measured the foot. Twelve inches exactly. He smiled to himself.
Brooks was giving LaStanza the hard stare now. Real tough guy look.
“You think you smart putting that gun in my mouth. I’d like to get you one on one, alone.”
“Yeah? Well you’re gonna be a little tied up for a while.” LaStanza didn’t return the hard stare. He had something else on his mind.
He looked at his partner and said, “Did you tell him how he had us?”
Jodie played along and shrugged.
“Did you tell him that we couldn’t figure out why he picked that spot on the batture?”
He looked back at Brooks who took the opportunity o say, “It was the end of the road, man. Get it?”
•
Mark was awake now, standing with Kelly an several other dicks and a couple patrolmen who came in to take a look at the newest exhibit in the new Orleans criminal zoo. Jodie led the way into the squad room, followed by Brooks and LaStanza. Mark caught LaStanza’s eye and pointed to Mason’s office.
“He wants to see you.”
LaStanza left Jodie with the ever growing entourage. He found mason on the phone. The lieutenant was laughing through a gray cloud. When LaStanza entered, Mason pointed to the chair in front of his desk and then handed the phone to him and said, “It’s your wife.”
Lizette was still laughing on the other end.
“Hello,” he said.
She quieted enough o say, “Hey, Babe.”
“So, what’s so funny?” he asked, watching Mason remove his blue blazer and hang it behind the door.
“Your lieutenant was just telling me you still have two weeks of vacation time on the books.” Her voice had a mischievous tone to it.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And right after my graduation, we’re gonna use them up, OK?”
“OK.” A second later, he asked, “Where’re we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
She was having such a good time with this, he hated to hang up.
“Um,” he said.
She took the hint.
“You’re kinda busy right now, huh?” She was having fun, putting him on.
“I only got a triple murderer to book. That’s all.”
“Then I’ll catch you later, hot shot.”
“Yeah, bye.”
“Ciao.”
Mason was still chuckling, so LaStanza asked what was so funny.
“We were just laughing about how you got that Maserati stolen.”
The men in Homicide called it Hollywood Walk, that short piece of White Street between Police Headquarters and Central Lockup, where prisoners were walked out in the open for the cameras. It was a location featured on the evening news nearly every day and on the front page of the metro Section of the newspaper, just as often.
It was full daylight when LaStanza and Jodie escorted Brooks out of Headquarters. Kelly was right behind LaStanza, at the detectives’ invitation. Lynn was waiting with a photographer. LaStanza eased to the rear, just as the cameraman stepped forward. When the strobe flashed, LaStanza was behind Brooks, completely out of sigh.
“Thanks,” Lynn aid as LaStanza handed his old classmate the memo.
Jodie waited until they were out of earshot before asking, “were you hiding?”
“I’ve been in the paper enough,” he told her.
“Thanks,” she aid sarcastically.
“You’re welcome. I even spelled your name right in the note.”
“Thanks a whole lot.”
Jodie would be the featured player in that photo, funky hair and all, her and the wide, ugly face of Sam Brooks.
“Spell my name right?” Brooks asked in an angry voice.
“Sure. Sam Mook Brooks.”
“When I get out, I’m gonna get you!” Brooks craned his neck back at LaStanza and said, “You know that. I’m gonna kill you!”
LaStanza had to laugh. “You’re gonna have to take a number and stand in line.” Then he shoved Brooks through the front door of Central Lockup.
•
The Bureau was crowded with the rank and file when they retuned. Jodie hesitated as she entered. LaStanza grabbed her am and pulled her into the nearest interview room. She looked worn but was till on a natural high.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I just wanted to tell you” he said, “getting those confessions was good work. Good police work.” He quickly corrected himself, “No, it was good detective work.”
She bounced on the balls of her feet, her face masked in a wide smile, her eyes shining back at him. She leaned forward and he thought she was going to hug him.
He reached over and landed a light punch on her left shoulder. “Come on partner, let’s go celebrate.”
He opened the door but paused a moment. Looking back at Jodie, he had to say it, just one more time, “Remember, in Homicide, you’re only as good as your last case.”
The End
Note from the Publisher
BIG KISS PRODUCTIONS
If you found a typo or two in the book, please don’t hold it against us. We are a small group of volunteers dedicated to presenting quality fiction from writers with genuine talent. We tried to make this book as perfect as possible, but we are human and make mistakes.
BIG KISS PRODUCTIONS and the author are proud to sell this book at as low a cost as possible. Even great fiction should be affordable.
Also by the Author
Novels
Grim Reaper
The Big Kiss
Blue Orleans
The Big Show
New Orleans Homicide
Mafia Aphrodite
Slick Time
John Raven Beau
Battle Kiss
Enamored
Bourbon Street
Mistik
Short Story Collections
LaStanza: New Orleans Police Stories
New Orleans Confidential
New Orleans Prime Evil
New Orleans Nocturnal
New Orleans Mysteries
New Orleans Irresistible
Hollow Point & The Mystery of Rochelle Marais
Backwash of the Milky Way
Screenplay
Waiting for Alaina
Non-Fiction
A Short Guide to Writing and Selling Fiction
Specific Intent
•
Cover Photo Copyright 2013 O’Neil De Noux
For more information about the author go to http://www.oneildenoux.net
“O’Neil De Noux ... No one writes New Orleans as well as he does.” James Sallis
“ … the author knows his stuff when it comes to the Big Easy.” Publisher’s Weekly, 3/13/06
O’Neil De Noux would like to hear from you. If you liked this book or have ANY comment, email him at denoux3124@yahoo.com
LaSTANZA BOOKS by O’Neil De Noux
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