Polly Iyer - Diana Racine 03 - Backlash (7 page)

S
avoring
a steak at a local diner, Chenault dug his ringing phone out of his pocket.

“You got the other phone with you?” Hodge asked.

“It’s in the car.”

“Get it.”

“I just started eating.”

“Someone’s going to call you.” The line went dead.

That meant the boss. Hodge’s tone rankled him. Since when had he become the boss’s secondhand man? Chenault wolfed down a few more bites, threw some bills on the table, and hurried to his car. He got there in time to pull the safe phone from his glove box. As always, the readout said “Private.”

“You need to take care of Alba, tonight. You know Restview Cemetery?”

“Off Read Boulevard?”

“Yeah. Meet us there at ten, and bring Alba. Tell him I called for a meeting. He’ll believe you. Drive all the way to the back.”

“Why a cemetery?”

“That’s where dead people are buried. Understand?”

“Jesus, I hate ―”

“Just do it, Chenault. That’s an order. And take the phone with you in case there’s a change of plans. Do not leave it in your car.”

“Okay, but ―” The call disconnected.

Chenault didn’t have a good feeling. Ever since he’d killed Moran, he’d been on edge. It was a senseless murder, but what else could he do? Everything had gotten out of control. They were supposed to right judicial wrongs, punish those who needed punishment, like he had arranged to punish his father. Instead, they were murdering friends. Covering their mistakes only created another mistake, each one bringing them closer to discovery.

Would it stop at Alba?
If Alba’s email is discovered with my name on it, will I be next?

Good thing he didn’t finish his dinner. The bad feeling unsettled his already queasy stomach even more. Could this be a trap? If so, he wouldn’t go unprepared.

He called Alba and told him about the evening’s plan and that he’d pick him up in a couple of hours, after he checked in at the site of a home invasion.

“Why at a cemetery?” Alba asked.

“Restview is out of the way. No one will see us.”

Alba hesitated. “Okay. My shift is over. I’ll grab a bite of dinner and be ready when you get here.”

Chenault should never have recruited the guy in the first place, but Alba’s story of childhood abuse convinced him he was a good choice. Alba was his mistake, it seemed right he should be the one to take him out.

Too fricking late for regrets.

An out-of-the-way place to meet.
It sure as hell was. He checked his weapon, then added an ankle holster with a .22 for good measure.

* * * * *

C
henault
picked up Alba at nine-fifteen. He wanted to arrive at the meeting place early, get a feel for the area, but Hodge’s car was already parked in front of the tree-lined border in back.
So much for arriving early
. Clouds sifted across the half-moon, shrouding the old cemetery in an eerie darkness. Tombstones, monuments, and grave markers placed every which way with no pattern exaggerated the spooky atmosphere.

Two dark figures, no more than shadows, leaned against the car, waiting. Chenault parked next to them, and he and Alba got out. The air smelled damp and earthy, raising the hackles on Chenault’s neck. Tight-lipped, he nodded to Hodge, then at the boss who rested against the SUV with his hands in his pockets.

Something was off. Tension filled the air and wrapped tightly around Chenault’s chest. Hodge wouldn’t look him in the eye, and when he finally glanced Chenault’s way, his friend appeared almost apologetic.

“Why’d we have to come out here?” Alba said.

“To get a few things straight.”

“Yeah, I screwed up. A stupid mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“Exactly. It won’t happen again.”

The boss’s tight, clipped words set an ominous tone. This meeting wasn’t only to silence Alba. Hodge slid his hand into his pocket, putting Chenault on high alert. He knew what was coming down even before his old friend pulled a gun from his pocket. Chenault drew his, but he was a fraction of a second too late. The first time Denny Chenault had ever been late on the draw.

The blast pierced the quiet night.

“Why?” he cried out.

Pain burned into his chest like molten lava, and he crumpled to the cold ground. So, so cold. He should have known. He should have.

Another shot.

“What ―”

Chenault heard Alba’s unfinished sentence, felt the young man’s body thump next to his. Chenault tried to move, to lift the gun still in his hand. A hard shoe kicked it away. Helpless, his breath laboring in short spurts, sucking dirt into his mouth, he closed his eyes to a darker world.

He thought Hodge said, “Sorry, Denny.”

T
he
next morning, Lucier parked in front of a small, well-kept house on the outskirts of the city. He could have called ahead, but he didn’t want Jaycee Diamond calling Chenault to double check what she should say. He rang the bell, and a tall, statuesque woman answered the door with very little on. A strapless stretch top and shorts cut as high as possible and still be decent.

Diamond looked him up and down with an appreciative leer.

“Hell-lo,” she drawled. “What can I do for you?”

Lucier flipped open his badge case. “Lieutenant Lucier, Ms. Diamond. May I ask you a few questions?”

“Oh, a cop. What a disappointment. Sure. Come on in. Have a seat.”

He followed her into a neat living room of chintz and dark wicker and settled into a comfy club chair. Jaycee sank into an overstuffed sofa.

“I won’t take up much of your time,” he said.

“I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m strictly legal. I strip for a living, nothing more.”

“That’s not why I’m here. I understand you’re friends with Dennis Chenault.”

“Denny? Sure. We’ve gone out a few times.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“He’s a cop. You should know more about him than I do.”

“But not in the same way.”

“We’ve gone out to dinner. Nice places.”

“And after dinner?”

“I didn’t realize cops beat around the bush so much. You want to know if we’ve had sex?”

“I wouldn’t presume to ask,” Lucier said, feeling mildly uncomfortable now. He should have planned this interview more carefully instead of coming off like an altar boy.

“But you want to know. Why?”

He dodged the question with one of his own. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“The other night. Tuesday, I think. He came to my show, and we went for a nightcap after. Then he took me home, we had sex, and he told me he didn’t want to see me again. The rat.”

“Did he say why?”

She stood up, stretched suggestively. Though Lucier tried not to notice, Cash was right. She was stacked and then some.

“Men don’t dump me, Lieutenant. I usually dump them.”

Lucier had conducted hundreds of interviews, and his gut told him there was more to the story. He tried again. “What reason did he give?”

“Just that we were finished. I wasn’t in love with him or anything. There was always something missing, you know?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I knew his reputation. Love ’em and leave ’em. Mostly with someone else’s wife. Like he didn’t want to commit. He always dumped them. Pretty shitty, if you ask me. But I’m single; he’s divorced. I thought, okay, let’s see what all the hoopla is about with this guy. But he … he needed kink to get off.”

“Kink?” Jesus, he was acting like a rookie, or a dumb teenager. He knew what kink meant.

She worried her bottom lip. “This won’t get back to him, will it?”

“If he ever hears of our conversation, you’ll be the one to tell him.”

“Well, since I won’t be seeing him anymore, I’ll tell you. He liked anal sex, and not only him into me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You know what a strap-on is?”

The heat rose to Lucier’s face. He swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“He liked it both ways, along with me going down on him. I’ve never experienced that before. I thought he might be ―”

Lucier interrupted. “Gay?”

“Or bi. He couldn’t get it up any other way, and believe me, I tried. He always got me off, but I wondered if he played kinky with all women or just me.” She crossed her long legs in a slow suggestive manner. “Some women think they can change a man, you know? But if he’s twisted like that, it ain’t happening. I gave him a go, though. Thing that makes me mad is him dumping me. I should’ve been the one.”

Lucier wasn’t a prude, but this conversation had taken a path he didn’t expect. One more question. “Did he ever mention the downside of being a cop?”

“Like what, specifically?”

“Criminals getting off when they shouldn’t, or how easy it was for the bad guys to walk?”

She thought, pursed her brightly painted red lips. “You mean like justice isn’t always just?”

“Yeah.”

“He didn’t talk shop much, but he mentioned that kind of thing once or twice.”

Lucier rubbed his chin, nodded, and got up. He got what he came for. “Thanks for your candor. Detective Chenault won’t hear any of this from me.”

She followed on his heels. “I didn’t even offer you a drink. Tea, water,” she paused, “something stronger?”

“No thanks. I’d better be going.”

“Nice to meet you, Lieutenant ― I forgot your name.”

“Lucier.”

“Luce ― Aren’t you the cop boyfriend of that psychic? You were in the paper after the piano player was killed, right?”

“Um, yes and yes.”

“Whoa, talk about weird.”

“Not really.” Lucier was getting sick and tired of people telling him how strange it must be having Diana as a girlfriend, but he wouldn’t argue the point. “Thanks for your help.”

“Did Denny do something? He must’ve, or you wouldn’t be asking these questions.”

“Tell you what. You forget I was here, and I’ll forget everything you told me. How’s that?”

“Sounds good to me.” She took his arm. “So you’re hooked up, huh?”

“I really am.”

“Pity.”

Lucier left Jaycee Diamond’s house and headed to the district. She wouldn’t be his type even if he were looking for a woman, and he wasn’t.

The possibility that Chenault was gay or even bisexual had never occurred to Lucier before Miss Kitty mentioned his friendship with Moran. If that was the case, and Chenault ruined marriages as a cover to keep him in the closet, he was sleazier than Lucier ever imagined.

Was Moran’s death the result of a lover’s quarrel or something more?

Lucier wondered why he was so fixated on Chenault. True, he didn’t like the guy, didn’t care about his sexuality other than his method of concealing the truth, and ten out of ten people probably would agree that justice wasn’t always equal or right. Even Chenault’s kinky sexual habits didn’t prove anything. Lucier had nothing concrete to implicate Chenault in what he now thought of as two revenge murders. Still, he couldn’t erase the gut feeling that Chenault was somehow involved.

Beecher and Halloran were writing up their reports when he got back to his office. Cash hadn’t returned from interviewing Alba.

The two men followed Lucier into his office. “Are you ready for this? Rudy Hodge and Marty Feldman said they went barhopping the night of Moran’s murder and closed the place down. They weren’t playing cards.”

“I sure didn’t expect that.” Lucier looked over the papers on his desk, but he wasn’t reading them. His mind scattered in ten different directions.

“Why would Chenault name them as alibis?” Beecher said.

“Because I put him on the spot and asked him to name names. He came up with the best alibi he could on the spur of the moment, figuring his buddies would cover his ass.

“Split up the time frames and go back over the court judgments for the last couple of years. Pull out any you consider similar to the Soulé and Winstead verdicts. Then cross check everyone involved, including jurors and judges. See if anyone met with an accident or was a victim of an unsolved case. Make note of the day and time.”

“You still think there’s an avenger?” Beecher asked.

“Feels like a pattern. Right now, I’m curious how Chenault will react when he finds out his friends didn’t cover his back.”

“If you can find him,” Halloran said. “I haven’t been able to.”

“Did you check with his captain?”

“Yup. He hasn’t heard from him either.”

“This is looking suspiciouser and suspiciouser,” Beecher said.

Lucier rubbed his chin. “Our vigilante could have started with one case that was personal, then taken it upon himself to recruit others to right a series of what he considered wrongs. Maybe they all had something to avenge. A case they worked on, something in their families. Cover all the bases.”

“Couldn’t find Alba anywhere,” Willy Cash said, joining the rest of the team.

“What do you mean?” Lucier asked.

“What I said. He didn’t call out, and he didn’t show up at his district either.”

“What the hell.” Lucier was still trying to assimilate the information when his cell rang. Diana.

“Ernie, you need to come here right now.”

“What is it?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Diana, talk to me. What?”

“Remember what I saw when I touched Keys?”

“Yeah.”

“The actual picture is on my computer, in my email. And Keys Moran sent it to me. You’ll never guess who forwarded the email to him and who sent it originally.”