What Happened on Beale Street Page 5

  Nate patted her hand. “No, Nic. They don’t. I’m sure Dr. Blackwood will do a thorough job despite your initial impression.”

  “Maybe, but did you see your pal Chip in action? That sleazebag was more interested in ogling Izzy than evaluating the crime scene.”

  “So you figured insulting the guy and threatening to call the governor if Danny’s autopsy wasn’t moved up the list would be helpful? You lied to law enforcement about working in Memphis as what… a Sherlock Holmes consultant?”

  “I know Danny was murdered, Nate. This was no accidental overdose. He made the wrong person angry and nobody cares but me and Izzy.” Nicki dropped her face into her hands.

  Nate waited until she cried herself dry. “That’s where you’re wrong. I care, and believe it or not, Detective Marino cares or he wouldn’t have called me. You were five minutes away from being arrested for trespassing, stalking, intimidation of an elected official, and maybe even a federal weapons charge. Did you take your gun into the county offices?”

  Dabbing her nose, she shook her head. “I locked it in the safe in my room, and it’s a good thing I did. If Marino had wasted another minute of my time about MSU’s chances for the SBC championship, I may have winged him in his arm or leg.”

  Nate fought back a smile. “He was trying to distract you until I got there.”

  Nicki leaned her head against the headrest. “I’m sorry. I know I overstepped my bounds, being that we’re from New Orleans and all. I promise to use better judgment from this point on.”

  “It’s not just that we’re from out of state. You seem to have forgotten the chain of command in an investigation. As private detectives, we have no jurisdiction and no access whatsoever on a murder case. If we expect to be kept in the loop, then we need to maintain a good relationship with Memphis police.”

  She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Should I apologize to Dr. Blackwood or maybe those security guards? If necessary, I’ll even grovel to Chip Marino.”

  He released an exaggerated sigh. “No, that won’t be enough. On the phone Marino told me he doesn’t want you to come within twenty feet of him or this investigation. His chummy talk about the Bulldogs was only to calm down a crazy woman—his description, not mine.”

  “So you’re firing me after all.” She shrugged. “I might as well have winged the guy.”

  “I’m not firing you. Consider this a probation period. If you want to stay in Memphis and help with the case, you have to stay out of Marino’s way. I’ll do the footwork like the gumshoe I am while you take care of things behind the scenes.”

  “Sounds like house arrest at the Carlton.” A ghost of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

  “Yes, but it’s a rather snazzy place for incarceration. If you prefer to go home, that’s fine too. You could clean out filing cabinets of closed cases while I’m gone.”

  Nicki grabbed his elbow. “Please don’t send me home, Nate. I’ll wear an ankle monitor or a dog collar or a ball and chain attached to the desk in my suite, but I don’t want to leave until Danny’s killer is caught.”

  “Relax. You can stay.” He carefully extracted her long nails from his arm. “But you’ll keep your distance from Detective Marino. And you’ll operate under my direction the entire time you’re in Tennessee. Understood?”

  She nodded her head.

  “Say it, Nic. I know you don’t lie, so I want verbal agreement to come from your mouth.”

  “I will tell you if I leave the premises, maintain strict curfew, and be super nice to everyone in the hotel.” Her expression betrayed the return of her spunk.

  Nate straightened the lapels of his sport coat. “That’s a little better. Now let’s go get something to eat. I’m starving. It’ll be hours before the ME comes to a decision anyway.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered. “I know I blew it back there, but it hurt seeing Danny like that. I didn’t realize how much I missed him until today. I want to do right by him, for Izzy’s sake and my own.”

  “Danny was lucky to have you for a friend.” He kept his eyes on traffic because his own emotions were close to the surface. “We’ll take things one step at a time, but I’ll make sure Mr. Joe Football leaves no stones unturned on this one.”

  The two of them ate pulled pork sandwiches, Memphis style, and split an order of fries. When they finished their second glass of iced tea, they waddled back to the car and drove the short distance to the hotel. “Why don’t you catch up on email and then get some sleep, Nic. You look like you got hit by a bus.”

  “Really? Because that’s the look I was after.” She lifted her hair from the back of her neck while they waited for the old-fashioned elevator. “Since I seem to have some time on my hands, I think I’ll crawl under the covers and stay there.” Once they reached the seventh floor, she turned and looked at him with her luminous brown eyes. “Nate, will you call me the moment you hear from Detective Marino, night or day, regardless of the hour?”

  “You won’t contact him or anyone else on the case?”

  “I gave you my word during our company meeting today.”

  “Okay, but we probably won’t hear anything until tomorrow or the next day. This is a big city—lots of murders. Go to bed.” He headed in the opposite direction.

  Inside his room, the view of the cityscape wasn’t as impressive as hers was of the Mississippi. For the next hour he studied online newspaper archives for gang activity and drug busts in the metro area until he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He’d just crawled under the covers of the antique reproduction bed when his phone rang, jarring him fully awake.

  “Hey, old buddy.”

  Nate yawned widely before saying tiredly, “How ya doing, Chip? I take it the ME has reached a conclusion.”

  “Man, I was just enjoying a burger and ESPN when my captain called. Maybe Doc Blackwood was more rattled by Miss Greenhorn than she let on. She finished her autopsy before leaving the office today. The Danny Andre case is now officially a murder investigation.”

  Nate bolted out of bed. “Are you the lead detective? What can you tell me?”

  “Was there any doubt?” Marino swaggered. “Like we figured, Andre died of a heroin overdose. But he had three times what would have been a lethal level in his blood and no old needle marks. As in zero. Usually the adventurous sort doesn’t start out experimenting with smack mainlined into a vein. They snort a little of this, smoke a little of that. But the physical condition of the body indicated no prior use.”

  “That’s what my partner believed to be the case.”

  Marino was silent a moment. “You’d be wise, old buddy, not to bring up your partner. I trust that you warned her to keep her distance.”

  “Yeah, she’s confined to the Carlton until her fiancé gets here. He’s coming next weekend to show her the city’s sights.”

  “Man, give that guy my sympathy. Anyway, I was just faxed the ME’s conclusions after her autopsy. Andre must have rubbed somebody the wrong way. She says he had the tar beat out of him, consistent with the struggle at his apartment. There’s also bruising around his neck and throat, indicating some kind of choke hold. Either while under restraint, or after he was unconscious, someone apparently injected a lethal dose of heroin. Can’t say whether still in the apartment or right before they threw him in, but the guy was dead before he hit the water. Body in river less than eight hours, consistent with the time frame of Andre’s phone call. We’ll interview his neighbors and canvass the street in the morning. Right now, I am done for the day.”

  “Thanks, Chip. I appreciate you keeping me in the loop.”

  “No problem. What are old friends for?”

  Nate hung up, feeling some of the same guilt Nicki had mentioned.

  What are old friends for? That’s probably what Danny was thinking when he called Nicki yesterday.

  SIX

  Isabelle couldn’t remember a less productive Sunday open house since earning her real estate license. Of the five couples who stop
ped by to tour the four-bedroom, two-bathroom Colonial on a double lot in Germantown, three clearly hadn’t been preapproved for financing. This was no starter house, available with a minimum down payment. Two of the couples had never owned a home before, while the third admitted to having a condo until the bank foreclosed several years ago. Isabelle patiently listened to their woes about job loss, high medical bills for a live-in parent, and special dietary needs for a sick child, but she wouldn’t be the one approving the mortgage. Unfortunately, none of their problems would change a loan officer’s mind.

  Isabelle suspected the other couples were simply nosy neighbors because they spent a lot of time studying utility bills. People wanted to know how much their biggest investment was worth in a shaky market. Everyone consumed the three dozen oatmeal cookies she had baked from scratch and drank the pitchers of sweet-tart lemonade with plenty of compliments, but if her luck didn’t improve soon, Isabelle would have trouble meeting her own bills.

  As she turned onto the tree-lined street of her development, Isabelle forgot about the cookies, spilled lemonade, and lack of sales. All she wanted to do was kick off her high heels and peel off her linen suit. Why on earth had she bought something that wrinkled at the mere mention of humidity?

  Inside her living room, she turned up the AC, scratched her cat beneath his chin, and headed for the kitchen. With an icy bottle of water pressed to her neck, Isabelle hit the button on the answering machine. Of the four calls indicated, two were from her broker and one was from Nicki. But it was the last message that turned her palms clammy.

  “Hey, pretty lady, hope you’re missin’ me as much as I’m missing you. Can’t think about nothing else but us hooking up. If you’re regrettin’ how we left things, give me a call. You’ll find me ready, willing, and able to wipe the slate clean.”

  Isabelle shakily pressed the button to replay the message, noting he left no name or number. Like I’m supposed to automatically know who he is and how to reach him.

  Unfortunately, she knew exactly who it was.

  She hurried around the condo shutting window blinds and making sure doors were locked. Then she sat in the dark studying the parked cars on the street before heading to the bathroom for a long shower. But even hot water couldn’t wash away her anxiety. Despite the pleasant tone and friendly affectation, the man who left the message wasn’t her friend.

  For several hours after she was in bed she listened to the air-conditioning cycle off and on, flinching with every loud muffler or squeal of brakes. Finally, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. A body could grow so weary that even potential mayhem couldn’t keep the eyes open. The next morning, she awoke to twisted sheets and a warm ball of fur curled up in the crook of her knees.

  “Good morning, Mr. Chester. Will it be salmon pâté or chicken giblets for breakfast?”

  An arched spine and loud purr provided an ambiguous response.

  Isabelle padded to the pantry, where she kept stacks of canned cat food but halted before making a selection. An odd splash of color had caught the corner of her eye. Running to the sliding glass doors, she threw back the sheers. Dark red paint had been splashed across her chaise lounge and glass-topped accent table. Droplets speckled the flower boxes along the railing, and a large pool had collected between the chairs.

  Isabelle carefully opened the slider and stepped onto the balcony without giving Chester access to his favorite perch. The last thing she needed was paint on his paws. Outside, a coppery stench assailed her nostrils, triggering a gag reflex. Not paint, blood. At least a quart if not more. Isabelle staggered, her fingers smearing a semi-dry blotch on the rail. She jerked back her hand, transferring blood onto her cotton nightgown.

  “Oh, mercy!” She fled inside and held her hand under the kitchen faucet until long after the residue was gone. Two, three minutes spun out as she forced her mind to work. With trembling fingers she hit the speed dial button for Nicki, grateful they had programed it while waiting in the car.

  “Hey, Izzy, what’s up? I was going to call you later.” Nicki sounded sleepy but cheerful.

  “Thought I’d beat you to the punch. How did you and Nate spend Sunday?” she asked, suddenly reluctant to come to the point.

  “We found a church close to the hotel. Then Nate spent the day trying to track down a copy of the preliminary autopsy report. As for me, I talked to Hunter and my mother and searched the Internet for recent crimes in Danny’s neighborhood. How about you?”

  “Could you come over? Something bad has happened.”

  Nicki hesitated. “What kind of bad? If this is something to do with Danny, I have to send Nate. I’ve been… removed from the investigation. It’s a story I’ll save for later.”

  Isabelle continued to scrub her hands under hot water. “Not Nate. I want you, Nicki. Believe it or not, this has nothing to do with Danny. Please hurry.”

  “I’ll be there as quickly as I can. Give me your address.”

  Half an hour later a woman Isabelle had seen little of since high school came to her rescue for the second time in less than a week. Over the years she had gained perspective on Danny’s best friend. Despite her current circumstances, it was hard not to trust a person her brother described solely with superlatives.

  Isabelle pressed the button for the downstairs entrance and waited in her doorway, using the jamb for support.

  Nicki brushed past her into the condo. “Have you heard the ME’s decision? Is that what has you freaked? Nate was probably—”

  “No. I haven’t heard anything about that, but there’s something you need to see.” Isabelle cut her off and led the way into the living room, where the open curtains allowed full view of the ghastly sight.

  “Good grief! Is that blood?” Nicki carefully opened the slider and stepped onto the balcony, her freckled complexion draining of color. She dipped one finger into a pool and brought it to her nose. “The smell and consistency are right. Call the police.”

  “I already did. They should be here any minute.” Isabelle twisted her scarf into knots.

  Nicki held up her palms as though to ward off evil spirits. “I told you on the phone that Nate suspended me while we’re in Memphis because of what happened at the ME’s office. Sorry, Izzy, but I lost my cool about the hasty OD conclusion. I was almost arrested for interfering in police business, obstruction… who knows what else.”

  Isabelle remained inside, unable to get near the grisly scene. “Whatever happened earlier, I assure you this isn’t connected.”

  Nicki wiped her fingertip on a tissue. “How do you know? If this is blood, and I’m pretty sure it is, Danny’s killer may be after you now.”

  “Germantown PD.” A voice at the door accompanied by knocking startled both women.

  “Uh-oh.” Looking stricken, Nicki ran back into the living room and crouched next to the armoire. “The cops can’t find me here! I was supposed to tell Nate before leaving the hotel.”

  “Is the guy your partner or your jailer? Go hide in the bathroom while I talk to them, but keep the door open so you can listen. I don’t want to repeat my story twice.”

  Isabelle waited until Nicki disappeared down the hall. Then she walked to the front door and invited the two uniformed cops into her home. After brief introductions, she pointed them in the right direction. She remained in the living room while they examined and photographed the balcony. When they were finished, Isabelle explained in detail her one disastrous date, followed by subsequent encounters with a man who insisted they were soul mates. Each time she recounted the bizarre details of dinner and a movie with a whacko, she felt more desperate. What kind of woman agreed to go out with someone she met while showing a house?

  “Tell us about the other run-ins you’ve had with him,” said one officer.

  Isabelle described Tony Markham attending open houses no matter what the price range of the listing, of hanging out at her favorite coffee shop, and of walking into her neighborhood store while she’d been shopping, as well as his repea
ted calls to give him “one more chance to show they would be perfect together.”

  The police offered each of the same rationalizations she’d told herself.

  “How do you know he wasn’t interested in buying a house?”

  Lots of people stop at Starbucks on their way home from work. It could have been just a coincidence.

  Maybe your grocery story was running the best sales that week.

  All she could do was shrug and state with conviction, “I know he’s stalking me. He didn’t like it when I refused to go out on a second date, and now he won’t leave me alone.”

  “Whose blood do you think that is?” asked the female cop, her expression more sympathetic. “Are any of your pets missing?”

  Isabelle picked up Chester and clutched him to her chest. “No, this is my only pet. I don’t know whose blood it is. Can’t you run tests to find that out?”

  The male cop didn’t appear convinced by her gut feelings. “Yeah, we’ll run DNA on the sample and check for matches in the database. Because there’s no body, it’s probably animal blood, maybe from a slaughterhouse. Without evidence at the scene pointing to this Tony Markham, this could be simple vandalism or teenage mischief. There’s no sign anyone was inside your condo, and if you didn’t see this bad date outside your building… ” He let his words trail off.

  “I didn’t stay up all night watching the street,” she said. Isabelle was growing sorrier by the minute that she called them.

  “We understand, Miss Andre. We’ll check with the building super to see if there’ve been similar incidents. It may be a group of kids with too much time on their hands.”

  “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” She gestured toward the balcony.

  “I would wear rubber gloves when you clean that up. Maybe you could ask your neighbors to keep an eye open. Neighborhood watches are good deterrents to this type of crime. Like I said, we’ll talk to building management and call you if we get a lead.” The pair was already heading to the door.