incompetence and corruption. Why do you think the same crooked politicians get elected year after year? We don’t much cotton to change down here.”
“I don’t know that New Orleans is so different from the rest of the country in that respect. I lived in Washington for a long time. I know firsthand about incompetence and corruption.”
“How long have you been back?”
“A couple of years. I was like a lot of people who felt the need to get back here after the flood. Do whatever I could to help rebuild the city. But I also wanted to be near my daughter. So when a spot opened up in the field office, I put in for a transfer.”
“Your daughter is here in New Orleans?”
“No, but she’s close enough I can visit her on weekends.”
She looked as if she wanted to ask more questions about that, but Nash headed her off before she had the chance. “How about you?” he said. “Have you always lived here?”
“Born and raised.” She turned back to the square to watch the parade of tourists among the panhandlers and the street vendors. In spite of the breeze, he could see a thin sheen of sweat on her brow.
“Never thought about getting out?”
“It’s funny you should ask that. My partner is considering a move to Houston to help run his uncle’s security firm. He keeps telling me there’ll be a place for me, too, if I want it. He thinks Houston would be a good place for me and my son to start over.”
“And what do you think?”
“My son is only five months old. He doesn’t care where we live.”
“And you?”
She shrugged. “It’s hotter than hell in Houston. If I move, it’ll be to someplace where there’s snow.”
“You say that now. Just wait until you’ve had to shovel your driveway a few times.”
“Some people might think shoveling your driveway pales in comparison to watching your house float away.” The breeze loosened her ponytail and she reached up to tighten the band.
The sun came out from behind a cloud for a moment, and the square seemed to explode with color—pink and purple impatiens spilling over clay pots; orange flames of hibiscus licking at the narrow walkways; yellow roses tangling around the rusted pikes of an iron fence.
Behind the bench where they sat, palm fronds waved in the breeze, the sound like the rustle of an old silk skirt.
“Anyway, enough with the yammering,” she said. “I don’t know what any of this has to do with Paul Courtland’s murder or why you feel my clueless blundering is such a threat to your operation. Surely, it’s occurred to you the investigation will move forward with or without me.”
“Not with—shall we say?—the same amount of zeal.”
She gave him a cool appraisal. “I think you seriously underestimate the NOPD. Particularly, Mitchell Hebert. He’s a thorough investigator, too. If he finds a lead that points him in the direction of Sonny Betts, that’s where he’ll go.”
“We don’t think that’s where the leads will take him, though.”
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t think Sonny Betts had anything to do with Paul Courtland’s murder.”
“And you base this on…?”
“Simple logic. Courtland was his attorney. Why would Betts kill him?”
“I can think of at least one good reason. Maybe Betts found out Courtland was working for you guys.”
Nash frowned. “Why would you think that?”
“Something his wife told us. Sounds like you were leaning on the poor chump pretty hard, and he was afraid he’d end up like some dead cop.You wouldn’t know anything about that, either, I don’t suppose.”
“No, I don’t.”
He couldn’t tell if she believed him or not. She looked like she wanted to call him out on it, but instead she took another tack.
“How did Betts find out about Courtland? Someone talked?”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Detective. Betts had nothing to do with Courtland’s murder.”
“And I ask you again, how do you know this?”
He hesitated, wondering how much he would have to tell her to get her to back off. “A few days before he was last seen, Courtland was overheard expressing a concern that he was being followed. On several different occasions, he’d spotted a strange car parked outside his apartment and his office building, and a blond woman appeared to be tailing him once when he took his daughter to the movies. She later turned up at the same restaurant.”
“Could she have been working for Betts?”
“Highly unlikely.”
She turned to face him. “You say that so definitively. Like there’s not much room for error.”
“We don’t think there is.”
“Who overheard Courtland ‘express’ this concern of his? You?”
“Not me personally.”
“Who, then?” When he didn’t answer, she folded her arms. “You had him under electronic surveillance, didn’t you? His phone was tapped. You guys really are Big Brother.”
“The point is, there’s a very high probability the person or persons who were following Courtland know something about his murder. If you find this blonde, you may just find his killer.”
She remained silent for a moment, as if carefully digesting everything he’d told her. When her gaze finally met his, he could see the wheels turning and he knew, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that she was going to be trouble. And he was already wondering what more he would have to do to keep her in line.
“Why didn’t you just tell us about this woman yesterday? Why pull strings to get me removed from the case?”
“Would you have listened? Or would you have dug in your heels?”
She frowned. “Don’t presume you know me well enough to predict my behavior in any given situation. And don’t think this is over. You guys have gone and meddled in my life, and now I’m going to have to spend some time figuring out why.”
A few moments later, Nash watched her weave her way through the square, heading for Decatur. For a moment, he considered going after her, maybe even asking her out to dinner. A little damage control might be in order because he was certain they hadn’t heard the last of Detective Theroux.
Then common sense prevailed and he realized that was about the worst idea he’d had in years. The less time he spent with Johnny Theroux’s widow, the better.
If he wanted a woman’s company, all he had to do was make a phone call or two. Not that he had the proverbial black book full of numbers, but he’d never wanted for female companionship.
Since the breakup of his first marriage, Nash had crossed paths with any number of women who had sent interested signals. Sometimes he acted on those invitations; other times he ignored them. What he never did was mix business with pleasure. He was smarter than that, although he’d made his share of mistakes, especially in the months following the divorce.
Looking back now, his reckless behavior during that time puzzled him. It was out of character for him to take so many risks, and it sure as hell wasn’t like him to fall for a beautiful, soulless woman with whom he had so little in common and about whom he knew next to nothing. Rushing into marriage was something a love-struck kid would do, not a grown man with a troubled daughter to look after.
Nash’s second marriage had lasted all of six months. When he came home on that last night to find Sophia packing her bags, all he’d felt was relief.
All he could think was
A few months later, the marriage was nothing but a bad memory. A tear in the whole fabric of his stable, conservative life.
The one good thing to come from the brief union was the return of his common sense, and for that Nash was grateful. Ever since Sophia, he’d been a lot more careful. Temptations these days were few and far between, and
