‘My position?’
‘Sure,’ Verlaine said, and smiled. ‘You’re not a Fed, right?’
Hartmann shook his head. ‘No, I’m not a Fed.’
‘So what’s your position in this circus?’
Hartmann smiled. He appreciated Verlaine’s honest cynicism. This was a man he could have worked with in New York.
‘My position, Detective, is that I am officially employed within federal jurisdiction. I work for the Deputy Investigative Director for the House Judiciary Subcommittee on Organized Crime.’
Verlaine smiled. ‘You must have one helluva’n office.’
Hartmann frowned. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well, title like that you’d need one helluva door to put the sign on.’
Hartmann laughed. The man was hiding something. Humor always the last line of defense.
Hartmann lit a cigarette and let the silence between them return.
‘So you went down there?’ he asked.
‘Where? Gravier? Sure, I went down there.’
‘And the pound too. You saw the car, right?’
Verlaine nodded. ‘Beautiful car, really beautiful. Never seen a car like that before, and more than likely never will.’
Hartmann nodded. He was watching Verlaine’s eyes. Next question was important. Eyes were key. People always looked to the right when they were remembering something, to the left when they were imagining something or lying.
‘So you wrote everything up, or at least relayed everything you found out to the Feds here… who was that? Luckman and Gabillard, right?’
Verlaine smiled. ‘Sure,’ he said, and his eyes went left.
Hartmann smiled too. ‘So what else was there?’
‘Else?’ Verlaine said, sounding genuinely surprised.
Hartmann nodded. ‘Something else. You know, the little thing we always keep back from the suits, just in case it winds up back on our desks and we want to get a head start? You’re a veteran at this shit, Detective. You know exactly what I mean.’
Verlaine shrugged. ‘Came to nothing.’
‘You wanna let me be the judge of that?’
‘It was just a message.’
‘A message?’
‘Someone called the Precinct House and left me a message.’
Hartmann leaned forward.
‘Someone called and left me a message of one word.’
Hartmann raised his eyebrows, questioning.
‘Always,’ Verlaine stated matter-of-factly.
‘Always?’
‘Right. Always. That was the message. Just that one word.’
‘And that meant something to you?’
Verlaine leaned back in his chair. He took another cigarette from the packet on the table and lit it. ‘Rumor has it that you’re from New Orleans originally.’
‘Word gets around fast.’
‘However big New Orleans might appear to be it ain’t ever big enough to lose a secret inside.’
‘So?’
‘So you’re from New Orleans, and anyone from New Orleans must have run by the Ferauds.’
‘Always Feraud,’ said Hartmann.
‘That’s the man. Daddy Always. That’s what I figured the message meant.’
‘You follow it up?’
‘You mean did I go talk to him? Sure I did.’
‘And what did he have to say for himself?’
‘He said that I had a problem, a serious problem. He said there was nothing he could do to help me.’
‘Anything else?’ Hartmann asked.
‘A little. He said that the man I was looking for didn’t come from here, that he was once one of us, but not now, not for many years. He said that he came from the outside, and that he would bring with him something that was big enough to swallow us all. That was the exact phrase he used, that it would swallow us all.’
Hartmann didn’t speak. The tension in the room was tangible.
‘He told me to walk away. He told me that if I believed in God then I should pray that this killing had served its purpose.’ Verlaine shook his head and sighed. ‘Always Feraud told me that this was not something I should go looking for.’
‘And this you didn’t report to Luckman or Gabillard?’
Verlaine shook his head. ‘What the hell purpose would it have served?’
Hartmann shook his head resignedly. He knew exactly what might have gone down. Luckman and Gabillard would have instigated a raid on Feraud’s place, and if they had somehow avoided a stand-off and gotten to see Feraud himself, then they would have come away none the wiser than when they went in.
There was nothing in the world that would have prompted Feraud to give the FBI anything at all.
‘He told you to walk away from this,’ Hartmann reiterated.
‘Yes. Told me to walk away. Told me not to go looking. Also told me not to go to his place again, and not to ask anything of him regarding it. He said it wasn’t something he was part of, nor was it something he wished to become involved in.’
‘And he said nothing about Catherine Ducane? Mentioned nothing about the kidnapping?’
The detective shook his head. ‘He didn’t say anything, no, but that doesn’t mean he knew nothing about it, right? He’s familiar with the way this works. He answers only what he’s asked. He doesn’t talk about anything without it being brought up by someone else first.’
‘And that was the end of your meeting with Feraud?’
Verlaine nodded. ‘Sure was. You don’t go outstaying your welcome down there, you know that.’
‘So what do you make of it?’ Hartmann asked.
‘Out of school?’
‘Yes, out of school.’
‘Whoever the hell it was got the girl, right?’
‘Yes, Catherine Ducane.’
‘And right now she’s either been hidden somewhere or she’s dead?’
Hartmann nodded agreement.
‘I figure it has to be something personal between the kidnapper and Charles Ducane. Man like that doesn’t get to be a man like that unless he’s walked alongside a few dangerous people on the way. If it wasn’t personal there would have been a ransom demand by now, or maybe a call to let us know where we could find her body.’
‘You know anything specific about Ducane?’ Hartmann asked.
Verlaine shook his head. ‘No more than anyone else would know who lives in New Orleans and gets on the rumor lines.’
Hartmann reflected on this for a moment. He’d heard his own things about Ducane but wanted to hear it from someone else’s point of view. ‘Such as?’
‘The gambling licenses, the kickbacks, the campaign slush funds, all the shit that goes with the territory. A governor doesn’t get to be a governor without greasing some palms and silencing some tongues, you know? I’ve never followed anything up on him, never had the need to, nor the interest for that matter, but evidently he’s gotten someone mightily pissed along the way and now the shit has hit the fan.’
‘Evidently,’ Hartmann said.
‘So you need anything else from me?’ Verlaine asked.
