Bad Karma In the Big Easy Read online

  “What do you mean?” Kit asked.

  “Take a walk in the Quarter, go for a drive...”

  Kit’s eyes caught fire. “I can’t. He could be out there, waiting. What are you thinking?”

  “That he wouldn’t dare try anything in daylight.”

  “We don’t know that. I have to give Andy and Phillip time to find him. I have to stay here until it’s safe.” This wasn’t what she wanted to do. She wanted to be out there helping resolve the problem. But what could she do... she didn’t have any idea how to do that and God help her, she was afraid. And her fear disgusted her.

  “Okay,” Teddy said. “I want to do whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

  They spent the rest of the day in edgy companionship in Kit’s apartment. For lunch, Kit called down to Bunny’s and had a couple of burgers sent up along with two orders of her famous Cajun-spiced French fries and a gallon of sweet iced tea. She also placed an order for the day shift cop watching over her. He picked up the food at the gate and brought it up to the apartment. Believing it would compromise the security he was providing for him to remain in the apartment and eat, he took his back to the courtyard.

  Kit and Teddy spent the evening watching movies from Kit’s classic DVD collection, which ran largely to epic films with Richard Burton in them.

  For dinner, they had a couple of steaks from Kit’s freezer. After dinner, they watched Cleopatra. Around ten o’clock, Kit want into the bathroom to wash her face. Looking into the mirror she was horrified to see the stress of the last twenty-four hours had caused her eyes to look dark and sunken.

  Dark and sunken...

  Her mind flashed back to the day before, when she was looking at the morgue admission photos of Jennifer Hendrin. Dark and sunken...

  A vague presence that had been trying to swim up out of her subconscious got close enough to the surface so it shimmered just below perception.

  She went back into the living room, where Teddy was looking out the window. “I have to go to the office.”

  Teddy turned toward her, his surprise at this announcement obvious. “What for?”

  “Something he hasn’t been able to define has been bothering Andy about one of those frozen bodies. I may know what it is.”

  Chapter 20

  Teddy brought his truck down Toulouse and stopped at Kit’s gate, which opened the moment he arrived.

  Kit emerged and hurried the few steps to the truck. She pulled the door open and climbed in. Behind her, the cop on guard watched through the open gate until they pulled away. He had offered to get his squad car and follow them to the ME’s office. At first Kit agreed, then, more worried about returning home after it had been left unguarded, she changed her mind and asked that he stay behind and keep the place secure.

  The NOPD had established a curfew in the city. In the Quarter and the business district, no one could be on the streets after midnight. In other areas, the curfew was less generous. Since it was now only ten o’clock and Kit and Teddy’s route to the bridge out of New Orleans would stay entirely within the midnight curfew zone, they didn’t have to worry about being stopped by the cops and questioned.

  Of course, that wasn’t the foremost issue on Kit’s mind. In the truck, she nervously kept her eyes roving: rear view mirror, intersection ahead, the lone man strolling down the sidewalk on the right, the deep, dark doorway on the left.

  Behind them, about a block away, she noticed a vehicle at the curb flick on its lights. It pulled onto Toulouse and slowly began moving.

  Teddy hung a left at Chartres Street.

  As they reached the intersection with St. Peter a few seconds later, Kit saw headlights behind them turn onto Chartres from Toulouse, and head their way.

  Teddy turned left on St. Peter.

  Telling herself it was just a coincidence the car behind them had also gone east on Chartres, Kit kept her eyes on the rearview mirror, hoping the mystery car would sail through the St. Peter intersection and disappear.

  Instead, it turned onto St. Peter just as they had.

  Okay, Kit thought. Don’t overreact. This is just the quickest route out of the Quarter. It’s not surprising we’re both going the same way.

  The vehicle remained a block behind them all the way to North Rampart, where Teddy took another left. Her eyes riveted to the rearview mirror, Kit silently urged the vehicle behind them to turn right.

  It didn’t.

  “I’m not certain,” Kit said, “but someone may be following us.”

  “I’ve been watching him, too,” Teddy said. “Still too soon to know for sure.”

  Just to be prepared, Kit reached for her Ladysmith and held it in her lap.

  There was very little traffic on Rampart and many of the streetlamps and stoplights were not working, so outside the Quarter, the city was a more desolate place than within. That made the presence of the trailing vehicle seem like much more than a random event.

  At Canal Street, Teddy made a right.

  A few seconds later, the suspect vehicle did the same.

  Kit’s grip on the Ladysmith tightened.

  This went on for seven blocks. At Claiborne, Teddy turned left.

  Twenty seconds later, Kit said, “Here he comes.”

  “Let’s see if he follows us onto the expressway.”

  He did.

  “Now are you convinced he’s following us?” Kit asked.

  “I’m getting there.” Teddy leaned back in his seat, unfastened a lower button on his shirt, and did a dry reach for the .22 pistol holstered inside his pants.

  “He doesn’t seem to be getting any closer,” Kit said, watching the mirror.

  “Maybe he’s going to make his move after we stop.”

  “There’s a police substation on the way to the office. Gretna wasn’t flooded so it’s bound to be staffed. We’ll stop there and tell them we’re being followed.”

  “Suppose we aren’t?”

  “We’ll apologize for bothering them.”

  When Teddy left the expressway in Gretna, the vehicle followed. On this side of the river Katrina had caused much less havoc, so while the street wasn’t heavily traveled, there were now other cars in each lane.

  “If he was going to try something, seems like he should have done it back in New Orleans, where there are fewer people around,” Teddy said.

  Behind them, Kit saw a car pull out of a side street so it was now between them and the suspect vehicle. “That does seem odd.”

  A block from the police substation, Kit saw the trailing vehicle make a left and disappear.

  “He’s gone,” Kit said, the tension draining out of her. “He wasn’t following us.” She put the Ladysmith back in its holster.

  “Maybe the attack on you was just a spontaneous one-time thing,” Teddy suggested. “And he has no intention of trying again.”

  “I can’t afford to think like that.”

  “You’re right. We have to stay alert.”

  They passed the police substation, which had lots of lights visible through the windows. A couple of squad cars were parked out front.

  “You never said what it is you think might be on the autopsy photo,” Teddy said a couple of blocks later. “...Damn, what’s wrong with that guy...,” He flicked his high beams on and off to tell the oncoming vehicle in the opposite lane that his were on full blast.

  The other driver ignored the message.

  “What a jerk,” Teddy said. “Somebody should...”

  The windshield suddenly exploded into a huge cobweb as something tore through it and buried itself in the seat beside Teddy’s left shoulder. Another hit the windshield to the right of the first, spreading the web and zipping past Kit’s left ear before it smashed into the rear window, which shattered and fell onto the back seat. As the vehicle in the opposite lane roared by, the driver’s window of Teddy’s truck shattered. A projectile ripped through the cab and ticked the tip of Teddy’s nose. It traced a fiery trail across Kit’s forehead and then smashed o
ut the passenger window.

  Flinching in surprise at the shocking onslaught, Teddy jerked the wheel to the left. Unable to see anything through the windshield, but knowing the truck was out of control, he hit the brakes. The rear end of the truck fishtailed to the right, then it tipped up so both right wheels were a foot off the pavement. It crossed the opposite lane on two wheels then settled back to earth before crashing into a lamp pole. The impact sheared off the pole and it fell onto the truck, collapsing the roof.

  Fifty yards away, the vehicle from which the attack had come turned onto a side street and sped into the night.

  Chapter 21

  Kit had no idea if she was hurt. She seemed able to breathe without pain and thought she could feel all her extremities. The caved-in truck roof formed a partition between her and Teddy. All she could see of him was his lower half. He wasn’t moving.

  Despair possessed her. He couldn’t be dead... he just couldn’t be. “Teddy... are you hurt?”

  His left foot moved. He moved.

  She heard his voice: “I’m okay. Are you?”

  “I think so.” She turned and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. “My door is jammed.”

  There was a reverberating bang as Teddy threw his warped door open. “Be right there.”

  Three seconds later, he appeared on her side. He grabbed the door handle, braced one foot against the truck body, and heaved. With a screech of metal, the door opened. He reached in and unhooked Kit’s seatbelt. She grabbed his offered hand and he hauled her from the wreck.

  For a moment, they stood looking at each other as though they’d been apart for years. They fell into each other’s arms.

  “I saw you weren’t moving, and I was so afraid,” Kit breathed into his ear.

  “Just before you called out to me,” Teddy said. “I was trying to get up the courage to check on you.”

  They released each other and Kit’s hand went gently to Teddy’s left temple. “You’ve got a cut there... you’re still bleeding. And also one on your nose.”

  “You’ve got one, too, a long one, running horizontally across your forehead. It doesn’t look deep. The blood is already clotting.”

  “A bullet did it. That must have been the guy who was following us. He turned off so he could get in front and come at us head on.”

  “Not much doubt there.”

  They were suddenly caught in the glare of oncoming headlights from the near lane. Fearing their attacker had returned, they bolted for the opposite side of the truck and reached for their weapons as they dropped into a crouch.

  “Hello there,” a female voice called out. “Do you need help?”

  Kit rose and carefully looked out between the hood of the truck and the fallen lamppost suspended above it. From the streetlights on the opposite side of the road, she saw that the question had come from a woman dressed in a waitress uniform standing on the far side of her car.

  Feeling it was safe, Kit stood and came into view, making sure she kept her gun hand behind her. Teddy did the same from the rear of the truck.

  “We’re not hurt,” Kit said, “but would you stop at the police station just down the road and tell them we’ve had an incident here?”

  “I will.” The waitress got in her car and drove off.

  “We should get out of sight until the cops arrive,” Teddy suggested.

  They moved behind some shrubs and Kit got out her cell phone.

  “Who are you calling?” Teddy asked.

  “Andy.”

  BROUSSARD CROSSED HIS LEGS in the big leather chair next to the wall of books in his study and shifted his weight onto his left buttock. In his hand was a well-worn paperback edition of Crossfire Trail by Louis L’Amour, one of his favorites by that author. Apart from enjoying the Western setting in L’Amour novels, he loved the moral clarity in them, good always prevailing over evil. Tonight, facing frustration and anger over his own inability to find the monster who’d killed Jennifer Hendrin and attacked Kit, he sought refuge in a fictional world where he could succeed.

  He read another half page before his stomach growled again. In the refrigerator was a lovely spinach quiche he had made four hours ago. He sometimes had his most insightful thoughts while cooking. But even that hadn’t helped him find the answers he needed.

  In the refrigerator, too, was a nice lively bottle of Beaujolais, which would perfectly compliment the quiche.

  Those were to have been his dinner. But like a little boy who has been bad, he had decided he should not be rewarded for his work that day, but go to bed hungry. It was the only penance he could think of for failing Kit when she needed him.

  He read another half page.

  His stomach growled again, much louder this time. He looked toward the study doorway, imagining a large piece of quiche on his fork, heading for his mouth.

  No, he wouldn’t give in.

  At the bottom of the next page, just as Rafe Caradec shot the skulking Gee Bonaro, Broussard’s stomach threatened him. He looked toward the door. That quiche wouldn’t stay fresh forever. Be a shame to let it spoil... criminal actually.

  Not wanting to be a criminal, he got up and put the book on the end table by his chair. He would do his penance tomorrow, when he wouldn’t be wasting food.

  Ten minutes later, as he sat back at the kitchen table, savoring the last splash of wine in his glass, the phone on the wall rang.

  He got up and answered it. “Broussard.”

  “It’s Kit. Teddy and I have had a problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We were on our way to the office and were shot at in Teddy’s truck, most likely by the same guy who attacked me.”

  Alarmed and upset that his poor investigative skills had apparently put Kit in danger again, he said, “Either of you hurt?”

  “We’re fine, but the truck is in bad shape. We hit a light pole.”

  “Where are you?”

  “On LaFayette, a few blocks from the office.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “I’m going to see if the cops will take us to the office. If we’re not at the scene, that’s where we’ll be.”

  A POLICE PATROL CAR arrived a few minutes later and Kit and Teddy told them their story.

  “What kind of car was it?” the older of the two officers asked, looking up from the little note pad where he was entering the facts as Kit related them.

  “We never got a good look at it. When it was following us, it was too far away, then when it was coming toward us, the brights were on, blinding us.”

  “You’re not giving us much to go on.”

  “It’s not by intention.”

  The cop glanced at Teddy’s truck. “You can’t drive that anymore. Is there someone you can call to come and get you?”

  Kit said, “We’ve already done that. He’s going to meet us at the ME’s temporary offices down the street in the Gretna Green shopping center. Could you drop us there?”

  “Sure. We’ll have to wait for the wrecker first. And we need to have someone take a look at those wounds before we let you go. There’s an ambulance on the way.”

  “Where will they take my truck?” Teddy asked.

  “I’ll give you the address.” The cop flipped to a fresh page in his note pad. He jotted down an address and phone number, tore out the page, and gave it to Teddy, who looked at it briefly and tucked it into his wallet.

  An ambulance appeared from the same direction the cops had come. For the next few minutes, Kit and Teddy received more medical attention than either felt was necessary. While their wounds were being cleaned and bandaged, the tow truck arrived.

  Eight minutes later, after Kit and Teddy had repeatedly refused the suggestion by the paramedic tending them that they go to the hospital for a better medical evaluation than could be conducted in the field, Teddy’s truck was towed off to the Gretna version of pick-up heaven. Broussard had not yet arrived.

  “We can give you that ride now,” the cop said
.

  The cop’s partner, a square-jawed young man wearing frameless eyeglasses with wire temples, said, “Sure you want to go to the office? Suppose the guy who shot at you shows up over there?”

  “I hope he does,” Kit said.

  The older cop gave her a hard look. “That sounds like your carrying.”

  “We both are,” she replied. “It’s okay, we’re legal.”

  “Just don’t shoot him in the back.”

  “I’ll have to think about that.”

  KIT KEYED THE FRONT door of the ME’s offices and went inside, Teddy following. Seeing they were safely off the street, the cop behind the wheel of the cruiser that brought them, pulled away.

  Before moving in, Broussard had the glass-paneled front door and the big glass windows facing onto the mall painted black, so when Kit flicked on the lights, it wasn’t obvious from the outside that anyone was there.

  She locked the front door and looked at Teddy. “I’m sorry about your truck. It’s all my fault.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “The guy who shot at us was after me.”

  “It wasn’t you who shot up the truck, it was him.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do, and I reject the suggestion you’re responsible in any way. Besides, it’s just a truck. I know where I can buy another one. See, I go to this place, knock on the door, and when somebody comes to the little sliding peep hole in it, I show them my credit card.”

  “I appreciate you saying that.”

  “It’s what I really think.”

  “Let’s do what we came here for.”

  Trailing along behind her as she turned and headed for Broussard’s office, Kit flicked on the lights, then went back to the desk and booted up the computer.

  “What exactly is the purpose of our trip?” Teddy said, standing beside her.

  “To take another look at something I saw yesterday.”

  “Because...”

  “I’m not sure.”

  When the computer was ready, she navigated to the folder containing Jennifer Hendrin’s autopsy photos and opened it. She clicked on the close-up of the face she had looked at earlier.