him,” Quentin answered. “He was pretty shaken up. Didn’t hear or see anything. Same for Suki and Paula, the two waitresses who closed with him.”
“Any chance Shannon’s our guy?”
“No way. Besides, he has an alibi. Until closing, he never got out from behind the bar. After closing, he was with Suki and Paula. They all walked out together.”
Terry chimed in. “Usually Shannon takes the trash to the Dumpster while the girls clean the bar, but last night each of the girls grabbed a bag, then they all walked out together.”
“What time was that?” she asked.
“Between 3:00 and 3:10 a.m.”
“And none of them saw anything?”
She sounded incredulous and Quentin stepped in. “The alley’s poorly lit. The three were exhausted and anxious to get home and Suki and Paula were sniping at each other over some split tips. The vic was obscured behind and in the shadow of the Dumpster.”
Captain O’Shay hesitated, then nodded. “What about cause of death?”
“Pending a complete autopsy, M.E. called it suffocation.”
The captain’s eyebrows shot up. “Suffocation? In an alley?”
“Yeah, unusual. She was definitely raped first. Signs of bruising and tearing on and around the labia. Bruises on her inner thighs as well.”
“The evidence team find anything?”
“A few hairs, some fiber. Scraped under her nails.”
Terry shifted in his seat. He looked ill.
“What about her ex?” The captain looked directly at Terry.
“An old guy,” Terry replied, voice shaky. “Broke down, blubbering like a baby when we told him. Still loved her, he said. Hoped she’d come back to him.”
“Sounds like he had motive.”
“But no opportunity.” Quentin shook his head. “When Terry said older, he meant old. An oxygen tank, wheelchair, full-time nurse. The whole deal.”
“Old but very rich,” Terry added. “Old Metairie address. New Orleans country club. The whole bit. Bet it never occurred to her that she’d go first.”
Captain O’Shay glanced sharply at him. “Any boyfriends?”
“None that her ex knew of,” he answered quickly. “We’ll keep asking around.”
“So what’s this about a potential situation?”
She looked directly at Terry once more. He shifted uncomfortably under her direct gaze. “Like we said, we were there last night. At Shannon’s. The vic was really carrying on, dancing in a real sexual way. Putting on a show, if you know what I mean?”
The captain’s eyebrows shot up once more. “No, I’m not sure I do.”
Quentin glanced at his partner. Going down the “she asked for it” avenue was not going to work with Patti O’Shay. In fact, it would do little but piss her off.
Terry realized his mistake and quickly changed tack. He cleared his throat. “All I’m trying to say is that…I came on to her. More than once.”
“And she wasn’t interested.”
“Yeah.” He flushed slightly. “I’d had a little too much to drink and…and—” He fumbled around for something that would paint him in a more sympathetic light.
When he came up blank, the captain filled the break. “And you didn’t take no for an answer.”
“Like I said, I’d had a little too much to drink.”
Captain O’Shay stood and came around the desk. She perched on its edge, looking down at her detective, forcing him to look up at her. “And you think that makes bad behavior acceptable? “
He squirmed under her withering gaze. “No, Captain.”
“I’m glad we agree on that, Detective. What happened next? “
“I pushed too hard. Me and the vic exchanged words, the guy she was with and I almost came to blows.”
The captain didn’t look happy. “Almost?”
“Malone saved my ass.”
She shifted her gaze to Quentin’s. He nodded and she crossed to the window, looked out at the cold bright day. Without turning she said. “Write it up. All of it. Both of you.”
“Yes, Captain.”
She turned then. “I know you’re having some trouble in your personal life, Detective Landry. Do you need a leave of absence until it’s straightened out?”
He shot to his feet. “No way, Captain! I’d go crazy if I couldn’t work.”
She hesitated a moment, then inclined her head. “All right. But I don’t want to see a repeat of last night’s behavior. I will not allow you to drag this department through the muck with you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Good. One more item. I’m giving the case to Johnson and Walden.”
“Those disc jockey wanna-bes?”
“That’s bullshit, Captain.”
Detectives Johnson and Walden took never-ending ribbing about the similarity of their names to New Orleans homegrown, premier radio personalities Walton and Johnson. The deejays were creative, innovative and funny as hell. The two detectives, on the other hand, were not only distinctly unfunny, but a couple of dull bulbs.
“Landry” she continued as if they hadn’t spoken, “you’re off. Malone, you’ll assist.”
“Assist?” Quentin leaped to his feet. “Captain O’Shay, with all due respect—”
“Conflict of interest,” she said crisply, cutting him off. “Hours before Nancy Kent was raped and murdered one of my detectives had a heated argument with her. A very public argument. That makes him a suspect. Automatically.”
She looked from one man to the other. “How wise of me would it be to let that detective work the investigation? Or to let that detective’s partner serve as lead man on the case? I think you’ll agree, it wouldn’t be wise at all.”
“And once Terry is cleared of all suspicion?” Quentin asked.
“Then, hopefully, the case will be solved. If not, we’ll talk.”
But don’t get your hopes up. “Is that all?”
“Landry, you’re excused. Malone, I need to speak with you privately.” When Terry had closed the door behind him, she
