nodded. “That’s great, man. What about Mack?”
“Same song, second verse. He walked out of the jail, too, but I had no idea where he was. Turns out he thought his wife and new baby were dead, too, so he slunk back into the bayou to nurse his wounds. Only, he still got the newspaper, so when Barnaby went down, he contacted me. He was ready to clear our names. He was staking out a party by the local elite and who does he spot alive and well? His wife, Lily. And then he helped bring down more of the players.”
“So he ended up proving that Mayor Barrow was in on the government corruption with Barnaby,” Ray filled in. “Good job, both of you. Where’s Mack now?”
“He and Lily and their son are on a long, quiet vacation at the beach, getting to know each other again.”
Ray tapped a finger on the newspaper. “What do you know about Hennessey?”
Remy drained the last of his café au lait and pushed the mug aside. “You mean, can we bring him to the party?” he asked.
Ray nodded. “We had him dead to rights.” He held up his closed fist. “We even had a plea agreement with Flay.”
“Had is right,” Remy said with a shake of his head. “Teague Fortune, a detective here in the Sixth, ran Flay for me. There’s not a damn thing on him after the storm. No credit cards, no checks. Not even a driver’s license or a tax return.”
“What does the Department of Public Records do about somebody who just disappears?”
Remy shrugged. “You kidding me? Somebody who disappeared during Katrina? Nothing.”
“So you’re telling me that Flay is missing and presumed dead?”
“Hell, Ray. It’s been eight years. Ain’t no presumed about it. Too bad we never had a chance to use that plea bargain.”
Ray muttered a few curses he’d learned at his dad’s knee. “That sucks. I was counting on Flay’s testimony. Most of my evidence was destroyed in the flood. Did you manage to salvage anything?”
Remy shook his head. “Anything that Katrina didn’t destroy Barnaby and Barrow got rid of.”
“Great,” Ray growled. “Hennessey belongs is prison, and I’m planning to put him there. There is no way he’s going to be governor if I have anything to say about it.”
“Good luck with that. You’ve only got six months.” Remy chuckled.
“Check back with me in six weeks, smart-ass.”
“I don’t know. You should have seen Hennessey when Barnaby and Barrow went down.” Remy punctuated his words by pointing at the picture of Hennessey on the newspaper’s front page. “He didn’t even blink. He acted as if he didn’t even know those two lowlifes. It’s like he’s made of Teflon.”
“We’ll see what he’s made of. So can I count on you to help me?”
Remy grinned sheepishly. “Love to, Ray, but Carlotta and I are eloping next week. She’ll kill me dead if I even look like I want to change our plans.”
“Congratulations,” Ray said, then added, “Wait a minute. You’re planning to elope? Isn’t that kind of missing the point?”
“We’re getting married in Houston, then flying to Cancun for a week. Want to put all this off for a week or two and go with us?”
“I think I’ll stay here and tackle Hennessey. I don’t want him to get one millimeter closer to the governor’s mansion.”
“You call Teague Fortune if you need anything,” Remy said. “He’s a good guy. Plays his cards close to his chest. You can trust him.” Remy gave Ray Fortune’s number, then looked at him.
“I wish I could be here, Ray, but true love wins out. Carlotta and I did our part. We took down Barnaby. I’ll be back two weeks from today if you need me then.” Remy held out his hand. “Good to see you, man.”
Ray shook Remy’s hand. “Thanks. And thanks for starting the cleanup for me. It’ll be easier now that Barnaby and Barrow are out of the way.”
“It’ll be a banner day when Hennessey goes down. Say—” Remy looked at him “—have you seen his sister, Molly, since you’ve been here?”
Ray made a show of getting out his wallet. “Nope. I just got here yesterday.”
“You ought to check on her,” Remy said. “She was nice. Too bad she’s got a son of a bitch for a brother.” He touched his forefinger to his temple. “Call me if there’s anything I can help you with over the phone.”
Ray smiled. “Will do. Thanks, Remy.”
After Remy left, Ray stared at Hennessey’s photo. Ray had been the only one on the investigative team who’d actually worked at the LDAT offices. He’d never told Remy or Mack about Molly or what he’d done, although they knew that Hennessey’s cute college-age sister was volunteering at her brother’s office. He’d never told them how he knew about the secret meeting called by Hennessey to plan the diversion of grant moneys. Afterward, when the planning meeting turned out to be a poker game, and Mack had casually mentioned Hennessey’s sister and suggested that pillow talk was never reliable, Ray had clenched his jaw and kept his mouth shut.
He didn’t have to be told that it was his fault Hennessey, Barnaby and Barrow had come through Katrina smelling like roses. Or that he was responsible for Remy and Mack losing eight years of their lives. Bringing Hennessey down would go a long way toward making it up to both of them.
Right now, though, two people had said he needed to check on Molly, and that was exactly what he was going to do.
Chapter Two
That afternoon, Ray was loitering across Canal Street from the building that housed the Hennessey law offices when Molly Hennessey walked out through the tall glass doors and turned left on Canal. She had on a short, flouncy skirt and platform heels. From his vantage point, her legs were just as long and toned and the rest of her just as slender and perfect as he remembered.
As he watched, she stopped at the corner, checked the Walk/Don’t Walk sign, sent a hurried glance up and down the street, then ran across to the neutral ground barely in time to miss the traffic.
Ray took a deep breath and stuck his phone into his pocket. He arched his neck, plastered a Me? I’m just walking down the street look on his face and set off on a collision course with her. He walked as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
Just as the light changed and Molly headed across, Ray caught a glimpse of a man he’d noticed earlier hanging around the attorneys’ building. The man lumbered awkwardly into the neutral ground. Soft and sweaty, with thinning wisps of brown hair blowing straight back as he stumbled up onto the curb, he was hardly noticeable—unless you knew him.
And Ray knew him, although he couldn’t think of his name. Before Katrina, he’d been a two-bit private detective who’d done some quasi-legal work for Patrick Flay. There was no way it was a coincidence that he was tailing Molly.
Ray
