worry about caffeine overload tonight. As tired as he was, he’d drop off to sleep in two seconds flat. With luck, he could persuade his body to wait until he got home and into bed first.
Another one down, he reminded himself, with the smallest inkling of satisfaction. The first big weekend of this year’s Mardi Gras season was half-over, and there had been no major incidents reported. Now, if that record could just hold until the big day...
He picked up the computer printout of the night’s routine complaints. It was a bad habit of his. Minor infractions weren’t his responsibility anymore, not since he’d been promoted to homicide. Nothing but the big stuff for him, except during Mardi Gras, of course. For two weeks a year, everybody pulled a few extra duties. It was the only way the good old NOPD could stretch its manpower to safe levels.
Lack of sleep blurred the names as he skimmed the list. A few drunks arrested in the Quarter. Nothing serious, just tourists satisfying appetites they didn’t give in to at home. Several fights, a mugging on Esplanade, a parade watcher hit in the stomach with a cymbal. And some woman claiming she’d witnessed a murder.
Instinctively his mind jumped into working gear. Female on Minerva float, slightly inebriated, passed out and came to in Touro Infirmary mumbling something about seeing a murder.
“Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. A few drinks and those rich society babes in the Minerva parade are liable to see anything,” he mumbled to nobody in particular.
Lindsey Latham.
The name jumped out at him like a striking snake. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the pain that settled in his gut. Old memories died hard. And some never quite made it to oblivion.
Lindsey Latham was one of those. The vivacious sweetheart of Dominican High. Daddy’s girl. She’d been the prime example of what brains, looks and money could produce. She’d had it all, including Graham’s young and impressionable heart. But what was the heart of a poor jock worth? Evidently nothing, judging from the way she’d dropped him when it was time to move on to greener pastures.
Graham reached for the mug and swallowed another gulp of the black coffee. The bitter taste was suddenly a good match for his mood. It was stupid to let a mere name from his past have such a devastating effect on his ego.
Besides, Lindsey hadn’t been back to New Orleans in ten years. No reason to think she’d returned now. No, the Lindsey Latham hallucinating at Touro was probably some party-loving young debutante, hell-bent on creating her own excitement.
“Are you still here? It’s almost 3:00 a.m. I thought you’d be home and in bed now, especially on a night as quiet as this one.”
Graham nodded at the young detective who had stuck his head in the open door. “I’m on my way. But if I had a sweet little thing on the string like you do, I would’ve been out of here long ago. In fact, if I’d known you weren’t taking care of her tonight, I might’ve been entertaining her myself,” Graham joked.
“You would’ve wasted your time trying. My woman never settles for second best.”
Graham managed a smile. Rooster was a good man. One of the best young ones to come along in a while. He’d worked with him on several cases, and he was always thankful to have him as a backup when the going got rough.
“Did you work the Minerva parade?” Graham asked, trying to sound only mildly interested.
“Yeah, matter of fact, I did. Why?”
“I was just looking over this report. It says one of the float riders passed out and ended up in the hospital. She claims she saw someone murdered.”
“We checked it out. The streets were packed, and not one other report came in to substantiate her story.”
“So you think it was a false alarm.”
“No doubt about it. There was lots to see out there tonight, believe me, but fortunately, there were no dead bodies.”
Rooster started to leave, then turned around and lounged in the doorway. “You know, it’s amazing what body parts some girls will show for a string of cheap beads.”
Graham drained the last drop of coffee from his cup and rose to go. “Not all women settle for cheap beads, old boy. Some want it all. Power, prestige and lots of cash. Especially cash.” Flicking off the light, he headed for the front door.
“Don’t tell me you’re back on that old gripe again. You need a good woman, Graham. That’s what’s wrong with you.”
“I need sleep. And I’m on my way to get some, right now. You’d better do the same. Anything might happen during the next week and a half, and probably will.”
Graham toyed with the keys in his pocket as he took the steps to street level. He was tired, but there was only one way he’d get any sleep tonight.
He’d have to make a quick stop at Touro first.
* * *
LINDSEY TRIED to catch her breath. She’d been running for hours, looking everywhere for something...someone. She couldn’t remember.
“Lindsey, are you all right?”
The voice seemed to come from nowhere. She tried to move, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. A strong hand wrapped around hers, stroking tenderly.
“That’s okay. Don’t try to wake up. The nurse says you need to sleep. I’ll be back in the morning, and you can tell me everything.”
She breathed deeply. It was Graham. He’d come to help her find...something, but what? It didn’t matter. Graham was here now. Everything would be all right. She closed her eyes and rested.
* * *
“HEY, Sleeping Beauty, welcome back to the land of the living. Or are you just passing through again?”
Lindsey blinked her eyes repeatedly, trying to bring the unfamiliar surroundings into focus. She was flat on her back in a single bed that was as hard as a rock, definitely not her own. The dimly lit room smelled of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol.
“I thought you’d never wake up. I’ve been sitting right here in this dreadful place for over two hours.”
“Brigit? What’s going on? Are you all right?” Lindsey reached out and grasped the hand of her friend, grateful for contact with warm flesh and blood and a semblance of normality.
“I’m fine. It’s you who passed out on us. You mumbled something about a soldier. Next thing we knew, you were lying on the floor of the float in a lifeless heap. Nearly scared us all to death.”
A soldier. The dashing man in uniform. The long dagger. The gush of red on the green velvet. It was coming back now. All of it. In living color. She squeezed Brigit’s hand as a frightening chill inundated her body.
“It was awful, Brigit. He murdered her in cold blood!”
With determined movements, she rose to a sitting position, throwing her bare feet over the side of the bed.
“Hey, take it easy. You’re not going anywhere. Not yet, anyway,” Brigit insisted, placing a hand on her shoulder.
