Murder in the Irish Channel (Chanse MacLeod Mysteries) Read online

  “Oh, she was over there, all right. She was over there before the insurance inspectors were.” Loren refilled his glass with vodka. The ice was melted, but when I started to get up he waved me to sit back down. “Needless to say, when the inspectors turned in their report, they claimed only thirty-five thousand dollars’ worth of hurricane related damage had occurred.” Loren slipped his glasses back on. “Now, with over twelve hundred units, and at least five roofs coming off completely—you tell me how the hell a property of that size only sustained thirty-five thou worth of hurricane damage? Luke was furious. He’d been paying a small fortune in insurance premiums for years, only to have the insurance company try to screw him.”

  “Yeah,” I replied with a shrug. “That sucks.” But it was a story told so often in post-Katrina New Orleans it had almost become a cliché. Everyone had been fucked over by their insurance companies—to the point where the word insurance had become an epithet almost on the same level as FEMA. “So, I guess it’s safe to assume Marino is suing? And has hired your firm.”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “You said Mona got over there to check out the property before the insurance inspectors. I assume her story is a bit different from the insurance inspectors’?”

  “Mona O’Neill.” Loren smiled at me. “Mona O’Neill is the key to our case, Chanse. You see, Mona took her responsibilities as a property manager seriously.” He poured more vodka into his glass. “Mona sent her son Jonny out of town with her daughter Lorelle and her family, and actually rode the storm out at Cypress Gardens.” He smiled. “While I’m grateful she did, because of our case, I also can’t believe she did it, you know? But after the storm was over, Mona used her passkeys and checked out every apartment in every building. Her original intent wasn’t to check for the damage—she was checking for residents who hadn’t evacuated, to make sure they were okay. But what she saw—the extent of the damage—she went back and got her digital camera, and took pictures of everything she saw. Those pictures, mind you, were time and date stamped.” He made a face. “She didn’t do this because she thought the insurance company was going to try to screw Luke—she did it because she knew they’d want pictures to go with the claim. She was just doing her job, being responsible. She stayed at Cypress Gardens for over a week, and documented everything. The growing mold problem, the way the water damage continued to wreck things as more time passed. She literally took thousands of pictures. And as soon as she could, she drove over to Houston and turned them all over to Luke to file with the claim.”

  “Then I don’t understand why this lawsuit is even necessary.” I stared at him. “First off, why would an insurance company allow a case like this to even go to trial in New Orleans? Do they really think an impartial jury can be found here? And with the pictures…and an eyewitness—” It was insane. “That just doesn’t make any sense, Loren.”

  “Global Insurance is a corporation, and they are driven, like all corporations, by greed and profit.” Loren’s eyes glinted. “Last quarter, for example, they showed a two-billion-dollar profit. Two billion dollars, Chanse. Paying out a twenty-million-dollar claim isn’t even a drop in the bucket to them. It’s not even their goddamned monthly payroll for their worldwide operation. It’s practically goddamned petty cash.” He picked up his glass and stared at the oily vodka. “I thought, from the very beginning, that they were willing to settle and pay out, but wanted to drag their feet and take as long as they possibly could before writing a check. After all, there was always a chance Luke would either run out of money or get tired of fighting them. And that’s how insurance companies operate.”

  Like so many people in New Orleans had found out the hard way after Katrina. “Bastards,” I said before I could stop myself.

  “Yes, well, Luke hasn’t run out of money or desire to make them honor their policy, and we are finally going to have our day in court in three weeks. But we have a new problem, one that just surfaced last week.” He took another drink of the vodka. “Mona O’Neill changed her story.”

  “What?”

  He held up a hand. “Last Monday, Mona called and wanted to see Jim—Jim Drake, the partner who’s overseeing the case, I’m consulting on it—and she said it was really important. I sat in on the interview.” He licked his lips. “She was having a crisis of conscience, she said. It all had to do with her church being closed—St. Anselm’s.” He shook his head. “She was beginning to think that the church being closed was God’s punishment on her for lying about the damage to Cypress Gardens, and Global Insurance was right—Luke Marino was trying to rob them, that the place was basically falling apart before Katrina, and he saw the hurricane as a chance to hold up the insurance company and get out of a bad deal.”

  “Last Monday?” I thought about the cashier’s check from Morgan Barras, dated two weeks ago.

  Loren nodded. “She claimed that all of the pictures she’d taken—which, I might add, she’d never allowed us to have the originals, only copies—were faked, and she was changing her testimony, she was going to tell the truth, and she was sorry to have to do this to Mr. Marino, but she just couldn’t get up in court and lie for him anymore.” He swallowed. “She also was going to claim that Luke had offered her several hundred thousand dollars in exchange for her testimony.” He sighed. “Obviously, this would all blow our case out of the water.”

  “Did you believe her?”

  “Of course I didn’t believe her.” Loren stared at me like I’d completely lost my mind. “They got to her, somehow. And now she’s disappeared—and if she doesn’t turn up before the trial starts, we can get her depositions entered in as evidence, of course.”

  “Did she give a deposition recanting her original story?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  And it suddenly made sense—why Loren McKeithen, whose specialty was criminal law, was sitting in my living room, wanting to pay me to find Mona O’Neill.

  “So, who benefits from Mona’s disappearance?” I said slowly, leaning forward in my chair. “That would be Luke Marino, wouldn’t it?”

  “We just want Mona found, Chanse,” Loren replied, draining his glass of vodka yet again. He pulled a file folder out of his briefcase and set it down on the coffee table next to the vodka bottle. “This folder has a copy of Mona’s original deposition, along with copies of the photographs she took. There’s also a witness list—for both sides of the case.” He smiled at me, but it wasn’t a smile I felt I could trust. “Talk to whomever you wish—but you need to find Mona. We need you to find her.”

  “Why should I trust you? How do I know you aren’t setting me up—again?”

  Loren sighed. “Chanse, you’re looking for her anyway, right? Why not make some real money for doing what you’re doing anyway?” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out another folder. “Here’s the contract of agreement. Have your own lawyer look over it, if you want.” He shook his head. “Obviously, the goal is to find Mona O’Neill. Let’s put our cards on the table, okay? I don’t think she’s dead. I think she’s in hiding, and I think Global Insurance is behind it. That’s why there’s been no new deposition filed. They don’t want her communicating with us before we go to court—which, I might add, can be viewed as contempt of court.” His eyes glinted. “You see the position Global and their lawyers have put us in? She’s technically our witness. Yes, she notified us that she is changing her testimony, and then two days later she disappears. We can’t find her, can’t question her.”

  “You don’t want me to just find her,” I replied slowly. “You want me to prove there’s a link between her changing her testimony and Global Insurance. You want me to find proof they got to her.” And maybe they paid her fifty thousand dollars through an intermediary—like Morgan Barras. For all I know, he could be a majority stockholder in the damned company.

  “Just think about it, Chanse.” Loren closed his briefcase. He poured some more vodka into his glass. “I can assure you, we want her found. If she insists on
this ridiculous story, we’ll deal with that when we find her.” He smiled nastily. “Believe me, Jim and I can completely discredit her on the stand. But it also wouldn’t hurt if you found some dirt on her.”

  “Like her son being murdered?”

  If Loren was faking his surprise, he was a much better actor than I would have given him credit for. “I doubt Robby O’Neill’s murder has anything to do with this,” he said smoothly. “Although”—he scratched the side of his head—“if he’d fallen in with a bad crowd, you know, owed money to the wrong people, that could explain why Mona would accept a bribe from Global.” His smile widened. “Far be it for me to tell you how to do your job, but I think Robby O’Neill’s murder would be a good place for you to start—you know, looking for dirt, reasons why Mona would accept a bribe.”

  I looked at the check he’d given me and looked back over at him.

  At least this time I knew he couldn’t be trusted.

  It was a decent amount of money.

  “All right,” I replied, standing up. “I’ll have my lawyer look over the contract, see what he has to say. If it all checks out, I’ll take the case.”

  “Great.” Loren shook my hand, clasping his free hand onto my forearm as he gripped my right hand. “Chanse, I swear to you, you aren’t going to regret this.” His smiled broadened. “I’ve missed doing business with you—and hope this is the first step in our getting things back to the way they used to be with us. You are the best private eye in New Orleans.”

  “I bet you say that to all the dicks,” I said, gently steering him toward my front door.

  He laughed. “I’m hosting a fund-raiser this weekend at my place in the Marigny, for Danitra Adams. You should come.” Danitra Adams was running for the state legislature—a young, well-educated black woman; one of the planks of her candidacy was gay equality.

  “I might do that.”

  He paused at the door. “I hear you’re seeing young Rory Delesdernier.” His eyes narrowed. “I was actually kind of hoping he’d go to law school. He’s bright, good-looking, and of course he’s a Delesdernier. He could have a major career in state politics.”

  “Well, right now he’s more concerned with changing the world.”

  “What better place to start doing that than Baton Rouge?” He shook my hand again. “Thanks again, Chanse.”

  I closed the door behind him.

  Chapter Seven

  I faxed the contract over to my lawyer for his review and made out a deposit slip for the check to take to the bank once he said it was okay for me to sign the contract. I locked the check up in my top desk drawer and headed for my back door.

  As I walked out to my car, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was making a mistake. I’m not big on trusting people who’ve fucked me over in the past. After all, it’s been my experience people don’t change all that much. I could only trust Loren as long as our objectives stayed the same. If somehow that changed, and it was in Luke Marino’s best interests, he would push me right under the bus tires again with a big smile on his face even as an apology left his lips. I got in my car and started it, waiting for the air conditioner to start blowing cold. I sent Abby a text, asking her to see if there was a connection between Global Insurance and Morgan Barras. I put the car in reverse and backed out of my spot, using the clicker to open the electric gate.

  I hated the idea of working with Loren again.

  On the other hand, part of the problem the last time was I hadn’t seen it coming. This time, I could watch my back and hopefully stop the knife before it went in too far.

  It wasn’t a particularly reassuring thought.

  I pulled out onto Camp Street and looped around Coliseum Square to Race Street. It might not have been smart to have not told Loren about the cashier’s check I’d found in Mona’s desk—but there was also no proof it was a payoff originating with Global Insurance, either. Besides, once I knew if there was a connection, then I could tell him.

  I turned left onto Race and headed for Tchoupitoulas. Mona’s lover’s bar was on Tchoupitoulas, close to the intersection at Napoleon, in the same area as Tipitina’s. But as I turned onto Tchoupitoulas and drove past the Wal-Mart, I started thinking about taking on Luke Marino as an additional client and decided the best thing to do was come clean with Jonny, let him know what was going on. Even though Loren was going to pay me a hell of a lot more money than Jonny was going to, he’d hired me first, and until I signed the contract and deposited Loren’s check, he was my only client.

  So I made the detour over to Constance Street.

  Jonny himself answered my knock. His eyes were red and swollen, and he looked like hell. The black eye wasn’t quite as swollen and was now a sickly shade of yellowish green. He hadn’t shaved and looked like he hadn’t really slept in days. Instead of letting me in, he came outside and motioned for me to sit on the edge of the porch. He plopped himself down. “Sorry, I know it’s hot out here,” he said, wiping at his eyes and snuffling a little. “Heather’s not been sleeping too good because of the baby, she has trouble sleeping on her back and you know, since we found out, you know, about Robby”—he paused for a moment, to get a hold of himself before continuing—“she wasn’t able to sleep at all last night, and she’s just now managed to go to sleep, she can’t take sleeping pills, you know, because of the baby, and I don’t want to risk waking her up and her not sleeping can’t be good for the baby either, and sometimes…” He sighed. “She’s only got a month or so left, you know, before her due date and she’s had some issues already, and so I don’t want her getting any more upset than she needs to be, you know?”

  I nodded, feeling sorry for him.

  “I got the phone off the hook and got our cells turned to vibrate.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “Man, I’m so sorry you had to find Robby, that had to have sucked.” He shivered. “I can’t even imagine.”

  “Better me than his wife, or someone who’s not used to dead bodies,” I replied, choosing not to tell him it’s something you shouldn’t ever have to get used to. “Before I went out on my own, I was a cop, so…”

  “Celia would have fucking lost her mind.” Jonny shook his head with a wry laugh. “She’s supposed to be back today, you know, and is gonna call me—I told her she and the kids could stay at Ma’s—” He broke off again, taking a deep breath. “I mean, I assumed she wouldn’t want to stay in the house where—you know.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.”

  “Those police detectives—they gave me the name of a service that’ll clean up the—” He swallowed. “The mess. Celia probably will want to have that done before she goes over there.”

  “Well, she’s going to have to check with the cops before she goes in the house—it’s a crime scene now.” I took a deep breath. “Something’s come up, Jonny, something that I need to talk to you about.” I watched his face. “Did you know about the Cypress Gardens lawsuit?”

  “Oh, that.” He rolled his eyes. “I guess maybe I should have mentioned that to you? But it didn’t seem like that big of a deal, you know? I mean, no big, right? Ma just worked there and she was going to have to testify. She didn’t talk about it too much, though—when she did she just made it all seem like a big pain in the ass. She was just glad she could help out Mr. Marino.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe Ma rode out the hurricane over there. Lorelle thought she was nuts, but she said she had to—it was her job. But Mr. Marino was always real good to her—to us.”

  “So, she liked him, then?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He grinned at me. “She thought the sun rose and shined out that man’s ass, she did. He always treated us like we were family, you know? He kept telling me I needed to get good grades so I could go to LSU. He’d let us have his football tickets whenever he wasn’t going to use them.” He rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t ever much of a student.”

  “Can you think of any reason she’d change her mind?” I watched his face.

  He looked at me like I’d lost
my mind. “Change her mind? What do you mean?”

  “About two weeks ago, she apparently met with Mr. Marino’s lawyers and told them she was changing her testimony, was disavowing her deposition about the hurricane damage to the complex, and that the pictures she took of the damage were faked.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” His jaw dropped. “That don’t make no sense. Ma was real pissed off about what that insurance company was pulling on Mr. Marino. She talked about it all the time, said they was nothing more than con artists or criminals, the way they were trying to screw him.” He scratched his head. “And you’re saying Ma was changing her story?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe that for a minute. Not for one minute. Ma would never do that. Ever.”

  “I know this is hard to hear, Jonny, but do you think your mother would have taken a bribe to change her story?”

  He just stared at me, his eyes wide and his mouth open, for a good minute before he shook his head. “Ma would never lie—especially if it was going to hurt Mr. Marino.” He swallowed. “Ma always said the worst thing anyone could ever do was lie—you always get found out and then your word’s worthless, and then what are you gonna do? Nothing pissed her off more than being lied to. She wouldn’t lie, ever—and especially not to hurt Mr. Marino.”

  “Jonny—she wouldn’t lie, even if your brother was in trouble?”

  “What do you mean, in trouble?” He looked confused. “What kind of trouble could Robby be in? I mean, he’s kind of an asshole, but what kind of trouble could he be in?”

  I took a deep breath. “Your brother’s house—it looked pretty expensive, and so did the furniture.” Nothing in that house came from Wal-Mart, that’s for sure. “He was an investment counselor?”

  “Don’t they make lots of money?” Jonny nodded. “Yeah, and Celia had money. Her dad was society or something. He always bragged about how he’d married a Queen of Rex.” He rolled his eyes. “That kind of shit meant a lot to him.”