Big Easy Bonanza

herself try to sit still for five minutes, but she knew it wasn’t in the cards. Instead, she did some stretches. When she couldn’t think of any other possible way to relieve tension that didn’t involve sex or drugs, she and Steve went back to headquarters.
    She had given him a rundown of the morning and together they’d worked out a plan. She put him in a borrowed office and went to find O’Rourke and Tarantino. The plan called for getting the lay of the land before firing the bombshell.
    The stars were sitting at their desks, quietly doing paperwork as if nothing had happened.
    Quiet. Too quiet, as they say in old movies.
    “What’s the story?”
    O’Rourke didn’t bother to look up.
    Tarantino spread his arms. “He says he did it; she says she did it.”
    “So who did you believe?”
    “Skip, listen, it’s no good. We haven’t got any proof.”
    She turned briefly toward the snake wall to hide her disappointment.
    “You got the search warrant?”
    “We searched his apartment, her house. And we found the birth certificate at his place. So what does that prove? We’ve only got that and the scrapbook to connect Doucette with the whole damn family. There’s nothing at all to show St. Amant knocked her off.”
    “Tell me the truth, Joe—who the hell did it?”
    “Did Doucette? How the hell should I know?”
    “Did Chauncey?”
    He made his goddamn expansive Italian gesture again. “Tolliver Albert—”
    “Shit!” She put her hands in her pocket and kicked the desk, knowing she was acting like a child but also knowing no one would really mind. This wasn’t IBM, and corporate behavior wasn’t required. This was Stressout City; never had she felt it more than today.
    “Sit down, Skip. Let’s talk a minute.” She sat. “Get you some coffee?”
    She managed a tight little smile to acknowledge the kindness. “No thanks, Joe.”
    “We talked to the Harmeyers. They say Albert never told them whose baby it was.”
    “Surely they guessed.”
    “What are we gonna do? Beat it out of ’em with rubber hoses?”
    Skip had the feeling of sliding into a dank, dark tunnel, one that would get darker the deeper she got, would twist and turn crazily, and would eventually drop her out into sunlight. When she landed, it would not be on her feet, and she would be covered in muck.
    What was wrong with her? Wasn’t this the best way?
    But she did it. She shot her goddamn husband. And you’re a cop.
    He deserved it.
    You’re a cop! What are you here for?
    Justice, maybe?
    What’s wrong with you ?
    “Look.” Joe’s voice was cajoling, almost begging, yet Skip knew he didn’t want anything for himself. He was trying to get her to understand that they were backed into a comer. “Just because they both confessed doesn’t mean a damn thing. Suppose we charged one of them. Is he or she—let’s say she—gonna get a lawyer? You bet. Just because she tried that little ploy of confessing to get her kid off the hook, is she going to go into court and plead guilty? Not real likely, kid.”
    “Ploy! She did it and you know it.”
    “That’s not what her lawyer’s gonna say. We don’t have a case, baby.”
    “Yes, we do.”
    For the first time, O’Rourke deigned to acknowledge her presence. “Oh, we do, do we? When did you get to be a legal expert, sugar?”
    “Don’t call me sugar, asshole.”
    He repeated it, mimicking in a bratty falsetto.
    This was getting her nowhere. “I’ve got a witness,” she said.
    “Oh, yeah? Why didn’t you tell us before?”
    “I didn’t find out till half an hour ago.”
    “Oh, sure you didn’t.”
    Tarantino looked very grave indeed. “Tell us about it, Skip.” He pulled up a chair for her. “Here. Make yourself comfortable.”
    Even now, sitting down in the thumb-screw suit that currently passed for her skin, she felt a rush of affection for Tarantino and his old-fashioned courtesy.
    “His name is Steve Steinman.”
    “Your boyfriend.” O’Rourke’s tone was still mocking, but at least he’d abandoned the falsetto.
    “I don’t deny it. If he weren’t, he wouldn’t have realized what he had. He filmed the shooting.”
    “What!” O’Rourke went red in the face.
    Tarantino shouted, “Goddamn that sucker! What’s the matter with him?”
    Skip made placating, air-patting gestures. “Take it easy, fellows. As soon as he had it developed, he watched it once and didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.”
    O’Rourke roared. “It was still