Big Easy Bonanza

report first?”
    “We’ve been talking to some of the people at the Boston Club that day,” said O’Rourke. He spoke matter-of-factly, but Skip thought she caught a hint of triumph in his voice, as if he thought he was stealing her thunder. Tarantino was staring at her—trying to gauge her reaction?
    “The logistics of the thing are pretty damn simple,” O’Rourke continued. “You could walk to Albert’s and back in forty minutes to an hour, going on back streets. You’d have to get through some crowds first, but you could probably do that in about ten or fifteen minutes. If you had transportation nearby, like a bicycle or scooter, you could do the whole damn job in half an hour.”
    Duby said, “You’re going on the theory the murderer was someone at the Boston Club?”
    Tarantino shrugged, “That’s where the key was.”
    O’Rourke kept talking as if the interruption hadn’t occurred. “Tolliver Albert was seen leaving the club approximately half an hour before the murder. By his own admission, Henry St. Amant went out ‘for some air.’ No one can remember seeing either of them return. The club has a reception committee on Mardi Gras, so there’s usually someone at the door. But I’m told they get talking to someone or have to piss or whatever, so people could come and go without being noticed. Also, there’s a gate that opens onto Canal St. from the patio.”
    He consulted his notes. “A Mrs. Del Monte remembers talking with Mrs. Chauncey St. Amant some forty minutes before the murder was reported. Or possibly thirty or twenty minutes before the murder. Mrs. St. Amant excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. No one else remembers seeing her until a few minutes before Officer Langdon found her in the ladies’ room. A Mrs. Anne-Marie Delamore also reports seeing her there—”
    Duby said, “She was in there for forty minutes?”
    O’Rourke shrugged. “Don’t know, sir. But she was there at the beginning of the forty minutes, and the end of it. Or maybe it was thirty minutes, or twenty—Mrs. Del Monte says she can’t be sure. Maybe Langdon wouldn’t mind asking her.”
    Skip nodded.
    “Then there’s Mrs. Gaudet. She was seen leaving shortly before the murder with a Mr. Jo Jo—uh—”
    “Lawrence?” said Skip.
    O’Rourke glared at her. “Yeah. Lawrence. How’d you know that, Langdon?”
    “They used to date. And anyway, Jo Jo’s got a reputation.”
    “Well, no offense, but so does your friend Marcelle Gaudet.”
    Duby leaned forward. “Oh?”
    “You’ve heard of the whore of Babylon? The lovely Mrs. G. makes her look like an amateur.”
    Tarantino looked sympathetically at Skip. She wished she could trust him. She had this weird idea he felt bad because her friend was getting creamed. Duby gave her an uncomfortable glance as well.
    Skip shrugged. “What’s everybody looking at me for? Just because I’ve known her forever doesn’t mean we’re best buddies. Hey, Frank, say what you like about her. I don’t give a shit.”
    “You were hugging her like a sister at the funeral.”
    “That’s called sympathy, asshole. Her father got killed, remember?”
    “Officer!” Duby spoke sharply, angry eyes on Skip. “What’s going on here?”
    “Sorry,” said Skip. “Nothing’s going on.”
    He turned to O’Rourke. “Frank?”
    O’Rourke turned his palms up and shook his head.
    “All right, we’ll deal with it later. Go on with your report.”
    “Somebody saw Lawrence and Mrs. G. sneaking upstairs.” He stared at Skip. “That’s where the lying-down room is.”
    Duby said, “What does Lawrence say?”
    “He says he was drunk and she had to help him upstairs. That she helped him lie down and he doesn’t remember anything else till someone shook him awake after we showed up down there.”
    “And Mrs. Gaudet?”
    “We haven’t been able to get to her.”
    Skip said, “I’ll be glad to talk to her.”
    Duby nodded and turned back to O’Rourke. “All right. Go on.”
    “That’s about it, sir. We’re concentrating on these four right now. But it’s worth noting that Albert lied about leaving the party—he says he didn’t.”
    Skip said, “I think I have something to add. Did you know about the car?”
    Tarantino shook his head; O’Rourke glared.
    “They all came together, and parked at the Carrollton Bank, about two blocks away. Mrs. St. Amant’s car key was with her key to Tolliver Albert’s apartment. The killer could have taken them