Blowout

minutes. But I’m not sure. I got a call from a lawyer about procedure, then another call from the Solicitor General’s office, more procedural questions. People were in and out, a good half-dozen.
    “When Danny came out, he was quiet,” Eliza continued. “He sat down at his desk, and he was quiet. I told you he wasn’t stand-offish, maybe a little reserved with people he didn’t know well, but with Fleurette and me, he’d usually yak up a storm. But Danny sat there, not saying a word. I remember that I started to ask him about a cert. Justice Califano was concerned about. Oh, that’s a formal request that the Supremes hear a case. I can see Danny sitting there, and now I can see something was on his mind. Then I got busy again, and ended up not saying anything. The rest of the day passed like all Fridays do. Everyone talked about their weekend plans. I think there was some sort of children’s book festival going on over at Dupont Circle.”
    “Danny interested in books?”
    “Yes. He said he was going to go see the storytellers with his girlfriend.”
    “Did he mention that he and his girlfriend were going to the movies Friday night?”
    “I don’t remember. I just don’t.”
    Sherlock said, “When was the party Mrs. Califano was planning?”
    “Not until next weekend. Poor Margaret.”
    “She’ll be all right. She’s got lots of friends with her, and her daughter.”
    “Yes, the famous five friends. I always thought that was wonderful—five women staying together all those years, sharing their lives, always there for each other.”
    Sherlock said, “Was Justice Califano carrying anything around with him on Friday—papers, anything like that?”
    “He did have a habit of keeping some papers with him inside his breast pocket, usually whatever he was working on. Agent Sherlock, I can see him now, patting his chest to be sure he’d remembered, to be sure whatever he wanted was safe and sound with him. But I can’t be sure if that meant he had any papers with him on Friday. Poor Danny, do you think he knew? Oh, Annie Harper. I’ve got to call her.”
    She was starting to lose focus, but that was all right. Savich rose. “You probably can’t reach Ann Harper for a while, Eliza. After you’ve rested, I want you to go for a walk. I want you to review the day again, every moment of it, starting at the time you walked into your office. If you think of anything, doesn’t matter if you think it has any importance at all, call me immediately.”
    Savich gave her his card with his cell number on it. “Keep Danny O’Malley at the front of your mind. Follow his footsteps. Sherlock and I are going to speak with Fleurette.”
    “So you’ll tell her about Danny. Fleurette called me this morning, devastated, in shock really, about Justice Califano. At least her dad is flying in. He’ll probably take her home, after Justice Califano’s funeral. Now Danny’s dead too. He’ll be here for both funerals. Oh God. This is all so horrible.”
    “Yes, Eliza,” Sherlock said, “yes, it is.”
    “Please prove Danny wasn’t a blackmailer.”
    Neither Savich nor Sherlock said anything. It didn’t look good.

CHAPTER
17
    E LAINE L A F LEURETTE ’ S DADDY had money, Savich already knew that. Big Ed LaFleurette was a major player in commercial New Orleans real estate development. He was tight with the local police, not only for protection but also for enforcement, and was ensconced in the local political scene as well. Fleurette lacked motivation until she was accepted to law school, but now “driven” was the word usually used to describe her. She wanted to do things on her own, without her father’s help. Well, except for where she lived. Why live like Danny when it wasn’t necessary? She lived in a lovely quiet upper-class neighborhood, about as far removed from Danny O’Malley’s digs as a dock bar from the Oak Room at the Plaza. It was a beautiful, well-tended brownstone, and it was hers, in her own name, a gift from Daddy after she passed the bar.
    They found Ben Raven and Callie Markham in his Crown Vic parked down the block. The four of them walked together to the brownstone.
    “Callie, I’m glad to see you,” Sherlock said. “You twist Ben’s arm here?”
    “Actually, I had to threaten him again, you know, calling my editor at the Post, offering up goodies.” She lowered her voice, close to Sherlock, “I really don’t think he minds so much today. He’s a tough guy, but I’m