Crescent City Connection

guess the cost of the clothes on all the fabulously dressed Texans at those parties she goes to. One tank top—three years’ salary. That sort of thing. They’re thinking of leaping off the same balcony Roger Owens thought so highly of.”
    “Damn again.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Listen, I don’t know if a tail’s good enough. I think she needs a guard on her.”
    “Why? I thought she was Jacomine’s girlfriend.”
    “She just hung up on his son. Are we talking possible double cross?”
    “Could be. Or maybe the call was some kind of signal. Could be lots of things—maybe she’s not double-crossing the Jacomines; maybe the son’s double-crossing the father. Or maybe she just knows her phone’s tapped.”
    “Turner, goddammit, you’re like Cassius—you think too much.”
    He laughed. “Well, nobody could accuse me of looking lean and hungry.”
    The whole Rosemarie Owens thing had thrown Skip into a renewed panic. She reasoned that if Jacomine would kill someone merely as a favor for a friend, if he could take time out to do that from his self-appointed job as vigilante executioner, he probably had time for her. She knew how his mind worked, and she knew he hadn’t forgotten that she had bested him a few months before.
    He would probably not go for her. He would go for Steve or Dee-Dee or one of the kids. If she’d been worried before, she was now waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.
    Obviously Rosemarie was in touch with Jacomine. Skip only hoped she hadn’t mentioned her call—you never knew what a madman would do with a random piece of information.
    To make matters worse, Joe Tarantino called Skip and Adam Abasolo into his office. “How’s it going, kids?”
    Skip said, “Terrible. I’m trying to find the uncle of the kidnapped kid through the art community. Do you know how many artists there are in this town?”
    Joe was impatient. “Adam?”
    “I’m checking out oddball religious groups.”
    “Oh, great. Let me reiterate. As I understand it, we’re looking for the son of the primary suspect, who may know where the suspect’s granddaughter is. We’re not even looking for the suspect. And we don’t have any other suspects. Have I got it right?”
    Skip sighed. She knew it sounded lame as hell. “That’s about it, Lieutenant.”
    “We don’t have any reason to imagine he’s in town, do we?”
    “Only that his granddaughter may be.”
    “I think we’ve got to move on.”
    “But, Joe—”
    “Listen, another taxi driver was killed last night. That makes two in a week, you know that?”
    Abasolo said, “Little twin heater cases.”
    “You know, Skip, in a way the captain was right that day. As far as I can see, no one, but no one in this whole department gives a flying fuck who killed that asshole Nolan Bazemore. Most people—policemen included, I’m sorry to say—even seem to sympathize with the guy.”
    Skip was speechless.
    “I know, I know.” He patted the air. “I’m giving you a few more days, okay? You, Skip. Adam, I want you full-time on the heater cases. I don’t have enough people to waste any more time on this.” He was still patting the air, and for some reason, seemed only about half-focused on what he was saying.
    Skip exchanged a look with Abasolo. The sergeant spoke first.
    “What else, Joe?”
    “What?” The lieutenant seemed to be coming out of a trance.
    “Seems like you’ve got something else on your mind.”
    “Yeah. Yeah, I sure do. The superintendent’s getting ready to drop a bomb. You know what decentralization is?”
    Abasolo said, “That thing they’re doing in New York? Busting up the detective bureau?”
    “In effect. All detectives are fixin’ to be reassigned to district stations. You know what that means, lady and gentleman? It means the Homicide Division as we know it will no longer exist. Everybody’ll be working every kind of case within his or her own district.”
    “Jesus.”
    “This is what I’m worried about. Look, Skip, I believe in what you’re doing, and I couldn’t agree less with these short-sighted bastards who think it doesn’t matter. For one thing, to help break a huge national case would do a hell of a lot to restore some of the honor to this tarnished old department. For another—call me old-fashioned—but I still think murder’s murder. But you’re nowhere close and there’s not much time. The chief decides to decentralize, you’ll be running your butt off covering stick-ups of