Cut and Run 7 - Touch and Geaux

officer pulled the door closed behind him. Ty’s eyes strayed to the door as it clicked shut. They had him under guard. His knee began to bounce and he forced himself to stop.
    He met the detective’s eyes, sprawling in his chair in a casual, insolent pose.
    “Surprised to see you crawling to town,” the detective said.
    Ty clucked his tongue. When he spoke, it was with the same affected drawl he’d perfected while undercover years ago. “Detective Poirot, wasn’t it?”
    “Poirier. But you can call me Sir. It’ll be Boss here soon. Soon as we get you in chains.”
    Ty narrowed his eyes. “And what is it I’ve done to deserve being chained up?”
    “Did you kill that girl, Tyler Beaumont?”
    “I did not.”
    “Your crew we have in the lobby? Witnesses say they saw a man with them the night of the murder. Description fits you to a T. They say you ducked out, then your buddies closed up shop, wouldn’t let anyone leave. Smart. Make the police think the scene’s pure while you slip out the hole you crawled in through.”
    Ty sighed and sat forward. “There’s a real killer out there somewhere. And you’re wasting your time here with me.”
    “How do you figure?”
    “I’m just in town on a jaunt, Detective. Little harmless fun.”
    “You suppose Ava Gaudet would think your little jaunt is harmless?”
    Ty cocked his head, trying hard not to react. Ava had been his main contact here during his undercover days. Another few months in town and he probably would have married her. “We made our peace. What’s she got to do with a murdered girl?”
    “That murdered girl calls her to mind. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Tattoos. Even had one of them cute little feathers tucked behind her ear.”
    “I wouldn’t know.”
    Poirier laughed. He tapped the file on the table between them. “I have you here for half a dozen offenses in the two years you were on our radar. Breaking and entering. Money laundering. Racketeering. Assault and battery. Did you beat your girl too? Her daddy sure thinks you did.”
    Ty remained motionless. He had to keep his cover if Ava Gaudet’s father had Poirier’s ear. He was the precinct commander. And he was dirty as hell. Only two people in town had known Ty was FBI at the time Katrina hit, and Ty knew neither of them would have given up that information, and certainly not to Louis Gaudet. It would have cast doubt on them by association.
    Poirier wasn’t deterred by Ty’s silence. He continued flipping through the file. “All that, not to mention over a dozen drunk and disorderlies. You were in the tank more often than not every Thursday night. Like clockwork.” They stared at each other, each waiting for the other to flinch. Finally Poirier leaned his elbows on the table. “You ever get a little too drunk, Tyler Beaumont? Get a little too angry? A little too out of control?”
    Ty crossed his arms, inclining his head. He’d met his handler in the drunk tank every three or four weeks. But he couldn’t tell Poirier that.
    “You ever put your hands around a girl’s neck and squeezed? Watch the life drain from her?”
    Ty didn’t rise to the bait, but he was beginning to question the wisdom of not identifying himself. He couldn’t, though. If he did and Gaudet got a hold of him, he’d never make it out of the police station alive.
    Poirier narrowed his eyes, moving his tongue around inside his mouth like he was chewing on something. He picked up the folder and tapped it on its side, then opened it.
    “I’d like to make a phone call.”
    “Answer my questions first. Why are you here? You left under cover of water six years ago, why come back? Why now?”
    Ty’s knee began to bounce again as he fought to concentrate on the interrogation and not worry himself into a fit about Zane.
    “Was it Arthur Murdoch? He owned the tavern you worked for. You come for his funeral?”
    Ty’s knee stopped. “Murdoch’s dead?”
    Poirier nodded solemnly. “Gris-gris bag in his hand. Your name written on that little piece of parchment.”
    Ty’s jaw tightened and he fought a wave of nausea. Murdoch had owned the dive where Ty had worked and lived. He’d been almost like a father to Ty, and he and his beloved mongrel had taken seats on the helicopter Ty had pulled every string to get before Katrina made landfall. He had known Ty was an FBI agent, and he’d sworn to take that secret to the grave. Now someone had killed him, pointing his fingers at Ty in the end.
    “Either read me