House of Blues

was, he gave them Delavon's address.
 
    27
    It was Cappello's job, as Jim's sergeant, to
investigate his death. Skip was beside herself, desperate to get to
Delavon, yet dying to know what was happening with Anna.
    "Sylvia, one thing you should know. I've got to
go with you when you pick him up."
    Cappello was preoccupied. She brushed at the hair in
her eyes and glanced at her watch. "No way. You're too tired.
Anyway, I don't even know if I'm going—Joe asked me to sit in when
the feds question Anna, and my babysitter's got to go home sometime.
I was going to see if Abasolo would do it."
    "Tell him he has to wait until I can get free."
She held her breath. Cappello would be perfectly within her rights to
say, "I give the orders."
    Instead she managed a tired half smile. "Are you
saying a woman's got to do what a woman's got to do?"
    Skip knew she had won.
    She went back to her desk and called Agent Shellmire.
    "Ah," he said. "The lady of the hour.
Hear you got Anna Garibaldi. "
    "I hear you've got her now."
    "Int'restin' lady."
    "Fine hostess, anyhow. I had a lovely rest in
her stately home."
    He chuckled. "So we heard. Listen, I got a
bigger case on her than this piddly airport shit, but I don't think I
can make it now—and you folks still got to handle the arson and
false imprisonment and all that—so I thought I might as well give
you what I have. It's somethin' I think you'll be pretty interested
in."
    There is a God.
    She said: "We'd be delighted. But as you know,
it's not my case anymore."
    " Yeah, you bein' a victim—shame about that.
But I knew your name, so I thought I'd call. Also I wanted to
congratulate you—that was pretty impressive, what you did at the
airport."
    " Thanks." Her cheeks burned.
    "Listen, I'm over at the parish prison—why
don't you come on over with whoever's got the case and I'll play you
a kind of int'restin' tape. Then maybe we can question the lady."
    She rounded up Cappello and Joe Tarantino.
    Shellmire was a tall man with a fruit-and-vegetable
look—potato face, seaweed hair, pear-shaped body. When they had
shaken hands, he said, "Let's wait a minute on that tape. I do
b'lieve Ms. Garibaldi's lawyer just turned up. Y'all want to meet
him?"
    "By all means."
    Anna's lawyer was waiting for Shellmire, huffing and
puffing, dressed in a suit that had probably cost more than the
combined furnishings of Skip's apartment. He was furious.
    "I thought you were ready to question Mrs.
Garibaldi. I hope you don't think I have time just to sit around
inhaling institutional odors." He curled his lip.
    "Hey, Mr. Delmonico. Haven't seen you in a
while." Bobby Delmonico's presence confirmed things Skip already
thought. He represented biggish drug dealers; people involved in
video poker; random thugs up for assault and sometimes murder. A lot
of them had Italian names.
    Whoever the Dragon was, she was connected.
    "Don't think I know you," Delmonico said.
    "Shellmire. Agent Turner Shellmire. This is
Detective Langdon, Lieutenant Tarantino, and Sergeant Cappello,
NOPD."
    He kept his face impassive. Though Shellmire held out
a hand, he didn't shake.
    "Have you talked to your client yet?"
    "Yes. She's a little upset."
    " I don't blame her. She's in big-league
trouble."
    " I think she might have a medical problem."
    "I beg your pardon?"
    He spread his hands, just a well-dressed dummy trying
to comprehend a vast and confusing universe. "She seems to think
she doesn't need a lawyer."
    " That's her prerogative." Skip thought,
There has to be a catch: we couldn't be that lucky.
    "I've known her family all my life. Anna's
always . . . well, always been unstable."
    "Mr. Delmonico, do you see a jury in here? Don't
you think it's a little early for this kind of thing?"
    " Look, she needs legal representation and she
won't listen right now—how about letting her have a good night's
sleep? We can do this tomorrow."
    "A good night's sleep? Sure. We'll break out the
satin sheets."
    "I just thought . . . Apparently, he couldn't
finish the sentence. Skip realized he was desperate, and she liked
that.
    "Look," said Shellmire, "I'm going to
question the prisoner. Are you coming?"
    He shrugged and followed them to the room where Anna
had been taken. She was sitting, head in her left hand, back bent,
looking forlorn and a little bit old. She raised her head, marshaled
her fury, and aimed it at her lawyer.
    " I told you to get out of here."
    There was fire enough in her voice to fuel a whole
herd of