Lousiana Hotshot

bring her back with her dress torn. God, she was a mess.”
    “Why do you think he killed her?”
    Millie looked at her accusingly. “You’re the one who said it. I didn’t.”
    “I think I just said a crime. Seriously— why do you think he killed her?”
    “Come on— why do you think so?”
    This is going nowhere,
Talba thought. “Who is Toes, exactly? Doesn’t he have a name?”
    Millie shrugged. “Not that I know of.”
    “Do you know his address or phone number? Any way at all I can reach him?”
    “No. He’s a friend of Tujague’s, but I hear the Baron’s a little hard to get to. Being a jillionaire and all.”
    “Well, I know a few hundred people who can get to him. And they’ve all got blue uniforms.”
    Millie looked startled. Her smile, when it came, started out slow and spread over her face. “I kind of like that idea.”
    Talba wasn’t sure Eddie would, but she wasn’t about to call him at home. The ethics of it seemed simple: she had information that could lead quickly to the rapist’s arrest— but only if the police were involved. She could spend days running down pals of the Baron. The cops could just turn up and ask him who Toes was; if he didn’t answer, they could make him miserable, at least for a few hours. She and Eddie couldn’t compete with that.
    She knew one cop in the whole department, and it happened to be a detective who’d worked Homicide for years. She went back to her office and put in a call to the Third District. “Skip Langdon, please.”
    Langdon came on the line. “Baronessa. How the hell have you been?”
    “I was doing great till Miz Clara made me get a job.”
    Langdon was a big strong white woman with hair so thick and curly it was almost nappy. She laughed, and Talba could picture brown curls shaking all over her head. “Tough luck. You making those computers smoke?”
    “I’m working for a private detective.”
    “Oh, God, some people never learn. Remember what happened to the last one you worked for?”
    “This guy’s a different animal. You know Eddie Valentino?”
    “Sure. Everybody knows Eddie. Now,
he’s
a good guy. But I don’t see why someone with your skills…”
    “Miz Clara’s sentiments exactly. Call it the thrill of the chase. Would you know anything about that?”
    “Oh.” The cop’s voice was subdued. “That’s a nasty bug to have bite you. You’re going to be poor for the rest of your life.”
    It was Talba’s turn to laugh. “I doubt it. I’m probably going to get fired for calling you. But I think at this point I might be obligated to.”
    “I’m all ears.”
    Talba ran it down for her, pausing for interruptions of “Jesus!” and “What a turd.”
    When she had finished, Langdon said, “Well, you did the right thing, assuming the person handling the case is a halfway-decent cop. But could I give you some unsolicited advice?”
    “Sure. What?”
    “Keep working the case.”
    “Meaning?”
    “Meaning don’t count on anything. The Baron’s got a lot of pull in this town.”
    “In the
department?”
Talba was shocked.
    “About six months ago, a couple of baby rappers got into some trouble over a few guns and a little rock. It was kind of strange how easily they walked away from it. Guess whose label they record on?”
    “Ah. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. This was still Louisiana the last time I looked.”
    “Let me find out whose case it is— in Child Abuse, I mean— and they can call you if that’s okay.”
    “Sure.”
    “The Homicide thing’s a little more delicate. I think I’ll just say I got a tip that it might involve a carnal knowledge case— give the detective the name of the Juvenile officer, and let him or her run with it. That way you don’t have to get involved. Okay by you?”
    “Couldn’t be better.”
    She spent the rest of the day calling people whose names she’d gotten from the funeral registry, but none would admit to knowing a Toes— or any black friend of Rhonda’s.
    And by the end of the day, no call had come from the Juvenile Department.

Chapter 8
    “A man named Toes. What’s wrong with girls these days?” Darryl Boucree was grinning at her across the table at Bywater Bar-B-Que, which, despite its old-fashioned name, was the kind of place decorated with Barbies in birdcages.
    Across from Darryl was a good place to be. That way you could look at him. He had to be the best-looking history teacher in the parish. Talba had no idea how he kept the Fortier