Blue Justice - Thomas Anthony - Страница 16

I looked at the monitor to see if my flight had arrived.  It did.  DL 2525 was about to board.  A five hour flight wasn’t bad however I didn’t understand why we had to layover in Atlanta, which is east of Tuscaloosa, on a flight to New Orleans, which is west.  The layover was for one hour and eighteen minutes.  Nevertheless, I was going to use that time to get myself familiar with the case.

The flight to Atlanta and then to New Orleans was smooth.  Most of the passengers were asleep until the captain came over the intercom to tell us we were approaching our destination.  We landed in New Orleans.  I checked my watch.  It was 9:25 at night.  During the flight I had caught up on some knowledge about the Vieux Carre, which was French for Old Square, now know as the French Quarter.

I took the escalator down to baggage claim to get my bags.  The airport wasn’t too crowded.  The smell of cooked seafood and spices filled the air.  However all of the restaurants were closed I was sure.  I was hungry but I decided I would wait and get to the hotel and order up something.  A black woman in a trench coat was staring at me.  She had short black curly hair, smooth olive skin, big brown eyes, and she was beautiful.

I looked around for the men’s room sign.

“Detective Jackson?”

“Yes, I’m Detective Jackson, and I assume you to be my ride to the hotel, correct?”

“That is correct.  I am Detective Jasmine Coffy of the NOPD, 8th precinct.  French quarters division.”

I extended my hand.  “Pleased to meet you, “I said.  Her touch was soft like her smile.  She smelled good.  There was a hint of Red Door perfume.

“Let me help you with your things,” she insisted.

“Well, if you don’t mind; I was looking for the men’s room.  Could you watch my bags till I return?”

“No problem.” She pointed to her left, my right, down the corridor leading to the exit.  “The rest rooms are over there near the exit.  You could put your service weapon on in there.  Meantime, I’ll bring my car around.”

I was amazed at how she knew I was about to put my weapon on, or did she?  Still I didn’t let on.

“Thank you,” I said and walked toward the restrooms.

I decided I would call Charlotte and let her know I made it and that everything so far was ok.  She picked up on the first ring as if she had been watching the phone.

“Hey Baby,” she said softly.

“Hey Love,” I responded.  “I just wanted to let you know that I made it and I’m okay.

She breathed a sigh of relief.  “Good, I can go to sleep now.”

“So I kept you up?” I asked, smiling into the phone.

“Yes you did.  Usually around here folks go to bed with the chickens.”

“Well I must be special.”

“You are very special, Jared.” She yawned afterward.  “It’s raining here and it is making me sleepy.”

“I’m getting a ride to the hotel; I will call you in the morning. Get all the sleep you need. I love you.”

“I love you too, Jared-- and be careful, okay?”

I noticed her hesitation, but I didn’t question it.

“I will.”

Chapter 4

The best Western Hotel was located on North Rampart.  It was an old style motel, a two-toned red brick building with a black top and had very long windows all over.   My room faced out to the street over the guest parking tunnel.  A park with a small pond was opposite my side of the road.  The room was cool and smelled of fresh linen.

“Thank you, Detective Coffy, for helping me with my bags and for the ride here.”

“No problem,” she replied, “I will come by around 7 am to pick you up for the morning muster meeting.  You will be brought up to par about everything we know.”

“Oh, and before you go, there is just one other thing.”

She turned to me at the door and raised her eyebrows.  I hoped she didn’t get the wrong idea.  She was very attractive but that isn’t what I wanted.

“The officers who were killed—did you know them well?”

“Yes, I knew them, but not very well, but just in working together.”

I couldn’t read anything else out of her expression or her reply to see whether she had maybe been closer to either of the officers.  She probably picked up on my probing also.  Still I needed to know.  Sometimes emotionally attached officers are not good to investigate with.  For the time being I took her at her word.

“Okay, I will see you at 7:00.”

She nodded and then left.  The smell of her perfume lingered in the room for a while after she had gone down the elevator.

I went over and sat on the bed.  I texted a message to Charlotte’s cell phone to include the hotel and the number and room number.  My stomach growled to remind me that I haven’t eaten since before the flight.  I called down to room service to try and get a late night snack.  I was out of luck.

“10:00 is when we stop serving.  I am sorry, Sir, but it is now 10:30 and most of the servers are gone home,” said the woman’s voice.  She sounded young.

I was disappointed.  “Well, is there a pizza place open at this time of night that can deliver?”

The phone was quiet for a few seconds and then she spoke.  “Actually, there is a pizza place that is very good and does deliver up until midnight-- Don’s Pizza and Wings.”

The pepperoni and sausage pizza I ordered was there in 30 minutes along with 12 barbecue wings and a 20-oz. Coke.  The young black man who delivered my pizza was neatly dressed in the company’s shirt and cap over khaki pants.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off my badge on the table by the door.  I assumed he might have had some history with the police before but he didn’t act nervous.

“You a cop, sir?” he asked.

“Yes I am, but not from around here.”

“Oh okay, you must be looking into those officer killings that everybody is talking about around here.  I am waiting to graduate high school so I can become a cop myself.”

Now I see that he was fascinated just like another kid—myself—when I was young, about being a police officer.

“Well, I hope that we can catch whoever is doing these things and bring them to justice.”

“Hey-- if I can help in anyway, let me know?  Maybe I can do some undercover detective work for you.”

“No I don’t think that would be appropriate at this time.  That kind of work is dangerous and besides, I think you would be better off first getting your education and then helping us on the force after that.  I believe we could use a bright young man like you.”

He beamed at that.

“Thanks, uhm…Detective—”

“Jackson,” I said.

“Cool,” said the young man.  Listen, Detective, I don’t know if you know this or not--but rumor has it that the homeless man who usually hangs out in the park across the street sometimes that may know something about the killings.  Nobody has seen him as much as they used to around here.  His name is J.P.—at least that’s what people call him. He’s an old black guy who always pushes a grocery cart.

I was intrigued with that and that gave me an idea.  “Okay thanks, I’ll make note of that.”

“Yes sir.”

After he left, I sat down at the table and tore into a couple of slices of pizza and a few wings.  It wasn’t bad at all. There was something like a New Orleans creole sauce on those wings.

I thought about what the young man had just said and figured I would try and make contact with JP.  The problem was, if there was a rumor flying around, then why JP wasn’t brought in for questioning? For that matter, why isn’t he a target?

I turned out the lights and looked out my window.  I couldn’t see anything.  It had just started to rain and the windows were fogged.  I took the box with the remnants of pizza slices down the elevator and outside.  I waited near the door to see if I could catch an old codger pushing his grocery cart.

I was in luck.  There was someone pushing a grocery cart down the sidewalk in front of the park and he was looking in the garbage cans as he passed them.  I got excited.  I stepped out into the rain.  A car had turned its headlights on bright.  I quickly got across.