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  Now it was Kornblatt’s turn.

  He countered each point, quickly and efficiently. No flash, no theatrics, calm and professional. Kirk was innocent. He had been drugged or too drunk to have killed anyone. That he and the victim were both adults and had entered into a consensual affair. That the ME had yet to determine the cause of death and that stating it was due to strangulation was “speculation.” That Kirk was no flight risk since his face was known worldwide. He compared him to Elvis Presley and Muhammad Ali. Kirk couldn’t go anywhere without attracting a crowd. The collection outside the courthouse indicated that. That Kirk was here as a professional, working every day on the movie that had, and would, bring money to the community. That he was innocent and had no intention of running from something that he wanted resolved as quickly as possible. He asked for Kirk’s release on his own recognizance, and if not that, at least some acceptable bail amount.

  Judge Booth removed his glasses, rubbed one eye with a knuckle, and then replaced them. He shuffled through some pages before him, before looking up, his gaze over the half glasses that now rode low on his nose, his face grim.

  “I’ve read through both the prosecution and the defense motions and listened to their clear and concise verbal arguments.” He hesitated and looked around the room. “This is a difficult case. And one that has obviously caught the public’s attention. I appreciate the prosecution’s position. This is a murder trial. The defendant does have essentially unlimited resources. And, in general, this would represent a significant flight risk. I am also well aware of who the defendant is. How well known he is. And I agree this lessens any chance he could flee. I also understand that his continued incarceration could damage not only the production company but also the many folks they have employed while here in our lovely city.” He again rearranged the pages before him, removed his glasses, and leaned his elbows on the bench. “My ruling is that bail will be offered in the amount of three million dollars. Mr. Ford will surrender his passport and will not be allowed to leave the city.” He leaned back. “Any objections?”

  I noticed that Kirk’s shoulders immediately relaxed and his head dropped. I wondered if he might cry. Pretty boys never did well in jail. Especially if they were celebrities. There was always some yahoo trying to make a name of himself by whacking around such folks. Or worse.”

  Kornblatt responded immediately. “We accept your decree, Your Honor.”

  Mooring hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder. Uncle Tony gave an almost imperceptible nod. She turned her gaze back to the judge. “We agree, Your Honor.”

  Well, well, Uncle Tony was definitely large and in charge. Made me wonder how deep into the DA’s office, maybe the court system, his fingers extended.

  I flashed again on what Gloria had said about him. That you didn’t want to get on his “bad side” and that he was “connected.” Which raised the question—why would he want the supposed killer of his niece out of jail? On the street? Vulnerable?

  I suspected that Tony could reach him even in jail. Out and about opened up even more possibilities. This could get very ugly.

  But would he whack an international celebrity? Someone with a direct connection, through Kristi, to him? Seemed to me that could lead the cops right into his world. But right now, looking at his calm, relaxed demeanor, I sensed Tony had probably done worse. And obviously gotten away with it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AFTER THE COURT adjourned, we followed the other spectators into the hallway. Kornblatt walked down the hall, away from us and the loitering crowd, to “make a couple of calls.” I sensed a presence behind Nicole and me, and turned to face the two brothers. In the courtroom they had looked big, but now, standing in front of us, they looked even bigger. Thicker anyway. Each around six feet, a good four inches shorter than me, but they went about two and half bills each. Five hundred pounds to my 190—well, maybe a bit more after last night’s meal at Mister B’s. Where was Pancake when I needed him?

  “So, you’re with the murderer,” one of them said. I didn’t think it was a question but figured he expected a response anyway.

  “Depends on what you mean by ‘with,’” I said.

  “One of his Hollywood types.”

  Nicole had moved to my side and I could tell she was revving up to engage him. Chin up, shoulders square, and those wonderful eyes shining with electricity. As if she might fire a bolt from them and vaporize the brothers. I gently touched her arm, signaling this wasn’t the best time to go all Nicole on these two.

  “Never met him,” I said.

  That caused a brief hitch. Not what he expected. His head cocked to one side. When he recovered, he asked, “Why’re you here?”

  Before I could answer, a tough-looking dude walked up and tapped the speaking brother on the shoulder. He wore jeans, an open-collar white shirt, and a blue sports coat. And sunglasses.

  “Tony wants to see you,” the man said. “Now.”

  The man never looked at us, never acknowledged that we even existed. Face flat, no frown, no smile, nothing. Reminded me of Ray’s “be cool” attitude.

  The brothers gave us an angry glare and then followed the man to where Tony stood with a similarly attired man. Probably Tony’s muscle. Tony stared at me, his face expressionless. His gaze held mine for a beat and then he turned to the brothers, jaw set, eyes narrowed. He didn’t look happy.

  Nicole and I walked to where Kornblatt stood, leaning against the wall, phone to his ear. He was telling someone to round up Kirk’s passport, saying it was in the top left-hand drawer of Kirk’s desk at home, and to take it to the LAPD for holding. He asked that they “get the bail money together like an hour ago” and get the papers prepped for the court so “we can get Kirk out and back to work.”

  Priorties.

  As Kornblatt wrapped up the call, I noticed that Tony now had his nephews pinned against the wall in what seemed to be a heated exchange. Not really an exchange. Tony doing the talking, wagging a finger that more than once tapped one and then the other of his nephews on the chest. His face was stone, his anger almost palpable.

  Interesting. A good old family squabble.

  Tony finally shook his head, spun on his heels, and headed toward the entrance. His two thugs, who looked and walked as if they didn’t take shit from anyone, peeled off the opposite wall and fell in on either side of Tony. The nephews, shoulders rounded forward, heads low, followed in contrite shuffles. They swerved past the security setup and disappeared through the doorway.

  Kornblatt ended his call. “Okay, the wheels are turning. My work here is done. For now, anyway. I’m going to go out and do a song and dance for the press, and then head back to LA.”

  “You’re leaving?” Nicole asked.

  He smiled. “Not much more to do right now. At least nothing that requires my physical presence. We’ll be working on Kirk’s defense, but I suspect any trial won’t be for many weeks, more likely months. The police still have a lot of work to do before the DA could possibly get the case on the docket. We have time. Not to mention that Kirk’s not the only fire I have going right now.”

  “We’ll go out there with you,” Tara said.

  Distinguishing them was easy because Tara wore a green blouse and Tegan a blue one. If I remembered it right, anyway. I could’ve had it backwards. I needed to write this stuff down.

  Kornblatt studied the twins and said, “I like that. Seeing Kirk’s beautiful young sidekicks supporting him might engender at least some cred with the public.”

  “That’s what we thought,” I said.

  He nodded. “Let’s go.”

  “Nicole and I are supposed to have a chat with Detective Doucet,” I said. “I think he’s expecting to meet us here.”

  Kornblatt nodded, glanced at his watch.

  “You guys go ahead,” I said. “We’ll grab a cab back to the hotel.”

  Another nod from Kornblatt, then Nicole and I watched as he and the twins exited the building.

  “Mr. Longly
?”

  The voice came from behind me. I turned to see a man, looked midthirties, in jeans, black tee, and a blue blazer, cop written all over him. He was short, fit, with thinning blond hair and pale blue eyes. A gold shield hung from his belt.

  “I’m Detective Troy Doucet.”

  I shook his hand and introduced Nicole, ending with, “Call me Jake.”

  “You’re Ray Longly’s son? The baseball player?”

  I nodded. “Ex-player.”

  Doucet offered a brief smile. “I told Ray we would chat, so let’s chat.”

  No nonsense. I liked that.

  He led us down a hallway and around a corner to a bench seat along the wall across from a closed courtroom. We sat.

  “I remember when you pitched for the Rangers. You were great.”

  “Thanks. Didn’t last long, though.”

  “But you could bring the heat.”

  “He still can,” Nicole said with a wicked smile.

  Doucet glanced at her and laughed, then back to me. “Ray’s some PI type from over in Gulf Shores?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Don’t know him, but he must have some pull.” He shrugged. “I mean, it’s not every day I get a call from the regional director of the FBI.”

  “He has friends in the agency.”

  “And he’s not bashful about reaching out to them.”

  I smiled. “Bashful and Ray don’t know each other. Growing up, he’d call the FBI if I missed curfew.”

  That drew a smile from Doucet. He seemed to relax a notch. “What can I tell you?”

  “How do you think all this went down?” I asked.

  He took a breath, held it a second, then exhaled slowly. “It’s not really our policy to discuss ongoing investigations. Not the details, anyway.”

  “I see.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you know, and I’ll see if I can confirm any of it.”

  “That’ll work,” I said. “A couple in a closed room, alone. The girl, Kristi Guidry, strangled. Kirk Ford not remembering any of it. How’s that?”

  “So far so good.”

  “That’s all we know.”

  Doucet stared at me but didn’t say anything.

  “I take it you know more than that?” I asked.

  “Not much.”

  I nodded. “Look, we’re here to help.”

  “Help? In what way?”

  “Get to the truth.”

  He twisted his neck as if working out a kink. “I’ve never found a PI to be very helpful. In fact, just the opposite.” He smiled. “The FBI, too, for that matter.”

  “I understand.” I let it hang there and waited him out.

  Finally, Doucet spoke. “Mr. Ford’s lack of memory is convenient if nothing else. On first blush, it doesn’t look good for him.”

  “On first blush?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been doing this job long enough to know that the simple answer is usually the right one. But I also know things aren’t always as they seem.”

  “You have doubts?”

  “Not really. I think he’s as guilty as homemade sin. But an open mind is always wise.”

  I liked that, too. At least the lead detective was sniffing out other possibilities. Even if I didn’t see another option right now.

  “Any other real suspects?”

  “Old boyfriend. One of my guys talked to him. Says he doubts he’s involved. Pretty tore up though.”

  “But he’s at least a possible suspect. Right?” Nicole asked.

  “Sure.” Doucet scratched an ear. “We’re still early in all this so everyone with any connection to Kristi, or Mr. Ford, is a suspect.”

  “I believe there was no evidence of other trauma?” I asked. “Other than the strangulation? Not a fight or struggle? Anything like that?”

  “No. But Ford said they were both hammered—his word.”

  “Wine and marijuana, I understand?”

  “Looks that way. We found a couple of empty bottles and three joints. Only one smoked. Half of it, anyway.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a recipe for a blackout,” I said.

  “True. The lab guys are doing their thing. Looking for anything else that might be in play.” He twisted his neck again. “That’ll take a while. A few days at least.”

  “No evidence anyone else was there?”

  “No forced entry or anything like that. And in a more or less public area like a hotel room, fingerprints will be a bitch to track down. The techs found a couple of dozen different prints. Most are probably from the staff.”

  “It’s never easy, is it?” I asked.

  “Almost never.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Kirk had scratches on his arms and back.”

  “Really?” Nicole asked.

  “Sure did. Some looked a few days old but a couple looked fresher. He said he got them on the set. Out there in the swamp where they’ve been shooting.” He shrugged. “Could be that. But the ME will get fingernail scrapings from Kristi to see if his DNA turns up.”

  I thought about that. So what? was my conclusion and I voiced that thought. “But they had sex. Even if she scratched him, it could be part of the deal.”

  Doucet cocked his head to one side. “Gee, I never thought of that.”

  “Sorry. Just thinking out loud.”

  He smiled. “I’m messing with you.”

  “What about her uncle? Tony Guidry?”

  “As a suspect?” Doucet asked.

  “No. I mean, from what I saw in there, it looked like he had his fingers in the court proceedings.”

  “Tony Guidry has his fingers in everything. He and Assistant DA Mooring are tight.”

  “Tight?”

  “Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “There’s a story there,” Nicole said.

  Doucet shrugged. “Ain’t there always a story?”

  “People’ve told us he’s a bad guy,” I said. “Maybe connected. That kind of thing.”

  “Tony Guidry is no doubt powerful and many think dirty to the core.”

  “Do you think he’s dirty?”

  Doucet hesitated, looked up and down the hallway, and then said, “I think Tony has no brakes and no boundaries. But don’t quote me on that.”

  “Could he manipulate this case?” I asked.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time. He did arrange for Melissa Mooring to handle the prosecution.”

  “Arranged?” Nicole said. “He did that?”

  Doucet shrugged. “I’m not sure there isn’t anything he can’t worm his way into. We’ve never been able to hang anything on him but we’ve looked into everything. Bribery, extortion, witness tampering. Even a couple of murders.”

  “Really?” Nicole asked.

  Another shrug. “As I said, nothing we could ever prove.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t go sniffing around in his world. Wouldn’t be healthy.”

  “You’re not the first person to tell us that,” I said.

  Doucet shrugged. “Then, there you go.”

  “What about her brothers?” I asked.

  “Not running on all cylinders, if you know what I mean. Not too bright. And not very close to Tony.”

  “Looked that way,” I said.

  “He gets them work. Mostly in one or the other of his clubs. From what I understand, they aren’t very good at much. Sure, Tony took them in after the death of their parents, but it’s Kristi he really protected. Those two he simply seems to tolerate.”

  “Family drama,” Nicole said. “Nothing quite like it.”

  “Anything else we need to know?” I asked.

  Doucet stood. “That’s all we have right now, but like I said, we’re just beginning to dig around.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to run, but I’m sure we’ll chat again before long.”

  I stood and shook his hand. “Thanks for filling us in.”

  “I hope I don’t regret yo
u two rooting around in my case.”

  “You won’t. Anything we find out, we’ll pass along.”

  He hesitated, nodded. “Just watch your six. You ask me, Tony has his own ideas about how this story should go.”

  “Do you think he might try to harm Kirk?” Nicole asked.

  “With Tony Guidry, anything is possible.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  ROBERT GUIDRY, JR. knew it was coming. Sure, Uncle Tony had chewed their asses outside the courtroom, but he wasn’t finished with them. No doubt about that. That was Tony’s way. Like a shark. Hit, damage, back off, and wait before striking again. Let the victim bleed a little, lose the will to fight, and the ability to escape. Mostly in a figurative sense, but with Tony it could just as easily be literal.

  Robert knew from the way his brother gripped the edge of the limo’s seat that Kevin felt it, too. How could he not? They’d been the focus of Uncle Tony’s ire on many occasions. Knew the signs. Jaw set, chin slightly elevated, shoulders tensed, like a Serengeti lion crouching to launch at an unsuspecting gazelle.

  One of Tony’s robots, Reuben Prejean, drove; Robert and Kevin sat on the limo’s rear, forward-facing bench seat; the other robot, Johnny Hebert, on the side seat across from the well-stocked bar; and Tony himself, back to the driver, facing them. In charge. Always in charge. King of the freaking New Orleans jungle.

  Tony held his cell to his ear and jabbered about digging into someone’s life. His eyes, however, were aimed at Robert and Kevin, and they had that dark, dangerous look Uncle Tony could lay on anyone at a moment’s notice.

  Sure, he had taken them in after the death of their parents, had paid for their schooling, gotten jobs for him and Kevin, and was, of course, footing the bill for Kristi’s college. He could afford it. No doubt about that. Robert might have been grateful for all this if Tony wasn’t such a dick. To Kevin and him anyway. Not Kristi. Never Kristi.

  Tony never had kids. Maybe he didn’t want them, but the scuttlebutt was that Tony shot blanks. Or maybe it was Aunt Anita. Robert preferred to believe Tony was the issue. Wouldn’t that be a hoot? Big bad Uncle Tony with an empty gun? Somehow that’d make all his bullshit tolerable. Mostly, anyway.

  At first, Uncle Tony’s conversation made no sense to Robert, but then he said, “Yeah. Tall good-looking guy and a very attractive blond chick. They were in court today. Came in with Ford’s attorney. Maybe they’re just friends or Hollywood hanger-ons. But, maybe not. Either way I want to know who all the players here are. I don’t want anyone screwing up the plan.” He listened again. “Let me know what you find.”