He studied the map. “Bourbon. Conti. St. Peter. They’re all right here. They can crisscross the blocks, going back and forth between places, even taking their drinks with them. Party central.”
“Exactly. FBI called it. Our guy’s either a regular to the scene or in the service industry. I’m betting on the latter. These,” she tapped the map, “the clubs that are in close proximity, are the places we infiltrate. You and I start immediately. You’ll—” She glanced up, scanned the activity around them, then returned her gaze to his. “—do what you do best, and I’ll do what I do. Task force meets tomorrow in anticipation of the weekend. My guess is they’re planning to have a small army of undercover agents placed throughout the Quarter, some of them undercover celebrating their birthday. I intend to be one of them.”
Zach’s cell went off. He stood to take it. A moment later he returned to her desk.
“Who was that?” Micki asked absently, not lifting her gaze from the map.
“Desk officer downstairs. There’s a Fran from Teddy’s Po’boys here to see me. Won’t talk to anyone else, she said.”
That got her attention. “Angel Gomez’s friend?”
“The very one.”
It was a break. Maybe. “I’ll get an interview room. You bring her up.”
Ten minutes later, the young woman was sitting across the interview room table from her. She was scared. And weepy.
“I didn’t know what to do. So I came here.”
Micki offered her the box of tissues. She took one, then another.
“We’re glad you did. How about a Coke? Or something to eat?”
She shook her head. “I’m good. I just left work.”
“Tell us what happened.”
“Angel showed back up.”
“When,” Micki asked, working to mask her excitement.
“Three days ago. Showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night.”
“Is she there now?”
Fran nodded. “Hiding.”
“From who?”
Fran hesitated. “She said I couldn’t tell anyone.”
Zach stepped in, voice silky. “But you know that’s not the right thing to do,” he said softly. “That’s why you’re here.”
Her eyes welled with tears. “Yes. And she’s freaking me out.”
“Why’s that, Fran?”
“She said something tried to kill her.” She lifted her teary gaze to Zach’s. “Did you hear what I said—not someone. Something!” She curved her arms around her middle. “A creature, she said. A monster.”
Micki met Zach’s eyes. She saw the excitement in his. Unless Gomez bolted, they had a break in the case.
“I don’t know what happened to her. She was always . . . different, you know. But now she’s so out there.” Fran grabbed another tissue and started to shred it. “It’s my fault. I never should have taken her to that party. I bet someone slipped her something, and she’s had a bad reaction . . . some sort of psychotic break.
“Half the time she’s doubled over in pain. I don’t know if she needs a real doctor, or if it’s all in her head. She won’t leave my apartment, says the thing’s going to get her.”
Micki leaned forward. “Did she say where she’s been?”
“It didn’t make a lot of sense. I thought for sure she was tripping, and—” Her voice rose. “I’m done. Somebody else has to take care or her ‘cause I don’t know what to do!”
“Look at me, Fran,” Zach said. She did, and he went on. “Everything’s fine. I’ve got this. Detective Dare does, too. We’ll take care of her, Fran. No more worries.”
One look into Zach’s magical blue eyes and the girl became as calm as a sleeping kitten. Micki shook her head. Hocus-freaking-pocus. Still amazed the crap out of her.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Wednesday, July 17
2:05 P.M.
Located in Mid-City at the edge of Tulane Avenue and above a Korean Restaurant, Fran’s apartment was shabby but surprisingly spacious. Angel, Fran told them, had been sleeping on the floor of the back bedroom.
“It’s sort of creepy,” she whispered, sticking her key into the lock. “She put garbage bags over the windows, so nothing could peer in. Nothing,” she repeated. “Creepy.”
“She’s going to be just fine, Fran. Trust us.”
She nodded, opened the door. “Angel,” she called out, stepping inside, “it’s me. I brought you Mickey D’s.”
Although the girl didn’t respond, Zach knew she was here. He picked up her energy. Her fear. It rippled along his nerve endings.
He looked at Mick. “She knows we’re here. And she’s afraid.”
“Angel,” he said softly, “my name’s Zach. I’m a police officer and I’m here to help you. My partner’s with me. Her name’s Micki.”
Still no response. He moved farther into the apartment. “I know you’re scared, but we’re here to help you.”
He looked at Fran. She pointed toward the kitchen. He nodded and started that way. “Fran told us what happened. So we could help you.”
“I’ll cover the exit,” Micki said. “This seems like your area.”
He agreed. “Talk to her, Fran. Reassure her.”