“Caleb Heath bought them the guns they used to do it,” Maureen said. “Caleb Heath gave them my fucking address.”
“You have proof of this,” Detillier said. “Ironclad proof? Because that’s what we need to send agents to Dubai to arrest this man’s son. Otherwise, I don’t have taxpayer dollars for a wrongful arrest suit. Not with my budget. Not with the lawyers the Heaths can afford. That’s what I mean when I talk about how big they are.”
“I do not have that kind of proof,” Maureen said. “I did. I don’t anymore.”
“Officer Quinn?” Detillier asked. “I take it he’s one of your sources.”
Maureen nodded.
“Well, he’s dead,” Detillier said. “Which means anything he ever said to you is meaningless.”
“Caleb knows everything Quinn told me,” Maureen said, “and more.”
“Rebuilding New Orleans is only part of what they do,” Detillier said, shaking his head. “And a small part at that. It’s building sand castles to these people. They’re worldwide. If they get sick of Caleb in Dubai, they can send him to Jakarta, to Buenos Aires. That’s how big these people are, how deep their pockets go.”
“Here in New Orleans,” Maureen said, “the big boss lives on the edge of the park four miles away. I can show you which house. I can give you their address. Solomon seems like a decent guy. I only met him once, but I’ve seen him a bunch of times since then. I can give you a general impression. He has to know what his son is mixed up in. Have you even talked to him? Made him try to understand what his son was doing?”
Detillier sat silent and stone-faced.
Maureen turned to Preacher. “Do you believe this guy?”
“I do,” Preacher said. “Sadly enough.”
“Caleb Heath is a direct connection to the Watchmen,” Maureen said, rising from her seat, pressing her finger into the tabletop. “Direct. He’s done business with them. For them. He knows any number of them personally.”
“This business is?” Detillier asked, sighing.
“Guns,” Maureen said. “Lots of them. He finances them, bankrolls them. Or he did, through Clayton Gage, who was an old friend of his from school.” She sat back down. “Now that Heath is out of the country, I don’t know if the pipeline stayed open.”
“Clayton Gage,” Detillier said. “He’s dead, too. He was the second murder.” He drew a finger across his throat. “The necktie outside the bar.”
“Indeed,” Preacher said.
“So with the deaths of Quinn and Gage, and the disappearance of”—Detillier flipped through his notebook—“former officer Ruiz, this direct connection from Heath to the Watchmen has been totally cut off. So to speak.”
“Ruiz hasn’t disappeared,” Maureen said. “He left New Orleans.”
“And went where?” Detillier asked, his eyes moving back and forth between Preacher and Maureen. “He resigned in disgrace, not the best witness. He’s a waste of resources.”
“You’re the federal investigator,” Maureen said. “We’re just beat cops, us.”
“These connections were cut off by the murders,” Detillier said, “in which Madison Leary is a suspect. She seems to know how to find these guys better than anyone else in New Orleans. I’d like to talk to her about that.”
Maureen shrugged. “I’m telling you, she’s not your best way in. She’s not the trick to shutting them down. She’s her own violent offshoot of their violent offshoot.”
“I can be the judge of how important she is,” Detillier said. “Or isn’t.”
“You know she’s mayor of Psycho City, right?” Preacher said.
Detillier frowned at his notebook, flipping back and forth between pages. Maureen didn’t know who else he had talked to about the case, but he’d made a lot of notes. She could tell from his furrowed brow that ideas were starting to lock together in his imagination.
Detiller said, “We’ll come back to Ms. Leary.”
Maureen wondered if Madison had ever been called that before. She had a crazy idea. She decided she’d say it out loud. To see what Detillier would do.
“She’s one of yours, isn’t she? Madison Leary. She was some dopey bastard’s drug mule, or some gunrunner’s scagged-out girlfriend, and you flipped her and put her to work for you, made her an informant. You brought her to Louisiana and pointed her to the Watchmen. And now you’ve lost her and she’s running around New Orleans killing people. She was a mole for you, into the Sovereign Citizens down here. And she’s gone rogue in the worst possible way. That’s why you’re so interested in her.”
Detillier stared at her for a long time. “I can see you’ve put a lot of thought into her.”
Maureen couldn’t even hear Preacher breathing.
“Let’s talk about the father,” Detillier finally said. “He’s of interest to us.” He paused. “I’m talking about Clayton’s father. I’m talking about Napoleon Gage. Goes by Leon.”