The burgers were big, juicy, and flavorful. Stacked high with grilled onion and mushrooms, oozing with more cheese than either of them should eat. A heart attack in a bag. He washed his down with a glass of milk; she chose an Abita beer.
“Tell me about the homicide,” he said around a mouthful of burger.
“Cut-and-dried. Uptown matron snaps and kills her queenly rival.”
“Nothing’s ever cut-and-dried, girl. Not when it comes to one man taking another’s life.”
She shook her head, fondness for him washing over her. “How long have you been retired from the force, old man? The way you talk, it’s been a long, friggin’ time.”
He laughed, deep and rumbly. “Snapped you say?”
“Mmm.” Micki took a swallow of the beer. “Everyone we talked to claimed our perp couldn’t hurt a flea. Said perp, however, beat the victim to death. Big mess. She walked out covered in her rival’s blood and wearing her crown. Got it all on surveillance tape. Then she tried to torch the Rex Den.”
She finished her beer. “Apparently, she was promised a crown for her daughter. When it didn’t happened, she…snapped.”
Hank stood, collected the remains of their meal, and carried it all to the trash. “Ugly thing, the green-eyed monster. The trick is to not put your hopes in things money and influence can buy.”
“Umm, isn’t that everything?”
He met her eyes. “Actually, it’s not anything.”
He held her gaze, his eyes the baby blue of a summer sky and somehow as endless. What was it about him? A cross between Santa, Yoda, and an aging Marlboro Man. “You’re such a weirdo,” she said.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Love you, too, girl.”
Chapter Eight
7:35 A.M.
The next morning, Carmine called her on her way to the Second District. Change of plans. His superior officer wanted to meet with her about the Vanderlund case. Angelo worked the Eighth District—the French Quarter—also known as Whack Central because every sort of whacked-out shit went down there.
She arrived at shift change and made her way through the unfamiliar faces and up to the Detective Bureau. Major Nichols waved her into his office; she saw Angelo was already there.
“Good to meet you, Dare. Take a seat.”
She took the seat next to Carmine. “Feeling’s mutual, Major.”
“Read the report. Talked to Detective Angelo. You did good, Detective. ”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“I like your initiative. So does Detective Angelo.”
“Appreciate that.”
“I’m going to get right to it,” Nichols went on. “I need help here at the Eighth. Your permanent assignment’s to the Ninth, correct?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Different animal here. We see it all, and lots of it. Thinking you might have the touch.”
“The touch, Sir?”
“Ability to stay focused in the midst of insanity.”
“With your own dose of crazy,” Carmine added, grinning at her.
Major Nichols ignored him and went on. “The Eighth isn’t for everyone. If you need some time to—”
“I’m in.”
Major Nichols smiled. “That’s what I’d hoped you’d say. Your reassignment won’t be official until after Mardi Gras. Unofficially, you’re on the team.”
“Who will I be working with?”
“Detective Angelo. I assume that meets your approval?”
“Absolutely.”
“Angelo, for now, make room at your desk. It’s carnival; you won’t be here much.” He indicated the door. “Go. I need you on the street.”
They exited the major’s office. Micki cleared her throat. “That was a surprise.”
“Cool, huh?”
It was. Very. She glanced at him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Welcome.” He motioned toward the right. “But it wasn’t just me.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know for sure. But it came from up high.”
Up high? She frowned. Could Hank have made a call?
“What?” Angelo asked.
“I was just wondering if—”
But why would he have done it without talking to her first? That didn’t seem like Hank.
“Nevermind.” She shook her head. “I’ve got no clue, dude.”
Carmine dragged a chair over to an already over-crowded desk. “Got the pathologist’s report on Stanley. We called it at the scene.”
He slid the report across the desk. She flipped it open. Photos of Stanley bruised and bloodied.
“What’s this?” She tapped a photo depicting Stanley’s bruised left back and side.
“Vanderlund kicked her. Repeatedly.”
“Seriously?” She shook her head. “Hard to reconcile that pleasant faced little woman with this…overkill.”
“Freaky, right? She’ll plead temporary insanity. She might even get a jury to buy it.”
“You don’t?”
“Dead’s dead. Now it’s up to the court.”
She returned her gaze to the photo. “You’ve moved on.”
“Don’t have a choice, partner. That one’s done, another’s right around the corner.”
Chapter Nine
11:30 A.M.