Not exactly around the corner. More like up and over a half dozen blocks. Club Me-Oh-My, home to New Orleans’ most famous drag show.
Micki gazed at the vic, tuning out the sound of sobbing coming from the hallway behind them. Desiree Strong had been shot in the back three times, then a fourth at close range, to the back of the head. The wound and blood spatter suggested the headshot had been last, delivered after Strong went down.
It was a good thing she had a cast iron stomach, Micki thought. Otherwise her shoes would be decorated with the big-ass shrimp po’boy she’d scarfed down on the way to the scene.
“Another dead queen,” Angelo said, “in less than twenty-four hours. That’s one mind-bending coincidence.”
It was. So much so, her right eye began to twitch. “Maybe it’s not?”
“Seriously, Dare? C’mon, what could Ms. Desiree here and Vivianne Stanley actually have in common?”
“Besides that they both sported title of queen and are now dead?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Besides those.”
“How about overkill? Stanley, beaten to a pulp and then kicked? And here, four shots? The last with the gun’s muzzle pressed against Strong’s cranium? Both crimes of passion.”
“You’re overlooking one thing, partner. Vanderlund’s in jail. Desi here was still alive when that happened.”
She pursed her lips. “It’s just so bizarre.”
“Yeah, it is. But it’s Carnival and the city’s run amok with queens.”
He had a point. But as they turned their attention to interview the club’s owner, Micki’s eye continued to twitch. And her mind wandered back to the fact two “queens” had been murdered in twenty-four hours.
Carmine was asking the man about the club’s surveillance system. They sat at a corner table in the empty bar. The bartenders and waitresses stood clustered behind the bar, looking shaken and uncertain what to do.
Micki studied them a moment, then turned her attention to Carmine and the club owner. Unfortunately, lightning wouldn’t strike twice—the club’s only cameras pointed at the cash registers and front door.
“Mr. Alexander,” she asked, “were you here last night?”
“Call me Mustang. Everyone does.”
“All right, Mustang. Were you here?”
“I’m here every night. Open to close.”
Micki noted he was incredibly fit for a man his age. Built like a dancer, but with a face deeply lined from what she suspected was a lifetime of late nights in smoky clubs. “Anything different about last night?”
“We had a group of haters in.”
“Haters?”
“Definitely not transfriendly. Shouted ugly things. Slurs. We called the cops.”
“Does that happen often?”
He shook his head. “Not so much. People come to New Orleans for the show. You know, for the thrill of the naughty.”
That they did. And a lot of them parked their inhibitions at the airport and went crazy. She glanced down at her notes. “You think one of them might have come back, shot Desi?”
Mustang blinked against tears. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Easy enough to find out if they were booked or let off with a warning,” Angelo said.
Micki nodded, although she didn’t think some drunken jackass had done this. It felt way too personal. “Any other ideas who might have killed Desiree?”
He brought the heels of his hands to his eyes. “This can’t be happening. She can’t be gone.”
Angelo pressed the man. “Think, Mustang. About the people in Desi’s circle. Family, friends, club regulars even. Someone who might have had a beef with her. Does anyone come to mind?”
“No, everyone loved Desi.” His voice broke. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. This is a complete disaster. She was the star of the show! Just brilliant. And it’s Carnival. There’s the ball, the fashion show, and all the tourists.” He dropped his head into his hands. “What do I do now?”
Micki made a note. “Was Desi married?”
“Would have been if same sex marriages were legal in Louisiana. It’s so unfair.”
“So, he had a partner?”
“Had. They broke up recently.”
Angelo took over. “Was the break up acrimonious? Were there specific pressures that came between them?”
“Late nights. The groupies and constant temptations.”
“Desi was unfaithful, is that what you’re saying?”
“Just a little.”
Micki cocked an eyebrow. “A ‘little’ unfaithful? What does that mean?”
He looked momentarily nonplused, then said, “As little as possible.”
Angelo cleared his throat to cover a snort. Micki ignored him and went on. “So, it was an acrimonious split?”
“Rog couldn’t have done it.”
“Why not?”
“He’s gone.”
“Where?”
“Took a job in Memphis. That played a part in the break-up. Desi refused to leave the show. It was her life.”
“You have Rog’s contact information?”