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“Desmond Cormier wants to cast you in his film, even though he knows you’re investigating a homicide that might involve people he works with.”
“He hasn’t said anything to me about it.”
“I’m sorry for breaking in on you like this.”
She put a sandwich and two scoops of potato salad on her plate, then set a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses on the table. “Will you please tell me what’s bothering you?”
“There are two or three bad guys in the department,” I replied. “One of them is Axel Devereaux.”
“What about him?”
“He’s a misogynist.”
“You think I care about a man like that?”
“He may have poisoned Sean McClain’s animals.”
“Ugh,” she said. “Is somebody going to do something about that?”
“There’s no proof.”
“Every thought in that man’s brain is on his face. What’s he doing in the department, anyway?”
“From what I gather, you grew up in a traditional neighborhood in New Orleans, Bailey,” I said.
“I’m not making the connection.”
“In Vietnam we used to say ‘It’s Nam.’ Same thing here. This is Louisiana. That means we’re everybody’s punch. Wars of enormous consequence are fought in places nobody cares about.”
“You don’t have to protect me, Dave. Or patronize me.”
“I believe you. I’d better be going.”
She looked at her food. She hadn’t touched it. “How long has your wife been gone?”
“Three years.”
“A car accident?”
“I’d call it a homicide. Why do you ask?”
“My husband died when he was only twenty-five,” she said. “He was in Iraq, but he had to come home to get killed. I know what it’s like to lose someone and be alone.”
“I’m not alone.”
“Don’t pretend,” she said.
“Desmond is right. You look like the actress who played Clementine in the Henry Fonda movie.”
“I guess I’ll have to see it sometime.”
“Stay away from those guys, Bailey. They’re sons of bitches.”
“I’ll try to watch out for myself.”
I didn’t know if she was being ironic or trying to be polite. I half-filled my glass with tea and drank it down. “I’ll see you Monday morning.”
“Come by anytime. Can I drive you home?”
