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“Let them go,” André snapped. “I will take their statements myself. Did you record everything, Gabe?”
“I did.”
“Apparently, so did Xavier,” Burke muttered.
André looked tired. “Send both videos to me as soon as you can.”
“Can I have my phone back?” Molly asked the cop who’d taken it.
“Evidence,” the cop snapped.
André’s sigh said he was out of patience. “Officer Styles. Miss Sutton is not under arrest. She is a Good Samaritan. Give her the goddamn phone.”
With a dirty look, the cop obeyed, slapping the phone into Molly’s outstretched hand. It hurt, as did the wrist he’d cuffed with way too much relish, but she bit back the flinch, unwilling to let the asshole see it. “Thank you, sir,” she said sweetly.
Gabe held the SUV’s front passenger door open for Molly, then got in the back with Xavier, who’d finally stopped filming and was back down on the floorboard. They waited until Burke was behind the wheel and had closed his door before asking questions.
“What did he say?” Gabe asked.
“Why are we going to the Monteleone?” Molly asked.
“Is Joelle dead?” Xavier asked.
Burke pulled away from the curb. “We’re going to the Monteleone because André said to. He told me that he’d meet us there and take our statements, that we could trust Officer McCauley, that he didn’t want us going to the police station when he wasn’t there to ensure our safety, and that we should keep our heads down. Yes, Xavier, she’s dead.”
“Fuck,” Xavier muttered. “Another wife dead of ‘suicide’?”
“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Burke drawled sardonically and headed toward the Quarter. “There was a note on the passenger seat of her car. I snapped a photo of it, in case it gets ‘misplaced.’ She claimed to have killed ‘Ashley’ because Ashley and Ducote were having an affair but had second thoughts.”
“The female victim yesterday morning?” Molly asked. “Could that have been Ashley?”
“Dunno,” Burke said. “It’d make sense, though.”
“Especially with the woman wearing the same necklace as Joelle,” Gabe added.
“What are you talking about?” Xavier asked, and Molly told him about Joelle’s necklace.
“Damn,” he murmured. “This man is evil. How many mistresses has he killed? How many wives?”
“That’s on André to find out,” Burke said. “But it’s on us to make sure that happens.”
“I trust André,” Molly said.
Burke nodded. “So do I. He’s come through for us too many times for me not to.”
“Why the Monteleone?” Gabe asked.
Burke shrugged, then hissed, rubbing his shoulder. “Don’t know. I’m just doing what he said to do. Damn, my shoulder hurts. I’m getting too old to be breaking down doors.”
“Me, too,” Gabe said, rolling his shoulder with a grimace. “Think they’ll charge us for breaking and entering into Ducote’s garage?”
“I don’t think so,” Molly said, flexing her wrist. On top of not being able to talk to Joelle Ducote, the three of them had sustained injuries in the process. Everyone but Xavier, so she could be grateful for that, at least. “We have the whole thing documented, and we called 911.” She’d ended the call to 911 when the ambulance had arrived and now googled Monteleone Hotel and Lamont Ducote. “Oh,” she said after scanning one of the first articles to pop up. “There’s a big political fundraiser tonight. Five hundred bucks a plate. Guess who’s a guest speaker?”
“Lamont Ducote,” Gabe said with a growl. “Motherfucker.”
Molly sighed. “Yes and yes.”
“Is André going to arrest him?” Xavier asked.
