Black Silk. Metsy Hingle

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СКАЧАТЬ Ma’am. Officer—”

      “It’s Detective,” she corrected, pausing at the panic in the young man’s voice.

      “Yes, ma’am. I mean, Detective,” he said. “If you’ll just wait a minute. I’m supposed to notify Mr. Blackwell—”

      “It’s all right, Dennis,” a portly man with a horrible comb-over said as he materialized from a door behind the desk to stand beside the nervous clerk. “I’m Mr. Blackwell, the manager of Mill House Apartments,” he advised her with a pomposity that annoyed her.

      “Detective Charlotte Le Blanc,” she told him with a flash of her badge. “New Orleans Homicide.”

      “So I see,” he all but sniffed. “Several of your associates have already arrived, Detective. Perhaps you would like to remove your coat before you join them.”

      The disdain in his voice was clear as he surveyed the wet tracks she’d left in her wake, and Charlie suspected he would have preferred showing her the exit instead of allowing her further access. And because she’d never understood why some people thought a fancy title or money entitled them to act pompously, she said, “It’s a bit chilly in here. I think I’ll just keep it on.” And without waiting for his response, she walked past him, down the corridor to the elevator, where she found a uniformed police officer waiting. “Detective Le Blanc,” she said, showing him her ID.

      “Yes, ma’am.” The officer stepped inside the elevator with her and hit the button for the fifth floor.

      “Why don’t you fill me in, Officer,” Charlie said and noted the surveillance camera inside the elevator. She made a mental note to have the tapes confiscated if Kossak hadn’t already done so.

      “I wasn’t first on the scene, Detective. All I know is that we have a robbery/homicide in apartment 513. Any details on what went down and who was involved are being kept in there.”

      Moments later when the elevator doors slid open, the police officer remained where he was and she stepped out into a carpeted hallway adorned with artwork and more urns of fresh flowers. As she walked down the hall, her damp boots were silent on the thick carpet. More surveillance cameras were in evidence and Charlie was impressed by the security measures. The tapes should prove useful, she thought. As she approached apartment 513, she noted the crime-scene tape that had been stretched across the doorway and another uniformed police officer, whom she pegged as a rookie, standing at the door’s entrance like a sentinel. Charlie held up her badge. “Detective Le Blanc.”

      “Detective,” he said, all but snapping his heels together.

      “Who was the first on scene?” she asked.

      “I was, ma’am. My partner and I were on patrol when we got the call. After we arrived, we confirmed the victim was dead and phoned it into the station. We secured the scene and took a statement from the woman who found the body.”

      Charlie quickly scanned the room, taking in the crime scene, which she guessed had been the site of a party, judging by the empty glasses and half-eaten food. The various police units were at work, sorting through it all. The forensic photographer snapped shots of empty glasses and champagne bottles on the table, then bagged the items. She spied her partner, Vince Kossak, in a far corner of the room, questioning a woman in a maid’s uniform. From the look of things, the fresh-faced officer had followed procedure. His securing the scene properly would certainly make her and Vince’s job easier. “Good work, Officer…”

      “Mackenzie, ma’am. Andrew Mackenzie.”

      “You did a good job, Officer Mackenzie.”

      “Thank you, ma’am.”

      Charlie nodded, then made her way across the room toward her partner. At thirty-two, Vince was three years her senior. An average-looking man of average height with brown hair and eyes, Vince was anything but average when it came to being a cop. He had a string of commendations for his bravery in the field. Though he downplayed the awards, she knew firsthand that he deserved every one of them. Just last year he’d faced down a drugged-up junkie wielding a knife who was holding his own wife hostage. Vince got the woman away unharmed, but it had taken a dozen stitches to close the gash in his shoulder. No, Vince Kossak wasn’t even remotely average, she mused. He was everything she believed a cop should be—honest, trustworthy, a man you could stake your life on.

      They didn’t come any more solid than Vince Kossak. And she’d been lucky to be assigned to work with him. The two of them made a good team. In the two years that they had been partners, she had learned a great deal from him. More than that, they had become friends. She trusted Vince with her life and vice versa. He was among the few people that she’d confided in about her sister’s murder and her determination to track down the killer.

      Looking up, she caught Vince’s eye and he motioned for her to join him. “Thank you, Mrs. Ramirez. You’ve been a big help,” Vince told the woman and waved the uniformed officer over to join them. “Now if you’ll just go with the police officer, he’ll get your contact information and we’ll be in touch with you.”

      “You will find this person who hurt Miss Francesca, yes?” the woman asked, her accented voice thick with tears.

      “We’re certainly going to try.” Once the police officer led the woman away, Vince turned to Charlie. “Jeez, Le Blanc,” he said as he took in her wet hair and jacket. “Haven’t you ever heard of an umbrella?”

      She shrugged. “The weatherman said no rain today.”

      “And you believed him?”

      “I was hoping he’d get it right for once.” Of course, he hadn’t gotten it right. Nine times out of ten, the weather forecasts were off the mark, as was typical for New Orleans. The weather was as wide-ranging as the people who lived there. You could find yourself in shirtsleeves and suffering from a drought one day only to be hit with freezing temperatures and floods the next day.

      “You’re lucky they even let you in the front door of this place.”

      “Trust me, that prissy manager wouldn’t have if he could have helped it,” she replied. “So what have we got?”

      “The vic’s wallet is empty and according to the maid there’s jewelry missing.”

      “A robbery gone bad?” Charlie asked.

      “Maybe.” He gave her a quick rundown of the situation, explaining the maid had arrived that morning to help the victim get ready for her wedding, only to find the bride-to-be dead.

      “Today was her wedding day?” While each case she investigated left a mark on her, Charlie couldn’t help feeling sad for the woman whose dreams had ended before they’d even begun.

      “It was supposed to be.” He paused. “This one is going to be touchy, Le Blanc. Word from the top is that we’re to handle this with kid gloves.”

      She wasn’t surprised given the real estate. “Who’s the victim?”

      “Her name’s Francesca Hill. Age twenty-six, a former casino hostess.”

      The name didn’t ring any bells. Charlie glanced around the apartment. Lots of white and black, bold splashes of red, modern artwork that looked like a kid had СКАЧАТЬ