“How’d you know?”
“His medical care could run into millions.”
She pulled up a chair. “Go over everything again.”
I did as she said. Helen was a good cop, in my experience second only to Clete Purcel, and not someone you took over the hurdles. But I didn’t want Sean McClain hurt worse than he alre
ady was.
“You left a bar and went to Delahoussaye’s house because you had a feeling?” she said.
“That’s correct.”
“You know how that will sound to others?”
“That’s their problem.”
“Sean McClain had been drinking at the club?”
“He wasn’t impaired.”
“How about you?”
“I picked up a cup I shouldn’t have,” I said.
Her jaw tightened.
“Here’s the long and short of the shooting,” I said. “Tillinger pointed his weapon at us. Sean told him to drop it over and over.”
“Tillinger pointed his gun at you or in your direction?”
“That’s too fine a distinction,” I said.
“I think you’re holding back on me.”
She was right. Tillinger probably had thought I was in his corner. He was probably going to lower the weapon and place it on the asphalt. There may have even been a smile on his face. Then Sean had started firing. Maybe if he had waited two seconds more, the Luger would have been on the asphalt and Tillinger would have had his hands in the air.
“I wish I hadn’t taken Sean with me,” I said. “If it’s on anybody, it’s on me.”
“It’s an imperfect world, bwana. But we’re stuck with it.”
“Anything else?”
“St. Martin Parish thinks this is open and shut,” she said.
“Based on what?”
“Tillinger was at the scene with a gun in his hand. That might be a clue.”
“Were there prints on the chalice?” I asked.
“No.”
“Did Tillinger have gloves on his person?”
“Jody Dubisson says he’s still looking,” she said.
“This is a crock and you know it,” I said.