Dixie City Jam (Dave Robicheaux 7)

I went out for a drink of water, then took a seat not far from the prosecutor's table. Five minutes before the nun impersonator had to enter her plea, the prosecutor looked at me impatiently, then gathered up a file folder and walked back to where I sat. He was a rail of a man, with a tic in his gray face, who made his daily nest in the high-tension wires. He kept tapping the file folder on my knee.

'This isn't shit. What the hell have y'all been doing?' he said.

'Her address is phony. Does that help?'

'It's shit and you know it. You guys spend your time fucking your fist, then blame us when they walk.'

'How about kicking it down a couple of notches, Newt?'

'You want my job? You tell us we've got the bride of Dracula in the parish jail, but I'm supposed to walk in here with nothing but my dork in my hand. Dautrieve's not in the mood for it, believe me.'

'She had an empty aspirin tin in her purse. I sent it to the lab this morning. Maybe there's a residue that indicates she was in possession.'

'An empty aspirin container? That's the kind of evidence I'm supposed to work with here? Do you live in a plastic bubble?'

'She's hooked up with Nazis. I'd bet my butt on it, Newt.'

'I've got news for you. You are. She's talking about suit. She said you tried to get in her bread when you busted her. That was a smart touch, sticking her bra in her back pocket, Dave. She's also talking about deprivation of civil rights, slander, and sexual assault while in the bag. How's that sound? And in two minutes I get to stand up in front of the court and get buggered by that greasy shit hog she hired. Y'all really fill out my day.'

'Don't let her get out of here, partner.'

'Break my chops.'

Judge Dautrieve was fixing his glasses on his nose and trying to keep the ennui out of his face by the time the woman who called herself Marie Guilbeaux stood before him, her lawyer by her side. He listened attentively to the prosecutor, one finger propped against a silver eyebrow. Then his eyes went from the prosecutor to me and back to the woman.

'This isn't April Fools' Day, is it, gentlemen?' he said.

'Your Honor, we believe this lady to be a serious flight risk,' the prosecutor said. 'She has no ties to the community, we believe she's using an alias, and the address on her driver's license has proved to be a fraudulent one. She's also a potential suspect in a homicide case. We request maximum bail.'

'Your Honor, my client claims she was sexually molested by Detective Robicheaux,' the woman's la

wyer said. 'She was humiliated, put in a holding unit with lesbians who tried to assault her, then verbally harassed by Detective Robicheaux in this very courtroom. There's nothing to substantiate the charge against her, except the word of Detective Robicheaux, who himself may face criminal charges.'

The judge suppressed a sigh, took off his glasses, and beckoned with both hands. When no one moved, he said, 'Approach, approach, approach. It's late, gentlemen. The Three Penny Opera here needs to conclude. That means you too, Detective Robicheaux.'

The two attorneys and I stood close to the bench. Judge Dautrieve leaned forward on his forearms and let his eyes rove over our faces.

'Would any of y'all care to explain what we're doing?' he said. 'Is this part of a Hollywood movie? Do I need a membership in the Screen Actors Guild? What homicide are you talking about, sir?'

'The ex-convict who was murdered at Iberia General, Your Honor,' the prosecutor said. 'He was part of a neo-Nazi group of some kind. The woman was seen at the hospital in a nun's veil, close by the man's room.'

'Seen by whom? When?' the judge said.

'Detective Robicheaux and others.'

'I don't see the others. You didn't answer all my questions, either. Seen when? At the time of death?'

'We're not sure.'

'Not sure? Wonderful,' the judge said.

'That has nothing to do with the charge against her now, anyway,' the defense attorney said.

'It means she has every reason not to come back here,' the prosecutor said.

Then the judge looked me evenly in the eyes.

'What motive would this lady have in coming to your house and telling you she's a nun, when, in fact, she's not?' he said.