Eighteen minutes later, a call came in from Commander Raymond Delongpre Lhermitte (Retired). In a bass voice that alternated between rasp and molasses, Lhermitte said, “Tell me why you need this, son.”

Milo obliged.

“Okay,” said Lhermitte. “You present your case well. Problem is, we’ve been dealing with some pretty bad corruption issues here. Hurricane agitated it, the waters are still roiling, and even though I’m off the job I have no desire to stir up more.”

“Me neither, sir.”

“But you’re working a whodunit so to hell with anything else.”

“That’s true.”

“As it should be,” said Lhermitte. “Fact is, I shouldn’t even care, I’m growing orchids and shooting nutria for sport, but I can’t break the bonds. To the department as well as to my beautiful, crazy city. Never found a better place to live but sometimes it seems we’ve irritated the Almighty.”

“Gotta be rough,” said Milo.

“So,” said Lhermitte, “this girl was one of the fire survivors? That was a bad one, started in a hotel and took down an entire block of old wood buildings. What was that name again?”

“Qeesha D’Embo.”

“Sounds African-phony to me, son. No, afraid I’m not aware of anyone by that name.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to know everyone, sir.”

“I know a lot of people,” said Lhermitte. “Including Clyde Bordelon.”

“A cop?”

“Unfortunately, son. Ugly piece of psychology, I’d like to think the regs we got in place now he’d never have gotten hired. But who knows, nothing’s perfect.”

“He’s still on the force?”

“No, he’s lying under dirt. Shot with his own poorly maintained service gun in the backyard of his own poorly maintained house.”

“When?”

“Coupla years ago. Still an open case.”

“Any suspects?”

“Too many suspects, son. Nasty individual that he was.”

“What kind of nasty?”

“Clyde was what’s known as an individual of loose morals. By that I don’t mean transgressions of a sexual nature, though if you told me Clyde had congress with a herd of cocaine-blinded goats I wouldn’t gasp in amazement because bottom line, the man was amoral, rules just didn’t apply to him. But the sins the department suspected were of a monetary nature: payoffs, bribes, hijacking cigarette and liquor trucks, consorting with the criminal element on a variety of projects. So you can see what I mean about a plethora of suspects.”

“Any of them stand out?”

“A girl,” said Lhermitte. “A dancer, not a church-girl. But her name wasn’t Qeesha, it was Charlene Rae Chambers.”

“By dancer—”

“I mean stripper. Her stage name was CoCo. Like the dress designer. Pretty little thing, not one of ours, she was a Yankee, came up from somewhere in New York to work the pole at the Deuces Wild. One of Clyde’s favorite after-hour spots. After she started there it became his only after-hour spot.”

“Obsessed?”

“You could say that.”