He reached past Bijou and opened the front door, indicating for her to precede him. She straightened her shoulders and her chin went up. A sulky, sullen expression crept over her delicate features as she shook her wild mane of hair to let it settle in her eyes. She marched in with Remy behind her.

There were needles lying around the marble floors; a bowl filled with pills and lines of cocaine lay out on a mahogany coffee table. Empty bottles of various strong alcoholic beverages along with empty wine bottles were scattered around the room. Several band members in different states of undress lay huddled on pillows, or on couches with one and sometimes two young women. Boxes of unused condoms were scattered around the room and used condoms were on the floor and the expensive rugs. Bodrie Breaux sprawled naked in a stupor between two naked women.

Bijou didn’t look at any of them. She kept her too-old eyes on him. There was no doubt she could read the distaste on his face. “Don’t do it. If you arrest him, he’ll be out in an hour and you’ll lose your badge. Don’t bother. I’d rather have you around.”

“Who are they?” He nodded toward the two women with Bodrie. One had lipstick smeared across her face. Someone had drawn on her breasts with lipstick, and cocaine still clung to her belly.

“One is my tutor and the other is my governess. They get paid a fortune for something that has nothing at all to do with me.” There was no bitterness in her voice, only weariness, and acceptance. “When he gets tired of them, he’ll fire them and hire new ones.”

“Can I take you somewhere else?”

She shrugged. “Where? I have no other relatives. I have no idea who my mother’s people are. There’s me and Bodrie.” She shrugged a second time. “I’ve got this. This is a nightly occurrence.”

“I can’t leave you here.” Remy shook his head. He’d shoot himself first. He’d never ever sleep again if he left a child in such an environment. He could sort it all out at the station once he got her out of harm’s way. “Get out to the car. I’m taking you to Pauline Lafont. She owns the Lafont Inn.”

“I know her,” Bijou responded. She looked around the room, and for the very first time, she looked like the child she was. Her shoulders sagged, and for one moment, tears swam in her eyes. She blinked them away and nodded, bolting past him for the door.

Once in the patrol car, he scribbled his private number on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “You get into trouble, call me.”