Pegasus Descending

“Yes, suh, he was.”

“Thank you.” I started to lower the receiver into the cradle.

“Mr. Robicheaux?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I been knowing Cesaire Darbo

He was a good man, I said to myself.

After I hung up, I went into Helen’s office. “I think I got taken over the hurdles. I think Cesaire Darbo

She sat back in her chair, widening her eyes.

“I found a witness to the Yvo

She closed then opened her eyes. “Oh, boy,” she said, more to herself than to me.

“I did some more research into Cesaire’s history, too. Seventeen years back, a plainclothes investigated an attempted break-in at Cesaire’s bar. Cesaire was in possession of a cut-down twelve-gauge that he probably salvaged from a shotgun that exploded on him after he got some mud in the barrel.”

“Cesaire followed Tony the night Tony was supposed to meet Monarch?”

“That’s my guess. He blew Tony apart, then planted the weapon in Monarch’s car.”

“Why Monarch’s?”

“Because everyone knows Monarch was selling dope to white teenagers. The autopsy showed Yvo

“We’re going to look like idiots going back to the grand jury on this guy for another homicide. It’s like we don’t have anyone else in the parish to charge for unsolved crimes,” she said.

“Want me to talk to Lo

“Screw Lo

“Lefty wants payback for the beating he took?”

“No, the Feds think he and Whitey Bruxal are going to try to get Whitey’s money back by peeling the skin off Trish Klein’s pretty ass.”

She saw the look on my face. “That’s the language this FBI jerk used. Don’t blame me,” she said. “Where’s Clete Purcel, Dave? Don’t lie to me, either.”

I didn’t have to lie. I didn’t know. Not exactly, anyway.

THAT NIGHT, Molly and I went to a movie and had di

“You worried about Clete?” she asked.

“A little. If NOPD gets their hands on him, they’re going to put him away.”

“He’s always come through before, hasn’t he?”

“Except that’s not what he wants. He’s been committing suicide in increments his whole life. He tries to keep the gargoyles away with booze and aspirin and wonders why he always has a Mixmaster roaring in his head.”

I could feel her eyes on me. Then I felt her put away whatever it was she had pla

“Buy me some ice cream?” she asked.

“You bet,” I replied.

The next morning was Friday. I called Nig Rosewater and Wee Willie Bimstine and Clete’s offices in both New Iberia and New Orleans and was told that Clete was out of town and that his whereabouts were unknown. The only semblance of cooperation came from Alice Werenhaus, the part-time secretary and former nun at the office on St. A

“He’s fine, Mr. Robicheaux. He doesn’t want you to worry,” he said.

“Then why does he keep his cell turned off?”

“May I be frank?”

“Please.”

“He doesn’t want you compromised. Now stop picking on him.”

“I think his life may be in danger, Miss Alice.”

She was quiet a long time. “Mr. Purcel will always be Mr. Purcel. He won’t change for either of us. I’ll do what I can. You have my word.”

So much for that.

My other ongoing problem was Cesaire Darbo

After lunch I went to Lo

“Nobody can screw up a case this bad. Are you drinking again?” he said.

“Glad to see you’re handling this in the right spirit, Lo

“Me a heads-up?”

“Yeah, because the shitprints lead right back into your office.”

“I think you have your facts wrong. Of course, that’s no surprise. Scapegoating others is a symptom of the disease, isn’t it?”

“Say again?”

“It’s what alcoholics do. Scapegoating other people, right? It’s always somebody else’s fault. My office acted on the information you provided, Dave. You want to contest the factual record, have at it. I think you’re long overdue for an I.A. review.”

I glanced out the window at the storm clouds building in the south and the tops of trees bending in the wind. “At my age I don’t have a lot to lose. There’s a great sense of freedom in that, Lo

“Care to explain that?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

I BELIEVED WHITEY BRUXAL had set up Cesaire Darbo

I went to see Valerie Lujan for an answer. She was obviously preparing to go somewhere when I pushed the bell and the maid opened the front door.

“I won’t take much of your time,” I said.

She was in her wheelchair, wearing a yellow dress that matched her hair, a lavender corsage pi

I sat down in a deep white chair, leaning forward, my back stiff, so as not to look relaxed or accommodating. “Cesaire Darbo

“Just a moment,” she said, and turned to the maid. “Finish up in the kitchen and tell Luther to bring around the car.” Then she addressed me again. “To be honest, I really don’t care who killed my husband.”

“But we do. Whitey Bruxal thought Bello was going to roll over on him and he used a stable mucker by the name of Juan Bolachi to take him out.”

“Then you must arrest him.”

“Except there’s another problem. Whitey decided to frame Cesaire Darbo

She looked at a tiny gold watch on her wrist. The color of her skin and the veins in her arms made me think of milk and pieces of green string. “I’d like to be of assistance, but I’m on my way to the cemetery,” she said. “It’s Tony’s birthday. He always loved strawberry cake with pink icing.”

“Who told Whitey that Bello probably raped Yvo

“I certainly didn’t, and I resent your suggesting I did.”

“That wasn’t my intention. But there is one man you do confide in. He’s your friend and spiritual counselor, someone who claims to be a man of God, someone you trust, a man you believe would never betray you.”