Voodoo River (1995) by Robert - Elvis Cole 05 Crais Read Free Book Online Page A

said, "Martha, do you remember his name?"
    Martha Guidry stalked back up the steps, breathing hard and blinking behind the thick glasses. I was hoping I wouldn't have to dial 911. "Jerry. Jeffrey. Somegoddamnthing like that."
    "Aha."
    "That rotten sneak. Why do you think he was out here?"
    "I don't know," I said. "But I'm going to find out."
    She took a deep breath, shook herself, then said, "God damn, but I feel like a drink! You're not the kind of fool to let a lady drink alone, are you?"
    "No, ma'am, I'm not."
    She threw open the door and gestured inside with the Raid. "Then get yer ass in there and let's booze."

    Chapter 6
    A t twenty minutes after six that evening I checked into a motel in Ville Platte and phoned Lucille Chenier at her office in Baton Rouge . I only had to wait eight or nine minutes for her to come on the line. She said, "Yes?""Guess who?" Martha had been generous with the Old Crow.
    "I'm very busy, Mr. Cole. Is there some way I can help you?" Some people just weren't around when they handed out laugh buttons.
    "Can your office run a license plate check for me?"
    "Of course."
    I gave her the Mustang's number and told her about the red-haired man. She said, "He was also asking about a child?"
    "Yes"
    You could hear her fingernails clicking on her desk. Thinking. "That's odd. I wonder why he would be following you?"
    "When he tells me, I'll pass it along."
    "It's very important that this not be associated with Jodi Taylor." She sounded concerned.
    "I'm telling people that I'm searching for a marrow donor. In a case like this, you have to ask questions. People talk. This kind of thing can be exciting to folks, and they like to share their excitement."
    "And people with secrets want to protect them."
    "That's the point. But I've no reason to believe that anyone I've yet seen has secrets."
    "Except, perhaps, for your red-haired man."
    "Well, there is that. Yes."
    She told me that she would have the information on the Mustang's owner by ten the next morning, and then she hung up. I stared at the phone and felt strangely incomplete now that the connection was broken, but maybe that was just all the Raid I had breathed. Sure. You spend most of the afternoon breathing Raid and drinking Old Crow, it heightens your sense of dissociation. It also puts you to sleep.
    At eighteen minutes after nine the next morning, the phone rang and Lucy Chenier said, "Your Mustang is registered to someone named Jimmie Ray Rebenack." She read two addresses, both in Ville Plane.
    "Okay."
    "Mr. Rebenack lists his occupation as a private investigator. He was licensed two and a half years ago."
    I was grinning. "If this guy's for real, he has to be the world's worst detective."
    "Prior to licensing, he was employed as a full-time auto mechanic at an Exxon station in Alexandria. His tax records indicate that he continues to derive the majority of his income from part-time mechanic work."
    "Wow. You guys work fast."
    "The firm is well positioned. You'll keep me informed?"
    "Of course, Ms. Chenier." Elvis Cole, Professional Detective, discourses in a professional manner.
    I located Rebenack's addresses on my map of Ville Platte, then went to find him. One was a business address, the other a residence. The residential address put Jimmie Ray Rebenack in a small frame duplex on the east side of town, four blocks north of a switching station for the Southern-Pacific Railroad. It was an older neighborhood, and it wasn't particularly proud, with small unkempt houses and spotty lawns and cars and trucks that were mostly Detroit gas guzzlers in need of paint. Jimmie's Mustang was not in evidence.
    I cruised the block twice, then drove to Jimmie Ray Rebenack's office two blocks north of Main above a fresh-seafood market. The seafood market was set between a barber shop and a secondhand clothes store, and there was a little stairwell between the seafood and the clothes, and a black felt and glass directory for the offices up the stairs.
    I circled