Page 73 of The Fourth Option
“Who all’s in the house?” Bates asked.
Gormley tugged at the double chin beneath his stubble. He was in his mid-fifties with pale skin that looked as if it had never seen the sun. His hair was full but gray, and his eyes were so droopy that the other cops called him Bloodhound, shortened to Hound. Gormley chose to believe they were complimenting his investigative skills.
“Detective Kile along with CSI techs, checking out the vics.”
Kile’s already in there? Shit. And the vic’s a Ms. Staub? Whe else?” Bates asked, noting the patrolmen within earshot.
“A couple of John Does so far. Look Hispanic.”
Because he worked in Bates’s COPE unit, Gormley wore a tie without a jacket, just like the boss, though he had violated the dress code by choosing a short-sleeved shirt.
“I’ll take a look,” Bates said, snapping rubber gloves over his hands.
NOPD had eight districts, the equivalent of precincts, that covered the greater New Orleans area. Technically, this crime scene should have been processed by the head of the Sixth District, since they were in the Garden, but Bates had made a few calls and talked with the superintendent of police. He explained that the principal victim and homeowner, Leigh Ann Staub, was the mother of a stiff they had picked up over in the Ninth tied to the heroin trade. With what was reportedly a shoot-out at her home, Bates suggested it might have been retaliatory gang activity. The supe knew Bates had the ear of the DA and agreed with his assessment. Bates was going to make this his scene.
He slid cloth booties over his shoes and crossed the mahogany foyer with the Persian rugs. Phillip Kile, a detective with the Sixth, was standing there, eyeballing the scene and taking notes.
“What’s up, Kile?” Bates said as he approached.
Detective Kile flipped his notebook closed and stepped forward carefully, staying on the wood floor so as not to alter the impressions in the carpet.
“Fucking mess, I’ll tell you that.”
“Looks that way, but let me make your night. COPE is taking this one.”
Kile studied the man who had intruded on his scene.
“We’re in the Sixth, Lieutenant.”
“COPE follows the leads wherever they go. That’s here. We got this.”
“I can’t agree to that. Not unless I hear from my squad. Or maybe Homicide.”
Kile had been an Army Ranger and still had the haircut. He wouldn’t respond to intimidation but did understand the chain of command.
“This is coming from the supe,” Bates replied.
Because he thought this might come up, he had asked the superintendent to send an authorization on the secure text circuit. Bates handed his phone to Kile.
“Yeah, okay,” the detective responded after a few seconds, handing the phone back. “Scene’s yours. You want me to stick around and help? I don’t mind. There is a lot to process here.”
Bates shook his head. “I’ve got Gormley and a COPE patrol unit here, but if you could assign your Sixth officers to the cordon, I’d appreciate it.”
Bates paused and scanned the rest of the room. Two crime scene techs were at work taking photographs of the dead man on the back porch, just past the open French doors.
“Have the techs been upstairs?” Bates asked.
“Just a quick cursory scan to confirm the vics. They haven’t processed anything yet. One of yours was first on scene, an Officer Dupuis. I have him securing the second floor.”
“Any security cameras in this house?”
“Negative.”
“Too bad. Anything else stand out to you?”
“No, Lieutenant.”
“Okay. Thanks for the head start, Detective.”
