“He wasn’t so bad when he started. He grew worse as the years went on.”
Jasmine took the map and adjusted the strap of her purse. “What finally got him fired?”
The door opened behind Jasmine and a heavyset woman came in. Kozlowski called a fellow desk sergeant to the window to handle the visitor, then told Jasmine he’d take his break and meet her out front.
After weaving through the desks behind the bulletproof glass, he emerged in the lobby through a metal side door. Then he held the outer door open for her and followed her to one side. “If you tell anyone I told you this, I’ll deny it,” he said.
She raised her hand in the classic oath position. “I won’t say a word.”
“One of the detectives here caught Black trying to steal some evidence on an important case.”
So this was what he’d been burning to divulge. “You’re kidding.”
He waited for a middle-aged man who was approaching the station to go inside before responding. “I’m not. It was a double homicide, and we definitely had the right guy. Why would Black want to fix it so the perp could get off? It’s beyond me.”
“A bribe?”
“Possible. It’s tough to support a family on a cop’s salary, and his wife was out of work at the time. But we don’t really know.”
“Was he a detective by then?”
Kozlowski scratched his head. “No. He never made detective.”
“Did he know the defendant?”
“Not that we could ascertain.”
“He must’ve had some reason for doing what he did.”
He shrugged. “Could’ve been a bribe, like you said.”
Or he wanted to make the department look bad. Maybe it was his way of taking revenge on coworkers he didn’t like and who didn’t like him.
“He claimed he was just checking things out, making sure all the evidence was there,” Kozlowski told her. “But he wasn’t on that case, either.”
“How was he caught?”
“Another officer surprised him while he was trying to switch some DNA samples.”
“Was he ever drawn up on formal charges?”
“No. The chief didn’t want the publicity, not with all the post-Katrina stuff. He was working too hard to get this department back in shape, rebuild the public trust.”
“And without a recommendation, Black wouldn’t be able to get on anywhere else either, so he couldn’t do the same thing again.”
“Which is why he resorted to security work. He has to make a living somehow, you know?”
Jasmine glanced at the map Sergeant Kozlowski had given her. “He works here?” She pointed to the X Kozlowski had put in the center, beside Big Louie’s Supermarket.
“A friend of mine saw him in the parking lot one night, wearing a security uniform. There’s a rowdy bar in the same strip mall. That’s probably why he’s there, not the supermarket. But I can’t remember the name of the place.”
“How long ago was he spotted in that location?”
“Maybe a month or two.”
Jasmine hoped Black still had the same job. “What about Detective Huff?”
“What about him?”
“Was he a good cop?”
“The best,” Kozlowski said without hesitation.
And yet Huff had bent the rules, too. Kozlowski had already acknowledged as much.
“Where is he now?”
“I heard he moved to Colorado.”
“Denver?”
“Don’t know.”
“What was Huff and Black’s relationship like?” Jasmine asked.
“The day Huff left, he walked into the chief’s office and told him Black was a danger to society.” He grinned. “Only with a few choice words thrown in.”
Jasmine swallowed a sigh. Huff had cheated with the search warrant. Fornier had taken the law into his own hands. Black had tried to destroy evidence.
It was getting difficult to tell the good guys from the bad guys.
Chapter 7
How the hell did she know?
Just three days ago, Romain had cut his leg on a nail protruding from a piece of scrap lumber he’d been using to build his screened-in porch. He probably should’ve gotten a tetanus shot, but that required going to town and seeing a doctor, which he wasn’t particularly eager to do. Instead, he’d hoped for the best and recently he’d noticed the wound had started to heal. He’d forgotten about it until Jasmine had made that comment at the restaurant. He certainly hadn’t mentioned it to anyone.
Setting the groceries he’d bought on the counter, he strode to his bedroom, dropped his jeans and peered at his upper right thigh.
Sure enough, there was still a scab. It was quite apparent—but it was also in a place no one else had seen in a long, long time.
“I’ll be damned.” Her abilities were uncanny, and that made him even more uneasy. He’d never been much of a believer in the supernatural. His mamère had repeatedly told him that one in every three women was a witch; since he’d never know which one was and which one wasn’t, he’d better treat them all right. He’d grown up with that kind of talk, had learned to disregard it as the manipulation and superstition it was.
So what was Jasmine? Smoke and mirrors—or the real thing?
He heard a knock at the door and wondered if she’d decided to put off her return to New Orleans. Considering what he wanted to do, her company wouldn’t be entirely unwelcome. Especially now that he knew she’d somehow seen him without his clothes on. Her revelation told him she wasn’t as opposed to what he’d suggested last night as she’d implied.
On the other hand, her gift frightened him, and so did her goal. Her journey would lead back into the past—and that was someplace he never wanted to go again.
“T-Bone! You d’ere? T-Bone!”
“Speaking of witches,” he mumbled and went to the door.
“You fa-get old Mem, boy?”
When he’d moved to the swamp, he’d found Mem living even more meagerly than he was. At first she’d refused to answer the door and he’d had to leave whatever he’d brought her on the porch. Now, he had the opposite problem. She kept a lookout for his truck and waited anxiously for the supplies he provided.
“Have I ever forgotten you?” he asked. He’d bought her groceries; he’d just been in too big a hurry to see what remained of that nail injury to stop anywhere, least of all Mem’s. He knew she’d tie him up with some chore, fixing her roof or her window or some such thing if she could.