Chapter 37: Closed Doors
Gus was up before dawn, slipping quietly out of the bed and house not wanting to wake Don or Billy. She had been up all night, steadfastly ignoring both men's protests to get some sleep until Flack all by threw her over his shoulder and dragged her upstairs around 3am. She had been hoping for one of Mac's 'eureka' moments, but it hadn't come.
Gus backed her jeep out of the driveway, driving around aimlessly until she could go and pick up her pass for the archives. The city was quiet, blanketed with fog that leant a dreamy softness to the city. She hoped Stella would make a home here, be happy, find peace and maybe even love.
She pulled up to a curb after driving out along the river and back, not fully realizing why she had stopped until she looked up at the Victorian foursquare, now pained a mint green, and the years of memories came back.
For years she had avoided driving up Octavia Street. Gus hadn't kept track of what happened to the house, remembering Claire bringing in a crew to pack it up and sell it. Very little remained of her childhood life, what she had kept with her through the years had been further diminished by Katrina and even the memories were tinged with pain and sadness.
Gus watched as a trio of children came bounding out of the front door, their harried mother herding them and their designer swim gear toward an SUV in the driveway. She spied the private school stickers on the back glass as well as one of those hideous stick figure families and felt a growl rising in her chest. It broke free as she saw the smallest of the three proffer an azalea bloom to the mother, whose face transformed from rushed to loving.
Angry, frustrated tears followed the growl with Gus leaning her head on her steering wheel, allowing herself to give in to them. She forced herself a modicum of composure when her phone started buzzing on the dash, reaching for it barking "Broussard," through what remained of her tears.
"Sunshine, where did you disappear to?" Flack's tone one of covered concern.
"Hey, I, um, went for a drive along the river, just needed to clear my head," she sniffed, knowing he could tell she was crying. She could hide nothing from him, Don Flack could read her damn soul.
Flack stood in the kitchen, rubbing his neck, raising his eyebrows at Billy who was making coffee. Both men had been worried when they woke and Gus was nowhere around, her jeep gone. "By the river, huh, you still there?"
Gus cleared her throat, "nah, I came back uptown, I'll be back in a bit, just killing time before I can get into the archives."
Despite her best efforts at composure, she still couldn't stop the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Mourning for her childhood marred by her mother's mood swings and her father's employment. Their death cutting her childhood cut short and hardened her heart.
"Where are you now?" he pressed on, worried about how her words caught in her throat.
"Octavia Street," she said, knowing it wouldn't mean anything to him, not knowing that Billy was listening in until she heard her friend swear.
"What's up with Octavia Street, Brooks?" Flack asked as Billy rushed them to his car.
Billy squealed the car out of the driveway, "it's the house she was grew up in," he said, running the light on St. Charles and not caring about the red light camera flashing behind him.
Her jeep was empty when they pulled up behind it. Both men looked at each other, swearing as they jumped out, wondering where she had disappeared to.
Flack found her, an open side gate leading the way. She was sitting on the porch next to the backdoor, curled up with sobs shaking her frame.
"Gussie," he said, dropping beside her. She melted into the arm he wrapped around her, silently sobbing as he moved in to cradle her.
Billy came around the side of the house, turning back around once he saw them, closing the gate softly behind him. He knew she hadn't been back to this house since the day the police summoned his parents to the crime scene.
Flack waited it out, not saying anything until Gus finally unwrapped herself from the sobbing ball she had formed. She jumped up and shook herself off, standing next to the door that represented her fractured past. "Maybe some doors are better left closed," she said, steeling herself.
"Maybe, maybe not, Gus, it is your call though," Flack replied, looking around, "but maybe you can figure it out back in your jeep before we have to misuse our badges?"
Gu shrugged, "they're gone for the day, saw them leave before you called."
Flack nodded, "what do you want to do, Gus?"
"I don't know, Don, I wish I did. All I know is it seems so unfair, and what if I figure out who killed them and it still doesn't change anything? What if I'll never be happy? What if I end up just as crazy as her? What kind of wife and mother do I even think I could be? How much do you regret coming down here?"
Flack shook his head, trying to hide his smile, knowing this was no time for the sarcasm that filled his head. How many times he wondered what kind of husband or father he would be, if he would find someone who would be loyal and faithful, if he could show unconditional love, hell if he would show any emotion to his future children... "could I answer your ridiculous questions somewhere other than a stranger's backyard?"
"They aren't ridic-" Gus broke off, turning from staring at the door to look at him finally, seeing the smirk on his face but the concern in his eyes. "Fine, so they are a little ridiculous, but that doesn't make them any less real!" She turned back to the door, giving it one last narrowed glare, determined that she would leave all of this behind her in New Orleans.
Billy's car was gone, a text informing them that he had decided to make himself scarce before attracting attention from the private security firm that patrolled the neighborhood.
"Breakfast?" Gus asked as they climbed into her jeep.
Flack nodded, "when do I ever turn down food?"
This finally brought a smile finally to Gus' clouded face, "only with a NOLA hangover," she teased.
Tucked into pancakes and bacon, Flack glanced at Gus across the booth from him. "You really worry about that stuff you said back there?"
Gus looked up at him, chewing pensively before answering, "yeah, I do, Don. I guess I didn't always, I used to assume I wouldn't ever be with anyone and I wouldn't have to worry about being happy or a good wife or mother. Why do you think I pushed so hard against letting you in?"
"What changed?" he asked, flashing a smile at her, eyebrows quickly raised and lowered as he stole a piece of her bacon.
"Some smug homicide detective, about 6'2", ridiculous blue eyes, dimples that he thinks mean he can do whatever he wants including steal my freaking heart and bacon," she shot back, pulling the bacon back towards her. "One or the other, Flack!" she teased.
"I can order more bacon, sunshine," he said, the dimples she had just mentioned on full display before turning serious again. "You think I don't worry about those things too?"
Gus gave a small bark, "great, you also worry I am crazy and incapable of taking care of myself let alone anyone else? Awesome!"
Flack closed his eyes briefly, with a small shake of his head before getting up and moving around to her side of the booth. "Shove over," he said, nudging her toward the wall and throwing his arm over the back of the booth.
"I meant I worry about those kind of things about me and don't you dare say anything about me making a good wife or mother, Broussard or I swear ta' god I will steal every piece of bacon in your future. Our past doesn't get to define who we are, Gus, unless we let it. We aren't our parents and we ain't gonna suddenly turn into them either, so we both gotta let that go. And if you wanna keep at this case, I am there. You wanna walk away and let it stay here, I will have us on the first plane back to New York. It is your call, and I am here to support you either way."
He wrapped his arm around her, his emotions making his accent more pronounced. "What's it gonna be, Broussard?" he said, kissing an errant streak of syrup off her, more bacon suddenly the last thing on his mind.
Chapter 38: Cone of Uncertainty
"Ya sure?" Flack asked as they pulled up to the newspaper building.
"Not in the least bit, Flack, but I gotta try," she said, turning off the ignition and heading inside.
"You brought another cop." Paul Devon said, coming up to them a few minutes later, more of a statement than a question.
"Yeah, my partner, Don Flack," Gus replied, introducing the two men.
Paul looked Flack over carefully, "NO or NYPD?" he asked, wondering exactly what kind of partners the two of them were.
"New York, just here to help out however I can," Flack replied, giving the other man a good once over of his own.
Paul nodded, having a clearer picture of their partnership. "I guess I can see why you are hung up on this, Miss...Detective Broussard, and as I said on the phone, there really wasn't much to pull, but have at it. I am a little busy between my normal workload and Bonnie stirring everyone up. Here are your passes, take the service elevator, it is the only one that goes down to the basement."
He shoved the laminated visitor passes as them and disappeared into the chaos of the newsroom, leaving Flack to grimace, "you wanna explain who Bonnie is and why she has everyone stirred up, sunshine?"
Gus glanced over Flack's shoulder at the television set mounted in the lobby. "Just a little tropical something happening over the Bahamas, Flack, nothing to worry about," she said, trying to ignore the tracking line that headed straight into New Orleans. She had bigger fish to fry than some stupid weather disturbance.
Flack followed her glance to the TV, willing to take her word for it, but not liking the unease he felt in the pit of his stomach.
"Remind me to never work Vice," Flack said a few hours later as they scrolled through endless rolls of microfiche in the windowless basement. An entire day spent researching prostitutes in Southern Louisiana had left him feeling exhausted and downcast.
"You put your time in patrol and Narcotics, not to mention your last name is Flack, Don, I don't think you will ever have to work Vice unless you want to," Gus pointed out, flipping to a clean page in her legal pad.
"I don't. There are a depressing amount of articles on prostitutes in this rag," he sighed.
"Port city, Flack comes with the territory, a city founded on riverboat gamblers and casket girls, nobody else wanted to settle here," Gus shrugged.
"Yeah, well, it doesn't look like it has changed much," he said, throwing his pen down in frustration, "it also doesn't help that four NOPD officers were questioned or suspects for murder in 1992. Truby should have joined down here, he would probably be Chief of Ds."
The bitterness was clear in Flack's voice, enough to cause Gus' heart to clutch. He so rarely talked about Truby. "On that cheery note, maybe we need to take a break, but for the record, my father was a good cop!" Gus protested.
"I'm not saying he wasn't. As for that break, hold up a minute, I think I may have something." Flack scrolled through the article roll he was looking at. "When were those rich broad joggers found?"
"Between '86 and '90," Gus said, flipping through her notes, "strangled, mutilated, naked swamp dumps," she read with a look of distaste.
"Anything on how they were mutilated?" Flack asked, scanning a brief series of articles.
Gus flipped back and forth through her growing piles of notes, "nope, nothing. Articles just mention strangled and mutilated but not how. NOPD must have leaned on them to keep those details out."
"Flack sniffed, "well I got a bunch of stories on prostitutes found dead in housing projects starting in '82, all of them naked and their throats slit. NOPD blamed it on turf wars, doesn't look like they did much investigating and I am not seeing anything on it after '86."
"Four year turf war with prostitutes getting their throat slit and that's it?" Gus asked, leaning over to look at his screen, "hold on, scroll back, stop!" she said as Flack reached a grainy picture of a crime scene photo in Treme.
"Two unidentified detectives question residents next to where the body of Katherine Hall, a drug addict who resided in the Lafitte Housing project long known for its drug dealers, pimps, and prostitutes, was found," Gus read out loud, "over the past 4 years, over eighteen known prostitutes have been found dead in housing projects around the city. Police believe they are part of a larger battle between local gangs and drug dealers."
"That's some fair and balanced reporting right there," Flack snarked.
"Not that, though that is awful, I agree, that unidentified detective, that's Malleville," she said jabbing her finger at the shorter of the two detectives in the photograph."
"Somehow I am guessing he might just be able to tell us who the other detective is, considering I am betting they were partners," Flack said, printing out the article.
Gus glanced up at the clock, nearing 3pm, "and if we hurry, we can get to him before he bags off for the day," Gus said, gathering their research and shoving it into her tote.
"Gus you missed 14 calls from Billy and he sent just as many texts talking about some cone of uncertainty," Flack said as she sped them towards the justice complex, "you care to translate?"
"Hold on," she said, flipping on the radio to a news station, where talk of Tropical Storm Bonnie was taking over the airwaves.
Flack looked at her with alarm, "should we, uh, be worried?"
"It is a Tropical Storm on the other side of Florida, people do this every June through November. Mostly they just want to make sure they get a couple of days off work and have enough beer to survive being hunkered down with their families," Gus replied, rolling her eyes.
"Hunkered down, huh?" Flack said, with a smirk, though he was pulling up information on hurricane preparedness on his own phone.
They pulled up to the justice complex and Gus looked like she was debating something. "What is it, sunshine?" Flack asked, knowing that furrow on her brow.
"I need you to not come with me," she said, uncertainly. He just raised his eyebrows. "I need you to do something else, see that trailer over there?" she pointed, Flack nodded. "Go in there, find a woman named Chanda, she will probably already know who you are. She works for the Police and Justice Foundation, see if she has access to personnel files and get her to give us everything she can on Malleville and if there is anything on that Sheriff, did you get his name?"
"Yeah, Grant, Victor Lee Grant. She is just going to cough up personnel files to some NYPD detective that comes walking in off the street?" he mused.
"Not some NYPD detective, Don, my NYPD detective. Use those baby blues, you won't have a problem and I will meet you there," Gus shot back, giving him a deep kiss before shooing him away.
Gus brushed past Malleville's secretary, not even glancing back as the woman called after her. "Detective Broussard, I take you have decided to take me up on my offer," Malleville smiled from behind his desk.
"Actually, I haven't, I realized I belong in New York, but I am still going to solve my parents' murder, with or without your help."
"I see, and how exactly can I help you if you aren't willing to help me?" Malleville said, straightening up in his chair and leaning forward, that reptilian smile plastered on his face.
Gus fought down a growl, "I helped the new mayor find an amazing hire to head up the new crime lab, which is a damn sight better than you could ever hope for. Now, tell me who is the other detective standing beside you in this photograph?" She put the article in front of him, stabbing it to the desk with her finger.
His eyes flicked over the caption and to the headline, the smallest flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he gave a slight shrug, "that was a long time ago, I had just gotten my shield."
"You are telling me you don't remember who your partner was when you first got your shield? He looks about your age, I imagine you two were two young bucks making a name for themselves in homicide. Probably wanted better cases than some poor, black, hooker addicts getting killed in the PJs." Gus removed her finger, crossing her arms over her chest, staring Malleville down.
"Look here young lady, as a homicide detective, I would think you would know you don't get to cherry pick your cases, you take what comes your way and you investigate."
"To the best of your abilities, every time, every case, no matter who the victim. I am quite aware. How long were you in homicide, sir?" Gus said, wanting to see how his story matched with the personnel file she hoped Flack was getting.
"Too damn long," Malleville shot back, realizing she was't letting go until she got a concrete answer, "almost twenty years, seen more dead bodies than a soldier, it feels like."
Gus looked at him, incredulous, "and in your twenty years, it never occurred to you that maybe those eighteen prostitutes may have been killed by someone other than a drug lord?" She paused, reigning her anger in. "Look, I know you worked with my father, and you said he was a good detective, so as a favor to him, tell me who this other detective is so we can both go home and see what track this bitch Bonnie is deciding to take, alright?"
"His name was Detective Grant." Malleville added nothing else, his expression remaining passive.
Gus cleared her throat, her theory starting to unfold before her. "You said his name 'was', sir, I take it he passed?"
"2004, heart attack," Malleville said, "left a wife and kids up the river."
"Heart attack, that's a shame," Gus replied, knowing Malleville was lying through his stupid veneered teeth. "Well, thanks for your help, sir."
Malleville finally stood, "no problem, as a favor to your father. I don't know what these dead hookers have to do with his murder though, he didn't even come on to homicide until '88," he gestured to the article, a look of pure disdain on his face, "there were plenty of new dead hookers to worry about by then."
Gus narrowed her eyes briefly before pasting a smile on her face, "thanks for all your help, sir, stay safe out there." She was gone in a flash, leaving the article behind on his desk as a reminder.
"How did it go?" Flack asked Gus as she came up to the trailer.
"I'll tell you when we get home," she said, digging a bottle of water out of her bag and tossing it to him, "you see Chanda?" Flack nodded. "And?" she asked, after he drained the bottle.
He pointed to the paper bag at his feet, "You were right, it was nothing, though I do have to say, my cheeks are going to hurt for a while from her pinching," he said with a grin.
"Oh yeah, which set?" Gus had quipped, leading them back to the jeep.
"Very funny, sunshine."
She locked both men out of the living room, ordering them to make sure they had enough supplies.
Flack learned this was for the approaching tropical storm and mainly meant booze, gas and toilet paper. "So like a blizzard?" he quipped, as Billy led them through the grocery store.
"I suppose, though I wouldn't know. Lord, how do you deal with all that cold?" Billy asked, shaking his head and throwing another bottle of wine in the cart, consulting his list.
"How do you deal with all this heat and then the a/c blasting everywhere inside, it is like going through all nine circles of hell at once."
Billy scratched through the list before giving Flack a once over, "hot and well-read, why is it Augusta hasn't married you yet?"
Flack shrugged, "ain't for lack of trying."
"Oh, I am well aware, I have given her my piece of mind on that several times. For a smart girl she sure is stupid. Luckily she is also pretty and I have a feeling you may have finally figured out to not let her go so easy."
Flack snorted, "easy, what part of any of this do you figure has been easy, Brooks?"
"I am not saying it has been easy, that is life, sugar. I did, however, expect you to show up last time Gussie came down here. It was half the reason I didn't ship her cute behind back to New York right away."
Flack gave a small growl, ignoring the fact that there were blocking the very popular liquor aisle, "why were you so supportive this time?"
Billy gave him a look that said he knew more than he was willing to share in public, "let's just say I had a nice long chat with her uncle, felt like she could use a little break."
Billy realized the logjam they were causing and wheeled the cart toward the checkout, "how about you put those NYPD muscles to use and grab us a couple of propane tanks, just in case."
Flack complied, wondering just in case of what and feeling like Brooks was not finished berating him yet.
Chapter 39: Revelations
The men arrived back at the house and were unloading the car when Gus coming out to greet them. "Good Lord, Tibs, it is a itty bitty tropical storm, did you buy out the entire grocery?"
Flack snickered at her accent and colloquialisms, "you do know the guys are going to give you crap if you keep talking like that when you get back home, right?"
Gus rolled her eyes, "I got rid of it before, mostly, I can do it again."
"Mostly," he kept snickering.
"How about you use those muscles of yours and haul those propane tanks up to the side porch?" Gus shot back, both her and Billy making for inside, "and then meet us in the living room!"
"Damn propane tanks," Flack grumbled before grabbing a tank in each hand, unaware both Billy and Gus were ogling him from the window.
"Marry him or I will," Billy said, fanning himself.
"Yeah because the third time is the charm? I have turned him down twice, why on earth would he ask again?"
"I already told you to just ask him-" Billy cut off as Flack squeezed through the gap in the mostly closed pocket doors.
"How many people are planning on, what was it, 'hunkering down' here?" he asked, entering the room and wondering why Gus and Billy were both looking flushed.
"Just us," Billy replied, "and we won't need to hunker down much, unless one of the oaks goes. Nothing like the first real storm of the season to keep you on your toes. Now what have you been up to in here, sugar?" Billy asked turning to Gus who flipped the murder board back around and started explaining her theory.
"Let me get this straight, you think Grant was a serial killer and Malleville knew it and helped him cover it up. You also think at the very least he tipped Grant off to the fact that your pops was onto him, if he didn't outright help kill your parents. Sunshine, I love you, but maybe you spent a little too much time with the wackadoos because you are sounding a couple of nuggets short of a happy meal." Flack stood in front of the reorganized murder board gaping at it.
"I hate to argue with you, McDreamy, but I can see what she is getting at," Billy said, making a few notes of his own on the board. He may have just been a desk jockey, but he had picked up plenty of knowledge between SWAT and his father being a judge.
Flack flipped through the personnel files, though much of Malleville' had been above Chanda's pay grade. "Fine, I will give you that Malleville and Grant more than knew each other. Looks like they grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same school, graduated the academy the same time and got their shields at the same time."
"So they were practically brothers, right?"
"Yeah, but it isn't like I would go out and help Messer commit or cover up a murder, Gus!" Flack argued.
Gus made a noise of frustration, "you haven't met him, Don, there is something about him, like he could totally sit around with his buddy Grant on weekends and make lampshades out of..." her eyes grew wide.
"Flack, let me see those articles from the prostitutes and Tibs, get out the photos from my mama's scene from wherever you hid them." Flack complied, quickly, but moved a chair over for her to sit in while Billy slunk off guiltily.
"I just didn't think you should keep looking at them, darling," he said, returning with an envelope as Gus flipped through the articles.
"Here and here!" she said, circling a couple of articles and tacking them to the board.
"Pieces of skin found removed from the bodies, believed to be markings of ownership or affiliation," Flack said reading where she had circled, "Okay, pimps like to mark their merchandise, it might be sick, but it isn't anything new."
"Mutilation is the common thread, but we focused on the fact that the articles about the joggers and teens didn't give details. We assumed it was their throats being slit. Like my mother," Gus said.
Both men looked at her, wondering where she was going with this. They stood on either side of her, locking eyes above her head as she flipped through the stack of water-stained photographs from the envelope.
"Here, I guaran-damn-tee my mother did not have a tattoo or markings, she abhorred my father's Marines tats."
"I swear she tried to haunt the artist that gave you yours," Billy quipped with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.
"It wouldn't surprise me," Gus shot back, before pointing at a spot in a tattered photograph, "anyone else notice the skin missing from my mama's shoulder?"
Billy and Flack both cocked their heads, studying the photograph, grimacing and nodding at the same time.
"Good, now that that's settled, I think I am going to go throw up now," she said, rushing from the room and running for the stairs.
Both men tried to follow after her, scuffling slightly as they reached the pocket doors that were seemingly stuck, swollen in the humidity.
"I've got this, Brooks," Flack growled, pushing the doors open with brute force.
"Girl, you better not run from him again," Billy gaped after him, fanning himself once again.
"Sunshine?" Flack asked, knocking on the slightly ajar door to the bathroom in the room were sharing.
"I'm fine," came Gus' muffled reply from where she leaned over the toilet bowl, her head perched on her hands.
Flack wet a wash cloth, filled a glass with water and grabbed a hair tie off the counter in one fail swoop. "You aren't, but you shouldn't be," he said, setting the glass of water on the tank so he could pull back her hair and set the cloth on her neck.
"Thanks," she said meekly, reaching for the water and draining the glass. "Do I even want to know how you got so good at holding a girl's hair back?"
Flack kissed the top of her head, refilling her water-glass. "I know you've met my sister, it took her a few years to learn to hold her liquor before she learned to hold it a little too well."
"I am a jerk, how is she doing? What about Grams and the rest of the clan?" Gus asked, draining a second glass of water as got up and used the cloth to wipe off her face before brushing her teeth.
Flack couldn't help but smile up at her, "Gus, really?" The look she gave him said she was genuine.
"Fine, Sam still can't hold a job to save her life, pops still complains about everything, Grams still does too much, Bobby's been dating a girl pretty seriously. You aren't a jerk, it's sweet of you to ask, it ain't like I'm going over there every Sunday to catch up. Besides, you are kind of dealing with your own family drama now."
"I much prefer to talk about your alive family drama," Gus replied, wiping off even the tiniest of droplets of water off the counter and mirror.
Flack knew her anxiety was peaking, had seen her do the same thing with their desks, categorizing and alphabetized everything she touched and once she even color coded his sock drawer. "Gus, stop, take a deep breath before you turn into Adam on me. I mean he is a great guy and everything, but I don't want sleep with to him, alright?"
Gus nodded, "I know, I just need a second. That bastard cut off my mother's skin, Don!" Her breath and words caught in her throat, her face a mask of anguish.
He had her in his arms in an instant, catching her as she wavered, letting her tears soak his shirt for the second time that day. Flack half-carried her out of the bathroom and set her up on the canopy bed. "You need a break, Gus, just rest up and I'll check on you later, okay?"
She nodded, complying as he tucked her in. "Yeah, I know. Thank you, Don."
"It's nothing," he paused, "because I love you that damn much, Augusta Broussard, I hope you know that."
"I'm starting to get the picture," she replied with a wan smile, pulling him in for a kiss.
"Good, because you might need to call off Brooks soon," Flack replied when he broke away, knowing she needed rest more than where the kiss was headed.
"He's all bark and no bite, Flack, don't worry," she said with a slight laugh.
"I'm not," he shot back, dimples on display, "now rest up, sunshine."
"Damn if I don't think she could be right," Billy remarked as Flack rejoined him in front of the murder board.
"Sick bastard," Flack said, taking down the non crime-scene photograph of Gus' mother. Flack recalled photographs he had seen at both Mac and Gus' places of Claire, realizing that all three women similarities in hair color and facial structure.
"Gus isn't crazy like her, you know," Billy said, gesturing to the photo Flack was still holding, "and Marie wasn't even like that all the time, she just wouldn't do what the doctors told her to. But when she on a tear, woo boy, I am not surprised Gus has a hard time believing anyone could love her. And that was before all this or the professor or Gage or Katrina or any of the rest of it." He stopped for a moment, "maybe Gus is right, maybe she is cursed. I'm joking, detective, don't look at me like that."
"I want to make her happy, even though I know I was an asshole before she left, I never stopped loving her, even with everything," Flack replied, tacking the photograph back up to the board.
"You may want to tell little miss that," Billy suggested.
Flack shrugged, "I've tried. I have, I just don't know if it she believes me."
"She's going back to New York with you, isn't she? Keep showing her, keep trying," Billy gave Flack a sidelong glance, "and if she asks you to marry her, you better say yes."
"Ain't gonna happen, Brooks," Flack shot back, "though I never said I was done asking her."
He gave Billy one of his trademark dimpled grins, "now what are we going to do about this mess so I can take her back home?"
The men worked for hours, stopping briefly for dinner, letting Gus sleep upstairs.
"The problem is we don't know Malleville, how much he did or didn't do and it isn't like he is just going to confess!" Flack said, throwing down a marker in anger.
Billy shook his head, "and Grant is dead. Though I think it is pretty telling he committed suicide right after the FBI started looking into the murder of those poor little girls."
Flack nodded his head absently, "I wonder how much the wife knows?"
"We won't know until we ask her," Gus said from behind them, causing them both to jump. "'Fraidy cats! Billy, I am not shocked, but Flack, really?" she teased.
"Shut it, Broussard," Flack said, wrapping his arm around her as she came up beside him. "You have a good nap?"
"Just what a girl needed after puking her guts out," she said, her face grim, "what did y'all figure out?"
Flack dropped his arm from her waist, moving back to the board to their latest timeline. "That maybe you don't need to be wearing a tinfoil hat."
"It all fits, at least with Grant. Malleville, it is harder to figure out, but then you are the only one of us that has met the man," Billy pointed out.
"He's a snake, he's involved," Gus replied with a resolve both men found hard to argue with.
Flack gestured to the victims linked on the board, "in all your fancy cold case sorting, you recall anything about any of these vics?"
Gus studied the board carefully, "I don't know, maybe? I was more focused on getting the towers of boxes sorted than looking for a serial killer. But there is one way to find out," she said, going over to her laptop and pulling up her spreadsheet.
"Augusta Broussard, you bad girl, did you keep a copy of your work with NOPD?" Billy said, shaking his head with a smile.
Flack just cocked his head at her, he wasn't about to judge, but Billy was right, this wasn't like Gus.
"Intellectual property, you two, and I asked, Colston was fine with it," she said, sitting down with the file. "We need Adam and his toys for this, seriously," she said a bit later, sounding dejected.
"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that agencies don't play well together across county lines here," Flack said, pointing at the map where the bodies had been found.
"Parishes," Billy and Gus corrected at the same time.
Flack rolled his eyes, "whatever you call 'em, but look."
They followed his finger. "Eight, nine, ten. Ten different parishes, no wonder," Billy said with a sigh.
"FBI started VICAP in 1985," Flack pointed out.
"Yeah, because Louisiana seems like an early adopter of anything," Gus retorted.
"The prostitutes were all found in New Orleans," Flack replied, trying to be helpful.
Gus made a few more clicks, "and not a single one of them is listed as a cold case."
"Maybe Malleville made sure the cases went bye-bye," Flack suggested.
All three stared dejectedly at the board for a minute before Billy said, "well, I am pretty sure we are not going to figure this out at," he looked at his watch, "2:00am, I'm going to check the weather a we can revisit this all in morning."
He yawned widely, "or maybe even the afternoon. How do y'all do this, go for days without proper beauty sleep?"
"Coffee," Flack and Gus both quipped, before heading for the stairs.