The Gone Dead Train by Lisa Turner Page B

Billy Able.
    She yawned over the keyboard. Must be a buildup of the tranquilizers she’d taken over the last couple of weeks plus the effect of the ewe . Normally she would go home after a ten-hour night shift, but this was her best opportunity to demonstrate to Able that she was good partner material. There was one opening coming available on the homicide squad for a new hire. If she impressed Able, maybe he’d go to bat for her with Middlebrook.
    In three clicks she found twenty links to articles written by blues enthusiasts along with YouTube videos of club performances from Red’s and Little Man’s five-year-old European tour. Wikipedia listed four albums under Red’s name. In the eighties, two of his songs made it into the top twenty of the R and B charts plus one crossover hit, “Burning Tree Blues.” A few other artists covered Red’s songs, so there had be royalties coming from publishing unless someone had managed to swindle him on his original contracts. She copied names to track the payments. If Red had family, the royalties would belong to them.
    The archives for the New Orleans Times-Picayune carried a six-year-old profile on Davis and Lacy in the entertainment section. They had been mainstays in the Frenchmen Street entertainment district for years and were listed as regular players at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival and the French Quarter Festival.
    Searching further, she dug out an old crime-beat article that reported an aggravated assault charge naming Davis and Lacy as the victims. In addition to the assault, which had put both men in the hospital, there were charges of burglary and criminal damage to property that were brought against their assailant, William Cooley, aka Cool Willy. The notorious pimp had attacked Davis and Lacy in an alley outside a nightclub. He later entered their home, where he’d damaged property including their instruments.
    Pulling up the name William Cooley on NCIC, the National Crime Information Center site, she found a history of arrests that began with shoplifting, assault, and solicitation of prostitution. Later he’d graduated to grand larceny and criminal assault. Yet Cooley’s activities had paid well enough to hire lawyers who’d limited his jail time.
    Her bruised cheek tingled. She touched it. A few more keystrokes brought up an article dated a year after the original crime-beat report:
    Orleans Parish prosecutors dismissed all charges against William Cooley, 27, accused of aggravated burglary and criminal damage to property in the beating case of Red Davis and Little Man Lacy. Instead of facing trial, Cooley, resident of Orleans Parish, was freed and the case closed at Orleans Parish Criminal District Court. District Attorney Armand “Bat” Bourque’s office issued a statement that charges had been dropped because Davis and Lacy, two well-regarded musicians from the New Orleans area, had not appeared for trial. “Victims must make themselves available to the court in order for us to prosecute an aggravated assault case,” Bourque said.
    Davis and Lacy had left New Orleans, probably out of fear of reprisal from the pimp. Now they were dead.
    Frankie clicked print and was standing to retrieve her reports just as she heard Wayne Dixon’s voice coming down the hall.
    â€œIt’s at my desk, Coral,” Wayne said. “There are a few things you might want—photos of Brad hamming it up in the squad room, articles he clipped about cases he’d handled, and several commendation plaques.”
    Frankie froze. Coral McDaniel, Brad’s wife, was here.
    Wayne turned the corner with a sweet-faced woman of medium height walking behind him. She was thick through the waist with cushy upper arms exposed by her sleeveless blouse. Her drab skirt cut her off below the knees. An unhealthy pink stained the bridge of her nose and spread across her cheeks. She looked nothing like the woman Frankie