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his nose. “We need to get statements from these three to corroborate they were with Chenault the night Moran was murdered.”
    “You gotta know by now that Chenault covered his ass with these three,” Beecher said. “If he lied to you, they’re all in on this.”
    “In on what?” Cash asked. “You think Chenault killed Moran, Lieutenant? He’s a cop.”
    “I don’t think anything, but Emile at Miss Kitty’s fudged about Chenault picking up Moran the night he was killed. Miss Kitty didn’t want to get involved, and said Emile was mistaken. So did Chenault. He gave these three guys as alibis. Cash, since you know Alba, get his statement.”
    “We go to the same gym.”
    “I don’t want to wait until you run into him. Track him down. If the others are at their districts, get them alone. Tell them if they won’t answer your questions unofficially, you’ll make it official.”
    “Okay.”
    “What’s up?” Halloran said, sauntering into Lucier’s office. “What am I missing?”
    “How’d your interviews go with the ―” Lucier checked his notebook ―” Donat family?”
    “No one in that family hit Winstead,” Halloran said. “I’ve never seen a more timid group of churchgoers. They weren’t sorry Winstead was dead, but if I’m wrong about them, I’d better give up police work.”
    “And the girl’s family?”
    “Her father was thrilled Soulé took a bullet. Said he wished he’d taken him out himself, but he didn’t. No tears shed in either case, but their reactions seemed honest.”
    Lucier drew a line across his notebook. “I knew it was a long shot. A cop’s life isn’t that easy. Sam, interview Feldman tomorrow morning. Halloran, you take Hodge.”
    “What are you going to do?” Beecher said.
    “I’m going to check out a woman by the name of Jaycee Diamond. She’s a ―”
    “Stripper,” Cash said.
    All three men zeroed in on the youngest member of their team.
    “Hey, I’m single, okay? She’s got the biggest ―” He cupped his hands to demonstrate.
    “Never mind,” Lucier said. “Go.”
    “On my way.”
    Beecher watched Cash leave. “Oh, to be young again.”
    “I won’t mention that to your wife,” Halloran said.
    “Much appreciated,” Beecher said as the two older cops left Lucier’s office.

Chapter Fourteen
Pay Attention to the Hackles
     
    S avoring a steak at a local diner, Chenault dug his ringing phone out of his pocket.
    “You got the other phone with you?” Hodge asked.
    “It’s in the car.”
    “Get it.”
    “I just started eating.”
    “Someone’s going to call you.” The line went dead.
    That meant the boss. Hodge’s tone rankled him. Since when had he become the boss’s secondhand man? Chenault wolfed down a few more bites, threw some bills on the table, and hurried to his car. He got there in time to pull the safe phone from his glove box. As always, the readout said “Private.”
    “You need to take care of Alba, tonight. You know Restview Cemetery?”
    “Off Read Boulevard?”
    “Yeah. Meet us there at ten, and bring Alba. Tell him I called for a meeting. He’ll believe you. Drive all the way to the back.”
    “Why a cemetery?”
    “That’s where dead people are buried. Understand?”
    “Jesus, I hate ―”
    “Just do it, Chenault. That’s an order. And take the phone with you in case there’s a change of plans. Do not leave it in your car.”
    “Okay, but ―” The call disconnected.
    Chenault didn’t have a good feeling. Ever since he’d killed Moran, he’d been on edge. It was a senseless murder, but what else could he do? Everything had gotten out of control. They were supposed to right judicial wrongs, punish those who needed punishment, like he had arranged to punish his father. Instead, they were murdering friends. Covering their mistakes only created another mistake, each one bringing them closer to discovery.
    Would it stop at Alba? If Alba’s email is discovered with my name on it, will I be next?
    Good