That look he was giving me? That was the ‘did you fucking kill her, you motherfucker’ look. Except because Hennessy was a good detective, he didn’t actually have to say it out loud to let me know he was thinking it.
“You here to take me in?” I asked. I wasn’t beating around the bush on this one. If he wanted me to come to the station to be questioned, then he could take me in. “Because if you are, I’ll be calling my lawyer.”
“You got something to hide, Lord? Is that why you need a lawyer?”
Typical cop. Always assuming that someone who wanted a lawyer was guilty instead of smart. “Just protecting myself.”
“The crazy girl with the bad extensions? The one who used to work here? She’s dead?” All the color had drained out of Elle’s face.
Hennessy’s attention cut to her. “Yes. And you are?”
“Elle Snyder.”
“Are you a customer or an employee?” he asked.
“Umm … I started this week.”
Hennessy’s eyebrow went up as he looked at me. “And you knew Ms. Sanchez?”
“I didn’t know her … I just … saw her that one day when she decided to pretend she was a rock star and smash a guitar.”
I cut in. “Back off, Hennessy. Elle didn’t even know her. They barely crossed paths while I was firing Bree.”
He held up both hands. “I’m just trying to get all the facts, Lord. No need to get defensive.”
“Where off Bourbon did they find her? Like which end?” Elle asked, drawing the attention back to her.
Hennessy told her, and she reached a hand out to steady herself on the glass case behind her.
I could’ve muzzled her when she said, “Oh. Wow. That’s only a couple blocks from my place.”
Hennessy’s interest in Elle jumped about twenty notches. “Where were you at one o’clock this morning?”
Oh fuck no. “Elle, don’t say a damn thing. If Hennessy wants answers out of you, he’ll get them through your lawyer.”
“I don’t have a lawyer anymore.”
It was the anymore part that caught my attention—and Hennessy’s. “Did you need a lawyer before, Ms. Snyder?”
Elle’s face grew even paler, and she lifted a hand to smooth her hair. It was a nervous tell if I’d ever seen one. “No—I mean… No.” Finally, she shook her head and seemed to snap out of it. “I just never really thought of where I live as being that dangerous. Sure, pickpockets and purse-snatchers. Maybe a drunken fistfight occasionally. But murder? What the hell?”
Considering I’d been a pickpocket, a purse-snatcher, and a drunken fist-fighter, I tried not to wince. But going from that to murder was big leap.
“You find the murder weapon?” That’s the reason Hennessy usually stopped in here—not to question me, but to see if we’d gotten any guns in that might match cold cases or ongoing investigations. My range in the basement was set up for basic firearms identification. Nothing like what the cops had, but I gave it my amateur best. It was the whole reason Con had bought Chains in the first place and asked me to run it—to try to find the gun that had been used in the murder of his adoptive parents. We’d found it—against all odds. So what were the odds that we’d find the one that had killed Bree? My heart squeezed at the thought. Why the fuck did death keep touching us? Couldn’t it keep its dark and destructive fingers out of our fucking lives until we were all old and gray? We didn’t survive a war and expect to come home to more violence.
“No murder weapon was found at the scene. No casings either. So it was either a revolver or someone policed their brass.”
“Caliber? What do I need to be looking for?”
Hennessy didn’t answer right away, and it hit me that this time he might not share any information.
“Look, if I had killed her, would I offer to help you find the fucking gun?”
The tilt of Hennessy’s head pissed me off even more. “Wouldn’t you, though? You’ve helped with every other case when I’ve asked. If you refused to help on this one, wouldn’t that just look suspicious as all hell, Lord?”
“Fuck you, Hennessy. I didn’t have jack shit to do with it, and if you were any kind of detective at all, you’d already know that.”
He shrugged. “How about you just keep turning over rounds from every gun you get in the door.”
“Fine. Whatever you want. You’ve got everything we had up until today. I took one more in on pawn this afternoon. I’ll test fire it in the morning and you can pick up the bullet and casing whenever you get around to it. I know NOLA’s finest are keeping busy schedules these days.”
“You do that. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He tipped his head to Elle. “A pleasure, Ms. Snyder.”
Elle’s muttered I’m sure it was all yours under her breath was the only thing that could have possibly made me smile.
I led Elle across the alley to the warehouse where the ’Cuda was parked, my protective instincts rising and my brain spinning.
Fuck.
What the hell had Bree gotten herself into?
Yes, she’d stolen from me, but I sure hadn’t wanted her dead. And two shots in the back? Jesus.
No one deserved that. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d still be breathing if I hadn’t fired her. Had she been in the Quarter at a new job? Why hadn’t I asked for more details?
Oh yeah, that’s right—because he was looking at me like a suspect and not a guy who’d helped him close more than a few cases because of the guns I’d bought and tested. No, I hadn’t been doing it out of the goodness of my heart before, but I could’ve stopped any time after we’d closed out Con’s case. And it looked like my assistance might be drawing to a close if Hennessy really thought I had jack shit to do with this. Yeah, I had a watered-down motive, but there was no way in hell I’d ever go after a woman.