Page 10 of Death in the New Year

“I promise, it’s free. My name is Luc. That’s Mac. We’re trying to find any information we can on who might have killed Imelda Coliya, the church secretary, that was murdered. Did you hear about that?”

“Terrible shame,” said the old man, clucking his tongue and shaking his head. “I go to church. Now and then. Well, when I feel up to it. She was always nice to me. Made sure I had a cushion to sit on. Them pews are awful uncomfortable for an old man who ain’t got no ass anymore.”

“Yes, sir, they definitely can be. Did you ever see her arguing with anyone? Maybe her and her husband had problems?”

“Garcia? No way. That man loved her somethin’ fierce. They’ve lived around here for almost twenty-five years. Rented that little place right across the street for years. They saved every damn penny they made, wore hand-me-down clothes, ate boxed macaroni and cheese and bologna. Saved enough to buy that little house they’re in now. They were both so proud,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Had a big party so everyone could see that they’d finally achieved their dream. They’re a good couple. Were. Were a good couple.”

“Buying a home of your own is no joke,” smiled Luc.

“She wanted to keep workin’ even though he said she didn’t have to, so she took the job at the church. Woman was suited for God’s work.”

“Do you think this is random, Mr., sorry I didn’t get your name,” said Luc.

“Elvin, Elvin Portier, like the famous actor.”

“Elvin,” nodded Luc. “Do you think it was random?” The old man was quiet for a few moments, just staring at him, then finally spoke.

“I think it was tragic and senseless is what I think. Random? I don’t know. Tragic, definitely.”

They both heard the thump of the heater kicking on and smelled the heat pouring from the vents. Mac walked out, wiping his hands on a paper towel.

“All set, sir.”

“You fixed it?” he laughed.

“It wasn’t broken. Someone turned off the pilot light of your gas furnace and jerked a wire loose. It’s all connected now and safe to use. Whoever you had come out, I’d cancel them and tell them not to come here again. If you’d like, we could contact them and get your money back.”

“I’ll damn sure do that,” he nodded. “I don’t want no trouble with them, and they might come back around. An old man like me can’t take any chances. I can’t thank you boys enough for doin’ that. I can already feel the heat comin’ out.”

“Elvin, is there anyone else we could speak with? Maybe someone who might have seen anything?”

“Most of the folks around here are old like me, or they’re young folks who work the Quarter ‘til two, maybe three in the morning. They would have been asleep that morning, most likely. But the folks around here are friendly. I’ll send a text in our group chat and let ‘em know to cooperate.”

“Group chat?” smirked Mac.

“I’m old, son, but I ain’t stupid. A man my age needs friends and a cell phone. I got both. Besides, there’s some funny shit on that Instagram.”

Mac and Luc walked the neighborhood for three hours, stopping to speak with dozens of people who had gotten Elvin’s text message. They all knew Imelda, they knew Shirley, and no one could fathom who would want to kill the woman.

The one outlier was Matilda. No one knew who she was or where she’d gone.

“I think we have to find this Matilda,” said Luc.

“Let’s see what the tech boys have come up with. We need a lead.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“What are we waiting on?” asked Miller.

“The boys said they have some good news from the hair fibers and the clothing,” said Gaspar.

“I didn’t say good news. I said news,” said Sly, walking into the room. He and Code took their seats at the end of the table and frowned at the group. “There is no Matilda Smith. However, there was a Madeline Franks.”

“Was?” frowned Ian.

“She was found brutally beaten, stabbed, and dumped in Lake Ponchartrain four weeks ago. No one reported her missing. No one even knew she was gone. Madeline Franks worked for a topless dance club in Atlanta. The manager told the police that an ‘unnamed’ VIP client attempted to rape her in a private room, and she defended herself, hitting him over the head with a champagne bottle. He had two bodyguards with him who proceeded to beat the hell out of her.”

“Jesus. Unnamed, but they knew he was a VIP. What a crock of bullshit,” muttered Ghost.

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