Let the Devil Out: A Maureen Coughlin Novel by Bill Loehfelm

Author:Bill Loehfelm [Loehfelm, Bill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense, Mystery, Thriller
ISBN: 9780374711726
Google: VDYyCwAAQBAJ
Goodreads: 28220555
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2016-07-05T04:00:00+00:00

17

Li’l Dizzy’s was a small, busy café in the Tremé, famous for its fried-chicken-anchored lunch buffet. Preacher had turned her on to the place, taking her there a few times during her training days, the café being a central hub of New Orleans’s Creole power structure. On any given weekday afternoon, the café buzzed with cops, lawyers, judges, and city politicos on their way to or from the nearby courthouses and police headquarters. A lot of business, city and otherwise, Maureen was sure, got conducted at those lunch tables.

When Gage walked into the restaurant, half an hour late, Maureen knew him right away. Detillier had provided an accurate description. Looking at him, though, trying to get a first read on him as he crossed the room, Maureen realized that despite being told what Gage looked like, she had expected someone much different. She’d expected someone more backwoods, more swamp. She’d expected leathered skin, long hair, and a wild beard. She’d expected camouflage and Confederate flags. A cliché. Lazy, Officer Coughlin, very lazy. She thought of Atkinson. Stay open to the possibilities.

The man walking toward her was below average height, underfed, cubicle-pale. He kept his thinning brown hair trimmed short, wore a bushy brown mustache. A couple of days’ worth of stubble threaded with white whiskers shadowed his cheeks and throat. He wore a yellow shirt under a Carhartt jacket, brown trousers, and a hideous brown-and-gold-striped tie, discount store brown loafers with black socks. His clothes hung on him, Maureen noticed, like they would on a scarecrow. He appeared a man burdened by suffering. If he was faking his grief, she thought, he’d built a hell of a disguise.

“Detective Coughlin?” Gage asked, placing a hand on the back of the chair opposite Maureen, his scratchy voice barely audible above the din of the busy restaurant. He had the bright blue eyes of a different man, a handsome man, Maureen noticed, but not the chin or the cheekbones, and his lips were almost feminine.

Maureen rose, extending her hand across the table. “Officer Coughlin. You can call me Maureen.”

Gage hesitated a moment, as if he hadn’t shaken a hand in so long he had to remember how. But then he reached for Maureen’s hand. He had a solid grip. “Leon Gage. Thanks for meeting me.”

The waitress appeared at the table, a slip of a black girl in jeans and a Dizzy’s T-shirt, apron tied around her waist, her hair pulled back, nineteen at the most. She’d brought the coffeepot, refilled Maureen’s mug without asking. “Something for you?” she asked Gage. Again he looked confused. He looked at Maureen.

“I ate,” she said. “But, please, take advantage of the buffet. You’ll be glad you did. They’ll be putting it up soon.”

“No, no, thank you,” Gage said. “I ate earlier. A sweet tea, maybe?”

“Maybe or yes?” the waitress asked.

To Maureen’s surprise, Gage smiled. He moved one degree closer to handsome when he did so. “Yes, thank you.”

Neither spoke until the waitress delivered Gage’s tea.

“I take it you know why I’m here,” Gage said.

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