Page 4 of Knife in the Back (New Orleans #4)

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

“Damn, that Cresswell keeps coming back like a bad penny,” Antoine Holmes said grimly after Burke had briefed his assembled crew in the conference room.

Burke had the feeling that Naomi Cranston and her son would need all the guarding his people could provide.

Molly Sutton and Lucien Farrow were his top investigators, but they were also both capable bodyguards.

Sometimes the job required both sets of skills.

Antoine was Burke’s computer wizard. If anything needed doing—or hacking—in a computer network, Antoine was the man.

“You’ve got Val at Sylvi’s shop now?” Molly asked.

“I do. I’ve asked Joy to schedule a protection detail for both Miss Cranston and her son. She’ll probably schedule you, Val, and Lucien, depending on how long the danger lasts.”

“What do we know about her?” Lucien asked.

She’s sad. Beautiful and sad, her brown eyes full of pain. Her dark hair was cut in a sleek bob that he guessed was intended to hide the scar on her throat, but it didn’t do a good enough job.

She’s lost hope. She’d fully expected him to turn her away. The woman who’d followed Sylvi into his office had kept her eyes down. Her posture had screamed defeat.

And, for a brief moment, that defeat had pleased Burke. Dirty cops were the lowest of the low in his book. But once he’d heard her story—hell, once she’d mentioned Cresswell and Gaffney—that feeling had turned to shame.

She came to me to humbly ask for help. And she shouldn’t have needed to tell him that former NOPD Captain Cresswell was involved to elicit his support.

She’s brave. Willing to return to prison to protect her son.

She met my eyes. Even though it had cost her to do so. She’d been terrified. But she’d met his eyes and told her truth.

I believe her. Because he knew the cops who’d framed her. Cresswell and Gaffney had tried to frame him, too. He’d just been luckier, apparently.

I respect her. And he’d help her to get her life back.

“I think she’s being honest,” he finally answered. “Antoine, what have you found out so far?”

“She’s thirty-six,” Antoine said. “Born and raised in New Orleans. Divorced Jimmy Haywood seven years ago. She has a sixteen-year-old son named Everett.”

“The one she wants us to protect,” Lucien said.

“Wow,” Antoine murmured. “She was sentenced to thirty years for theft and possession with intent to distribute.”

Burke remembered the day she’d been sentenced. He’d been glad she would pay for her crimes, that finally a dirty cop was being held accountable.

Except now he didn’t believe she’d been dirty.

“How many of those thirty did she serve?” Lucien asked.

“She spent five years in prison and has been out for a year.” Antoine frowned at one of his laptop screens.

“She spent a month in the hospital and the prison infirmary after she was stabbed in the dining hall, a few days after she arrived. The knife nicked her liver and required the removal of her spleen. She was stabbed six times, including once in the throat. She nearly died.”

Remembering the scar on her neck, Burke felt sick. Six times.

He cleared his throat roughly. “And after that?”

Antoine gave him a curious look before returning his attention to his computer. “After that, she was put in protective custody.”

Solitary confinement. That couldn’t have been easy.

“How did she meet Sylvi?” Molly asked, also watching him.

Burke closed his expression, going neutral. But Molly didn’t appear fooled. Of all his people, she knew him the best. They’d served together in the Marine Corps, and when he’d decided to start his investigative firm, she’d been the first person he’d called.

She’d been his right hand for six years.

“Sylvi volunteers with the horticulture program at the women’s prison,” Burke said.

“She shows the women how to plant and arrange flowers. The program also teaches them to plant a garden, harvest the vegetables, and cultivate fruit trees. Gives them something productive to do on the inside, plus a skill for when they get out. Naomi Cranston was in Sylvi’s class during the final three years of her incarceration. ”

“I thought she was in PC,” Molly said.

“She was for about a year,” Antoine said. “After that she was returned to the general population. No other reports of injuries or attacks.”

Burke wondered how tough she’d been required to become to escape the remaining years unhurt. Cops were tough, but not prison tough. Especially after being in protective custody. Other inmates would have hated her.

“She became the go-to person if one of the inmates needed help with flower arranging,” Burke said. “She also tutored some of the women who were studying for their GEDs. Taught them other skills, too.”

“Did Sylvi tell you this, or did Miss Cranston?” Antoine asked.

“Sylvi. Miss Cranston had become emotional by that point.” The woman had burst into tears, and Burke had needed to force himself not to round his desk and hold her as she cried.

The need to comfort her had been so powerful that it had left him shaken.

“She’d excused herself to go to the powder room,” he said, “and Sylvi told me that one day, Miss Cranston brought some yarn and a crochet hook into her flower class. One of the younger inmates had mentioned wanting to learn, so Miss Cranston taught her. Before long, they’d started a crochet group.

The group continued after she left. They make hats for the homeless and for preemie babies. Stuff like that.”

“You sound like you like her, boss,” Antoine said, his brows raised.

“I didn’t want to at first.” He blew out a breath. “At first I told her no.”

“I know,” Antoine said with a grin. “I could hear Sylvi all the way back in my office. ‘Burke Broussard, you come back out here!’?”

Burke felt his face heat. “Not my finest moment, I’ll admit. I think she got bad legal advice the first time around.”

“Who was her attorney?” Lucien asked.

Antoine checked his laptop. “Mason Lord. I don’t know anything about him.”

Lucien went still, and Burke wondered what he knew about the attorney. But Lucien didn’t offer any information, so Burke would wait and ask him in private. A former prosecutor, Lucien would look at Naomi Cranston’s case with a different perspective than Burke’s own.

“This says that her husband testified against her.” Antoine scowled.

“What an asshole. Said she was mentally ill and had a drug problem, but there doesn’t seem to be any proof beyond his testimony.

The report also says that she didn’t testify in her own defense, but she also refused a plea bargain. ”

“There’s usually a reason someone refuses to testify in their own defense,” Lucien said, and there was something in his tone that got Burke’s hackles up.

“Gaffney threatened her with harm to her son if she didn’t go along with their plan,” Burke said.

“Then why didn’t she take a plea?” Lucien asked.

“I don’t know,” Burke admitted, not liking how defensive Lucien had him feeling. “We should ask her. But she’s still protecting her son. She’s willing to go back to prison to keep him safe.”

“Or so she says,” Lucien said mildly, his expression now stony.

“Or so she says.” Burke nodded stiffly. “But I believe her.”

“And this Gaffney character?” Molly asked.

“He’s been in Narcotics for at least fifteen years,” Burke said.

“He was one of Cresswell’s detectives. I wasn’t partnered with him, but I did work with him on a few cases.

The guy’s dirty, but I could never prove it.

No one could.” He hesitated. “He tried to get me to accept a bag of heroin that he’d skimmed from a bust.”

That got a stunned reaction from his people.

“What did you do?” Lucien asked.

“Took the matter to Cresswell, who asked me if I had proof. When I said that I didn’t, Cresswell told me it was Gaffney’s word against mine and Gaffney had been a detective a lot longer. Then, as I was leaving his office, he said, ‘Next time, just say yes.’?”

“And you couldn’t prove that, either,” Molly murmured.

“I hadn’t thought about wearing a wire into my captain’s office.

I didn’t think I needed to. I didn’t realize until that moment that Cresswell was dirty, too.

I considered going to PIB, but that’s a big step for any cop.

” Talking to the Public Integrity Bureau—NOPD’s Internal Affairs—could make a cop’s life miserable.

And dangerous. “But before I could decide if I wanted to go the PIB route, I got attacked by some young punk on the street. My partner was testifying in court, so everyone knew that I’d be alone that day.

I called for backup and nobody came. I managed to overpower the little bastard and I hauled his ass in, but he wouldn’t say why he’d targeted me.

That’s when I figured I needed to get out.

I tried to transfer to another department, but Cresswell blocked it.

I figured that to protect myself I needed something on Cresswell, so I kept my eyes open. I watched him like a damn hawk.”

“You once said you had proof that he was hiring male prostitutes,” Molly said, “and that was what allowed you to walk away.”

Burke winced. “I didn’t really have any hard proof.

Just rumor, really. If I’d had proof, I would have used it.

But Cresswell believed my bluff when I told him I was resigning and that he’d better not interfere.

I’d just gotten another visit from Gaffney.

He cornered me at the gym, in the shower, actually, so he could be sure I didn’t have any recording devices on me.

Threatened my family. He had photos of my godsons on his phone.

Told me where they went to school and what their after-school schedule was like.

Told me he’d send them back to me ‘in pieces.’?”

“He threatened Naomi Cranston the same way,” Molly said.

“He did. That’s when I knew she was telling me the truth.”

“What did you do?” Lucien asked.