Page 40 of Knife in the Back (New Orleans #4)

Metairie, New Orleans, Louisiana

“You continue to surprise me, Naomi,” Antoine said from the back seat of Burke’s SUV as they left the parking lot of the fast-food restaurant. They’d all been starving so they’d stopped for a bite before heading back to the Quarter.

Burke was in agreement with Antoine’s statement, but hopefully not for the same reasons. Watching Naomi deal with that bank manager and the police who’d shown up at the bank to take their statements had been something else.

Okay, fine. It had been damn arousing.

Until the manager had shown them the photo of Winnifred Timms. That had felt like a bucket of cold water.

He’d been certain that Winnifred was complicit in Naomi’s arrest, but to have her continued involvement confirmed had him kicking himself for not making her a higher priority in the investigation. He should have interviewed her himself.

But so many things had happened that had distracted him. It had been less than two days but it felt like two weeks.

At least the bank accounts were secure for now. The bank manager had called the NOPD, who’d frozen the other two bank accounts opened in Naomi’s name. Now all three were frozen. Nobody would be able to touch that money.

And that it was Winnifred Timms who had opened the accounts—with a fake ID featuring Naomi’s name—was a checkmark in Naomi’s favor. It established a connection between her previous arrest and this latest effort to frame her. It established a conspiracy.

Burke wondered when Gaffney would realize what they’d done with the accounts. He wondered what Gaffney’s reaction would be. He’d already tried to steal their children and had shot up the flower shop where Naomi worked. Any retaliation would be scaled up from there.

Naomi was not safe.

At least this SUV had bullet-resistant windows.

Naomi twisted around in the front passenger seat, looking at Antoine. “How do I surprise you?” she asked.

“I’ve seen you defeated, scared, riled up, and sweet. But there, in the bank, you sounded like every rich person I’ve ever had the misfortune to cross.”

Naomi chuckled. “I was channeling one of the inmates on my cellblock. She was very wealthy before being sentenced for murdering her business manager after he stole all her money. I stayed away from most of the women in for murder. They were scary as hell, but Nessa freely admitted that she deserved to be in there and that she felt no remorse for killing him. I was nervous about her at first, but she really wasn’t interested in hurting anyone else. ”

“And you became friends?” Antoine asked.

“We did. She was the first person who befriended me when I came out of isolation. I was so scared, you know? I’d gone into protective custody because I’d been stabbed. I didn’t know what would happen when I was integrated into gen pop.”

It was the first time Burke had heard her use prison slang, and it was startling. “You weren’t hurt again, were you?”

“No. Had a few skirmishes. Broke a woman’s nose and another’s arm when they kept putting their hands on me. That sent me into the hole for a week.”

She recounted it lightly, but there was tension in her tone.

“What happened when they let you out of solitary after that?” Burke asked.

“Nobody put their hands on me again.”

“Good,” he said fervently.

“How did you become friends with the rich woman?” Antoine asked.

“When I was in PC, I’d crochet. Kept me sane.

My mom sent me the yarn and at first I made hats for preemies.

Mom would take them and distribute them.

One day one of the guards asked if I’d make a scarf for one of the aging inmates in gen pop.

I couldn’t even fathom wearing a scarf because it was always so hot in my cell.

No windows and no A/C. Just a fan. But I figured older people get cold, so I made a scarf and a hat.

The day I got out of isolation, I went to the cafeteria with everyone else.

I was shaking, because that’s where the stabbing happened, you know? ”

“No,” Burke said, “but I can imagine.”

“Well, I was trying to fake being brave. And there was this old lady wearing the scarf and hat I’d made. She was watching for me and patted the seat beside her. She was grateful and told me to stick with her. So I did.”

“I’m glad you had her,” Burke said.

“Me too. We talked every day. I really miss her.” She sighed, the sound fond.

“She made things bearable and I’ll always be grateful.

So today, when that bank manager was giving me a hard time, I thought, what would Nessa do?

And that’s what I did. That manager was a jerk.

I got the feeling that had I been alone, that conversation would have gone a lot differently.

The way he looked me up and down? It felt predatory. ”

Yes, it had. Burke had wanted to smash his face. “Well, you don’t have to talk to him again. In fact, you shouldn’t leave my house again until this is over. I think that Gaffney will be angry when he can’t get to his money. I don’t want you shot at again.”

“I’m not keen on it, either. I guess this means no more investigating for me. I really wanted to question Winnifred Timms, too. That bitch has some explaining to do.”

“We never got the chance to talk about her financials because we went to the bank,” Antoine said, “but she gets a hefty allowance every month. Comes from what’s supposed to look like a corporation, but I think it’s a front.

It’s set up to look like a scholarship fund.

I’m still trying to track where the money is coming from. ”

“Did you find any of Winnifred’s social media?” Naomi asked. “I looked, but never found a thing.”

“She has no online presence,” Antoine confirmed.

“Which is weird for someone her age. I even ran a reverse image search in case she had social media under another name, but that was a dead end. Only thing I found was a Facebook account from when she was in high school, under Winnifred Timms, so it seems like that’s her real name.

Her Facebook was sparse, though. She rarely posted.

Mostly just photos of her dog. Is Devonte still watching her? ”

“He is. Let me call him and see what’s going on.” But he was interrupted by an incoming call. “Speak of the devil. It’s Devonte.” He hit accept. “You’re on speaker,” he told the man. “Antoine and the client are in the vehicle with me.”

“Winnifred is on the move. She went home, so I was sitting in the parking garage of her condo. I was about to text you with an update when she came out with a suitcase and got in her car. I think she’s headed for the airport.”

Burke’s pulse ratcheted up. “We’re on our way. Where are you?”

“Almost to the Superdome.”

“We’re just leaving Metairie. We can get to the airport before you, so let me know when you know where she’s parking her car.” He ended the call and turned to Naomi. “You stay in the car, and if bullets start flying, you duck, y’hear me?”

She nodded, her expression now grim. “I hear you. But I’m going to talk with her, Burke. Don’t take that away from me.”

He wanted to tell her no but he couldn’t. “Let’s see.”

“Yes. Let’s.”

—

Louis Armstrong International Airport

Kenner, Louisiana

Tuesday, February 25, 6:30 p.m.

Burke had driven them to the entrance of the long-term parking garage at the airport, where they sat waiting for Winnifred Timms. Long-term parking had made the most sense, considering Winnifred appeared to be fleeing to…somewhere.

She pulled into the parking garage, Devonte directly behind her. That she hadn’t diverted her path spoke to Devonte’s skill in tailing—or Winnifred’s distracted frame of mind.

Likely both.

Naomi’s heart pounded as Burke pulled in after Devonte, taking a ticket from the machine.

“Naomi, you stay in the SUV,” Burke said. “Promise me.”

She was saved a reply by Devonte. She wasn’t going to promise any such thing. She needed to talk to Winnifred Timms.

“She’s finally found a spot,” Devonte said through the phone. “What do you want me to do?”

“Park as close as you can,” Burke said. “I’ll park behind her so she can’t drive away. Then I have a great many questions to ask her.”

Burke pulled into a space, allowing Devonte to follow Winnifred as she went around another curve before pulling her car into a parking place. Devonte parked his car a few slots away.

Burke slowed to a stop behind the first car in the row. Winnifred’s car was visible to them, but they were not visible to her.

Burke waited until she’d retrieved her suitcase from the trunk, then sped up, coming to a stop directly behind her.

Winnifred looked up, shock on her face. She reached for her phone, but Devonte stepped up behind her and took it from her hand as Burke got out of the SUV, leaving the door open so that Naomi could hear him.

Or so that he could quickly get back in and drive away if this was some kind of a trap.

Winnifred paled. “I’ll scream.”

Burke shrugged. “Go ahead. I’m sure the cops will be happy to respond, considering you’re now wanted for bank fraud. Devonte, can you make sure she’s not armed? Antoine, can you inform NOPD that we’ve detained Miss Timms? And specifically let André know?”

“On it,” Antoine said from the back seat.

Devonte patted Winnifred down with quick, impersonal movements. “She’s clean.”

“I have no idea who you are or what you’re talking about,” Winnifred insisted. “I’m not wanted for bank fraud. You have me mixed up with someone else.”

Naomi had heard enough. She got out of the SUV, moving to stand beside Burke, noting the sneer that briefly twisted Winnifred’s face.

“We do not have you mixed up with anyone else,” Naomi said. “Hello, Winnifred. I wish I could say that it’s good to see you again.”

Pursing her lips, Winnifred said nothing, and Naomi was reminded of Cresswell that afternoon. It was entirely possible that this woman would also remain silent, but Naomi had to try.

“Why?” Naomi asked quietly. “Why did you participate in framing me? What did it get you?”