Free An Evil Shadow by A. J. Davidson

thought
better and closed it. He pulled on his cap with a determined tug.
    The UNOPD captain started the tour by pointing out
that the creative arts building where Duval would be spending most of her time
was directly opposite the station house. They turned left and drove past a
clump of stucco accommodation blocks known as Lafitte village. The University
of New Orleans was essentially a commuter campus, but there were some
facilities for out of town students. During the vacations the rooms were rented
out as lodgings for tourists traveling on a shoestring budget. With the new
semester about to start, most of the buildings were deserted. Clements took a
left at the engineering block and drove past the building that housed the
performing arts faculty.
    Val had often listened to Marcus bitching about how
the UNO had to exist under the shadow of the more academically distinguished
Tulane University. It seemed to be coping just fine.
    “I’m sorry we didn’t have longer to talk yesterday,
John,” Val said. “Things were a bit hectic.”
    “That’s okay, Chief Bosanquet. I understand.”
    “Chief’ will do just fine. I’ve been reading your
department record. You’re a first-rate officer and an excellent administrator.”
    Clements dipped his head. “It’s kind of you to say
so.”
    “I’ll be frank with you. You probably regard my
appointment as some sort of nepotistic, political move. And you would be
absolutely right. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had your resignation already
typed out and signed. We both know who should be sitting behind the Chief’s
desk.”
    Clements shifted uneasily. “It had crossed my mind. I
can appreciate the university had to do what they thought was best — under the
circumstances — but that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.”
    “It’s not a job I wanted, nor is it a job I intend
holding down for very long. What I need in the interim is for you to put all
thought of resigning out of your head and take over the day to day running of
the UNOPD. I’m not trying to shirk my responsibility. I’ll be there if you need
me, but I don’t envisage spending much time behind a desk. If you do as I ask,
then you have my word that immediately the dust has settled over Duval, I’m out
of here.”
    Clements’s face brightened. “You’ve got it.”
    “Good, now drop me outside the old library. It’s timeto perform for the press.”

 
 
 
    The press conference was to be held on the second
floor of the library. The university boasted two libraries. The Earl K. Long
library was a vast concrete and pillared edifice that had about as much
character as a slab of marzipan. The old library was an ivy-clad, redbrick
Victorian building that had originally been built as a fever hospital.
    It had been Marcus’s idea to host the conference
there. The book stacks that lined the walls contained some of the university’s
most valuable texts and he thought they might help create the right ambience,
one of gentle academe, slightly embarrassed at finding itself being intruded
upon. Oxford was never far from his mind.
    Facing the press were Val and Marcus; Philip Lausaux,
in his role as project director of the Assist Haiti charity; and Duval herself.
Although the twenty or so journalists were local, they were all stringers for
the nationals and any one of them could guarantee nationwide coverage for a
story if they felt it was warranted. It was Marcus’s fervent hope that they
would see it as a strictly local issue — of little interest outside the Gulf
States.
    Marcus started the ball rolling by giving the
assembled journalists a potted history of Marie Duval, starting with the death
of her father and brother and her arrival in the US as a refugee, moving on to
the manslaughter of her mother, and finishing with a resume of her academic
achievements. He then switched tactics and went on the offensive.
    “Marie Duval committed a heinous crime, of that there
is no doubt. A crime provoked