“Don’t think so. I ain’t never seen her before. I’m not even sure she’s from around here. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Hell, might be a college student. Underwood went with her to Place d’Armes. We hacked into their security and saw the two of them enter together around eleven. He left the hotel alone not long after two looking a little worn out.” Leon smiled.
“I wonder if she helped herself to any of that cash.”
“Funny you mention that. The police report didn’t list the cash in the inventory.”
My eyes widened. “Who is this ginger?”
“Well, according to the hotel registration, her name is Emily Oberyn.”
Emily Oberyn was fucking close to Emma O’Brien.
“The clerk looked at her ID,” Leon said, “when she checked in, but it’s not hotel policy to make a copy. You know they do a lot of hourly business during the busy season.”
I did know that. We increased their rent during those seasons too.
“Anyway,” Leon went on, “Emily Oberyn paid cash and checked out at six a.m. The desk clerk on duty said Miss Oberyn had a car scheduled to take her to the airport. Noah caught up to the driver. He remembered her, said she tipped real well. He said he dropped her off at departures for United.” Leon shook his head. “That’s it. She fucking disappeared like the ghosts at Lafitte’s.”
“What do you mean?”
“We checked the manifests for all the United flights that went out yesterday, nothing.”
“Are you suggesting she didn’t leave New Orleans?” I asked.
“Boss, I got some people looking at the other airlines, but so far, nothing. We’re hitting brick walls.”
“Emily Oberyn is fucking close to Emma O’Brien. Maybe the police have them mixed up.” When Leon didn’t respond, I asked, “Could this Oberyn woman have poisoned Underwood?”
Pursing his lips together, Leon nodded. “It’s possible.”
“Even though he died later at the Drury Plaza?”
“Thing is, Underwood had a prescription—some shoulder injury from rugby. If somehow this woman knew that, she could have slipped him some extra oxy earlier in the night. I ain’t saying it was enough to kill him, but then when he went back to his hotel, if he—”
“If he took his normal dosage,” I said, interrupting.
Leon nodded.
“Why the fuck are the police suggesting Emma is the suspect? Why isn’t the NOPD following this woman’s trail?”
“I don’t know why Michelson didn’t tell you the connection or maybe he just didn’t know.”
“What?” I asked.
“Partial prints in Underwood’s room likely belong to Miss North—Miss O’Brien.”
My eyebrows came together. “What?”
“It would help if they could talk to her.”
“No.” I stood and leaned forward with my hands on my desk. “Leon, this case needs to go away without involving Emma. Here’s what I think. I don’t know how her fingerprints got in his room.” I planned to find out. “But the name of that woman is fucking beyond coincidental.”
“Miss North ain’t a ginger.”
“But they’re not investigating the ginger from what you’ve told me.”
“No, they’re looking at the scene. You know Lafitte’s don’t have video security.”
“And neither does Place d’Armes,” I said. “Fucking convenient.”