Andre was said to be the youngest and most handsome man ever to reach the rank of lieutenant on the New Orleans police force. Only he did not seem likely to remain the most handsome for much longer. The four bulky, burly men who came from the shadows of the dark, narrow street intended to alter the shape of his face, or St. Andre missed his guess. While a bright moon shone in the sky, very little of its light filtered down into the area between the houses; which might be ideal for lovers, or even people who merely wished to act in the manner of lovers, but was surely hell for a handsome young detective lieutenant faced with the possibility of a savage beating. He could neither see their faces nor enough of their clothing to be able to recognise them at a later date—should they leave him alive to do so. “Are you St. Andre?” asked the biggest man in a muffled, disguised voice. “I am.” “Then you get after Vivian Vanderlyne and don’t go poking your nose into things that don’t concern you.”
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