“That would be way too easy.”
“Thought so.”
They paged through several letters without speaking. Most were from female readers who were writing to let Julia know they’d enjoyed her story. Some were lighthearted and poked fun at the level of sensuality of the book. Some were deeply emotional. A few were scolding, but appeared harmless.
Halfway through the stack John came upon a letter from a man by the name of Nicholas Vester. The envelope was stapled to the letter. The return address was the Orleans County jail.
“What about that one?” Julia asked.
“Let’s take a look.” John skimmed the letter.
A Gentleman’s Touch is the best book I’ve ever read. You have a gift for storytelling. You certainly have a way with describing sex scenes! The story gave me hours of pleasure in a place where pleasure is hard to come by. You see, I’m currently incarcerated in the county jail on a bogus charge of stalking. Ridiculous!
I would love it if you would send me an autographed picture of yourself. Are you as hot looking as your heroine in the book? As I read the book I imagined you as Chloe. It’s killing me, I’ve got to know what you look like.
I’m being released next month and would love to meet you in person. Now, I know what you’re thinking. But I’m not a criminal! The charges against me were false. Please write me back and let me know if you are interested. I truly think I’ve fallen in love with you.
“Does that fit the profile?” Julia asked.
John glanced at her. She looked uncomfortable. “Do you get many letters like this one?”
“A few.”
Shaking his head, he read the letter again. “He claims he was convicted of stalking. That sends up a red flag.”
“Look at the date of the letter.”
“He wrote this a month ago.” He grimaced. “If he wasn’t lying about his release date, he’s out of jail by now.”
“You think this might be the guy?”
“I think he’s worth checking out.”
Their eyes met, held. “How do we do that?”
“I’ll call Mitch and have him run the name through a couple of databases, see if anything pops.”
“And if something pops?”
John shrugged. “I pay him a visit.”
Mitch called with the results of the check at noon. “Hey, bro, I got the goods on Vester.”
“He out?”
“Yup. Did six months. Got released two weeks ago.”
“So what did our boy do?”
“He stalked a morning radio show host.”
“Female?”
“Yup. He claimed he was a fan. But he thought she crossed a line when she said something on the air. He told the judge he wanted to talk to her about it in person.”
John had dug up what he could on the Internet, but in a city as large and violent as New Orleans, there wasn’t much out there on this one case. “How did she cross the line?”
“She faked an orgasm on the air one morning. That started the whole thing.”
John couldn’t help it. He laughed. “People will do anything for ratings.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Mitch chuckled. “Anyway, this guy Vester starts calling her at the station. He somehow got her unlisted number at home and called her several times. He found out where she lived and was spotted parked outside her house. He crossed the line the day he walked into her garage when she was home.”
“He break in?”
“She left the garage door open about a foot for her cat. He saw that as an invitation. Get this, he says she was teasing him, inviting him in by leaving her door open. So he squeezes through the door. By the time he walked into the kitchen he had his pants down and a big hard-on.”
“Guy sounds like a real winner.”
“You like this guy as Julia’s stalker or what?”
“She got a letter from him. Profile seems to fit.”
“Looks like maybe six months in jail didn’t rehabilitate him.” Mitch was silent for a moment. “If this is the guy, then he could possibly be involved in the murder in the cemetery the other night.”
“Can you get a warrant?”
“Yeah, but it’s going to take a little time.”
“Give me his address. I’ll pay him a visit. Lean on him a little.”
“I might do that if I felt like getting my chops busted.”
“Come on, Mitch. You owe me. I gave him to you.”
“If this guy is the killer and I let you go in there, some scumbag defense attorney is going to get him off on a tech.”
Frustration made John sigh. Back when he’d been a cop, more than once he’d seen shoddy police work or an overzealous detective screw up a case. “How long will a warrant take?”
“I’ll meet you there in an hour.” Mitch rattled off Vester’s address. “You know I shouldn’t be letting you in on this, so don’t screw it up, bro.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Julia was watching him when he hung up the phone. “What did he say?”
John told her about the circumstances surrounding Vester’s conviction.
“I guess that would qualify as a pop, huh?” she asked.
“And then some.”
“The police are going to arrest him?”
“They’re going to search his house. Probably his vehicle. And take him in for questioning. I’m meeting Mitch in an hour.” He glanced at his watch. “Call Claudia and ask her to drive over and stay with you until I get back.”
“I want to go with you.”
John shook his head. “No way.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a police matter now.”
“You’re not a cop anymore.”
The barb cut, but John let it roll off him. “I’m an ex-cop and his freakin’ brother. I made the connection. He owes me, so he cut me some slack.”
She went still, her eyes widening. “Does Mitch think this guy murdered that woman in the cemetery?”
“He won’t know anything until he questions him, executes a search of his house and vehicle. But Vester has a history of stalking. I think he’s a strong suspect.”
“Maybe I could go with you to see if I can identify him.” She looked excited.
Too excited, John thought, and frowned. “You didn’t see the guy’s face.”
“That’s true, but maybe I’ll be able to identify him in some other way. Recognize his voice, or his mannerisms.”
“Mitch may ask you to come in and take a look at a lineup. For now I think it would be best if you stayed away.”
What he didn’t want to reveal to her was that he was feeling protective. Maybe a little too protective. He didn’t want her anywhere near Vester. “Let us handle this, Julia.”
“Too dangerous for the little woman, huh?”
“That’s not the way it is.”
“Really? Then why don’t you tell me how it is?”
Seeing temper in her eyes, knowing where the conversation was heading, John unsnapped his cell phone. “I’ll call Claudia myself.”
Turning away from her, he punched the number from memory. Claudia picked up on the second ring. John didn’t bother with a greeting. “There’s a possible break in the case. I have to leave, and I need you here.”
A moment of shocked silence. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“See you then.”
When he hung up, Julia was waiting. “You have no right to shut me out of this. This is my life, my business.”
“What are you going to do? Close the shop?”
“Claudia can handle it until we get back.”
“No.” He turned and headed toward the storage room.
She followed. He could hear the sharp click of her heels against the wood plank floor behind him. “This is not your call.”
He stopped and turned to her so fast she nearly ran into him. “Yes, it is.”
She blinked. Because she was standing too close, because he was more pisse
d off than he wanted to be, John spun away and entered the storage room. Crossing to the shelf next to the cot, he snagged his keys. When he swung around, Julia was standing in the doorway.
John sighed. “Look,” he began, “I’m asking you to trust my judgment on this.”
“I’m asking you not to try to run my life or make my decisions for me. I won’t tolerate it.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need that kind of protecting. It makes me feel smothered.”
“Damn it, Julia, I don’t have an ulterior motive. All I’m saying is that we don’t know how Vester is going to react to the warrant. If he comes out shooting, it could be a bad scene. I don’t want you there.”
That seemed to deflate some of her anger. A breath shuddered out of. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be unreasonable. I just hate feeling so damn helpless.”
“I know. So do I.” The urge to go to her was strong, but he resisted. He did not want a repeat of what had happened between them the night before. “You might try looking at the bright side.”
A wry smile curved her mouth. “There’s a bright side?”
“Yeah. If Vester is our man, this is about to be over in a very big way.”
Vester lived in a halfway house on a quiet side street just east of the Quarter. John drove slowly past the run-down duplex, looking for signs that Vester was home. There were no cars parked in front, but he could see through the window that the television was on. He pulled up to the curb halfway down the block and shut down the engine.
Mitch and Detective McBride showed up ten minutes later. John got out of the car as his brother pulled the unmarked cruiser to the curb. They met on the sidewalk.
“I was starting to wonder if you were going to show,” John said.
McBride scowled at him. “For the record, I don’t think you should be here.”
John scowled back. “I found him for you.”
“That makes you a tipster, not a cop.”
John wished everyone would stop pointing that out. Annoyed, he frowned at his brother. “You got the warrant?”
“Yup.” His brother eyed his leather bomber jacket. “You’re not packing, are you?”
John wondered what these men would think if they knew the truth about him. That he didn’t have the guts to pick up his weapon. The shame that followed cut him to the quick. “No.”
“Good, because you’re here only as an observer,” Mitch said. “You got that?”
“I got it.”
“I mean it, bro. You’re a civilian. McBride and I could find ourselves in deep shit if the lieutenant finds out we let you in on this.”
“So don’t let him find out.”
Muttering an obscenity beneath his breath, McBride went around to the back. Mitch and John stepped onto the front porch. Mitch rapped hard on the screen door. “New Orleans Police Department. Open up.”
John stood beside his brother and listened for movement on the other side of the door. He could hear the blare of the television. Behind him, the wind rattled a loose shutter. Somewhere in the distance a sax wailed a haunting tune.
“Looks like maybe he flew the coop,” Mitch said.
“Since I’m a civilian, I could always find a way in and take a look around.”
“Not on my watch.”
Just then the door swung open. John’s nerves went taut as a middle-aged man just short of six feet in height peered at them through the screen. Mitch’s hand slid to the revolver at his hip.
“You Nicholas Vester?” John asked.
The man scratched his hairy belly and belched. “Who the fuck’r you?”
“Your worst nightmare.” Mitch flashed his badge. “Open the door and step aside.”
One side of the man’s lip lifted as he glared at them through the screen. “I saw my parole officer yesterday.”
“Open the door or I’ll cart your ass off to jail so fast you’ll get whiplash.”
Vester glanced over his shoulder as he unlocked the screen door and opened it. “Don’t you guys have anything better to do than fuckin’ hassle me?”
“I live for hassling guys like you.” Mitch pushed his way inside. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
John followed close behind, his every sense trained on Vester.
“Hey, you can’t just barge in here without a reason,” Vester said, but his attention seemed divided. As if there was something in the house he didn’t want them to see. Drugs? He looked like a kid who’d been caught doing something he wasn’t allowed to do. “I know my rights. You ain’t got a warrant, you can get the fuck out.”
Mitch slid the warrant from his pocket and slapped the man’s cheek with it. “In case you can’t read, it says we can come in and do whatever the hell we want.”
Vester looked like a gas pain had hit him.
John looked around. The front door opened to the living room, where a television depicted a couple in the throes of what looked like an illegal sex act. A dead ficus tree sulked near a grimy window. A pile of what smelled like day-old cat shit clung to a stack of Playboy and Hustler magazines on the floor.
“There anyone else here?” Mitch asked.
Vester snarled, “No, man.”
John didn’t even realize it, but he’d already gone into cop mode. He crossed to the kitchen, unlocked the door and let McBride into the house. Then the two men worked as a team to clear each room. “Clear,” McBride said.
“You armed, Vester?” Mitch asked.
“I don’t like guns.” Vester smiled nastily. “They scare me.”
“In that case you don’t mind if I check for myself, do you?” Quickly, Mitch ran his hands over the other man, then guided him to a ratty-looking recliner and shoved him into it. “Now we’re going to have us a nice chat.”
“I ain’t got nothing to say to no cops.” Vester looked stubborn and indignant.
While Mitch questioned Vester, John walked into the first bedroom and looked around. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for—a cell phone, a jester Mardi Gras mask, perhaps stationery that matched the letters Julia had received. But he knew this wasn’t going to be that easy. It never was.
An antiquated PC sat atop a dresser. Someone had pulled up a plastic chair. The PC was running but the monitor had been turned off. Interesting. John hit the power button for the monitor. Disgust rose inside him when the nude photo of a young girl who couldn’t possibly have yet seen her sixteenth birthday materialized.
“Aw, man,” he muttered.
Shaking his head in disgust, John walked into the living room. Vester and Mitch looked up when he entered.
“Find anything?” Mitch asked.
John looked at Vester. “You want to fess up or shall I clue them in?”
“I didn’t fuckin’ do nothing.”
Vester started to rise, but Mitch shoved him back into the chair. “Sit the fuck down.”
John crossed to him and got in his face. “You like looking at pictures of naked little girls, don’t you?”
“Those pictures ain’t mine.”
“Bullshit.” Vaguely, John was aware of Detective McBride walking into the room. Mitch walked to the bedroom. “Where were you night before last?” John asked Vester.
“I was fuckin’ here. I’m on parole, man. I got a curfew.”
John thought about the bruises on Julia. The dead woman in the cemetery. The photos of the young girl in the bedroom. And he saw red. He felt his teeth clench. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and fisted the other man’s collar. “You think this is some kind of joke? You think we’re kidding around, you sick fuck?”
Vester’s eyes widened. “I was here, man. I’m only allowed to drive to work and back. House arrest, you know? Where the fuck do you think I was?”
“I think you were skulking around the Quarter like the cockroach you are,” John snarled.
Mitch walked into the room, his face dark. “You get a go-back-to-jail card free, Vester.”
<
br /> Vester started to rise, but John shoved him back down. “You know what they do to perverts like you in prison?”
“You can’t put me in jail. I didn’t do nothing!”
“How about child pornography for starters,” Mitch said.
“How am I supposed to know she ain’t over eighteen? She looks grown-up to me!” The belligerence had transformed into panic.
“I thought you said the pictures weren’t yours.”
“They’re not!” Sweat was pouring off the man’s scalp. “I swear!”
But Mitch was already on the radio, asking for a crime scene unit and a patrol car.
John pulled out a copy of the letter that had been sent to Julia. “Did you write this?”
Vester’s eyes landed on the letter. “I wrote a lot of letters.”
“This one is to an author by the name of Elisabeth de Haviland.”
“What if I did? That ain’t against the law, is it?”
“It is if you’re stalking her.”
“I ain’t stalking no one, man.”
“Have you had any contact with her?”
“No.”
“Did you call her? Follow her?” Rough her up in the alley? a furious little voice added.
“No!”
Teeth grinding, John slapped him with an open hand. “You had better stop lying to me.”
Temper glinted in the other man’s eyes. John half expected him to make a move, half wished he would so he could work off some of this rage, but the other man only glared.
“Why did you write this letter?” John asked.
“I wrote it, okay? Jesus! She wrote a hot book. Not many chicks know the moves, but she does.” Vester rolled his shoulder. “I wanted to meet her. She never wrote me back. That’s it.”
“You have an affinity for porn, don’t you, Vester?”
“I been locked in a cage for six months,” Vester said. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re in deep shit.”
“I didn’t stalk no one!” Spittle flew from his lips. “That deejay bitch was lying through her teeth about the whole thing. She invited me inside.”
John slapped him again, not hard, but enough to make the other man angry. “I don’t believe you.”
“Merrick.” McBride’s warning tone came to him as if from a great distance. “Cut it out.”
A Whisper in the Dark Page 18
