Damned (Shaye Archer Series Book 7)

by DeLeon, Jana

  Greer’s eyes widened. “I didn’t have nothing to do with it. I swear! She was a nice girl and not at all responsible for what her father did.”

  “You’re not a suspect,” Jackson said. “We simply wanted to get more information from you. The kind of stuff that doesn’t necessarily make it into police reports.”

  Greer didn’t look completely convinced but he nodded. Then he stiffened and gave Grayson a hard stare. “You think Pitre did this? To his own daughter? If that’s the case, then he’s the one that did it to my Melissa. He’s always been the one.”

  His voice increased in speed and volume as he spoke, and Jackson could see he was getting worked up. Not that Jackson blamed him. Everything about Pitre looked sketchy.

  “We don’t know what happened,” Grayson said. “This is just one avenue we’re investigating, but rest assured that we will be pursuing every angle of it. Including revisiting your daughter’s case. But it could be someone fixated on them back when they were friends—saw them together around the neighborhood and at local stores. Or even at school.”

  Greer looked pained. “Someone wanted both of them?”

  “It’s possible,” Grayson said. “Pitre moving his family away might have been what delayed Hailey’s disappearance. It might have taken the perpetrator time to find her again.”

  Greer nodded, the realization of what Grayson said sinking in. “This probably wasn’t random. You think they were targeted.”

  “I think given the circumstances surrounding their disappearances and the lack of evidence in either case, a crime of opportunity in both would be a huge coincidence,” Grayson said. “Is there anything else you can tell us about Pitre?”

  Greer shook his head. “I wish I could. But I’ve only seen him the once and he wasn’t exactly looking to have a civil conversation. All I know is what Melissa told me, which wasn’t much. She didn’t like him so she made sure she only visited Hailey when he wasn’t going to be there. And she said Hailey didn’t talk about him much. I can’t say as I blame her.”

  “Okay,” Grayson said. “Thanks for your time. We might need to talk to you again.”

  “Anything,” Greer said immediately. “Anytime. If you can find out what happened to Melissa…her mother…” He sighed. “I’d like to give her a body to bury at least. But this limbo we’re in…it’s killing both of us.”

  Grayson nodded and handed Greer a card. “I understand. Here’s my card. If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”

  Greer took the card and put it in his shirt pocket. “Will you let me know if you find Hailey? I hope she’s okay.”

  “Me too,” Grayson said. “But for the time being, I think it’s best if you keep the content of our conversation to yourself. Perhaps you tell your coworkers it was a follow-up on an item in your daughter’s case. I just don’t want things filtering back to Pitre before we’re ready to confront him.”

  “Yeah,” Greer said. “All right. Just promise me you’ll nail this guy, whoever he is. You’ll nail the bastard that hurt Hailey and Melissa.”

  Grayson nodded.

  As they climbed into the car, Grayson looked over at Jackson. “So what do you think?”

  “I think Nathan Greer has a lot of reason to hate Michael Pitre.”

  “And to suspect him.”

  Jackson nodded. “Pitre hasn’t helped his case all that well. And not telling us about this highly relevant situation doesn’t make me feel favorable toward him. If he had nothing to do with Melissa Greer’s disappearance, then why wouldn’t he be shouting from the rooftops that Hailey’s friend had disappeared just the year before? If I were a parent, I would have gone straight there.”

  “Unless I’d done it. Then I wouldn’t want anyone to make that connection, especially the police.”

  “He had to know it would happen, right? And even if Pitre is some kind of religious, controlling psycho, would he really risk the same crime twice? And with his own daughter?”

  Grayson shook his head. “I just don’t know.

  “Me either. But as far as I’m concerned, Pitre just became suspect number one.”

  “And Greer?”

  “I’m not striking him off the list, either.”

  Grayson started the car. “Amazing. Usually we’re scratching to come up with one suspect. This case has given us three already.”

  “An abundance of leads. That’s definitely a new one. And one we’re going to need some help on. The clock is ticking. On the chance that Hailey’s still alive, we need to narrow things down quickly.”

  “I’ll ask for some help tomorrow. The detectives are all stretched thin, but we can probably get a couple of patrol assigned to doing the background work. That leaves us on the streets.”

  “Good,” Jackson said. Because he knew they weren’t going to rescue Hailey sitting behind a desk.

  Shaye sat at a table in the courtyard of the café, watching two birds bathe in the fountain. A café au lait sat in front of her along with a small plate of beignets. She’d placed her usual order attempting to regain a feeling of normalcy. To quickly rid herself of the icky feeling that she’d had when she left Croft’s office. She’d briefly considered showering, but forced herself to stay out in the open, rather than closing herself up behind the safety of her door locks and security system.

  She wanted to stay present more and retreat less. Not that retreating was necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes it was the best option, but when she had other choices, she was opting for the harder way out. Pop psychology gurus would say it built character. Eleonore would simply say it was her way of continuing to push herself to become an even bigger badass. Shaye wasn’t certain she agreed with Eleonore’s sentiment, but she liked the sound of it. There were far worse things than being a badass.

  Like being a victim.

  And that was a role she never intended to fill again.

  Her cell phone rang and she was a bit surprised to see Nicolas’s number come up.

  “Nicolas?” she answered. “Is everything all right?”

  “No. Something happened that I need to tell you about but I can’t get away right now.”

  His voice was shaky and slightly panicked. “Are you someplace you can speak?” she asked. “Can you tell me over the phone?”

  “If you’re available to listen.”

  “Yes, please go ahead.”

  Nicolas told her about the street kid who’d brought him the envelope. His voice hitched several times as he relayed the story, and Shaye knew he was worried about the close watch the penitent appeared to be keeping on him. To be honest, Shaye was worried about it too.

  “You did very well,” she said, trying to offer him even a tiny bit of relief. “You asked very good questions.”

  “That offered nothing.”

  “That’s not true. We know for certain that it’s a man, right? We didn’t know that before.”

  “His face was covered. It still could have been a woman with a deep voice or disguising her voice.”

  “That’s true, but that’s not the impression the child got, and I’m inclined to go with what his instincts told him.”

  “Great. Then we’ve narrowed our suspect list down to about two hundred thousand, assuming we’re considering New Orleans alone.”

  Shaye understood his frustration. She’d felt it many times before when she thought she’d run into nothing but dead ends, and she felt it now. “I know how hard it is to remain hopeful. And I’m certain contact from the penitent is the last thing you want, but it gives us an advantage.”

  “How?”

  “More opportunity to get to know him. To pin down a motive. To catch him in the act. If he keeps playing this game with you, he’ll slip up.”

  “What if it’s not a game? What if he intends to kill me like the woman?”

  Shaye felt her back tighten. It was a possibility that was the penitent’s endgame. It was also possible that he was seeking praise from someone he considered a representative for God
. It was equally possible that he was showing the priest how powerful he was compared to Nicolas. How his actions produced immediate results.

  But the most interesting thing about Nicolas’s story was that he hadn’t told Shaye what the envelope contained. She didn’t think that was by accident.

  “You never told me what was inside the envelope,” she said. “Was it another message?”

  There was several seconds of silence and for a moment, Shaye thought they’d been disconnected. Then she heard a sharp intake of breath.

  “Sinner,” he said, his voice breaking. “It said ‘sinner.’”

  All the effort she had put into calming herself went straight out the window. The endgame question had been answered with one simple word.

  “Do you have any idea what he’s fixated on?” she asked. If they could determine the reason for the penitent’s accusation, it might lead them to who he was.

  “No. I’ve done nothing but think about it ever since. Of course, I’m not without sin. No one is, but I can’t think of anything that I’ve done that would have been so egregious it caught the attention of someone else.”

  Shaye took in a breath and slowly blew it out, trying to control her disappointment. They weren’t dealing with a sound mind, she reminded herself. It was perfectly plausible that Nicolas hadn’t done anything to merit the attention. The penitent could have imagined the issue or blown something simple out of proportion. Or he could have a problem with priests or the Catholic Church in general. It was impossible for sane people to make the leaps and connections that a damaged mind made.

  “Okay,” she said. “I don’t want you worrying about this. He’s probably created some scenario in his mind that labels you that way, and it’s unlikely that we’re going to figure out what. Are you staying visible?”

  “Yes. I’ve been in the cathedral all afternoon. I’m heading up a fund-raising committee tonight and I’ll be in our living quarters afterward. Father Bernard and Father Malcolm should both be there.”

  “Good.” She gazed at the fountain, unsure of her next question, but finally she just blurted it out. “Do you have a weapon?”

  “I…uh, no.”

  Probably because he’d never figured he’d need one.

  “I think it might be a good idea if you had some way to defend yourself against an attack,” she said. “I’m not suggesting that you arm yourself like Rambo. It doesn’t have to be a gun, but even a can of Mace could give you an unexpected advantage.”

  “I hate this. Physical weaponry is not the sort of thing priests are supposed to have to consider.”

  “I know. But prayer is not going to protect your very human body.”

  He sighed. “You’re right. As it turns out, you and my mother were of the same mind on things. I just remembered that she gave me Mace after my accident. I thought she was overreacting, of course, but then I decided I was being unfair. Women always have to consider these things, don’t they? Things men often don’t.”

  “That’s true enough.”

  “My injury puts me in the same category—an easier target than a healthy male. I don’t like it, but I accept the reality of my situation.”

  “Do you know how to use the Mace?”

  “I’ve read the instructions.”

  “Good. Then take it out of the back drawer or wherever you tucked it away and keep it on you. And I mean within reach. It doesn’t do any good buried in your backpack. You need to be able to reach it within seconds. That’s often all the time you’ll get.”

  “What about the child? Should I take a lap around the block and try to locate him?”

  “No. Except height, I don’t think he knows more than what he already told you. If there were anything else out of the ordinary, he would have said so. Besides, I’d prefer you stick close within the church walls unless you’ve got a specific appointment somewhere else.”

  “What about shopping?”

  “If you need things from the store, have them delivered when possible. Delay purchase if it’s not absolutely necessary and can’t be delivered. If it’s something you have to have and can’t find a courier, then call me. I’ll take care of it.”

  “You really think I’m in danger on the streets, among all those people?”

  “I think a crowded street makes it really easy to shove a wheelchair into oncoming traffic.”

  He was silent for several seconds.

  “I understand,” he said, and she could hear the defeat in his voice.

  “Hang in there,” Shaye said. “I’m working full time to figure this out. I won’t stop until you are safe.”

  He thanked her before disconnecting, but she could tell he was overwhelmed. She couldn’t blame him. This situation had been far from normal to begin with and it had just launched into the stratosphere. It certainly wasn’t the kind of thing his education had prepared him for. She lifted her now-cold coffee to her lips and took a sip.

  Sinner.

  What did it mean? Something important to the penitent, that was certain. But was it real or imagined? Could Nicolas be hiding something from her? Something he didn’t want to admit? She wished they could have had the conversation in person. When someone wasn’t a skilled liar, their body language usually gave them away. She put down her coffee and sighed. Now she was going to have to do a background check on her client.

  For his own good.

  15

  Jackson parked in front of Shaye’s apartment and trudged to the front door. She must have been in her office and seen him pull up because she had the door opened before he could even knock. She took one look at him and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him soundly. It gave him the same thrill it always did. To know that a woman of the highest quality—this woman in particular—had chosen him.

  When they broke off from the kiss, Jackson smiled. “That was the highlight of my day.”

  “Sounds like your day went as well as mine. I was just about to open a bottle of wine. You interested?”

  “Yes. But I’m afraid if I have a glass, I’ll end up snoring on your couch, unwashed and unkempt.”

  “I like you unkempt. It makes me feel less self-conscious about my own lack of desire for girlie grooming. The unwashed part, however, I can help with. I just folded clean towels.”

  “You don’t mind?” Jackson wanted to sit and enjoy a glass of wine with Shaye, but the thought of a hot shower had eclipsed all other pleasures.

  Shaye smiled. “The wine and I will still be here when you get out. And as I took my shower earlier, you are free to use every last drop of hot water I have.”

  “You are the best girlfriend ever.”

  “If all it takes is the offer of shower to get that title, you really need to raise the bar.”

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “The bar is all the way to the ceiling and you’re sitting on top of it.”

  She turned around and headed for the refrigerator as soon as he released her, but not before he saw the blush creeping up her neck. Jackson made his way to the guest bedroom and grabbed shorts and a T-shirt he had tucked in the dresser. It had been a casual suggestion of Shaye’s that he keep a spare change of clothes at her apartment—both business and casual. Her apartment was closer to the police department and since he usually got off later than her, it was more convenient for him to drop by her place rather than have her drive across town to his.

  Plus, the location of her apartment made it far easier to acquire any manner of tasty food in a matter of minutes, and you didn’t even have to leave the apartment to do it. Delivery services abounded, so all one needed was a menu and a cell phone and most of the incredible food that New Orleans offered was only a few minutes away.

  “I ordered Chinese when you called,” Shaye yelled from the kitchen.

  Jackson’s mouth began to water, his roast beef sandwich from lunch long spent. “Did you get crab Rangoon?” he asked.

  “A double order.”

  He let out a sigh of contentment an
d headed into the shower. If anyone had told him a year ago that this would be his life today, he would have called him crazy. Back then, he’d been the most junior detective in the department, working with a man who’d gone out of his way to make Jackson miserable. But then, if it weren’t for that man’s prejudice and stubbornness, Jackson might never have met Shaye.

  And meeting Shaye had changed his entire life.

  Despite Shaye’s declaration that all the hot water was his to utilize, Jackson didn’t linger in the steaming bath. The call of good food and wine and an even better woman was too strong to ignore. He dressed and was towel-drying his hair as he walked back into the kitchen. He tossed the towel into the laundry room and looked over at Shaye.

  “Is this unkempt enough for you?” he asked, pointing at his hair, which was likely sticking up in all directions.

  “Perfect,” she said as she unpacked the Chinese food from a brown paper bag. “Do you want to eat at the bar or the couch?”

  “The bar makes it easier to share.”

  “Who says I’m sharing?”

  “You got the chicken fried rice, didn’t you? Cruel.”

  She laughed and set plastic forks on the bar next to the boxes. “Fine, but I get my go at the fried rice first. Then you can have a taste. In the meantime, you’ll have to suffer with pepper steak.”

  He slid onto a stool and opened the bottle of wine. “Let the suffering commence.”

  Shaye took a seat next to him and snagged a crab Rangoon from the box in front of her. She poured soy sauce on a small plate, dipped the crab pastry, then bit off half of it. “These are so good. I keep saying I’m going to make a meal just out of these alone.”

  “It’s definitely possible,” he said as he poured the wine. “So your day was as stellar as mine, huh? Any break on your case?”

  “I’m afraid it’s worse than no break. It appears that my client might be the next target.”

  Jackson muttered a curse. The last thing he wanted was for Shaye to be in danger, but no way was he asking her to back off, either. He knew how important Shaye’s work was to her. He had no right to ask her to change careers so that his worry would lessen, especially when he had no intention of reciprocating.