Damned (Shaye Archer Series Book 7)

by DeLeon, Jana

  “That’s bad,” he said. “Really bad. How serious do you think the threat is?”

  She shook her head. “It’s impossible to say without knowing for certain that a crime was really committed to begin with.”

  “I suppose it could be someone messing with him,” he said, silently hoping that was the case. “But who would have that kind of grudge against the guy? Did he strike you as someone who makes that kind of enemies?”

  “Exactly the opposite, actually. He’s one of those people that even the surliest among us couldn’t help but like.”

  Jackson shook his head. “And yet…”

  “I know. Assuming we’re not dealing with a sound mind, the offense could also be imagined.”

  “Or blown out of proportion. Or it could really exist. Have you poked into your client’s background any yet?”

  “Not yet. That was on the agenda for tomorrow morning. But if he’s done something big enough to attract a killer, then I don’t know why the Church would have hired him. Given their past issues, you’d think they’d want to avoid potential reputation problems.”

  “It’s probably not going to be all over the internet, that’s for sure. But you might find a thread to start unraveling.”

  She nodded. “Everything starts with that thread. What about victims? Did you get a chance to see if anyone fit the bill for my case?”

  “I did a couple searches. One strangulation homicide, but it was two older men over an issue with a cheating wife.”

  “Dare I ask which one lost?”

  “One could argue that they had both already lost long before the strangulation occurred, but the boyfriend has been relieved of his duties.”

  “No one can be that good in bed.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. I thought the same, but this sort of thing happens a lot. It usually doesn’t end in death, but I can’t tell you how many assaults I booked before I made detective. And all over a woman who wasn’t worth the cost of a bandage, much less a trip to jail.”

  “What about missing women?”

  “Two. Detectives suspect the first one finally left her abusive husband. Her sister was cagey when questioned. They’re pretty sure she knows but isn’t talking. The second is a working girl. Roommate reported her missing.”

  “That’s not the norm.”

  “No. It’s not. But she’s young. Really young. The one reporting claims she’s eighteen, but I don’t think the officer who took the statement was convinced. Still, she wasn’t the one on the hot seat, so what can you do? The last thing we want is to dissuade women from contacting the police. Poking holes in their own background would do just that and wouldn’t help the missing girl at all.”

  “What about the pimp?”

  “They don’t have one. She claims they came here from the Midwest somewhere to be artists but they have to make rent…you know the story. Probably runaways.”

  Shaye sighed. “She sounds like a good candidate for my situation.”

  “I was afraid that might be the case. I made a note of the info you would need on my phone.”

  “Thanks. I’ll make sure to keep a low profile, but I’d like to talk to the roommate. If this guy is for real, I think it will be easier to figure out who he is once I know who the first victim is.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. He might not have a connection to her, and working the streets isn’t exactly introverted sort of activity. There’s no telling how many people she was exposed to. Your guy could have been watching her from another corner and decided she was the one.”

  “Stop raining on my potential success parade. This whole thing is like pulling teeth. And it’s so much harder because I can’t be truthful to anyone I question about why I’m questioning them. Added to that, my client is not openly available for contact. I don’t even have his name listed anywhere in my records. All this secrecy is exhausting.”

  “The deck is definitely stacked against you.”

  “What about your case?”

  He shook his head. “It’s a real mess. We have three suspects and they’re all good for it. We can’t cover that many, so Grayson is asking for some help tomorrow.”

  “Wow. Three is a lot for this kind of thing. Especially if they’re solid.”

  “They are. And unfortunately, one is a teen girl. Have I told you lately how I sometimes hate my job?”

  “That’s awful. Any leads on tracking down the missing girl?”

  Jackson shook his head. “Except for interviews, Grayson and I spent the entire day checking out every person and every place where the girl might have gone or been seen. We’ve come up with nothing. It’s as if she walked out of her house, locked the door behind her, and simply vanished into thin air.”

  “Nothing on security cameras?”

  “Not so far. We have a couple of injureds on desk duty reviewing everything they can from the businesses surrounding the neighborhood, but a lot of people don’t have any cameras at all, and those who do usually have them inside only. They’re working to get the footage from a couple of banks in the area. If we can see her somewhere on a street, it might give us a direction to start. Or even better, narrow down which person to lean on if she’s not alone.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah.” There wasn’t much else he could say. Shaye knew better than anyone what could happen to a young girl who went missing. She’d lived a horror that most people couldn’t even imagine. And every year, more people disappeared from the New Orleans streets, and he couldn’t help but wonder how many who were never found were still alive out there somewhere. It was a thought that often kept him from sleeping. And it was a problem with no solution. All he could do was tackle one at a time and hope for the best.

  He and Grayson were doing everything they could. But it was of little comfort.

  Nicolas shook hands with the last of the committee members as they exited the business office. He’d figured the meeting would run long but when the clock passed 9:00 p.m., he finally suggested they make a list and address the remaining items at the next meeting. Many of the committee members had already put in a full workday and gave him a grateful look. They’d spent another ten minutes putting together that list and finally, everyone was on their way home. He pushed himself outside onto the walkway and locked the office door.

  The walkway was well lit and in good condition, but it was some distance from the office to the living quarters. He pushed himself along at a good clip, noticing for the first time exactly how dark the rest of the church grounds were. There were outside lights, of course, but they were sparsely located, leaving large sections of the grounds cast in complete darkness.

  He could have called for Father Malcolm to come meet him, claiming he needed a bit of assistance getting back. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d worn himself out to the point that he couldn’t push himself home, but it had been months since that had been the case. When everything had run so late, he hadn’t wanted to bother Malcolm, even though he knew the other priest wouldn’t mind.

  Still, it was long past time for Malcolm to have finished dinner and showered. Now he would be sitting in the living area watching television or reading and listening to the country music he seemed to enjoy so much. There was no point in rousting him from his rest time. It wasn’t that far. Only a couple minutes, really. Well, maybe five. Then he started to wonder if he was right about the timing or simply trying to convince himself that there was no risk.

  Calm down. You are freaking yourself out.

  But the admonition, although accurate, didn’t do much to ease his tension. He turned the corner at the end of the building and continued across the stretch of walkway that traversed the center courtyard. The place where he’d exited the confessional that day. In the darkness and without the activity of the landscapers and the hustle of the parishioners and church staff, it was almost bleak, the air stale.

  He pushed harder, propelling himself faster along the sidewalk, and then he heard it—a branch cracking under the weight
of a footstep. He stopped and whipped his head around, scanning the courtyard. He saw nothing.

  But he could feel him.

  Watching. Waiting.

  The cloak of darkness was his cover and with all the many hedges, he could cross the courtyard unseen and accost Nicolas at any place along the walkway. Fighting the urge to panic, he pushed even harder, but his fear made his exertion unequal. The wheelchair wobbled, then took a hard jerk to the right. He clutched the wheels, trying to steady the rocking chair, but he was too weak. The chair pitched off the sidewalk and he flew out, then slammed onto the ground.

  He let out a yell as his shoulder crunched into the hard turf, followed by his head. Pain exploded behind his eyes and he involuntarily clutched his forehead. He’d knocked his breath out when he hit the lawn and now he gasped, trying to drag in air. Finally, his body relented and he managed a huge gulp. He squeezed his eyes shut as his chest contracted, feeling like he’d been put into a vise. As it released, he started to relax.

  That’s when he heard the footsteps.

  They were faint, barely a shuffle on the grass, but they were close. He peered into the darkness, trying to spot his pursuer. Was that movement behind the hedges to his right? With the wind blowing, he couldn’t be sure. His hands flew to his pockets. Which one had he put the Mace in? He couldn’t remember. And his cell phone. Had he put it in his backpack? And where was his backpack?

  “Sinner.”

  The whisper echoed across the courtyard.

  16

  Raw fear sent a wave of adrenaline through Nicolas and he shoved himself off the ground, crying out as stabbing pain shot through his shoulder and up his neck. His vision blurred and he forced himself to keep pushing until he was in an upright position. If he could just drag himself close to the walkway, he might be able to use it to stand.

  Then what?

  He heard rustling behind him and twisted around. And that’s when he saw him, standing at the edge of a hedge about fifteen feet away. His silhouette was barely visible in the dim light, but it was enough to send his heart rate into the stratosphere. This was it. It all ended here. The storm clouds above began to move away from the moon and a dim glow was cast over the courtyard. He stared at the man, unblinking as the moonlight uncovered him, and gasped when he got a better view.

  It was just like the street kid had said.

  He wore a black hoodie pulled over his head, but there was enough illumination for Nicolas to see that he had no face. And even though he knew it was a mask, he couldn’t help being terrified. The man took a step toward him, then another, and he scrambled for the walkway, his damaged arms dragging his torso and useless legs across the ground. He clutched the cement and pulled himself up, choking back tears as the pain in his shoulder intensified.

  Nicolas might not be able to run from his stalker or even defend himself properly, but he was going to face him standing and showing his true self. This was likely the way it all ended, but at least he wouldn’t be a coward, hiding behind a mask and using God as an excuse for evil. He turned around, ready to face the penitent.

  But the courtyard was empty.

  Every muscle in Nicolas’s body began to collapse and he started to sink. A couple seconds later, Malcolm’s frantic voice rang out.

  “Nicolas!” Malcolm jumped into the courtyard and put his arms around Nicolas, helping his weakened body into a sitting position on the walkway. “I heard a scream and came out to see what was wrong. What happened?”

  “I fell.”

  Malcolm pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call for an ambulance.”

  “No. I’ll be all right.”

  “It’s no use arguing. You’re clearly injured. Your head is bleeding and you’re favoring your right shoulder. You need to get to the hospital.”

  Nicolas started to protest but then stopped himself. The truth was, his entire body hurt as badly as it had right after the car wreck. He knew a lot of it was tension but he needed to be checked out. So it was either take a ride in an ambulance tonight or a ride with Father Bernard the next morning. Either way, Nicolas had no doubt he’d be forced to seek medical attention.

  Malcolm gave instructions for locating them, then slipped his cell phone back in the pocket of his sweatpants. “How did it happen?” he asked.

  Nicolas hated lying but there was no way he could tell the truth. Instead, he settled for telling half of it. “I was tired and going too fast. I lost control of the chair and ran off the walkway.”

  “How are your legs? I can tell your shoulder is off—maybe dislocated—but can you feel any injuries to your legs?”

  “They hurt. My whole body does.”

  Malcolm studied him for a moment, his uncertainty clear. “May I look?” he said finally.

  Nicolas nodded, finally clueing into Malcolm’s fear. Due to nerve damage, Nicolas had lost feeling in much of his legs. It was one factor that made his rehabilitation so tedious. He had to train his legs to do something whether he could feel them doing it or not. No one could know for certain the extent of the damage, but it was possible he could have a deep gash or even a compound fracture and might not be able to feel it.

  Malcolm pulled out his cell phone and squatted down, using it as a flashlight to get a better look at Nicolas’s legs. He held the phone with his left hand and ran his right hand up and down each leg, covering every inch from Nicolas’s crotch to his ankles.

  “I don’t see any blood except for a bit on your sock,” Malcolm said. “And I can’t feel anything out of line. Doesn’t mean there’s not. I’m no doctor, but nothing is coming through the skin.”

  Relief swept through Nicolas. At least one hurdle was cleared.

  “Father Malcolm? Father Nicolas?” Father Bernard’s voice sounded behind them and Nicolas looked over to see the senior priest hurrying in their direction.

  “It’s all right,” Malcolm tried to reassure the clearly concerned priest as he hurried up. “Nicolas took a spill off the walkway, but there doesn’t appear to be any life-threatening damage. I’ve already called for an ambulance.”

  Father Bernard looked a bit relieved when he heard an ambulance was on the way. “What happened? Was there a problem with the chair?”

  “No,” Nicolas replied. “Only with the driver. I was pushing too hard and lost control. I should have taken more time but you know patience isn’t my strong suit.”

  Bernard nodded. “Yes, well, I suppose we’ll have to work on that some more.”

  The sound of the ambulance siren filled the night air and Nicolas glanced around at his scattered belongings. “Sounds like my ride is here. Can you help gather my things?”

  “Of course.” Malcolm reached for the backpack and picked up Nicolas’s cell phone, which had fallen out. He started to rise, then frowned and took a couple steps forward. When he stood, he was holding the can of Mace. “Is this yours?”

  “Yes,” Nicolas said, seeing no point in lying when another half-truth would work as well. “It must have fallen out of my backpack. My mother…well, she worried, and I promised her…”

  Malcolm’s expression cleared in understanding. “Of course.” He placed the Mace in the backpack and zipped it up.

  “I’d like to take that with me if I could,” Nicolas said. “In case they keep me. At least I’ll have my phone and something to read.”

  Malcolm sat the pack on the walkway next to him. “Should you bring the chair as well?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Bernard said. “It will only be in the way in the ambulance and he won’t need it in the hospital. When Father Nicolas is released, I’ll take the chair when I pick him up.”

  Nicolas reached over with his left hand and clutched his right elbow, trying to prevent his arm from moving. Even a deep breath sent pain shooting through his shoulder and down his arm. He prayed it was only dislocated and could be put back in place. That would be painful and would definitely limit his mobility for some time, but it would be weeks and not months.

&nbs
p; Paramedics entered the courtyard pushing a gurney and Malcolm waved them over. They helped Nicolas onto the stretcher and Malcolm put his backpack at his side. “Don’t worry about anything,” Malcolm said. “Father Bernard or I will be there shortly.”

  Nicolas nodded as the paramedics took him away. At first opportunity, he had to call Shaye and let her know what happened. And although it had crossed his mind before, Nicolas hadn’t wanted to discuss with Shaye how to proceed if anything were to happen to him. First thing tomorrow, he intended to contact his attorney and make financial arrangements.

  If the penitent made good on his threat, Nicolas would dedicate every dime in his trust fund to catching him before he could hurt anyone else.

  It was close to midnight when Shaye closed the door behind Jackson and drew the dead bolt. She felt sorry for him, knowing he had an early start again the next morning. Especially as his day hadn’t yielded the results he and Grayson were hoping for. She understood their frustration and the way their desperation grew with every passing day. Abductions usually didn’t allow much of a window of opportunity for recovery, if any. Past a certain point, detectives just hoped they could at least find a body and give the family some closure. Not the kind they were looking for, but Shaye was convinced it was better than not knowing.

  She turned off the overhead light in her office but the lamp on her desk remained on. She left some illumination in all the rooms when she went to bed in case she needed to bolt up and open fire. Then she’d have a clear view of who she was shooting at. She’d gotten better over the years, moving from bright overhead lights that remained on 24-7 to lamps that gave a decent glow but didn’t make the room look like the sun was shining directly in it. She had to admit that sleeping without bright lights in her eyes had improved the quality of her sleep, even if it hadn’t lengthened the amount of it.