The Unforgiven

by Heather Graham

  “I...um, I hope you’re okay. You... I haven’t heard from you in six years.”

  He let out a long sigh. “Oh, Katie, I’ve wanted to, but I wanted a life, and I wanted you to have a life. I’ve seen you work. You’re great. People love you. I’ve seen you with your friends, laughing with the mime, having dinner with the other girl. I knew you were okay. And I had to... I had to really start over. I changed my name. It’s Calhoun. George Calhoun. I’ve been working as a PA on one of the B movies being shot here. We’re just finishing up...over in the Irish Channel. But...oh, Katie. I’m scared. No one I’m working with knows about my past. But when I heard about the murders... Oh, God. They’ll be after me again. Do you think...do you think that I’m being set up?”

  Dan was watching her. George was speaking loudly and excitedly then, but her phone wasn’t on Speaker; she couldn’t tell if Dan was hearing his words or not.

  “Tell him we need to meet with him.”

  She stared at him, covering the mouthpiece on her phone.

  “Dan! He won’t see you!”

  “Then, have him come to your house.”

  “What?”

  “Tell him to come to your house. Otherwise, tell him we’ll—you’ll—come to his.”

  She winced. But she wanted to prove George innocent. She believed him.

  “George, could I come to your place?”

  “I’m still working, just finishing up.”

  “That’s fine. Where do you live?”

  George gave Katie his address.

  “What time would you be home?” Katie asked.

  “An hour? Two hours. Ten o’clock, maybe.”

  She repeated his address and agreed to the time. She hung up.

  Dan nodded. She realized that he was just standing there listening.

  “What is it?” she asked him.

  “Do you hear that?”

  “Music. There’s always music. We’re barely to Royal Street. We’re hearing all the music from Bourbon Street.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not just any music,” he said. “It’s jazz. It really has begun.”

  “New Orleans is jazz,” she muttered weakly.

  “Right. But with some Aerosmith thrown in. Anyway...let’s get dinner.”

  “Okay, wherever—”

  “Antoine’s!” he said. “We’re not far. 713 St. Louis.”

  “Antoine’s is a bit fancy...”

  “Adam is buying us dinner.”

  “Taxpayer money?”

  “No, his money. He’s a wealthy man. And he’s told me I’m not to force PI pizza on you. I’m starving. Let’s go for it tonight, huh?”

  She nodded, wishing she could shake her feelings of unease. But he caught her hand and led the way, and soon they were seated, and she realized just how often lately she had forgotten about eating. The delicious aromas that permeated the restaurant reminded her that she was very hungry, too.

  And that everyone, no matter how involved, needed to breathe in the middle of chaos.

  She loved Antoine’s. It had a great reputation for a reason. The food was delicious, and the atmosphere was charming. The service was customarily great.

  “Oysters?” Dan asked, looking at the menu as they sat at their table with its snowy-white cloth.

  “I know they’re a specialty here, but I don’t care for oysters.”

  “I don’t, either.”

  “Oh? But you suggested—”

  He grinned. “I wouldn’t have stopped you,” he told her. “Would you like the escargots à la Bordelaise?”

  She laughed. “Don’t care for snails, either.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “I do love their pommes de terres soufflées,” she told him.

  “Yes, potatoes! I’m in!”

  They ordered iced tea and the appetizer, smiling as the waiter assured them a little sadly just what they were missing out on. They redeemed themselves somewhat by deciding that one would get the special shrimp dish and the other the filet de Gulf poisson amandine, as suggested by the waiter.

  Katie was thoughtful. “The number six on cards around the city. Six dead goats. So far, six years between the killings.”

  “Well, at least you didn’t suggest voodoo.”

  “I wouldn’t. I live in this city. I know a lot of people who own shops and practice voodoo. They’re good people. They wouldn’t hack you to death because in their minds, they’d be hacked to death in a manner three times worse.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I got friends who practice, too. I mean, in Florida, I had tons of friends who practiced Santeria. They kept chickens, ate chickens, used chicken-feet talismans. But they wouldn’t have hurt a human being in any way, shape or form. And dead goats years ago might have nothing at all to do with this.”

  “But the number six...”

  “Six-six-six is a sign of the devil, but we’re talking just six. I’m sure that there are other meanings, but you can find meanings in anything if you want. According to the Bible, God made man on the sixth day. That could be taken in a good or bad way!”

  “Excuse me!” a voice interrupted.

  Katie looked up startled, certain the waiter wouldn’t have addressed them so.

  She was so startled that she stood, rattling the glassware and dishes on their table.

  It was Jeremy. He looked fierce, but then he looked at Dan, who was standing as well.

  “Ah, you’re here!” Jeremy Delaney said.

  Her father’s cousin had been only thirty when Katie’s parents had been killed, but he had been determined that Katie wasn’t going to foster care or anywhere else—she was his cousin’s child. He had been wonderful; he had done his best to ease the past, to make sure she was doing well in school, to encourage her involvement in activities. He was, at forty-two now, a tall and attractive man with sandy hair and hazel eyes, a well-structured, clean-shaven face, and a lean but solid build.

  “You’re that FDLE officer,” Jeremy said. He didn’t seem displeased, but he didn’t wait for an answer. He turned back to Katie, and his distress was suddenly evident in his tone. “Katie, I have been calling you and calling you.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’ve been calling you.”

  “I’m... Wow, I’m sorry. I didn’t see that you had called. I’ve...” She was going to say that she had been incredibly busy, but she knew that was no excuse.

  Of course he would have been calling her.

  And of course she should have called him.

  “I have no excuse. I’m so sorry!” she said.

  Their waiter stood a bit away from the table, refills for their iced tea in his hands.

  “Please!” Dan said. “We’re at a table for four. Will you join us?”

  “I...”

  Jeremy paused, realizing he might be making a scene. He winced and sat.

  “Katie Delaney!” he said firmly.

  “I know!” she said sheepishly. “I can’t apologize enough, Jeremy.”

  He turned then to look at Dan curiously. “I thought you were from Florida.”

  “My mother’s family was from Florida. My dad’s family were longtime New Orleans people. I’m sorry to say that most are gone now, but I have a home here. I moved here six years ago.”

  “Ah,” Jeremy said, looking as if that explained nothing at all.

  “Are you meeting people? How did you find me?” Katie asked.

  He pointed at his phone. “Family locator app,” he said briefly. “Remember? We share our locations? But you two are together. Here.”

  “Yeah,” Dan said. It seemed like he didn’t really want to get into it with Jeremy.

  “He isn’t after George anymore. He believes me about the other couple on the boat,” Katie said.

  “Ah.” An
d still, Jeremy looked confused.

  “I did sketches of them for the police and the FBI,” Katie offered.

  “So...are you a NOLA cop now?” Jeremy asked Dan.

  Dan shook his head. “Private investigator, but at the moment, I’m a consultant with the FBI.”

  Jeremy nodded and looked at Katie again. “Maybe you should come home with me until this all blows over. I know that you’re right next to the carriage company, but this is serious. You know it’s serious.”

  “Jeremy, I’m safe. I’m good,” she promised. “Come on, you’ve seen the dogs. Those guys would take a man down, even a big man.”

  Jeremy didn’t appear to be pleased. “I just want you...safe.”

  “We all want Katie safe,” Dan said.

  “Should I take you home?” Jeremy asked.

  Their main courses arrived. Katie gave him a half smile and arched a brow. “Um, we were going to eat this stuff we’ve ordered.”

  “And, Jeremy, please join us. What would you like?” Dan asked.

  Jeremy let out a sigh. “Thank you, but I have a business meeting down the street. Katie, I have just been so worried!”

  “And I can’t apologize enough,” Katie said. “I was wrong and careless and selfish. And I am truly, truly sorry.”

  “Please, keep in touch. I want to hear from you at least once a day,” Jeremy said, rising. He stopped, looking down at Dan.

  “You’re watching over her?” he asked.

  “I am,” Dan confirmed.

  Jeremy dipped down, kissing Katie on the cheek. “Once a day!” he said firmly.

  “I swear!” she promised.

  He looked at Dan. “You were the enemy,” he said quietly. “Now I’m counting on you.”

  He turned and walked out of the restaurant.

  For a moment, Katie and Dan were both silent.

  “I’m so...ashamed!” she said. “He was—is—the best. He saw to it that I had counseling. He has always been so caring. I was horrible! How did I not think to let him know right away that I was doing okay?”

  “We all get caught up,” Dan said, glancing at his watch. “Have some fish, and I’ll take some shrimp. And don’t worry, I’ll ask you every day if you’ve called him.”

  Katie grinned. “Thanks.”

  Antoine’s was legendary for its sauces—they were delicious. But as they shared food, Katie grinned, thinking they might have asked for the dishes to be shared in the kitchen. Sauce was falling on the white tablecloth.

  She met Dan’s gaze. He grinned. “Hey, don’t worry. They really do wash these things every night.”

  The food was excellent. They discussed it, other restaurants, the last Mardi Gras, shops and places they loved...and then Katie found herself pausing.

  “Mardi Gras was supposed to be low-key in 1918,” she told Dan. “World War I was in swing, and with US troops overseas, too much of a celebration seemed wrong. And in 1919. But while the paper announced that the holiday would be calmer, people just didn’t get it. So revelers were everywhere. I wonder if the killer walked around at Mardi Gras. If he followed people, knew who they were.”

  Dan nodded his head. “I think the killer was local. He knew neighborhoods. He knew places to break in, and back then almost everyone had an axe. I don’t believe the Mob-connection theory. No hit man kills a two-year-old child.” He stopped to mop up the last bites of his dinner. “And I don’t think again that there was any particular hatred for the old couple and their help. But the killer knew them. Knew their home, their habits. Busy streets, I believe, are safe. This guy likes darkness and shadows and an escape route. Dessert? Or should we get going?” he asked.

  Katie looked at the time on her phone. They’d been there a while.

  “The desserts are amazing,” she said.

  “Okay, what—”

  “But we should get going.”

  Dan smiled. “I’ll ask for the check.”

  He swiveled in his chair to look for their waiter. Katie gazed out the front door. Their table happened to be positioned at one of the few angles allowing her to do so.

  There was a woman in front of the door. She had waist-length, very dark hair. She was slim, maybe five foot six.

  She was wearing jeans and a peasant-style blouse and carried a shoulder bag.

  She moved impatiently, as if she was waiting for someone.

  And she didn’t like waiting.

  There was something about her...

  Katie vaguely heard Dan speaking to the waiter, handing him a credit card.

  She stood.

  “Katie?”

  She barely heard him. She turned and moved toward the front door.

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought the woman looked through the door and into the restaurant. Looked at Katie.

  For a minute, or forever, Katie felt as if their gazes locked.

  Then the woman moved.

  Katie went flying out the door after her.

  People...there were so many people about. Of course. It was a tourist area; it was the French Quarter. They might be scared, but many had probably taken their work breaks and their savings to come here.

  They’d told themselves they weren’t residents, they didn’t have homes here, they didn’t need to be afraid on the streets of New Orleans.

  Katie was afraid she’d lost the woman in the crowd.

  Then she saw her, heading down St. Louis Street toward the river.

  Katie went tearing after her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dan wondered what on earth had happened to Katie.

  Their waiter, in a dignified manner, was returning with his credit card. He made eye contact with the man and cried out, “I’ll be back!”

  He couldn’t pause to sign the bill, and at least he wasn’t running out without paying it.

  One thing for certain: he didn’t want Katie running loose on the streets alone.

  Katie could move. Fast.

  She was racing up toward Bourbon Street, doing an amazing job of zigzagging around pedestrians.

  He caught up to her just as she reached Bourbon Street. She stood there, dismayed, staring in both directions.

  “Katie, what the hell is going on?”

  She didn’t hear him at first, then she seemed to jolt out of whatever she was in.

  “I saw her.”

  “Katie—”

  “Her!” she snapped angrily. “The woman. The woman who was with Dr. Neil Browne on my father’s boat. Jennie!”

  “Katie, we were in a restaurant—”

  “Don’t, dammit! Don’t start doubting me. I’m telling you the truth. Look, you think you’re into all this. That you have to clear your conscience or something. No. That’s not enough. I want the killer caught. I want him caught before he does this to anyone else. I’m not blind, and I’m not stupid. I saw her. She’s different. She had extremely long, almost black hair when she was out there, but I imagine it’s a wig. She can probably change like a chameleon. But I saw her.”

  “All right,” he said. “So, she’s on Bourbon Street...somewhere.”

  Katie nodded. “But I don’t know if she went toward Canal Street or Esplanade. I don’t know which way she went.”

  “All right. I really don’t want you off alone. I’ll get Axel. He was going to hang out in the Marigny, see if he could learn anything there. He can be here in minutes—”

  “She can be gone in minutes.”

  “Then, pick a direction, and we’ll give your description of her to the first mounted policeman we find.”

  She let out a sigh. “Okay. Toward Esplanade.”

  They started walking, moving at a good clip but slowly enough to try to peek into the different venues along the way.

  This was impossible, unless they had a small army. But while he
walked, he called Axel.

  Axel promised to be right there—with an army.

  Katie wasn’t listening; she wasn’t paying any attention. She was determined to find the mystery woman.

  They’d only gone a block and a half—past music venues, shops and two strip clubs—when he saw five police officers on foot approaching them.

  “We need a description, ma’am,” one of them said, nodding to Dan and looking at Katie.

  She gave the description quickly, looking back at him with a little bit of wonder.

  “I’m Officer Forte. My guys and I are going to fan out and catch the places between here and Canal. Your FBI buddies are behind me. I’ll text them the description you gave me. They’ll be fanning in from Esplanade.”

  “I... Thank you!” Katie said earnestly.

  “No, thank you, ma’am,” Forte said, and nodding to her and Dan, he was off.

  “We still need to keep going,” Katie said.

  “We’ll keep going.”

  They were down another block when Dan noted a trash can out on the corner by one of the crowded club venues.

  He paused and looked in.

  Either a dark-haired yeti had been shedding or there was a wig in the can.

  “Katie!”

  He pulled the hair from the garbage. It was a wig—a very long, very dark wig.

  “Damn!” she cried.

  He nodded toward the nearest club, heading straight for the door with her behind him. The bouncer at the door was a big man—ready to throw out the unruly or the underage—but disinterested otherwise.

  “Katie, you know her better. Describe her to the bartender,” Dan said.

  The bartender was a very pretty topless woman with little specks of silver on her nipples. It didn’t give Katie pause.

  “I... Wow, I think I did see your friend!” she told Katie after hearing the description. “Her hair was all messy, and she looked as if she was in a hurry. She headed out the back. It leads to a new place down the back, an all-night diner. If you hurry—”

  “Thank you!” Katie called, already heading out.

  But the back door just led to the side street off Bourbon. The diner was a door down. Katie hurried toward it, rushing in.

  Couples and groups sat about at tables, many looking the worse for wear from their night on Bourbon Street already.