by A. C. Mason
A strange sensation abruptly came over me. As silly as the idea sounded with all these people around, I had the odd feeling someone was watching me. The same feeling I had the other night when I walked next door to ask Rachel about going to see the psychic with me. Pushing the paranoia away, I gazed at the lake.
Cypress trees marked the spot where the Allemand River flowed into the lake. The breeze stirred the Spanish moss hanging from many of the branches. A mirror image reflected in the water.
We both sat on a bench and quietly stared at the peaceful scene.
“Looking at the lake is so relaxing,” I said.
“This is just what I needed to get rid of the gloom I’ve been feeling.”
I hesitated to ask at first, but my tendency to get right to the point got the better of me. “Does your feeling down have something to do with what Taylor Evans mentioned about your time in New Mexico?”
“Yes, it does.” Rachel kept her gaze centered on the lake. “I’ve been reliving that time ever since.”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea she would…”
Rachel waved off my apology. “You couldn’t possibly have known.”
I regarded her with sympathy. “Would you care to talk about what happened?”
“The story is long and involved, but I will tell you this.” She turned and faced me. “How I met Danny is practically the same as how you met Jim.”
“Really? How so?” My curiosity increased.
“I moved back to Baton Rouge from Albuquerque after my divorce. Shortly thereafter, a college friend of my older brother, a man named Ellis Baum, was murdered in Foretville. At the time, my brother happened to be having an affair with his friend’s wife and Jay ended up being arrested for the murder.”
“Danny investigated the murder?”
“He was a detective with the Sheriff’s Office back then. He came to Baton Rouge to interview me and my brother Jay because we had attended a party at the Baums’ home the weekend before the murder.”
I drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, my gosh!” How unbelievable was this? Her story paralleled the way Jim and I met. No wonder Rachel and I hit it off from the start, despite the huge age difference. “So you met Danny when he investigated the murder. I assume you set out to prove your brother didn’t commit the murder.”
“That’s it in a nutshell.”
Engrossed in the conversation, I didn’t notice a man approach. The tall muscular guy slowed his pace and gave me and Rachel the once-over. His rough-looking face gave me the chills. I noticed a bandage when he lifted his right hand to give a slight wave. Both arms sported multiple tattoos. Is he the one who’s been watching me? Or am I nuts?
“Afternoon,” he said in a low gruff voice. The greeting somehow seemed threatening. His dark, almost black eyes, held a feral gleam.
I remembered those eyes from somewhere. But where? From my reaction, I’d say the unrecalled incident wasn’t pleasant.
My heart thumped faster. I mumbled a response, barely getting the words out. The thought of him being anywhere near me sent shivers up my spine.
Apparently noticing my glance at his bandage, the man displayed his wounded hand like a badge. He gave a low chuckle. “A little accident when I was fileting some fish.”
“That’s not good,” I said trying to be polite. You’d think he’d be embarrassed about injuring himself.
“Oh, it’s nothing. This’ll be healed in no time.” He smiled and tipped an imaginary hat to me and Rachel and continued walking down the sidewalk in a westerly direction. We both watched him until he was about a block away.
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“I’m not certain, but I believe he’s Gibb Romaine. It’s been quite a while since I last saw him. At the time he had been arrested for the attempted murder of a woman from St. John the Baptist Parish. She was someone he picked up in a bar over in Beau Chene, as I recall.”
“The Sheriff’s Office made the arrest?”
“Yes, he served twelve years at Angola and recently came home after being released on parole.”
“Romaine…aren’t they the family Jim and Danny went to see after Teddy Berthelot’s murder?”
“Yes, one and the same.”
“He gave me the creeps.”
“I had the same feeling.”
From bits of conversation I picked up from passersby, the topic of discussion was the two murders. “I’m surprised no one has hit us up for information.”
“Someone’s bound to get up the nerve to ask before we get back home,” Rachel said.
A woman wearing grey jogging pants and a matching sweatshirt approached us. I had met her once or twice at some town functions—Adele Scardina. She and her husband owned a department store in Cypress Lake.
After exchanging a knowing glance with Rachel, I smiled and braced myself for whatever questions the woman might ask. “Hi, Adele. I see you’re taking advantage of this wonderful weather.”
“I certainly am,” she said. “Hello, Rachel. How are you?”
“Great. How about you?”
Her expression sobered. “Disturbed about the Mardi Gras murders.”
Did she believe she was the only concerned individual in town? “We all are,” I said.
Rachel murmured in agreement.
“Susan, Marty spoke to Jim about what we witnessed at the parade here. Do you know if the information was helpful?”
I didn’t have the faintest idea what she and her husband had witnessed, or what he told Jim. “He didn’t mention speaking to your husband to me.”
She looked disappointed. “I was hoping the police had a suspect in mind and they could get this criminal off the street, especially after what we saw.”
“I hope they find the person responsible too.” What Adele really hoped was that I’d give her the name of a suspect so she could spread the word. “What exactly did you see?”
Adele hesitated a moment. She looked around as though she needed to make certain no one else could hear her statement. “Just before the very end of the parade, Marty and I saw Teddy Berthelot and another man arguing right next to one of the dumpsters in back of Lucky Jack’s. Both of them were wearing masks.”
“I’m sure if Jim considers your husband’s information viable he will investigate. He may already have done so.”
Adele swept a hand over her windblown black hair. “Marty didn’t really get as good a look at them as I did.” Her expression suggested her superior powers of observation. “The man with Teddy wore black Levi’s. We carry those in our store. The black baseball cap he wore had a Saints logo on it and he had on a black leather jacket.
My heart thumped. I recalled the other masked man I thought I’d seen. “So he was dressed all in black.” Thanatos, the god of Death.
“That’s correct. He never mentioned Marty’s visit?” She gave me an accusatory look as if to say—surely your husband would have kept you informed about every detail of this case. Right?
Rachel spoke up. “We’re not privy to all the details. Law enforcement guys tend not to discuss many of the particulars of a major case like this with their wives.”
Her expression said it all. Adele didn’t believe a word of it. She bid us a hasty goodbye and marched off in an exaggerated power walk.
I almost laughed out loud and exchanged an amused look with Rachel. Adele Scardina’s ridiculous exit helped to lighten my mood after the eerie encounter with Gibb Romaine. We have to find humor where we can. I’d have to mention this conversation to Jim and also tell him about Gibb Romaine. He wasn’t going to be happy at all about that.
Fourteen
Yeah, the new chief’s wife is a sexy little number, he thought. Maybe after I finish my business here, we could just ‘happen to meet up.’ There’s one more name on my list. But he’ll have to wait until next week. Then I’m out of this freakin’ backwater. The roar of the outboard motor swallowed his laugh as the boat sped up the river.
~ * ~
Later
that afternoon when Jim arrived home from the station, I told him about the conversation with Adele Scardina. Confused by the frown spreading across Jim’s face, I asked, “Is something wrong?”
“Where did she say they saw the two men arguing?”
“Close to a dumpster behind Lucky Jack’s,” I repeated. “Adele described every piece of clothing the man was wearing.”
“Hell, I’ve got to get back to the scene.” He rose from his chair in a hurry and headed to the door. “Any evidence is probably gone by now, but I’ve got to check.”
I raised my hands in exasperation. “Where are you going? Tell me.”
His expression seemed one of chagrin. “I’ll tell you about it when I get back.” He rushed outside and got into his car, speeding away as if he were on an emergency call.
What in the world did I say to trigger such a reaction? Had Adele Scardina’s statement given him an important clue? Then it hit me. The second body was discovered behind a dumpster. Did no one think to search for clues around the other dumpster?
The idea of the dumpster as the place for the kill gave a great picture of the killer’s opinion of his victims. He thought of them as garbage.
Around five-thirty, Jim returned home, looking somewhat pleased. I waited expectantly for him to tell me what was going on.
“Since you provided two valuable clues, I owe you an explanation.” He gave a cautionary wave. “But this is not for public knowledge.”
“Two valuable clues?”
“Never mind that,” he said. “Have a seat. I’ll explain what I mean.” He sat on the sofa and motioned with his hand for me to sit beside him.
Having almost died of curiosity for hours, I could hardly wait to hear what he had to say. I knew of one clue—the one that had sent running off to the Teddy Berthelot crime scene. What was the other one?
“I checked out the two dumpsters in the vicinity of Lucky Jack’s Café. The one farthest from the street had what appeared to be blood spattered on the side toward the back of the bin.” He grimaced. “That’s what I get for not thoroughly rechecking the crime scene after my officers.”
“Jim, if you recheck everything your officers do, you might as well investigate every crime in town yourself,” I said, shaking my head. “In which case, you need to fire all your men. Besides, where you said you found the blood, it would have been easy to miss.”
“No one ever expected two murders in two days in this parish. None of my men and many of Danny’s deputies weren’t prepared for this.” He lowered his eyes. “I admit I wasn’t either.”
Not very patiently, I waited for him to continue.
He returned his gaze to me. “Anyway, back to the blood spatter. I took some samples and the test came up positive for human blood. We won’t know whose blood until the state police do DNA testing.”
“Sounds promising, don’t you think?”
“We can only hope. The blood could be Teddy’s. Even so, we’d at least know where the attack took place.”
“What about the other valuable clue you said I gave you?”
He gave me a faint smile. “The Ace of Swords clue.”
“What?” I looked at him with some confusion, trying to imagine how my idea about a previous murder had suddenly become legitimate evidence.
“I got a phone call yesterday from Phil Berthelot.”
“You mean Phil from NOPD?” I smiled. Phil was such a nice man. “Has he retired yet?”
“No, but he’s thinking about it. He told me about an old murder case in New Orleans that mirrors the two murders here.”
“A cold case?”
“No, that’s the strange thing. A man was convicted and sentenced to life at Angola.”
“So the two murders here are copy-cat crimes.”
“At first I thought so, but then Phil told me about the tarot cards in the gris-gris bag.”
My astonishment must have been evident to him. This news came as a real surprise. He gave me a cat-who-swallowed-the-canary look. I ventured a guess. “The Ace and ten of Swords?”
“Exactly,” he said. “The Ace of Swords, anyway. Phil couldn’t remember whether the other card was a ten.”
“I repeat the question I had about the cards upon my return from the visit with Taylor Evans. If these are copy-cat murders, how did they know to place the two and the three in the bags instead of the ace and two?”
“That just adds to the mystery.” He exhaled deeply. “The murderer here has to be someone who is familiar with the NOPD case.”
“Do you know any more about that murder?” I asked.
“Only the name of the victim and the killer. I hope to get more info tomorrow when I go with Phil to speak to the detective who handled the case.” He frowned. “Unfortunately the man’s in a nursing home. According to his son, he’s not always lucid. He may not be able to give me much.”
I sympathized with his dilemma. The trip might be a waste of time, but he had to try. “There’s always the chance he will.”
“True. Phil is getting me a copy of the file so I’m sure there’ll be good clues inside there. Something’s bound to jump out at me, or one of the other men on the task force.”
“Was the victim in the earlier case wealthy like Teddy Berthelot and David Edwards?”
“He came from a similar background. His name was Malcolm Whitehall. Have you heard of him or his family?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.” Several images came to mind. “I never met him, but I went to school with his three daughters. One was in my class… Megan was her name. The other two were older. Their first names escape me at the moment. I’ll check through my yearbooks and see if I can locate any of them.”
“Megan might be the easiest to find,” he said. “She’s a defense attorney in New Orleans. I don’t know which law firm.”
“A defense attorney. At least she did something with her life instead of living off ‘Daddy’s money’,” I said. “So who was the man convicted of Mr. Whitehall’s murder?” I pressed for more information.
“A guy named Johnny Francino. He’s serving life at Angola."
I hesitated before speaking again. “There’s something else I wanted to tell you about our stroll along the lakefront. I had an encounter of sorts with Gibb Romaine.”
Jim did what amounted to a double-take. “What kind of encounter?”
“Rachel and I sat on one of those benches next to the Lake walk. He came along and stopped to wish us a good afternoon.”
His jaw muscles clenched. “Is that all he said?”
“He had a bandage on his hand. I guess he saw me eying it. Apparently he thought he needed to explain what happened.”
“And what was that?”
I could tell he was trying not to explode. “He told me he cut his hand while fileting fish.”
Jim tilted his head to one side. “How do you know he was Gibb Romaine? I didn’t think you had ever seen him.”
“I haven’t. Rachel told me she was ‘fairly certain’ of his identity. Since he served all those years at Angola, he hadn’t been around here in a long time, so she wasn’t sure.”
“Describe him,” he said. “I just want to make sure we’re talking about the right person.”
Concentrating a moment to recreate an image of the man in my mind, I visualized the person we had encountered. “Big and muscular, dark eyes that seemed feral.” A shiver moved up my spine at the thought. “Oh, and he had quite a few tattoos on his arms. I couldn’t help staring at all those tattoos which in turn made me notice the bandage on his hand.”
Jim nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like Gibb Romaine. He might have cut his hand in the process of committing the second murder. If he did, we could get a match from the Beau Chene samples. If the blood belongs to Romaine, his DNA will be in the system.” He grimaced. “Hell, it’s going to take at least a week to get the test results back from LSP on the blood I found today. Not to mention the Mardi Gras holiday.”
“He probably won’t be
going anywhere,” I suggested, trying to sound positive.
“Maybe not, but unless I get some other evidence to warrant his arrest, it’ll be that much longer until he’s back in jail.” He narrowed his gaze directly to her face. “If you see him again, stay as far away from him as possible.”
“Don’t worry. I will. He gave me the creeps.” A lump formed in my throat at the thought of him.
Fifteen
February 20
Jim decided morning would be the best time to put in an appearance at the nursing home. The old detective might be more alert then rather than in the afternoon. Phil agreed to meet him at a coffee shop a few blocks away from the Jefferson Pines Nursing Home.
After warning Susan once more to steer clear of Gibb Romaine, he asked her to check out the Whitehall girls she went to school with to see if she could locate names and addresses for them. He figured if he gave her “busy work,” she might be disinclined to get into trouble by searching out more dangerous people like Romaine.
His reasoning was chauvinistic, but he couldn’t deal with another incident like the one that transpired in New Orleans years ago. His motives for Susan’s “assignment” made him feel a little guilty, but he quickly dismissed the feeling. Keeping her from investigating by herself was for her own good and for his peace of mind.
Before he left town, he phoned Toby Hahn his rookie officer and asked him to do surveillance on Gibb Romaine. He needed to find out for sure if Romaine did have a bandage on his hand. He figured Hahn could manage such a simple assignment.
Twenty minutes later, Jim arrived at the coffee shop in Metairie and went inside. The mouthwatering aroma of bacon and fresh brewed coffee filled the room. He spotted Phil seated at a booth at the rear of the establishment, drinking a cup of coffee.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Jim slipped into the seat opposite the NOPD detective.
Phil gave him a grin that would have shamed the Cheshire cat. “Not bad, since I’m officially a short-timer now.”
“No kidding, man. That’s great. How long before you leave?”
“Two weeks.”
