by A. C. Mason
At least a half dozen police vehicles came roaring up the street with Jim in the lead. He turned into the driveway, lights on the grillwork of his unit still flashing.
Cypress Lake Police and Allemand Parish Sheriff’s vehicles, including Danny’s unmarked unit, pulled up in front of the house. Several neighbors poked their heads out their front doors to check out the commotion. A black SUV slowed, and then pulled in behind the last police vehicle.
Don’t tell me the FBI agents came too! Bracing myself for the chaos to come, I strode across the lawn to meet Jim as he exited his car.
“I didn’t expect the whole police force to show up. And most notably the FBI.”
He grimaced. “Keeping them away was unavoidable. Danny and I were discussing the two cases with them when you called. They’re going to do a profile on the murderer since we’re dealing with a serial killer. We agreed to accept their input.”
“And as this incident seemed to involve the killer, they asked to check the scene out with you.”
“That’s it in a nutshell.” He signaled Danny and the federal agents to follow him. Two Cypress Lake officers, one carrying a camera and the other with a black duffle bag brought up the rear.
I accompanied them into the house where Jim introduced the agents to me—Hargrove, the African-American and Wilson, the blond.
“Didn’t the alarm go off?” Jim asked.
The question was inevitable. He probably already knew the answer, but he didn’t have to ask me in front of a room full of cops. I exhaled. “No, the alarm didn’t sound because I forgot to set it when I left the house this morning.”
Without commenting, Jim averted his eyes and turned his attention to the gris-gris bag. He signaled his officer, Kenneth Wallace, to get photos of the scene. After the photo session, the second officer, Joe Hernandez, dusted the area for fingerprints. There seemed to be quite a few.
“We got some good prints, but…” Hernandez began.
“You don’t have to say it, Joe. The prints are most likely ours.” Slipping on a pair of latex gloves, Jim detached the bag from the wooden bar and loosened the drawstring to view the contents.
“No tarot cards this time; only the bloodstone and the drawing of the Greek god of Death.” He pulled out the paper, made a quick assessment of the drawing, and then turned it over to check the back. “Well, well, we have another deviation from the original bags. There’s a message written in red, printed on the other side of Thanatos’ picture.”
“What does it say?” I held my breath.
Color rushed to Jim’s face as he silently read the words. “This is a direct threat. The SOB’s gone too far now.”
“What does the letter say?” I repeated.
He held the note for me to read.
Stunned, I braced myself on one of the dining room chairs. My legs felt like wet noodles. The message was intended for me, personally addressed and a definite threat to me and my family.
The two FBI agents stepped closer to examine the paper.
Danny looked over my shoulder, quickly scanning the words. He mumbled an obscenity. “Sounds like a threat to a law officer’s family to me. When we catch the scumbag, this’ll be an extra charge we have against him.”
Agent Hargrove ran his hand over his bald head. “I would agree. But this ramps up the urgency to catch him. He’s raised the ante now and getting increasingly emboldened.”
Lovely Susan, you won’t be able to solve this murder as you did the other time. Don’t let curiosity kill you like it did the cat. Oops, your cat and the rug rats aren’t dead yet, are they?
Twenty-one
The killer’s words echoed in my head. I felt lightheaded with blood pulsating in my temples. The world around me dissolved into the abyss of this new nightmare situation. Did the killer know I had been digging into the case? How could he? Unless he’d been following me and saw me entering the library. Does Megan’s shooting have any connection to this?
Oh my God! Does he really intend to come after my children?
“Susan... Susan?” Jim’s voice pierced through the fog. He curled his arm around my shoulder and led me over to the sofa.
“How does he know about me?”
Jim stooped down in front of me and clasped both my hands. “He wouldn’t have a hard time getting the information about Anne’s murder. The case made the headlines in the newspapers and on television.”
I took several deep breaths and attempted to calm my frazzled nerves. No, he wasn’t going to drive me to a nervous breakdown. I won’t let him! This was only his idea of a diversionary scheme to throw the police off course. I wasn’t doing such a great job of convincing myself, but I kept up the pretense.
Glancing around the room, I realized every man in the room had his eyes on me, each face with a concerned expression peering out at me. Heat rose to my face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt the investigation.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Danny said. “Yours was a natural reaction to such a shock. You just sit there and relax… if you can.” He turned to Jim. “If you want to stay with her, I’ll handle everything from here.”
“No,” I objected. “Jim, you go and do whatever is necessary. I’ll be fine.”
Jim raised his hand in protest. “Before I leave the house, you and I have a few things to discuss concerning your safety and the safety of the twins.”
I cringed at his accusatory emphasis on the twins. He’s right. I’m a terrible mother. They’re who I should be putting first, not my selfish desire not to be inconvenienced. What if the killer really intended to come after me and the kids?
Danny put his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “I’ll go ahead and get the evidence collected and recorded to get the ball rolling.”
“I’ll join you at your office after I get some security arrangements set up here,” Jim said.
“We’d like to meet with you and the sheriff later and discuss this new evidence.” The serious expression on Agent Hargrove’s face didn’t seem to give them a choice in the matter.
“Good deal,” Jim said in a curt tone.
The two FBI agents each gave a brisk nod to me and left the house. Minutes later, I heard the engine of their vehicle start up. Neither Jim nor Danny seemed very happy about the FBI encroaching on their case. Not that I could blame them. The federal agents’ involvement made the locals look incompetent.
About half an hour later, all the officers had left our house and Jim and I were finally alone.
He sat on the sofa next to me. “Earlier you asked how the killer knew about you. The question I have is what made him believe you intended to go digging into the murders.”
I lowered my eyes for a moment, and then met his gaze with intensity. “He could have seen me with Megan or…” No sense in lying about my activities. “…he might have seen me going into the library.”
“The library? What were you doing there?”
“I wanted to see if I could locate any reference to Malcolm Whitehall in connection to the two murder victims here.”
“And?”
“No such luck. The back editions of the local newspapers only had wonderful words to say about the Berthelots and the Edwards family. No mention of the name Whitehall, period.”
“Okay, here’s the deal.” Jim regarded me with an authoritative stare. “You cannot investigate these murders in any way. Don’t even give the appearance of digging for clues. The killer is stalking you for some reason. He’s obviously been following you.”
“But why me?” I cried.
Jim exhaled loudly. “Who knows. Maybe he read about how you solved your brother’s case and he’s paranoid. Or maybe he’s attracted to you and has looked into your background.”
I detected a slight catch in his voice with the second possibility. The likelihood of being stalked by a serial killer sent a cold chill up my spine.
“At any rate,” he continued. “We need to set up some rules regarding security for you and the twins.”
&nb
sp; He’s going to suggest that the kids and I need to go off somewhere for a while. But where would we go? “Aside from leaving town, the only other choice is for us to stay locked away here in the house…and neither is a viable option as far as I’m concerned. There’s no place to go.”
“I have several friends who would gladly put you and the kids up until we solved the cases.”
“What if the task force can’t solve these murders in a reasonable amount of time? The kids would be miserable and so would I. Not to mention the people we stayed with.” I paused and gazed at him with determination. “Besides, the twins would have to miss school for an unknown amount of time.” I studied his face, trying to predict what kind of reaction my next statement would have—anger no doubt. “I believe he’s bluffing. This is a ploy to scare you or slow down the investigation.” I was correct in my prediction of his reaction.
The tensing of his jaw muscles showed me the familiar sign of his anger. “What if he’s not bluffing?” His voice held a mixture of annoyance and frustration. “My preference is to send you and the twins out of town. We can figure out the where and who after I make a few phone calls.”
“Then the killer will have won.”
“Do you have any other suggestions besides leaving town, or holing up inside?”
I stared at him for a short moment. “Tomorrow I will drive Matthew and Caroline to school instead of letting them ride the bus. They’re off Monday and Tuesday for the Mardi Gras holiday. I’ll notify the school not to allow anyone else but you or me to pick them up until further notice.”
“What about other times, on the days after the holiday when you’re alone here in the house? Or at night if I stay late at the office?” He ran the fingers of his right hand through his dark hair.
I sighed and leaned back on the sofa. He probably wanted to tear his hair out with all the responsibilities he had heaped upon him at present. And my actions only added to his concerns. “I don’t know. All I know is that going to a hotel or staying with my parents is not going to work.”
“There’s one other option. I can hire some of my officers…and/or Danny’s deputies do twenty-four hour security around the house.”
“Will they follow me around when I leave the house?”
“Yes, that will be necessary,” he said firmly. “I want you and the kids protected at all times Even if he is bluffing.”
That idea didn’t appeal to me any better than the other possibilities, but at least this was better than being imprisoned in a secret place, or imposing on some other family. If only I could make arrangements for the twins to be safe and still live normally at the same time. There didn’t seem to be any alternative. “Okay, I’ll agree to that plan.”
He hesitated. “Are you sure?”
I straightened my body and told him in no uncertain terms. “Yes, I’m sure. I want you to do everything in your power to find this killer. The sooner the better.”
“Exactly what I intend to do.”
Twenty-two
A rap at the door startled me. I gave a sigh of relief when I realized Rachel was standing outside.
“I saw Jim leave a few minutes ago,” she said. “Danny didn’t tell me anything about the situation. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I won’t say everything is fine, but you could say I’m all right.”
“You shouldn’t be alone here right now even with the kids. Come on over to the house and we’ll grill some steaks and hangout until the men return home.”
“I know the twins asked about what happened.”
“Naturally, Matthew has bombarded us with wall-to-wall questions.” Rachel raised her hands palms up. “Caroline is another story. I think she’s worried or scared.”
“What did you tell them?”
“We tried the evasion route, but Matthew didn’t buy it. I didn’t know how much you wanted them to know.”
My stomach clenched. “They have to be told the truth. Well, at least most of the truth. There’s no way around it. I’ll have to tell a few little white lies and sugarcoat the details to keep Caroline from worrying too much, but Matthew…”
Rachel gave a low humorless chuckle. “He’s a pretty smart kid, so he won’t be fooled by a lot of sugar coating.”
As soon as I walked inside the Marchand’s house, the kids practically attacked me with hugs. Questions flew from one then the other, and the scene turned into an uproar.
Finally I said in a firm voice, “You two have got to settle down. Sit over on the sofa and I’ll explain what happened.”
Believe it or not, they both complied with my instructions and scrambled onto the sofa.
I took a deep breath and told them about the break-in as calmly as I could manage, telling the truth, but making the story sound less threatening. I left out the part about the note addressed to me. Six year olds don’t need to be burdened with the idea that some terrible person will be coming after them.
Matthew looked at me with questioning brown eyes. “Is he coming back?”
“No, he won’t be back. People break into houses to steal items like TVs and computers. Something or someone must have scared him off before he had a chance to steal any of our things.” I suspected he wasn’t quite convinced, but he didn’t question me further.
“We thought you were hurt,” Caroline said. “I was scared.”
I smiled. “I’m sorry you were scared. As you can see, I’m fine.”
“Can we go back home now?” Matthew asked.
“No. Ms. Rachel and Miss Jessica asked us to eat supper with them later. We’ll stay here until Dad and Mister Danny come home from work.”
An hour and a half later, I noticed a Sheriff’s Office unit pull up in front of our house. The deputy turned his patrol car around in the driveway and parked.
I gave a sigh. This was the beginning of an imprisonment of sorts. If it were possible, I would strangle the killer with my bare hands.
~ * ~
Jim couldn’t help feeling a measure of disappointment at the fingerprint results, even though he figured the prints would come up no foreign ones—just his, Susan’s and the kids’.
The dog hair sample looked promising. The Sheriff’s Office lab guy determined that the hairs were similar to the ones taken from the David Edwards crime scene. Too bad their lab didn’t have the capability to process DNA samples—human or animal. Or that the process only took a few minutes like on TV. He’d have results already and this would all be over with.
He picked up the autopsy report on Teddy Berthelot. Once again, he scoured the commentary for anything he may have missed the first time around.
Tapping his index finger on a single notation, Jim read the item with interest. From the angle of the stab wound, the coroner determined the killer was left-handed. Did Officer Hahn state in his report which hand Romaine had bandaged?
He opened the folder with Hahn’s statement. The officer indicated the subject’s left hand was bandaged. They probably did have enough evidence to get an arrest warrant issued. But would the evidence hold up in court?
His thoughts wandered to Mike Celestine’s accusation. Was he subconsciously afraid to arrest Romaine because of the wrongful arrest of Susan’s brother? Because he feared the man didn’t kill those two men?
Naturally he didn’t want to send the wrong man to prison for life or worse, put to death, but he also didn’t like the idea of the man running free on the streets if he was the killer. Everything pointed to Romaine as the killer. So why do I keep putting off arresting the son-of-a-bitch?
Twenty-three
February 22
Jim sat facing Denise Berthelot in the posh living room of her historic 100-year old home. The ultra-modern sofa and side tables made a sharp contrast to the antique mahogany chest and china cabinet.
She curled her legs up onto the sofa, assuming what she must have thought was a relaxed position. To Jim’s experienced eyes, she looked anything but at ease.
“Are you acquainted with Megan
Whitehall?” He noticed an almost imperceptible flinch at the woman’s name.
“I wouldn’t say I’m acquainted with her. I know who she is.” Her voice overflowed with sarcasm.
“Sounds like she’s not one of your favorite people. What is it you know about her?”
Denise shrugged. “She’s a snobby attorney from New Orleans. That’s all I know. I’ve seen her on television once or twice. She acts like she’s God’s gift to the world.”
He almost laughed at her description of Megan—definitely a case of the pot calling the kettle black. “So you wouldn’t recognize her if you saw her on the street.” He studied her face, looking for any hint of falsehood in her statements.
“I might if I saw her up close.” She tapped her bright red fingernails on the polished wood table next to her chair.
Impatience or nerves? “Where were you around noon yesterday?”
She leaned forward and narrowed her dark eyes. “Are you accusing me of a crime?”
He lifted both hands palms up. “Are you guilty of one?”
“Certainly not. So why are you asking me questions about a woman I don’t really know?”
“You were seen in the vicinity of City Hall a short time before she was shot.” He exaggerated the time frame a little.
Denise blinked. “Really, she was shot?”
“Just as she left the building after meeting with me and the sheriff about her father’s murder.” He paused to let his statement sink in. “The manner of his nineteen eighty-nine death was almost identical to the murders of your brother and David Edwards.”
She didn’t respond for quite a while. Fingernails rapped on the table again. “Yes, I was in the area around noon, walking down the street to my car. I did some shopping in town.” A sly smile crossed her lips. “Your wife also happened to be in the area. I saw her sitting in Court House Café.”
He expected her to bring Susan up. “I know. She mentioned she noticed you outside the Café. A few other people observed you at that location and remarked about how interested you seemed in Megan Whitehall as she was crossing the street.”
