by Stacy Green
“How did you survive as a cop for thirty years?” Bonin said. “You know how easy it is to fake a birth certificate? If you even checked, which I highly doubt.”
Sweat beaded across Pietry’s wide forehead. “I swear to God, she said she was seventeen and fine with it, Myra. Just a prostitute, that’s all.”
“Like the girls your cousin tortured? I suppose the girl asked him to slit her throat?”
“He didn’t do that.” Spit flew out of Pietry’s mouth. “I got the tape to prove it.”
Cage stilled, his stomach lurching. “What?”
“The crazy bitch didn’t know Billy had a security camera in the barn. He got it all on tape.”
54
I don’t call Cage. He’ll say I’ve lost my mind and rush over here to stop me. But the Baron, the leader of the Ghede Loa who watch over the dead, has shown me the truth: Lyric can’t stop him on her own. She needs me to draw him out.
Cage and Bonin might find him one day, but how many more girls will be tortured and killed before they do?
Lyric and I can stop him now. I just have to find her.
I gather everything I need and sneak out the back door into the tiny courtyard. The clouds are gone, and the moon lights up the entire courtyard, but it’s still muggy and the mosquitoes are dive-bombing.
Better make this quick. Lyric may not believe, but I have enough faith for both of us.
I sit down on the stones and set out my things. I hope I have enough to make the ritual work. Ezili Dantò won’t like my borrowing from Miss Alexandrine’s altar, but I’m desperate.
I place the little statue of Ezili in the center of a flagstone and put the torn Tarot card next to it. I offer her a fresh red candle, a stick of sweet-smelling incense, and a hot pepper that’s close to rotting. She probably won’t appreciate that, but it’s the best I’ve got.
Finally, I offer her the white Voodoo doll with my own hair tied around it.
I slap a mosquito off my arm and begin to pray to Ezili Dantò, explaining that I call on her because of Lyric’s card and needing her guidance. I make my offering and ask her to lead me to Lyric so we can protect other innocent girls.
Impatience makes me want to open my eyes, but I keep them closed, waiting for the vision. She must come and show me where to find Lyric.
Alexandrine’s gate opens and shuts. I want to believe the spirit has delivered Lyric to me, but I’m not completely stupid.
I jump to my feet and tiptoe to the door, crouching behind the big hydrangea.
My heart’s pounding.
Her footsteps thud against the flagstone, and then she’s standing over my pathetic altar. Her black hair shines in the moonlight, and she’s shaking her head. She thinks I’m silly. Wait until I tell her I’ve called her to me.
I edge out from behind the big plant, but an alarm buzzes in my head.
Lyric’s wearing different clothes.
And she’s thicker. A good twenty pounds thicker.
Like an idiot, I gasp.
She turns her head.
Angry eyes meet mine, a wicked smile on her face. “Hello, Annabeth.”
55
Cage hit play, his stomach already sour. The camera had been mounted high in a corner so that it captured most of the barn’s floor and the stalls.
“Lionel swears this is the only video his cousin sent him.” Bonin yawned. “I’ll get a warrant for his computer as soon as the judge is in. William Thomas Pietry, by the way. Anthony was his father’s name. Billy’s been off the grid since Katrina, of course.”
“Any chance we can trace where Billy sent the video from?”
Bonin shook her head. “He sent it years ago, from an online storage drive. We’d need to subpoena them, and that’s not happening.”
Despite the low-resolution, he clearly saw Mickie, naked and bruised and dirty, hands zip-tied in front of her, backed up against the horse stall’s closed door.
“That’s definitely Lyric.” She stood in front of Mickie, wielding a Bowie knife. She looked thinner than she had when she disappeared, her naturally curly hair longer and stringy. Lyric gestured with the knife as she spoke, her mouth moving too rapidly to lip-read.
He didn’t need sound to understand that Mickie was begging for her life. “Are we seriously supposed to believe that Pietry thought this girl was naked, dirty, and bound because she agreed to it?”
“Billy told him she looked like that because she and Lyric fought, and the girl ran for her life. Lyric caught her and made her strip.”
“He’s an idiot if he believed that,” Cage said.
If Lyric knew about the camera, she didn’t seem concerned. Suddenly her head whipped to the right, and Cage made out the dim profile of Annabeth crouched in the corner.
“Can you tell what Lyric’s saying to her?” Bonin asked.
“The resolution’s not good enough.” Lyric shook her head as she spoke, stomping her feet. “Maybe she’s insisting she’s got no choice.”
“Or she’s telling her to shut the hell up,” Bonin said. “At this point she’s been held captive—assuming she didn’t go willingly—for what, six years? Between the drugs and the trauma, she might enjoy hurting someone else at this point.”
Lyric turned her attention back to a weeping Mickie. She squared her shoulders and raised the knife.
Annabeth charged from the corner and pulled hard on Lyric’s arm. Lyric backhanded her, brandishing the knife in her threat before kicking Annabeth in the throat.
Annabeth dropped to her hands and knees, mouth open in pain.
Lyric jabbed the knife into a screaming Mickie’s throat at the same time Annabeth reared up and grabbed her arm. The women struggled as the blade sank deeper. Mickie’s bound hands raised to pull out the knife, but Lyric slammed her elbow into Annabeth’s eye and drove the knife in to the hilt.
Breathing hard, Lyric stepped back. Annabeth tried in vain to pull out the knife, getting Mickie’s blood all over her.
Cage swallowed vomit. “Now we know why she dreams that she killed Mickey. It’s all mixed up in her memory of trying to stop it.”
Mickie went still, and Annabeth rested her forehead on her friend’s, her body shaking with sobs.
Lyric grabbed her by the hair, sinking a needle into her neck. Thirty seconds later, Annabeth had dropped to her knees, succumbing to the drug while a motionless Lyric watched.
“What’s Pietry’s excuse for not reporting this?”
“He didn’t want to get involved,” Bonin said. “Frankly, I believe him. He’s scared shitless and telling me everything else he knows, which is damn little. Billy’s mom lost everything in Katrina, and he didn’t stick around to help her. Pietry had to step in, and he’s got serious resentment. If he’s guilty of anything beyond the underage girl and the dime bag, it’s keeping this to use as revenge when he was good and ready.”
“Still a scumbag. Where’s his cousin now?”
“Living in Arkansas with a new girlfriend,” Bonin said. “I can’t find any Bill or William Pietry. He’s probably off the grid or using an alias. He did give me Billy’s cell number. I’ll contact the carrier in the morning and see if they can locate it.”
“If the GPS is on,” Cage said. “And it is morning.”
Three a.m. The last time he’d been up this late, Emma had been teething.
“Go back to the hotel and catch a few hours,” Bonin said.
Lyric had stood silently for two minutes until Annabeth lost consciousness. Then she whipped around and walked toward the camera. She stared up at it with undisguised hate.
“Sonofabitch.”
The camera zoomed closer until Lyric’s sneering face took up the entire frame.
He read her lips easily this time. “Happy now?”
56
Cage sat up, disoriented and searching for the digital clock on the nightstand. He’d slept less than an hour, and his alarm was set to go off in thirty minutes.
Bonin had put out a BOLO for Ly
ric Gaudet, using an image from the video along with the description Annabeth gave after their encounter at the cemetery.
Even if Lyric had been forced to kill Mickie, the video could very well send her to prison. She may not know of the video’s existence, but she certainly knew she was being filmed. And she knew Annabeth was getting her memory back. He had to assume Lyric saw Annabeth as a threat.
If Billy really had kicked her to the curb, Cage doubted she knew where he was. She’d probably tried to lure Annabeth.
Then why hadn’t she killed her in the cemetery? And had she been forced to bring in girls? Had she acted on her own after years of horrific abuse? Or had she been a willing accomplice the whole time?
That didn’t add up with Sean Andrews’s story about Lyric’s reaction at the party. Cage believed she must have recognized Billy and realized he’d come for her like she’d always feared. Going with him willingly didn’t make sense. But taking a ride from him in pouring rain as a hurricane swept in certainly did.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. A cold shower might wake him up enough to survive until the first four shots of espresso.
If he managed to keep his eyes open long enough to reach the shower.
He heard a familiar soft giggle in the hallway, then a child’s voice. A hoarse stammering followed—a monosyllable repeated over and over. An older female spoke in a language Cage couldn’t understand. The unmistakable stink of Alexandrine’s spilled oil washed over him.
He jerked awake in time to keep from falling face-forward off the bed. His mouth had gone dry, his memory of the oil so strong his nose burned from it. The scent must have been embedded in the shirt he’d fallen asleep in. He’d never get the smell out.
His cell’s loud ringtone startled him, and he nearly pitched off the bed again. Cage snapped it up. “Bonin, I’m too tired to think straight right now.”
“Get dressed,” she said. “Annabeth is missing.”
57
“What the hell happened?” Cage scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes and gulped lukewarm coffee. In the early morning, the French Quarter streets and sidewalks were nearly empty. A dense fog hung low over the old buildings, eclipsing some of the iron balconies and colorful flags. The thick vapor matched the haze in Cage’s head. Part of his exhausted brain wondered if he was really awake or stuck in yet another powerfully vivid dream.
Bonin drove through a pothole, and Cage nearly smacked his head on the top of her car. Definitely not a dream.
“Alexandrine woke up an hour ago, after falling asleep in her chair,” Bonin said. “She assumed Annabeth had gone to bed. She went into the kitchen to start coffee and saw remnants of a spell in the back courtyard.”
“Remnants of a spell?”
“It looked like Annabeth was using a piece of a Tarot card in a spell to try to contact Lyric.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Bonin glared at him. “The spell itself doesn’t matter. The point is, that statue of Ezili had been knocked over, and the Tarot card was still there. Annabeth wouldn’t have just left things like that.”
“She wouldn’t have left that card.”
“Exactly,” Bonin said. “Alexandrine checked the guestroom. Annabeth hadn’t gone to bed, and she left her phone.”
Miss Alexandrine had insisted the house was secure. If anyone tried to force his way into the house, the shrill alarm would sound, simultaneously contacting the police. “Annabeth promised she would stay inside.”
“This isn’t exactly the first promise she’s broke.”
Last night, Annabeth wanted nothing to do with helping Lyric. Had her TBI caused an impulse decision, or had something else changed her mind?
A patrol sergeant briefed Bonin as soon as they reached the squad room. “Every unit has her last booking photo and the physical description of the other woman. You don’t know her name?”
“Nope.” Bonin wondered if going to the media about Lyric’s reemergence would draw her out, but Cage had argued against it. She knew how to disappear, and the attention would drive her underground. Only four people knew Lyric was alive, and they needed to keep it that way as long as possible.
“Did Pietry make any calls last night?” Bonin asked.
“Not on the official log book,” the sergeant said. “But he’s one of us. Someone might have covered for him. I’m heading out to search. I’ll call you if we get anything.”
“Thanks. Does your commander know?” Bonin had called her boss, Commander Starr, after picking Cage up at the hotel. Starr wanted absolute secrecy for as long as possible—preferably until Annabeth was quickly found—and stressed making sure her parents were told before the story was leaked to the press. He’d also told Cage to call Rogers at the LBI.
Cage planned to put that off as long as he could.
“He’s due at the station in an hour,” the sergeant said. “If you want this kept quiet, I suggest talking to him right away.”
Cage waited until the sergeant was out of earshot. “What about the aged-up photo of Lyric?” A forensic artist from the criminal investigations unit had been given Lyric’s old picture and a description from Annabeth in order to create an up-to-date composite photo.
“They didn’t get the information until late last night, and I didn’t ask for a rush because I didn’t want to tip anyone off. I just told them we needed the digitally enhanced photo because we knew she’d been kept alive for several years. You think Lyric’s responsible?”
“The only thing I know is Annabeth didn’t go willingly. And either Lyric’s involved or she can help us find Billy. Either way, she’s our best option right now.”
Bonin rolled her shoulders and fought off a yawn. “I’m going to visit Pietry in the holding cell. You stay here. I’ve got a better chance at getting him to talk without you antagonizing him.”
He sat down at an empty desk. Lack of sleep and the memory of his strange dream just before Bonin called made Cage sluggish and half-disoriented. The dream-voices played on a loop, and each time he seemed to hear them a little better. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on just the older woman’s voice. He’d never admit as much to Bonin, but Cage couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been talking to him instead of the girl. At the time, he thought he smelled the oil from the altar because his shirt still reeked of it. But thinking back, replaying the dream, it seemed like the oil somehow came from the woman—Ezili. The same Loa Annabeth had been praying to before she disappeared.
God, he needed coffee. And an energy drink. Sleep deprivation and stress made his mind play tricks on him.
“Agent Foster?” A second patrol officer who didn’t look old enough to be out of the academy had appeared out of nowhere.
Cage blinked. This must be what sleepwalking felt like. “Yeah?”
“The front desk sergeant said to tell you Lyric Gaudet is in the lobby. She’s demanding to speak with you.”
The knot of tension between Cage’s shoulders loosened as he hurried toward the lobby, his anger rising with every step. When would Annabeth learn to think things through? Had she considered her parents? Or Alexandrine? Cage and Bonin had both stuck their necks out for her. Did that even compute?
No coddling this time. Let her lose her temper. Stupid decisions have consequences.
Cage slammed into the front lobby. The French Quarter station had once been a bank, and the lobby’s focal point was a long, L-shaped counter with dozens of pamphlets for tourist attractions. Its front panels had been painted by local artists, depicting scenes of New Orleans and NOPD history. A glass case near the front door featured police T-shirts and other items. The tired front desk sergeant and NOPD flags were the only things that kept the lobby from looking more like a visitor’s bureau than a police station.
Annabeth stood in front of the soda machine, no doubt in desperate need of sugar and food. She must have stopped at Charlotte’s to shower. Her still-damp black hair hung in a long braid down her back, and she’d changed i
nto a black cut-off shirt and faded denim shorts.
Cage strode past the sergeant and pushed through the old bank-style short doors into the lobby’s public area. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have at least let someone know you were okay before taking the time to go home and shower.”
She slowly turned, her mouth curling into an amused smile.
“Holy shit.” Had Cage fallen asleep at the desk and been sucked into another realistic dream? Or was the real Lyric Gaudet standing ten feet away?
58
“Agent Foster?” Her low voice had a sultry, feminine tone. Her striking beauty remained, although her face seemed hardened and fixed into a wary expression. A thin, fading scar streaked diagonally across her full lips.
“Yes.” He glanced at the desk sergeant, who seemed to be focused on paperwork. But the raised counter prevented Cage from knowing for sure. “Would you mind talking in private?”
Lyric’s calculated gaze wandered over him. Unlike Annabeth, she emanated confidence likely gained from her years of hell. Reading people’s intentions had become second nature to her.
“I’ll follow you.”
Cage led her through the front entrance and cubicles, past the squad room and to the first interview room. What was she doing here? Did she have Annabeth stashed away somewhere?
Lyric hesitated in the doorway. “I can leave anytime I want.”
“Of course.” Cage held up his phone. “Detective Bonin is working with me. You okay with me letting her know you’re here?”
“I’m only talking to you. Annabeth said I could trust you.”
“That’s fine.” Cage pointed to the ceiling corner behind him. “I’ll let Bonin know to watch on the camera.”
Anxiety flashed through her eyes, evaporating into a grim determination. “Whatever. As long as it’s just you and me in this room. And leave the door open a couple of inches.”
