Sinister (Shaye Archer Series Book 2)

by Jana DeLeon

  * * *

  Shaye stared at the phone for a moment still trying to formulate a response, but Jackson had already hung up. Which was just as well, she supposed. For the first time in a while, she was speechless.

  Why does he do that to me?

  Because you’re attracted to him and apparently, even kids like Hustle can see the chemistry.

  She sighed. What an unexpected and unwanted turn of events in her life. Jackson had everything she claimed all the men she’d turned down were missing. He was honorable and fierce, and cared about what was right and wrong, even to his own detriment. He wasn’t cocky but he was confident. He was smart but not arrogant. And he was seriously hot.

  She sighed again. Thank God Corrine had been distracted by the charity biddies and by Jackson’s role in her last case. Otherwise, she might have noticed the attraction as well. Except Shaye doubted Corrine would have been pushing Jackson at Shaye the way she had some of those other awful choices. Corrine would take Jackson’s job as a cop as the single worst thing in the world for Shaye to add to her life. More danger. More exposure. More risk. Corrine would probably be on board with a male stripper before she gave her seal of approval to a cop.

  Shaye climbed into her SUV and called Hustle, pushing thoughts of Jackson and her mother from her mind. Both were distractions she didn’t need, for completely different reasons.

  Hustle answered right away, and she arranged a place to meet him in Bywater, close to the hot dog vendor where he’d picked up lunch. When she pulled up to the curb, she motioned to him and he jumped into the passenger seat, sliding his skateboard onto the floorboard. Shaye filled him in on her conversation with Father Michael.

  “Jackson is going to run a background on him,” Shaye said once she finished recounting her conversation with the priest. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and something will pop. In the meantime, you keep an eye out for him engaging any of the street kids.”

  “Do you want me to ask around about him?”

  Shaye hesitated. “I don’t think so. If you start asking questions, people might assume the priest is the answer and take action.”

  “You think he might get jumped. Yeah, if people thought he was responsible for all this, they’d go after him.”

  “But if anyone mentions him, feel them out for information if you can.”

  Hustle nodded. “Two more kids are missing—Scratch and Spider. I don’t know Spider. He hangs in the Tremé, but I think he might be fairly new. Scratch is an oldie, though. Been on the streets for at least three years. Ain’t nobody got the jump on him without a serious plan.”

  “What did he do for money?”

  “He had a gig with one of those construction companies. Demolition. He was hoping they’d keep him on when they started building. You know, learn something that might get him off the streets.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Gotta be close to eighteen. I think that’s why he was looking to fix up something permanent. When he didn’t show to skate, one of the others checked at the demolition site. The boss said he didn’t show up for work on Friday or yesterday.”

  “Did you see him Thursday?”

  Hustle shook his head. “He was at the docks Wednesday after work. Wasn’t there Thursday.”

  “But he normally would have been?”

  “Yeah, he usually skated there after work.”

  “So we could assume someone must have grabbed him Thursday after work but before he got to the docks, unless he wasn’t planning to skate.”

  Hustle’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Do you know where the demolition site is?”

  “Yeah. I been by there and seen Scratch working a couple times.”

  Shaye started her SUV. “Tell me.”

  Hustle directed her to the Upper Ninth Ward and down a block where a lot of the buildings were beyond repair. He pointed to a corner where a bulldozer stood in the middle of a pile of rubbish. Dumpsters lined a side street, some of them already full of construction debris. A white truck was parked at the curb and a man stood in the middle of the mess, watching as she drove up.

  “I think that’s the boss,” Hustle said.

  “Lucky break we caught him here on a Sunday,” Shaye said. “Let’s go see if he can tell us anything. Let me do all the talking.”

  Hustle nodded.

  She climbed out of her SUV and headed over to the man, sizing him up as she went. He was fairly tall and a good two hundred twenty pounds. He sported the common stomach pooch and thinning hair of many forty something-year-old men, but he had that hard edge to him that left Shaye with no doubt he could hold his own in a scuffle. No one would work this area of town if they couldn’t. Thieves had no problem killing someone over power tools. The bulge under his hip at his waistline told Shaye he was packing.

  He studied her and Hustle as they approached, frowning the entire time. Careful, but she didn’t blame him. Thieves came in all forms, women and children alike, and all equally dangerous.

  “Hi,” Shaye said. “My name is Shaye Archer. I’m a private investigator.” She held up her wallet, which she’d removed from her purse in the SUV, to show him her identification.

  He glanced at the identification and looked back at her. “I’m John Clancy. I’m the foreman for this site. What’s a PI doing out here?”

  “I’m looking for information on an employee of yours who disappeared recently. Friends called him Scratch.”

  John nodded. “You’re talking about the street kid.” He looked over at Hustle. “That’s where I’ve seen you before. You were talking to him last week.”

  Hustle nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “What can you tell me about Scratch?” Shaye asked.

  “He’s a good worker—strong, reliable. I was surprised when he didn’t show up Friday and Saturday, but then, I guess you never know.”

  “What do you mean?” Shaye said.

  He shrugged. “Lots of street people get caught up in drugs, and that’s usually the beginning of the end, if you know what I mean. Others get caught up in stuff that gets them capped or are simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and go down with the rest. Some get picked up by the cops and held for a bit. Those usually turn up in a couple days.”

  “So you’re not really concerned that he didn’t show?” Shaye asked.

  “I’m more concerned that I was one worker short, and with the rain, we’re already behind schedule. These kids usually surface one way or another. Either way, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Did you report him missing?”

  “Because he skipped a couple days of work? The police wouldn’t even take the time to write a report on that.”

  Shaye knew he was right, but his casual attitude frustrated her.

  “Look,” John said, obviously cluing in on her displeasure, “I hope nothing happened to the kid. I like him and the truth is, I think he has a future in construction if he wants it. But I don’t know anything about him except what kind of worker he is.”

  “I assume you have paperwork on him, for payroll?” Shaye asked.

  “I’ve got a copy of his identification and Social Security number. He’s contract and I agreed to pay him cash, so nothing else was necessary.”

  “So no payroll taxes and no benefits required.”

  “Hey, the kid asked for cash like most of them do, but I don’t put laborers on payroll anyway. The turnover would cost me a fortune in administration costs alone. What I’m doing is hardly uncommon. No developer puts unskilled labor on payroll.”

  Shaye nodded. “Would you mind showing me the copy of the license and Social?”

  He looked from her to Hustle then back. “You mind telling me what this is about?”

  “Some street kids have come up missing. One of them was found murdered. Scratch’s friends haven’t been able to locate him, so I’m looking into his disappearance as well as that of some others.”

  He frowned. “How come the police h
aven’t been around?”

  “To ask you about whom, exactly?” Shaye asked. “A person that already doesn’t exist who no one has reported missing? Assuming the others worked for cash as well, my guess is their employers’ take on them not turning up for work isn’t much different from yours.”

  “No. Probably not.”

  “I’d also guess that whatever identification Scratch provided is falsified, so cops running through the motions wouldn’t produce much.”

  “You think you can do better?”

  “It’s a good possibility. The police have limitations placed on them that a private investigator doesn’t.”

  “Yeah, but cops don’t bill you by the hour.”

  “I’m calling this job community service.”

  He looked at her for a couple seconds, then nodded. “Okay. If you think it would help.” He pointed to a building across the street that had bars on the windows and a dead bolt on the front door. “My temporary office is across the street.”

  Shaye turned to follow him, Hustle trailing behind. The young man’s expression had remained completely neutral during the entire conversation, and Shaye wondered what he was thinking. When they got to the building, John unlocked the dead bolt and let them inside. He pulled a folder from a desk drawer and handed it to Shaye. She looked at the image of the identification and Social Security card, then glanced around the office.

  There wasn’t a copy machine or scanner in the room. “Is it okay if I take a picture of these?” she asked.

  “Sure,” John said.

  She placed the two photocopies on a desk and took a photo of each with her phone. Both were probably fake, but it was still something she needed to pursue. She slipped her phone back into her pocket and gave the file back to John. “The address on the identification,” she asked, “is it good?”

  “I have no idea,” John said. “Don’t have any reason to mail anything until tax time when we send out the 1099s, and if they’re still around, we hand them out on the job.”

  “Okay. I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”

  “No problem.” He grabbed a business card off the desk and handed it to her. “If you find out something, would you mind letting me know? Like I said, I think he has a future in this, if he wants it.”

  She slipped the card into her pocket and pulled out one of her own. “Of course, and if you hear anything or if he turns up, please let me know.”

  He nodded, glancing once more at Hustle before they turned and left. As they pulled away, he lifted his hand to wave.

  “What do you think?” Hustle asked.

  “I think he’s telling the truth, what little he had to say.”

  Hustle frowned. “Me too. We’re not getting anywhere. Jinx is still out there, and when I think about…”

  “I know. We’re doing everything we can. You have to stay positive. I’m going to keep working until we find Jinx.”

  He looked over at her and nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Where do you want me to drop you off?”

  “Close to the docks. Might as well skate. Maybe some of the others showed up and know something.”

  Shaye headed out of the Ninth Ward and back to Bywater. She let Hustle out a couple blocks away from the docks, where they wouldn’t run the risk of the street kids seeing them together. She’d talked to Hustle at the docks during the Frederick case, and the kids might recognize her. If they found out Hustle was working with an outsider, they might stop talking to him.

  And right now, he was the only likely source of a lead that they had.

  Chapter Eight

  Corrine sat at the kitchen counter and tapped at the keys on her laptop, her fingers striking harder with every move.

  “You’re going to break either a nail or a key,” Eleonore commented.

  Corrine looked across the counter at her friend, who was pouring two iced teas, and frowned. “If you’re not going to be helpful, you’re welcome to leave.”

  “Great. How can I help? I have duct tape and superglue. We can reinforce either your nails or the keyboard. Your choice.”

  Corrine leaned back on the stool and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m frustrated with my father and Shaye and being cooped up in this house all the time, and I’m taking it out on you.”

  “Well, you finally got something right.”

  “Your empathy is making me all squishy.”

  “I’m a psychiatrist. I don’t do empathy. I do reality.”

  “Fine, I’ll play. Tell me how to deal with the fact that my father is on an overprotective bent from hell and every time I want to yell at him about it, I hear my own voice saying similar things to Shaye. Then I want to slap myself for being as neurotic and annoying as he is.”

  Eleonore pushed a glass of iced tea across the counter, sat down across from Corrine, and reached for a raspberry croissant. “Pierce isn’t neurotic. Not about you, anyway. Business, probably. I’ll give you annoying though, at least from your perspective.”

  “Your halfhearted agreement is neither comforting nor helpful.”

  Eleonore laughed. “I’m sorry. You didn’t tell me I was supposed to be realistic and helpful. Let me try again. Pierce loves you and worries about you because you’re his only child. You work a dangerous job and despite the fact that this last incident wasn’t about your job, it highlighted how vulnerable you are when you’re working.”

  “But we’ve both always known the risks. They’re hardly new.”

  “No. But this is the first time you’ve come this close to death. Dealing with a concept is a completely different issue than having reality slammed right into your face.”

  “This is supposed to make me feel better?”

  “I’m not trying to make you feel better. I’m trying to help you understand why Pierce is annoying and more importantly, why it’s not likely to change.”

  Corrine sighed. “Have you ever been wrong? I mean, you have to have been, but I’ve never witnessed it.”

  “I could probably work it in if it would make you feel better.”

  “Now you’re worried about my feelings?”

  Eleonore grinned. “Don’t waste time agitating over Pierce. Sooner or later the next big takeover will occupy his mind or it will be reelection time and all of this will start to fade.”

  “That’s great and all, but doesn’t solve my problem of annoying Shaye the same way my father is annoying me.”

  “You could make big strides in fixing that problem if you stopped thrusting your horrible choices of men at her.”

  “Derrick Oliver is a perfectly fine young man.”

  Eleonore raised one eyebrow.

  Corrine threw a napkin at her. “You two are just alike.”

  “You know he’s awful,” Eleonore said. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

  “Fine, he’s sorta awful. But he’s got a great future. Shaye wouldn’t have to work—”

  “You mean like you don’t have to work? Who are you trying to fool? Shaye doesn’t have to work now. She could probably support a small country on her trust fund. You could probably single-handedly erase the national debt with yours. I don’t see you giving notice.”

  “Is it wrong for me to want her to have someone?”

  “Of course not. Mothers are supposed to want the best for their children, and you’re a good mother. You just have awful taste in men. Shaye, on the other hand, is much better at picking winners than you are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t meet the dashing Detective Lamotte last night?”

  Corrine frowned. “The policeman? He was dashing?”

  “You didn’t notice?”

  “You did?”

  “It was hard not to. I’m not dead.”

  “I suppose he was nice-looking, but I don’t see what—oh my God, you don’t think…”

  “That he’s totally into Shaye? Hell yes, I do. And that’s my professional opinion.”

  Corrine groaned. “Please
tell me you’re joking.”

  “Why would that be such a horrible thing? He seems like a nice guy.”

  “Because he’s a cop, that’s why. The last thing Shaye needs is to be hooked up with someone whose existence puts her at even more risk. What in the world does he have to offer but trouble?”

  “Well, he’s a damned good shot and looks mighty fine in a suit, so that’s two things.”

  “I’ll give you the good shot part, and maybe the suit part.”

  “Maybe? He was the best-looking guy in the room, and probably the only one I’d elect to spend time talking to. Shaye didn’t seem bothered by his presence, and you should take that as a good thing. Her long-running stance on avoiding men makes that a really big deal, even if it’s not the man you want to see her somewhat comfortable with.”

  “She looked comfortable?”

  “She was smiling and chatting when I walked up. She joked with me and introduced us, explaining our usual mocking charity exchange. That’s personal information. This is a good thing, Corrine. She’s putting herself out there more. I know that makes you nervous for her physical safety, but it’s a step forward in her emotional state.”

  Corrine threw up her hands. “Fine. It’s a good thing. I just wish it could have been some boring investment banker or maybe an accountant with a good sense of humor.” She took a drink of her tea. “I asked Shaye if she was still having the nightmares.”

  Eleonore shook her head. “You know I can’t talk about anything Shaye’s told me in session.”

  “Oh good grief, for someone paid to listen, you interrupt a lot. I’m not asking you to give me information. I’m trying to give you information.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

  Corrine sighed. “She admitted she’s still having nightmares. I think that’s the tip of the iceberg, though. My guess is they’re getting worse.”

  “Did she say that?”

  “No. Mother’s intuition. I also asked her if she was remembering. She said she didn’t know. That the dreams seemed real but when she woke up, she couldn’t latch onto anything.”

  Eleonore nodded. “And she may not ever be able to. You know that.”