by Jana DeLeon
“Did Bradley spend a lot of time at church activities?”
“He did for a while, but when everything started to change, he slowly dropped out of all the groups and hobbies he’d participated in. Father Michael visited him several times, trying to convince him to return to the teen group, but he wouldn’t even consider it.”
The woman’s grief was so apparent that Jackson could almost feel it. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Thompson,” he said, and rose from his chair. “I won’t take any more of your time.”
“I hope you solve your case,” Mrs. Thompson said. “This world needs less horror.”
“Yes, ma’am. It does.”
He headed out of the house and climbed back into his car. Bradley Thompson’s fade out of life sounded typical of every teen suicide story he’d heard. So was Father Michael an empathetic priest, worried about the emotional health of his parishioners?
Or was it guilt prompting him to visit Bradley’s grave and pray?
He pulled away from the curb and turned on his radio. The evening news was on, giving the latest update on the Peter Carlin disappearance, or lack of update as the case was. As far as Jackson knew, no one had come forward with information on the boy’s whereabouts. Given the amount of time that had elapsed, Jackson knew the chances of finding Peter unharmed, just as he knew the chances of finding Jinx unharmed.
As he pulled up to the curb, he realized he was only a block away from Peter’s home. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. The cases didn’t appear to have anything in common, and he had absolutely no reason to think they were related. But still…maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Peter’s parents, assuming they were open to it. After all, he wasn’t working on their case.
Vincent will have a stroke if he finds out you butted into another detective’s investigation.
Jackson parked in front of Peter’s house and jumped out of the car. To hell with Vincent. The so-called senior detective hadn’t done squat to solve this case. Aside from informing the parents of the boy’s death and taking an entire afternoon for lunch, he hadn’t even bothered to leave his desk. It was just as well for Jackson as it left him free to do what he wanted, but it still rankled that the man was being paid to solve crimes and he did nothing to justify his continued salary.
Jackson headed up the sidewalk and knocked on the door. A woman with puffy eyes and who looked as if she hadn’t brushed her hair in days opened the door. “Can I help you?” she asked in a robotic way.
He pulled out his badge. “My name is Detective Lamotte. I’d like to ask you some questions about Peter, if that’s all right.”
Her eyes widened a bit and she opened the door for him to come inside. “My husband isn’t here.”
“That’s all right.”
She sat on the couch and he took a seat in a chair beside her.
“I thought that Detective Grayson was working on Peter’s case,” she said.
“He is. I’m working on another case that involves a missing teen. I will be honest with you, Mrs. Carlin. I don’t have a good reason to assume my case has anything to do with Peter’s abduction, but I’m out of ideas and at the point where I’ll work even the biggest long shot to try to solve it.”
Mrs. Carlin nodded. “I can appreciate that. It’s worse for the parent, of course, but what you do is hard and has to take a toll. If you think there’s a chance, however slim, that I can help, I’m willing to try.”
“Thanks. I know the story the nanny told about that day. Has she remembered anything else?”
“No. The poor girl had to be sedated. She feels responsible. She’s been on suicide watch since it happened. I don’t blame her for what happened, mind you. She’s nineteen and Peter probably intentionally slipped out of her sight. He’s done it to me.”
“I imagine most little boys have. I know I did.”
“It’s just that most of them don’t disappear permanently.”
“No. They don’t. Before that day, did you notice anyone hanging around your house?”
She frowned. “No. I didn’t.”
She wasn’t lying, but he could tell there was something she wasn’t saying.
“Whatever it is,” Jackson said, “please tell me. Even if it’s just a feeling. I am the last person who would discount something simply because it wasn’t seen.”
She looked down at the floor, then back up at him. “It wasn’t me. It was Peter. Early last week, he said a scary man was watching him in the park. I looked in the bushes where Peter said he saw the man, but no one was there.”
“Did he recognize the man?”
“No. He said he was big and tall but he couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a hat and standing in the shadows.”
“But Peter thought the man was watching him? Did he see the man again?”
“He said he saw him outside his bedroom window, but that time, he was wearing a mask.”
Jackson’s pulse ticked up a notch. “A mask?”
“Based on his description, I’d say a Venetian Mardi Gras mask. He said it was a purple and white face with gold on it. Peter’s cousin let him watch some horrible horror movie the last time he went to visit. It gave him nightmares for a week.”
She looked up at Jackson and stopped talking, then her eyes widened. “Oh my God. You think he was being watched. Peter told me and I didn’t believe him. What do you know?”
“A homeless teen was attacked last night by a man wearing a Venetian mask. He’s the friend of another missing teen, also homeless.”
“I don’t understand. Why would the man who took Peter also take homeless teens? They don’t have anything in common.”
Jackson shook his head. “I wish I knew. I have a feeling that when we know the answer to that question, we’ll know who took Peter and the missing teen.”
He rose from his chair, anxious to talk to the lead detective on Peter’s case and call Shaye and get a description of the mask. It had been the thinnest thread of investigation he had and damned if he didn’t believe they were connected.
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Carlin. I promise you if I find out anything, you will be the first to know.”
“I should have listened,” she said, tears streaming down her face.
Jackson put his hand on her shoulder. “There’s no way you could have known. And if this man has been watching Peter for a while, it was only a matter of time until opportunity presented itself and he made his move. Short of locking Peter in Fort Knox, you couldn’t have prevented this. Not if the man was settled on Peter as his target.”
She sniffed and wiped the tears from her cheeks with her fingers. “I know what you’re saying is true. I’ve read up on the subject. But it doesn’t make me feel any less guilty.”
Jackson felt the weight of her burden and knew there was nothing he could say that would lighten it. If he were in her position, he’d feel the same way. The only thing that would alleviate some of her guilt was finding Peter alive. If they didn’t…suffice it to say that things didn’t always turn out well for those left behind.
Jackson started to leave, then a thought came to him. “Mrs. Carlin, may I ask if you are a religious person?”
She shrugged. “I suppose I’m a typical Catholic in that I don’t attend as often as I should, but I do believe, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No. It’s not that. I just thought if you were religious, there might be someone you could call to talk with you and pray.”
“Oh, I see. Father Michael came to pray with us as soon as he found out. He said to call any time I needed to talk. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to do so.”
“Father Michael with Sacred Heart?”
She looked up at him. “Yes. Do you know him?”
“We’ve never met, but I’ve heard about some of his ministry work.”
“He’s really good with the kids. We attend Saint Louis, but Father Michael taught some Bible classes there for the younger kids. Peter likes him a lot.”
Jackson nodded. �
��I’m sure he does.”
* * *
John Clancy was at the site, directing a man driving a bulldozer. He looked over as Shaye and Hustle got out of the SUV and held up a single finger. Shaye nodded and they waited on the sidewalk until Clancy finished with the driver, who drove the dozer toward the front of the lot.
“Did you find Scratch?” Clancy asked as he walked up to them, practically shouting to be heard over the loud machinery.
“Unfortunately, no,” Shaye said, “but I wanted to ask you a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. Let’s go into my office. Easier to talk there.”
They headed across the street and into Clancy’s office. Shaye took a seat in a chair on the opposite side of Clancy’s desk and Hustle hopped up on the window ledge. Clancy sat behind the desk and looked across at her.
“What can I help you with?” he asked.
“This site you’re working here, are you the developer?” Shaye asked.
“I wish I were. That’s where all the construction money really is, but you have to have a ton of it to get in the business to start. I haven’t been able to afford anything on this scale. The developers I work for inherited either their companies or the money to start them.”
“So you contract with them?”
“Exactly. All the hurricane damage created a lot of work. I managed to get some more equipment and have two crews running now. I’m not getting rich, but more people have jobs and I’m doing all right.”
“Do you know Johnny Rivette?” Shaye asked.
Clancy’s scowl left no doubt of his upcoming response. “I know him,” Clancy said. “Mobster piece of shit. Sorry for the language, but there’s no polite words for him.”
“Is he the developer for this site?”
“No way. Not that it matters.”
“What do you mean?”
Clancy looked out the window and back at Shaye, tapping his finger on the desk the entire time. “Look, I’ll tell you, but if the cops come around here asking, I’m going to say you lied about this entire conversation.”
“Okay,” Shaye said. She already had a good idea where the conversation with Clancy was headed.
“Rivette owns some dive properties around the city,” Clancy said, “but he’s not the developer on any of the big construction projects that I know of, including this one.”
“But he’s involved somehow?”
“If you consider extorting money out of subcontractors ‘involved’ then yeah, he’s involved up to his neck.”
“And these payoffs buy you what exactly?”
“Rivette’s goons don’t scare my workers off the job. Equipment doesn’t disappear. I tried not paying him at first. Couldn’t keep a man on the job more than a day. As soon as Rivette’s guys got to them, they took off. I started paying after that and been paying ever since.”
“I don’t blame you,” Hustle grumbled.
Clancy nodded. “He’s a nasty piece of work. I heard plenty of stories—things I don’t want happening to me or anyone that works for me. You think Rivette had something to do with Scratch disappearing? I’ve been paying. I swear.”
“I believe you,” Shaye said. “And to answer your question, I don’t know. Rivette’s nephew pawned a skateboard that belonged to another missing kid. When I asked him about it, I could tell he was hiding something, but I have no idea if it’s relevant or not. It could be he was just keeping something from his uncle.”
“I know the kid you’re talking about,” Clancy said. “I’ve seen him lurking around sometimes.”
“Lurking around the site?” Shaye asked.
“Yeah. At first, I thought he was some punk casing the place to steal stuff. I started to run him off but Scratch stopped me…told me who he was.”
“When did he start hanging around?” Shaye asked.
Clancy rubbed his chin and shook his head. “Two weeks ago, maybe. Can’t remember exactly, but that sounds about right.”
“Maybe he’s spying for his uncle,” Shaye suggested.
Hustle snorted. “Johnny Rivette don’t need no spies. More likely, Rick was trying to skim off the workers, same as his uncle is skimming off Mr. Clancy.”
Clancy’s eyes widened. “You think he was getting money from my contractors?”
Shaye nodded. “That would make sense. He sees his uncle making money doing nothing but threatening people and figures the contractors are easy pickings. They already see their boss paying Rivette. They probably figure Rick is their payment collector.”
“Piece of shit,” Clancy grumbled. “I wish the whole damned lot of them had to work an honest day’s work.”
“They probably aren’t capable,” Shaye said. “At least not with the honest part.” Shaye rose from her chair. “I appreciate you taking your time to talk to us, Mr. Clancy, and being candid. If you see Rick around the site again, will you let me know?”
“Sure. Nothing would please me more than to get rid of the Rivettes altogether. I don’t mind starting with the nephew.”
Shaye and Hustle headed back to her SUV and climbed inside, but instead of starting the vehicle, she sat and stared down the street, the conversation with Clancy replaying in her mind.
“What are you thinking?” Hustle said.
“I’m not sure. There’s a lot of moving parts. I guess I’m thinking about the Rivettes’ presence at construction sites. Scratch was working at one of them. There’s another right next to the docks, and we have to assume Rivette’s collecting from every contractor down here. Have you ever seen his men around the docks?”
“No. But the street’s on the other side of the building. That construction trailer blocks the view of it.”
“That’s right.”
“So what now?”
Shaye’s phone vibrated and she pulled it out. It was Corrine again. She hadn’t left a message earlier, which was strange. Usually she left something, even if it was just to say she was calling to say hi.
“It’s my mother again. One second,” she told Hustle and answered the call.
“Shaye?” Corrine said, her voice several octaves higher than normal. “Are you busy?”
Shaye clenched the phone. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s something I need to talk to you about. It’s serious and, uh, has a time limit on it. Can you come see me?”
“Now?”
“That would be best. If possible.”
Shaye felt her back tighten. Her mother was always direct. Always deliberate. This uncertainty in her voice and her directives were so far from the norm that Shaye knew something was seriously wrong.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Shaye said.
“Is something wrong?” Hustle asked.
“Yeah, but she’s not saying what. I need to go now. Where do you want me to drop you off?”
“Here’s fine. I’m going to grab a sandwich at a shop around the street, then see what the word is.”
“Okay. If I don’t call you beforehand, remember to let me know when you get back to the hotel.”
He climbed out of the SUV. “I will. I hope everything’s all right.”
“Me too.”
But as she drove away, she knew it wasn’t.
* * *
He stared down at the unconscious boy and scowled. That idiot had dosed him up so much that the boy might never regain consciousness. And even if he did, there would be no more sales to the customer he was supposed to supply the boy to. There had been a heated argument with them earlier, but he didn’t care. They could threaten all they wanted, but the bottom line was they didn’t know who he was. They dealt only with his associate, and that person was expendable. It served him right for screwing up with this kid and the little boy. What the hell had he been thinking, taking a kid with parents who would raise the roof to find him?
He turned around and punched a wall, putting a hole in the Sheetrock. Last night, he’d planned on cleaning up part of the mess his associate had made,
but the skater kid had gotten the best of him. If that cell phone hadn’t gotten in the way, he would have been able to make it work, but blocking the needle had given the kid time to swing the skateboard around.
The kid was quick. He’d give him that. And he was smart. The way he checked his surroundings, he knew he was being watched. And now he knew someone was after him, which meant he wouldn’t return to the place he usually went at night. The woman had found somewhere for him to hide at night, but he doubted it was with her.
Shaye Archer. Daughter of heiress Corrine Archer and granddaughter of State Senator Pierce Archer. And a huge fucking problem.
He’d thought she looked familiar when he first saw her, and then it had finally clicked—the news story about the stalker that she’d run down a couple weeks ago. Ms. Archer was young and brave, and had all the money in the world to put behind her investigative efforts. Unfortunately, killing her would only bring more problems. Shaye Archer’s murder would put the limelight on her current case, and he had no doubt Pierce Archer would turn the state upside down looking for an answer.
If the skater kid was gone, though, she wouldn’t have anyone to help her any longer, and the whole thing would die out. All he needed was a month or so to wrap up everything here. Sell off his business interests, buy that property he’d been looking at overseas, and wave good-bye to Louisiana for good.
He’d have his associate get rid of the unconscious boy tonight. Even if he was going to wake up, he was no longer useful since the client had been cut off. The longer he was in the house, the bigger the risk that he’d be discovered. As for the skater kid, he needed to find his new nighttime hiding place. Last night, the kid had been prepared to be followed, but if he thought he was safe, then his guard wouldn’t be up the way it was before.
Which gave him the opening he needed to finish the job.
Chapter Fifteen
Shaye parked in front of her mother’s house, noting that the police security was still in place. Eleonore’s car was there as well. Whatever was coming, Corrine had decided either she or Shaye was going to need support. This kept looking worse. Shaye climbed out of her car, waved at the officers, and headed up the walkway. Eleonore must have been watching, because she opened the door before Shaye even had a chance to use her key.
