by A. C. Mason
“Part of the evening I was there.”
His father eyed him with a disgusted look. “I’m not even going to ask where you were.” For a few moments he appeared to contemplate the matter. “What time did he ask you about?”
“He simply asked where I was that night, but I believe after an official time of death is established, the cops are going to ask more questions. So from nine Tuesday night to when they discovered her body is up for grabs.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Ten
Caleb started walking back to his car from the cane field crime scene. What a hell of a day this has been and it’s not over yet.
“Bourque! I’d like a word with you.”
Grimacing at the sound of his name, Caleb turned. The day seemed to be getting worse by the moment. He suspected what Darnell Baker was about to say and he didn’t want to hear the message. He braced himself for a chewing out. It didn’t happen.
Baker narrowed his dark eyes and leaned forward slightly in his usual attempt to make his short stocky physique seem more intimidating than the officer he was speaking to. “I’m calling a meeting of the entire force for eight a.m. tomorrow in the assembly hall to discuss these murders.”
“The entire force? Not just homicide?”
“That’s what I said. What I have to say will affect every member of the department. Get your detectives there. All other supervisors will be notified by my office.”
“Yes, sir, we’ll be there.”
“Before the general meeting, I want to see you in my office.”
“Sure thing.” That would be where he would get chewed out. He figured the chief might also announce he was calling in the FBI or State Police or both to help in the investigation. He couldn’t decide whether that was a good or a bad call, even though their small department needed the help of one with more advanced technology.
At the moment he needed to get away from police business if only for a half an hour. Instead of returning directly to his office, he drove home. Located in an older neighborhood, his house was a remodeled wood frame shotgun style so prevalent in New Orleans and much of South Louisiana.
The place wasn’t big, but it was his. Correction…it had been his and Laurie’s. After their divorce, he got rid of all things related to her that she didn’t take when she left. Maybe he should consider selling this house and buying a new one—a house with a big yard for Bud and no bad memories for him.
He unlocked the door and disarmed his alarm system. The system had more or less been designed by him with help from a friend who owned the alarm company. His friend had even offered him a job.
A boisterous golden retriever met him in the foyer, wagging his tail and twirling his body around excitedly.
“Hey, boy,” Caleb greeted the dog. “I sure needed to see some good live being instead of dead bodies.” He’d seen enough murder victims in the past three weeks to last a lifetime, not to mention the dead he had seen in Iraq four years earlier. The thought made him wonder why he decided to become a homicide detective. Maybe he should have gone into the security system business instead. Not any dead bodies in that line of work.
Hell, why am I suddenly thinking about my time in Iraq? Must be all these dead bodies.
~ * ~
Jamie sank down on her bed, exhausted mentally and physically. She’d never felt so alone. Michael had phoned and informed her he had to go out of town until tomorrow evening. He said it couldn’t be helped—something about a problem at one of the regional offices. Since he was the head of sales for the company, he needed to handle the problem himself.
She lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes. Her encounter with Adrien at Magdalen House a few hours ago returned to her thoughts. His statement about the women stuck in her mind. The words were so similar to the note she received with the photo of Kim Hendricks. Could he have killed Joanna? No, not a possibility. What reason would he have to murder his fiancée?
Still, he told the person on the phone something was for the best. He had certainly sounded defensive when she questioned him.
Her phone rang startling her. She sat up and checked the caller ID. She relaxed when she saw Michael’s number on the display. “Hi, I was hoping you’d call.”
“Is everything okay?” He sounded concerned.
She rose from the bed and walked over to the window. “I just needed to hear a friendly voice. I’m feeling rather alone at the moment.”
“I’m sorry I had to leave you today of all days. I will get back as soon as I can tomorrow afternoon.”
“I suppose I can manage without you for that long,” she said with a slight tease in her voice.
He chuckled. “I knew you could do it. Listen, keep the doors locked. Be careful. See you tomorrow.”
They ended the call with the usual take care; you too.
Jamie continued to stare out the window. The early winter dusk gradually became dark. Her neighbors’ Christmas display lights popped on one by one. She didn’t feel much like turning hers on. All the neighbors should know by now why her house would be the only one on the block left dark.
Across the street, a car pulled into the Clarks’ driveway and drove under the carport. The workday was over for most people.
Tears welled in her eyes. Guess I’ll have to start carrying around a pack of tissues in my hand. She moved away from the window and immediately tripped over her shoes in the dark. She caught her balance on the side table. My goodness, I’ve been standing here in the dark for who knows how long…in another world. Time to come back to the real world.
Switching on the bedside lamp, she retrieved a few tissues from the small pack she kept in the drawer and dabbed her eyes.
Jamie glanced at her watch…almost six. Her appetite was nonexistent, but she needed to keep up her strength. Maybe some of that ham in the refrigerator…a sandwich should suffice.
Her home telephone rang. Hardly anyone called that number. She only kept a land line in case the power went out or cell phone reception was interrupted for some reason. The number on the caller ID wasn’t familiar.
Apprehension swept over her. She shook her head. How silly. This was probably a wrong number.
A brief silence ensued after she answered. The caller finally spoke. His words chilled her to the bone.
“I’m going to make sure you can’t keep Magdalen House open. You’re next.”
Eleven
Caleb studied the pictures on the case board in the homicide office. Two things connected all four women. First, all were prostitutes except Joanna Chatelaine, but she provided aid to them and other women down on their luck. Second, all victims were blonde. Chanara Brown, the second victim was African-American, but she had bleached hair. Rita Naquin’s platinum blonde color had probably come out of a bottle also. Those two women were addicts and had come from families living at poverty level or below.
Kim Hendricks’ situation was slightly different. She had come from an upper middle class family whose other kids grew up to be model citizens. Kim got in with the wrong crowd—a common story of many rebellious teens—and she had gravitated to alcohol and drugs.
Glancing at his watch, he noted that his detectives should all be arriving shortly for the meeting he’d scheduled with them.
The envelope containing the photo and note received by Jamie Chatelaine still sat on his desk undisturbed from where he’d left it. Damn Marino! He would drop it off himself after the meeting.
Caleb returned his attention to the details of the four murders. He debated with himself over a profile of the killer. Could he be a member of Oak Pointe’s elite who thought prostitutes were dirty, sinful women? Or was he a stranger who moved from place to place killing women who lived this dangerous lifestyle? Either way, this guy had a big problem with women.
He wondered what caused the Chatelaine sisters’ attempt to help women like those three victims. Did they have a sibling or mother who had traveled the same path as the women they aided?
His cell phone chimed interrupting his thoughts. “Bourque, Homicide.”
“Detective, this is Jamie Chatelaine.” Anxiety was evident in her shaky voice. “I just received a threatening phone call.”
“Male or female?”
“Male,” she said. “I didn’t recognize the voice. He sounded muffled or muted in some way. He said he would make sure I didn’t keep Magdalen House open and that I was next.”
His heartbeat raced. This was certainly an escalation—from written threats to vocal intimidations. “Are you alone?”
“At the moment…I just spoke to Michael. He had left to go out of town on business, but he insisted on coming back.”
“Good. You shouldn’t be alone.” Too bad he couldn’t be the person to keep her company instead of Phillips. He cleared his throat. “It sounds like the guy we’re looking for has a serious case of animosity toward prostitutes and the people who try to help them.”
“Definitely.”
Her voice held a mixture of fear and anger. She expressed as much in her next admission.
“It’s a frightening situation. I’m also irritated that this person is, for all practical purposes, holding me hostage. Is there anything you can do?”
“Did you save his phone number?”
“Yes, I sure did.” She told him the number.
“I’ll see if I can find out who the phone’s registered to. In the meantime, stay inside and do not answer your door unless it’s your boyfriend, someone close to you like your brother, or the police.”
“You know, I’ve been so stressed out I completely forgot Jon was coming in soon.”
“That’s perfectly understandable. Since you’re out of the city limits, I’ll see if I can arrange for an extra patrol in your neighborhood by the sheriff’s office just to be on the safe side.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“Not a problem. I intend to find this guy sooner rather than later. We have to keep you safe while he’s still on the street.”
Caleb tapped the desk top with his pen as he sat pondering their conversation. He figured the phone the caller used was a burner just like the one used to call her sister. The scumbag must have bought a bunch of cheap phones and thrown them away as he used them.
He phoned the head of the uniformed patrol unit of the sheriff’s office. “Hey, this is Bourque in Homicide at OPPD. How’s everything going?” They exchanged a few pleasantries, then Caleb got down to business. He explained the situation. “I’d appreciate it if some of your deputies could make a few passes through her neighborhood for the next couple of nights.”
The extra patrols were agreed on and they ended the call. Caleb checked his watch and realized it was time to meet with his people.
Detective Alisha Jackson, a tall African-American woman, arrived first for the meeting. She strode with confidence across the room and took a seat in a nearby chair. “Quite a mess…these murders.”
Caleb shot her an irritated look. “That’s definitely an understatement.”
“Yeah, and we’re not getting any closer to finding Mister Mistletoe.” She made a face at the mention of the killer’s media handle. “Naquin, Brown and Hendricks deserve justice the same as Ms. Chatelaine, but…”
“But what? You don’t believe they’ll get it?” Caleb’s remark came out more snappish than he intended. Maybe he had a guilty conscience. Hebert’s insinuation at Joanna’s crime scene about the detectives’ lack of knowledge about the women’s shelter came to mind.
“Bergeron and Marino aren’t…” The two men entered the office at that moment. “Speak of the devils,” she muttered under her breath.
Caleb leaned closer and said in a low voice, “Stay after this meeting. I want to know what those two aren’t.”
Twelve
Watching his two male detectives leave the office grumbling to each other about having to make their presence known to the residents of Old Town, and the department meeting that Chief Baker had called for tomorrow left Caleb irritated.
During this meeting, Bergeron and Marino had made excuses about not knowing about the shelter. Their attitudes indicated what he feared—the women weren’t important because they were prostitutes. Of course, Caleb couldn’t fault them on that subject, but he should have suggested they make a more thorough canvas of the area. They supposedly did a cursory search.
Alisha interrupted his self-condemnation. “You wanted to talk to me?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, I was in another place.”
“I noticed. You’ve got a lot on your mind this time of year. With Christmas…your divorce.”
He chuckled. “Mince words, will you. Yeah, the anniversary of my divorce is getting to me, but I’m not supposed to let my personal life interfere with my job.”
She tilted her head to one side. “I can’t see where you have…much.”
“Thanks a lot. We might have these murders already solved if I hadn’t been wallowing in the past.” Alisha had been in the same class with him at Oak Pointe High School back in the day and at the police academy. He’d played high school football with Alisha’s husband. He felt comfortable talking to her.
“You wanted to know about Marino and Bergeron?”
“Yeah, what are they doing or not doing that makes you believe they don’t care about finding the man who killed the working girls?” He’d formed his own opinion, but he wanted to hear hers.
She shrugged. “Maybe it’s just me. They were so blasé about the first two.” She waved her hand. “Like, oh, they’re only a couple of hookers. Then Ms. Chatelaine gets killed and they’re all rearing to go out and find her killer.
“Both have made comments in my presence concerning their disinterest in pursuing an investigation into the murder of prostitutes,” she continued. “In fact, I got into an argument with Marino about it. Regardless of their occupation or what they did or didn’t do in life, they’re human beings. They deserve justice.”
“I agree with you on that point. They all deserve justice.” Caleb wrinkled his brow. “But I believe the part about Marino and Bergeron wanting to solve the Chatelaine murder over the others isn’t just you. Neither one seemed real anxious to do anything. Marino’s fixated on Adrien Blanchard as Joanna Chatelaine’s killer. He thinks Blanchard tried to make her murder look like the Mistletoe Man’s work.”
Alisha arched her eyebrows and took the conversation back to the prostitutes. “I talked to a couple of girls in Old Town this morning. They were pretty closed mouth about the shelter and any johns that might have caused any problems or roughed them up. That’s not unusual. You know how the story goes.”
She studied his face with her black eyes. “Based on what they told me, they’re afraid they will be hauled in on charges, along with the johns and they won’t be able to buy their drugs or drinks. It’s a crying shame. Some of them used to be as pretty as Jamie Chatelaine before they went out on the street. Drugs and alcohol take a toll on the body.”
“What?” He eyed her with a bit of irritation. “Do I detect sarcasm in your voice?
She ran a hand over her closely cropped black hair. “Listen, baby, Marino said in so many words you’re chasing after her and vice-versa.”
“Damn him.” He shook his head. “I find her very attractive, but neither one of us is chasing after the other. Hell, she’s a big part of this case so she’s off limits.”
Alisha pursed her lips. “What about after the case is closed?”
He gave her a faux glare. “Drop it, Jackson.”
She laughed. “I’d just like to see you find a woman who won’t do you wrong.”
A faint smile moved his lips. “So you think Jamie is that woman?”
“See, you’re even referring to her by her first name.”
“Woman, you are exasperating. If you believe that ‘someone for everyone’ bit just because you found the love of your life, you’re also crazy. It doesn’t work like that.”
“I’ve been called bot
h. Exasperating and crazy.” Her expression turned sober. “We got a lot of questions about these four DB’s, but no answers. Like why is this scumbag leaving mistletoe on each body? What message is he trying to send?”
“I believe his message is these women are parasites like mistletoe, feeding off someone else. I can’t say for certain that answers the question.” He shrugged. “Just my opinion. But sitting here pondering about it isn’t helping. We have four murders to solve. I say you and I pay a visit to Old Town later tonight and see what’s happening. I’ll pick you up about ten.”
“Sounds like a winner to me,” she said with a smile. “That’ll give me a little time alone with Rosie before we go out on the town.”
Caleb grinned. “You’d best not use that phrase with him. Roosevelt Jackson is a lot bigger than me.”
~ * ~
Jamie stared at the array of photographs on a shelf in the living room…a space she and Joanna had created to display precious family pictures. They both wanted to keep those wonderful memories of growing up in a loving family forever. There was even a photo of her with Sean Davidson, the man she’d hoped to marry.
She removed one photo from the shelf—a picture of their parents, Andre and Jeanine Chatelaine.
Their family had started falling apart after Mom died. Joelle, the oldest sibling, generated the first crack in the foundation. She went to pieces and started acting out. There was nothing unusual about a fifteen-year-old defying her father’s authority, but her bad behavior escalated to doing drugs and beyond.
Michael placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’s difficult looking at all the happy faces, isn’t it?”
“It is. Very much so.” Her voice cracked. “Jon and I are the only ones left, but we are half way estranged.”
Michael frowned. “You’ve mentioned before about your shaky relationship with him. What happened between you and him?”
“He distanced himself from me and Joanna when we created Magdalen House to help women like Joelle who turned to prostitution in order to get money to support their habits.”
