by A. C. Mason
“He’s a physician. I would have thought he would be more sympathetic to people who have addictions.”
Jamie sighed. “Jon always had delusions of grandeur. He still does. He didn’t want to be a country doctor like our father. It’s ironic because he ended up in St. Martinville, which is no big city. However, Jon does have quite a few wealthy patients. Landed gentry, I guess.”
Guilt about the condemnation of her brother sat like a weight on her chest. If she and every other person on earth could simply accept each other for what they were and not because one way was the only right way, the world would certainly be a better place. She’d have to try harder to be as accepting of her brother as she was toward the women she supported.
“So your brother was against the creation of Magdalen House.”
“He didn’t want to be reminded of the past with ‘the Joelle scandal,’ as he refers to those times, especially after she died of an overdose.”
Michael squeezed her shoulder. “I understand his position, but Joelle was his sister regardless of what kind of life she led.”
She smiled. “You sound like your uncle.”
For a split second he looked offended. He recovered quickly. “Naturally he’s been a big influence on me.”
Thirteen
Fourth Street curved east in front of The Top Hat Bar and became Railroad Avenue. Lights from the bar and juke box music spilled into the street each time a patron went in or out of the establishment.
Caleb parked his pickup about a block away from the bar and switched off the engine. There was a clear view of the area but not close enough to attract attention. He and Alisha sat in silence for a while.
The interior of his truck gradually became colder without the heater running. Caleb rubbed his hands together in an attempt to warm up. To get his mind off the cold, he studied Faith Chapel through the side window. “I’m curious to know how this shelter has remained hidden all this time.”
“It is strange, considering the services they offer like meals and counseling,” Alisha mused. “Of course, their front as a religious organization helps. But it seems like some homeless males would try to get in on the free lunches.”
“I’m going to come back during the day tomorrow and check things out.”
A dark-colored Acura drove past them and slowed when the driver spotted a woman standing in front of The Top Hat. Obviously intoxicated, she staggered over to the car and spoke to the person inside. A few seconds later she got into the vehicle, which drove off down the street.
Alisha leaned forward. “We should go after that car to make sure she makes it out alive.”
He had already started the truck and pulled away from the curb. The Acura came back in sight as they rounded the curve onto Railroad Avenue.
To their surprise, the driver detoured into a convenience store parking lot, but did not park. Minutes later the woman exited and walked slowly toward the entrance of the store.
Caleb pulled his truck over to the side of the street, killed the headlights, and watched as the Acura drove away. “I find it hard to believe his original intention was simply to give her a ride to Pak N Save. Maybe she was too drunk for his purposes.”
“Seems to me the drunker the better for his purpose. There wouldn’t be too much of a struggle.”
“True, but he could’ve just been an average john. Or maybe he read us.”
“Anyway, I got his plate number.”
“Call it in.”
She requested the information from headquarters on her cell. Three minutes later the information came through.
“The registration comes back to a Martin Verbois. His address is fifty-two forty-three Druid Place.” She glanced at him. “I’m not familiar with that street. Are you?”
“It must be in Celtic Estates.” He chuckled. “Druid. Celtic. Get it?”
She groaned. “You are so funny and clever.”
“I wish. Seriously, Celtic is one of those new subdivisions out by Highway Twenty. ”
“Is it in the city limits?”
“I believe so.”
The remainder of the evening turned out to be as frustrating as this incident. About one a.m. Caleb called it a night and drove Alisha back to her house.
She got out of the truck and peered at Caleb through the window. “What’s on tap for tomorrow?”
“Well, first of all, I have a meeting with the chief. Then the whole department has that meeting with him at eight.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can hardly wait.”
“Neither can I,” Caleb said. “After the meeting I’m going back out to Old Town and talk to anyone I can find at Faith Chapel.”
“See you in the morning. At least we won’t have another homicide on our hands.” She started up the sidewalk to her front door.
“Good thing,” he called after her. Unless the guy picked up another woman after we left the scene.
Caleb waited until she had entered the house before driving off. On the way back to his house he pondered the information about Martin Verbois. He wasn’t familiar with the name. Neither was Alisha. Nothing unusual about that. There were quite a few people who had recently moved to town due to Oak Pointe’s proximity to petrochemical industries, oil and gas, and ports for cargo vessels with access to the Gulf of Mexico via the Mississippi River.
OMV records had given Verbois an address in Celtic Estates. Really. What idiot makes up names for new subdivisions? Caleb made a U-turn on Garden Grove and headed for Celtic Estates. He turned onto Rune Boulevard, the main street of the subdivision. Large multistory homes lined the boulevard, all with manicured lawns. Tasteful Christmas decorations adorned doors and windows on each house.
Druid Place ran left off Rune and ended in a cul-de-sac with a few houses and several vacant lots. Caleb drove at a crawl and checked the numbers on each house. The address listed for Verbois was fifty-two forty-three.
“It should be right about here,” he muttered. “I’ll be damned.”
The address Verbois listed was one of those vacant lots.
Fourteen
Thursday, December 12
Caleb’s confident stride toward Chief Baker’s office for the scheduled meeting belied his true feelings—a middle school kid who’d been sent to the principal’s office for misbehaving in class. His work hadn’t been up to par for the last several months. He’d allowed his depression over the anniversary of his divorce to affect his job. Baker and others had no doubt noticed.
Why couldn’t he move on with someone else? Maybe he needed counseling. He smiled to himself. Jamie Chatelaine isn’t a social worker, but close. Counseling from her wouldn’t exactly be ethical, but it sure would be fun.
His thoughts sobered. He couldn’t even ask Jamie out on a date. If anyone would be the woman he’d move on with, she could be the one. He knew that the moment he laid eyes on her.
He was surprised to see Ron Cavalier, the head honcho of the burglary and vice division, also waiting to meet with Baker. “Hey man, how’s it going?”
“Okay, considering all the aches and pains that go along with my age.” He grinned and pointed to the gray fringe bordering his bald pate. “This job made most of my hair fall out and the rest turned gray.”
Caleb laughed. “I’m too young to know about gray hair.” He cocked his head slightly to one side. “Although, with all these unsolved murders, I might turn prematurely gray or go bald.”
“I’m guessing this meeting is concerning those homicides.”
“Most likely.”
Gene LaGrange, the head of uniform patrol, arrived a few minutes later. He greeted the other two men and took an empty seat on the side of the chief’s desk.
Chief Baker strode into the office with his characteristic swagger and closed the door behind him. “Gentlemen, glad you could join me.” He lowered his stocky frame into his desk chair, his weight eliciting several squeaks from the chair’s well-worn springs.
Caleb arched his brows. Did we have a choice
?
“We are going to clean up Old Town of prostitutes, pimps, and pills.” Chief Baker’s voice probably could be heard throughout the assembly hall and beyond.
Exactly how does he plan to do that? Caleb surveyed the room and checked out the other two officers’ expressions. They both eyed the chief with questioning looks.
Baker cleared his throat and continued in a lower tone. “This is how we’re going to accomplish the job. I want patrols on the streets all night long—from sunset to sunrise. All working girls you see on the street are to be taken in for questioning, also any johns you find.” He moved his attention to Caleb. “Our illustrious Homicide unit will interrogate them. If necessary, Robbery can lend a hand.”
The other officers nodded in unison. Neither looked happy about the new procedure, confirming Caleb’s first thought. This action seemed a little extreme and not likely to accomplish anything except overcrowding the parish jail.
“Bourque? Do you have a comment?”
“Actually I do. Detective Jackson and I did a little surveillance last night in Old Town. We spotted a woman being picked up in front of The Top Hat by a black Acura. The plate came back to a Martin Verbois with an address in Celtic Estates. I started after the vehicle, but he dropped the woman off at that convenience store on Railroad.”
The chief frowned. “You didn’t stop him?”
“I made a judgment call not to. Although, it’s doubtful he was simply giving her a ride to the store.”
LaGrange and Cavalier mumbled an agreement.
“What was your reasoning behind not stopping him?” Baker asked, still frowning.
“I figured if he was a regular john, he’d be back and we would have the opportunity to catch him in the act.”
Baker pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “Good point. Is that all you got for the evening?”
“No other sightings, but after we called it a night I went looking for Verbois’ residence. The address provided on his OMV registration is bogus. It’s an empty lot.”
LaGrange spoke up. “Give me the plate number and I’ll let my people know to be on the lookout for the vehicle.”
“Good idea. I’ve got the info memorized.” Caleb acknowledged the strange looks from the other men. “Just a gut feeling…Martin Verbois may be an important link to these murders.” Both LaGrange and Cavalier jotted down the info.
“I’ll pass the info along to the Sheriff’s Office in case he’s spotted outside the city,” Baker said. “If we can’t catch up with Mr. Verbois around here, we can put out a statewide BOLO for the vehicle.” He leaned back in his chair and laughed. “If he’s not connected to this case, then I’d say he’s definitely got something else going on. Illegal or at the least immoral.”
His remark elicited chuckles from Caleb and the others.
“I’ll join y’all in the assembly hall shortly.” Baker remained seated.
LaGrange and Cavalier started out the door with Caleb following behind.
“Bourque, I need a word with you. It’ll just take a minute,” Baker said.
Caleb returned to his seat. He’d been expecting a reprimand for sloppy work. This has got to be it.
Baker narrowed his gaze to Caleb’s face. “You dropped the ball on these murders, especially Joanna Chatelaine’s. You should have been aware of the women’s center run by her and her sister.”
“Yes sir, I take full responsibility for that.” He lowered his eyes.
“I know you’ve only been back to Oak Pointe for a couple of years after your military service, but you should have reacquainted yourself with the lay of the land by now.”
Baker’s tone seemed a lot more critical than Caleb was used to hearing from him. The chief’s getting grouchy in his old age.
“This town has grown a lot, but not so much that you don’t remember being an officer patrolling the streets before your National Guard deployment, don’t you think?”
Not waiting for Caleb to respond, he continued. “I’ve heard tell from other sources you’ve been brooding over a personal matter.”
Caleb jerked his head up. Probably Marino’s the source. “I didn’t realize my actions were so apparent, but I can’t deny the accusations.”
“Don’t make me regret making you the youngest head of Homicide in the history of OPPD.” Baker leaned forward. “Fix whatever is going on in your personal life.”
“Yes, sir. You won’t be sorry.”
“There’s another matter I have to discuss with you.” Baker’s expression remained stern.
Aw shit, what now?
“I got a complaint about your aggressive interrogation tactics.”
“My aggressive interrogation tactics?” He tried to think about an incident in which he got overly aggressive interviewing a suspect. Hell, I thought everything was cool with Jamie.
“I received a phone call from Robert Blanchard. You know him, I presume?”
Caleb exhaled and shook his head in disgust. “Adrien Blanchard’s old man. I was too forceful when asking about his little boy’s whereabouts on the night of Joanna Chatelaine’s murder?”
“That’s about the size of it.” Baker frustration showed in his voice. “He provided his son with an alibi for a good portion of the evening by saying he and Adrien were on the phone periodically during the evening discussing a business problem. He says they were also on a conference call to Hong Kong which most likely covers the time period when our victim was killed. I verified the call with the people in question. What do you think about that?”
“Pretty handy, I’d say?”
Fifteen
Jamie awoke with a start and sat straight up in bed. Her pajama top felt damp as if she’d been sweating. The nightmare had brought her face to face with Joanna’s killer. Only he didn’t have a face. The phone call she’d received yesterday flashed in her mind. You’re next. She shuddered at the thought.
She glanced toward the window. Gray skies outside matched her mood. Christmas lights on her neighbor’s house had been left on all night. It certainly would be nice if she could get in the spirit of the season.
The aroma of coffee wafted up from the kitchen. Michael must be making breakfast. He’d spent the night downstairs on the sofa.
He sure acted strangely with his show of affection. No doubt he wanted to be romantically involved and not simply a friend. She treasured his friendship and didn’t want to hurt him, but the love she felt for him wasn’t romantic.
No man had been the recipient of that feeling since Sean had died in Afghanistan two years earlier. She closed her eyes briefly. Why does everyone I love die violently?
Stop it, she scolded herself. Shaking off her memories of the past, she moved her thoughts to the present.
Not only was Michael out of character yesterday, Adrien also seemed to respond to the situation in a manner different from his normal behavior—much more defiantly and angry. She couldn’t blame him for being upset; he grieved for the woman he loved. Still, this ran against the grain, so to speak, with the personality she’d come to know when he was around her sister.
A mix of emotions spread through her. She felt angry too. Times like now, grief made her immobile. Would these holes in her heart ever be filled again? If only her brother would come here to be with her. She needed a family member to lean on.
She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Eight o’clock. Time to get moving—past time actually. At the moment, she couldn’t think of a reason to get up or any place to go except Magdalen House. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go there.
Margo Bertrand, head of her volunteers, would be happy to take over for a day or so. She’d give her a call. Under the circumstances, her people would understand why she wouldn’t be coming in. Maybe she should consider turning over the center to someone else permanently.
She threw back the covers and forced herself out of bed. The least she could do would be to go down and eat breakfast with Michael. Shrugging into her terry cloth robe, she put on a pair of sl
ippers and went downstairs.
Strange, Michael wasn’t in the kitchen. She peered out the window and didn’t see his car. Turning around, she started toward the coffee maker and noticed a note attached to a magnet on the refrigerator.
Jamie,
I had to leave—got a call from my boss and was ordered back to complete that unfinished district office business. I didn’t want to wake you. You needed to sleep. I’ll call you when I get back.
Take care. M.
She grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured a cup of coffee, then placed two slices of bread in the toaster.
When the toast popped up, she buttered the slices and sat at the kitchen table to eat. Her hands closed around the comforting heat of the coffee mug. She took a sip of the strong dark brew and savored the warmth as it slipped down her throat.
Joanna’s voice invaded her consciousness. Don’t sit around moping about me. Remember the oath we swore on Joelle’s grave. ‘We were unable to help you, but we promise to do our best to give aid to others in your situation.’
In the past, anytime Jamie had become discouraged about the progress of their mission, Joanna would remind her of that promise. Her sister had been so much more optimistic and driven concerning the goal of Magdalen House, also a lot bolder and more adventurous than she.
Her thoughts drifted back to the day they decided on a name for their center. The people familiar with the place thought the name referred to Mary Magdalen, the prostitute saved by Jesus. True enough, but there was another reason for the name.
Magdalena, a variant of that name, happened to be Joelle’s first name which many gossip-mongers and nosy relatives who knew Joelle during her bad times thought a most appropriate name for a woman like Joelle.
Biblical scholars on television documentaries might have set those people straight. One of them stated that nowhere in the Bible was Mary Magdalen identified as a prostitute. She was a faithful follower of Jesus. Regardless, she was a woman ahead of her time.
