by A. C. Mason
“We have another body with mistletoe,” she said. “Meet me at Oak Park.”
He rose from his seat. “This conversation isn’t over. Mistletoe Man just left us another victim. If you know something that can stop the killings, you better think long and hard about turning over whatever information you’re keeping to yourself.”
~ * ~
Jamie leaned back on the sofa and squeezed her eyes shut. Another murder…who could this victim be? There was no doubt in her mind the police would find another woman who frequented Magdalen House.
When would this nightmare end? Was the killer only taunting her by his threats and telling her she was next? Or did he really intend to carry through with them eventually? If this latest murder came back to the same killer, obviously she wasn’t next.
Maybe he hadn’t been able to get access to her alone. Or else this murder was committed to put more pressure on her to close Magdalen House.
Caleb had left angry with her. She knew the name Martin Verbois and where she had heard it. He knew she did.
Why couldn’t I tell him right away after I discovered the policy in Joanna’s files? The simple answer was she couldn’t bear the thought that Adrien had killed Joanna. She and her sister had known Adrien, as well as Michael, for several years before Joanna became engaged to Adrien.
Does Caleb know about the insurance policy? If he did, it seems like he would have called her on the lie. The name must have come from another source.
Reasons pro and con for giving up the information ran through her head. Evidence continued to mount against Adrien for murder. His remark about needing five hundred thousand dollars, the same amount listed on the policy with him as the beneficiary, his paranoia and erratic behavior, all led the police to suspect him.
Caleb’s last words before he rushed out of the house came through loud and clear. She didn’t need to think long and hard about giving up the information. Caleb was right—she could be arrested, but more importantly, she needed to stop the killing. Regardless of the outcome, she had to turn over the information to him.
Twenty minutes later the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Jamie grabbed her purse, stuffed her cell phone inside, and headed to her car, carrying a clear plastic hooded poncho. A little misty rain didn’t matter one bit at the moment. The rain gear would only come in handy in case Mother Nature decided to send another downpour.
~ * ~
His latest victim had been a necessity. He couldn’t be patient much longer. This killing served to toss a few firecrackers into the fire, so to speak, just to stir things up… to create a diversion. It also kept his mind on his goal. Jamie had given no indication she would close Magdalen House. In fact she seemed more determined to keep it open. His desire to close that house of prostitution was stronger than her resistance.
Thirty-five
Caleb walked slowly through the forest of oaks toward a new crime scene, not anxious to view another senseless death committed by some demented soul. The air smelled of damp wood and leaves. He sloshed through a puddle of rain water hidden beneath a carpet of dead leaves.
These majestic oaks, some a hundred or more years old, were the last group of original trees for which Oak Pointe was named. In the early 1900s, city fathers had decided to preserve them in a park.
Mistletoe Man’s killing spree had begun here in Oak Park. Hopefully this would be the end. People were wary of visiting the park since the first two women and Joanna Chatelaine had been left here. No one wanted to be put in the position of discovering a dead body.
Caleb acknowledged Alisha with a nod and silently viewed the woman’s body. This poor kid also appeared to have been strangled like the others.
‘Kid’ was an apt description of her. She looked young. Whoever did this was a sick individual.
One difference between this scene and the others. Her clothing in disarray suggested she’d been dragged to this particular spot. He suspected she had been killed nearby.
“You men search the surrounding area for evidence,” he ordered the two uniformed officers who had been first to arrive at the scene. “I don’t give a damn if it’s a cigarette butt, a Coke can, or a piece of paper. Even if it looks old, flag it and either I or Detective Jackson will check it out.”
The two men regarded him with surprise at his drill sergeant tone, although they did their best to conceal the reaction.
Alisha eyed him with a questioning look. “You sound kind of tense. Ordering people around in that tone of voice isn’t your style.”
“Marino would disagree.”
“That’s just the way he perceives what you say to him.” She arched her brows. “Did something bad happen in the chief’s office?”
He shook his head. “Baker questioned me about the incident, but he believed my version of the event. It’s what transpired after I left the office that’s got me uptight.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Maybe later,” he said, motioning with his head to the approaching man. “Looks like Mr. Hee-bert is here.”
The coroner’s investigator made his way through the trees. He greeted Caleb and Alisha with a brusque hello before he knelt beside the body.
“Jane Doe number four has been strangled. Same as the others,” he said after completing his examination. “She appears to be about eighteen or nineteen. My guess is she’s been dead about four to five hours. Looks like she put up a fight. I’ll bag her hands.” He dropped his gaze back to the body. “It really is a shame.”
Caleb silently agreed. To say her life was cut way too short had become a cliché, but nothing expressed the sentiment better.
~ * ~
Jamie didn’t notice the man standing in the doorway of her office until he cleared his throat. Startled, she jerked her head around to face him.
He wore his blond hair slightly long. Dressed neatly in a pair of jeans, a white long-sleeved button-down shirt, with a red windbreaker draped over his arm, he didn’t appear threatening, but one never knew about people.
Her heartbeat quickened. “Who are you?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Frank Cashio from the Oak Pointe Review.” His smile seemed forced. “I’d like to hear your side of the story about the confrontation between Detective Bourque and Adrien Blanchard.”
“What do you mean by my side of the story?”
“My colleague who wrote today’s article intimated that you and Detective Bourque are in a relationship. Is that true?”
Counting to ten didn’t help stave off much of her anger. Heat rose in her cheeks. “When did the Review become a gossip rag?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Oak Pointe is a small town. People want to know these things.”
“Why don’t you write about the four—no excuse me—five women who have been killed by that serial killer who’s on the loose in the area?”
“We covered that story already. It’s beginning to be boring.” He cocked his head slightly to one side. “Did you say five women?”
“I thought you said the killings were boring. You seem very interested now.”
He frowned. “Was there another body discovered this morning?”
“Yes, there was. Why aren’t you out there at the scene reporting the news?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“The crime beat isn’t my cup of tea, only Oak Point’s social life.”
“In answer to your question about my social life, Detective Bourque and I are not in a relationship. Please leave.”
His smile mocked her. “By the way, I saw him leaving your house last night.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he was already out the front door.
~ * ~
James Branson waited in his car behind a closed down auto parts store. He took a long swill from a bottle of beer from the six-pack he’d purchased at a grocery store a few blocks over. Setting the bottle in the cup holder on the console, he checked his watch…ten p.m.
A glance around the area made him ner
vous. The location, while perfect for a covert meeting, didn’t offer any protection for him.
Situated on a back street in Old Town, the abandoned business stood on a corner next to a small grocery store opposite the Mississippi River levee that was closed for the day. On the river, boat traffic passed by, an engine roared and an occasional blast from a ship’s horn cut through the cold dry night air.
He couldn’t be certain what kind of physical danger he’d put himself in by agreeing to do business with the creep who paid him to write that article and slip it into today’s issue without permission from his editor.
He was in danger of being fired. For that reason he’d avoided everyone on staff all day. Getting axed didn’t look good for future job possibilities. He might have more to worry about than losing his job. His life might be in danger as well.
His grasp on the steering wheel tightened. That SOB better show up with the rest of my money. I need to give my notice at the Review and get out of this one-horse town.
A tap on the passenger side window startled him. “Open up,” the man growled.
“Did you bring my money?”
The man mumbled an affirmative.
Branson pressed the button to automatically unlock the door. The man slipped into the seat and centered his gaze on him.
“Well, give it here.” Branson held out his hand. “What are you waiting for?”
“I decided you don’t deserve the remainder. You didn’t achieve the results I hoped for. Bourque is still on the case.”
Branson cursed. “That’s not my problem.” He moved his fingers in a come-on motion. “Give me the money.”
“You weren’t supposed to go to her office and confront her.”
“So what? I added a little something extra to her turmoil. Told her a fake name—like Frank something or other. Give me what I deserve.”
The man smiled. “If you insist.” He reached into his pocket.
Ah, this is more like it. At last, he was getting what he deserved for his brilliant piece of writing and be able to leave this place.
Branson reached for his prize. He got a gun in his face.
A flash of light…an explosion…pain… Nothing.
Thirty-six
Wednesday, December 18
Caleb’s phone rang and jarred him from a sound sleep. His golden Lab stirred at the foot of the bed, ears perked.
“You know what this means, don’t you, Bud,” Caleb mumbled. The dog responded with a small whine.
Three a.m.—a call at this time could only mean he would soon be heading to the station, to a crime scene, or both. Alisha was on the line.
“Tell me there hasn’t been another murder?”
“Unfortunately I can’t tell you that. I have two items to report. One, there has been another murder. Marino took the call. He said he’d handle it by himself. I don’t believe this one’s connected to the others, but info is sketchy at present. The victim is a white male, no mistletoe.”
“What’s the location? Who found the body?”
“A truck driver making an early morning delivery was waiting for the owner of Boudreaux’s Grocery to open the back door. Nature called so he walked over behind that old auto parts store and he found the man slumped over in his car. That’s all the info Marino reported back from the scene.”
Caleb shook his head. “What the devil is happening around here? Has the whole town gone crazy?” He hesitated a short moment. “I hate to ask. What’s the other item?”
“Our latest female victim has been identified as Tracy Dumont, age nineteen. She has a juvie record and was listed as a runaway from Lake Charles three years ago.”
“Well, at least we’ve got her identified,” he said. “So Marino wants to handle this new one alone?”
“That’s what he said. He said not to bother you. I thought you ought to know about it.”
“I appreciate your call. Sounds like he’s up to something.”
“You might be right.”
“Are you still at the station? Is anything going on?”
“All is quiet here. Not one hooker or john has been picked up tonight. Berthelot is scheduled to relieve me in another hour. Doing all these extra hours is for the birds.”
“I agree, but hopefully it’ll be over soon. Just think about all the nice Christmas presents you can buy for me with all that overtime money.”
“Ha. Ha.”
After he ended the call, Caleb lay back in the bed. He wanted to go back to sleep, but his mind raced with dozens of thoughts and images. Could this murder be related to the others? A white male victim was unusual at any time, especially after all these others. Maybe this guy was a male hooker. But no mistletoe was on the body.
Caleb sat up. “Bud, I’m going to get to the location on this homicide and head out to the scene.”
The dog cocked his head to one side as if trying to decipher his human’s words, but apparently decided it wasn’t important. Bud yawned, revealing a mouthful of large teeth.
“You don’t care, do you?” Caleb rolled his legs off the side of the bed.
Before he could move, his phone rang. He frowned. “What now?” Sgt. LaGrange, head of patrol, was calling. Caleb quickly answered. “What’s up, bro’?”
“One of my officers pulled over a vehicle on a traffic stop on Railroad. It’s a black Acura registered to Martin Verbois.”
That got Caleb’s adrenalin flowing. “No kidding.”
“That’s not all. Martin Verbois wasn’t the driver of the vehicle. The officer recognized him as Adrien Blanchard, even though the driver’s license said otherwise. It was obvious Blanchard had been drinking or under the influence of drugs. He refused a breathalyzer.”
Caleb almost laughed. “What an idiot. Was he alone in the car?”
“Nope. Misty Courville was with him.”
“Who’s she?”
“She’s a stripper who dances at a…” He cleared his throat. “…a gentlemen’s club on Highway Ten right over the parish line.”
“The Golden Slipper?”
“It’s called the Golden Kitty, not Slipper. The place used to have another name related to kitty, if you get my meaning. Parish council forced them to tone it down.”
“And you know this how?”
LaGrange laughed. “Unlike you detectives who sit in an office all day, I work the streets. You need to get out more often.”
“Hmm,” Caleb mused. “I need a little time to come up with a good response to that.” His tone became serious. “Bring Blanchard in to homicide. On second thought, bring both of them. I’ll head up to headquarters in a little bit.”
He raised his arms and stretched before he got out of bed. “This ought to be interesting, boy.” He motioned to the dog. “I’ll just have to let you out in the back yard while I get dressed. Can’t take you for a walk this morning.”
Bud stretched, wiggled over to him, and licked his hand. Caleb rubbed the dog’s head. “Yes indeed, we finally got the phantom Martin Verbois and look who it is.”
Forty-five minutes later, Caleb arrived at the station and headed straight for the Homicide office.
Berthelot greeted Caleb when he arrived. “I just put Blanchard and Misty in separate rooms. LaGrange said to wish you luck with these two.”
“Good deal. We might need a lot of luck. We’ll both go in and interview her first. Then we’ll take on Blanchard.
Berthelot grinned. “Sounds like a winner.”
Caleb watched the stripper through the one-way window for a short time before heading in to talk to her. She appeared bored as she studied her bright red fingernails.
He nudged Berthelot. “You ready?”
“Let’s go.” He followed Caleb into the interrogation room.
Caleb pulled out a chair and sat at the small wooden table. Berthelot remained standing and leaned against the wall. “How’s everything going?”
“My life will be going a lot better when I leave here,” she said in a tone that coincid
ed with her bored appearance.
Misty Courville’s arrest record reported her age as forty. No wrinkles. Cosmetic surgery? Her blonde hair was piled atop her head with tangled tresses hanging down around her face and the nape of her neck. A few dark roots along the hairline exposed the true color.
Surprisingly, she didn’t wear much make-up. Caleb remembered seeing TV commercials advertising cosmetics designed to look as if the woman had no make-up on and therefore younger looking. He had been too busy eyeing the beautiful models to pay much attention to brand names. On Misty, the no-makeup look hardened her already sharp features.
The blue dress she wore along with her shoes made by an Asian designer, whose name escaped him, suggested she did her shopping at high end boutique shops. Business must be good or else Blanchard was keeping her.
Caleb struck a stern pose in his chair. “Were you aware the man you were with wasn’t named Martin Verbois?”
Misty ignored Caleb and instead fluttered her eyelashes at Detective Bergeron, twirling a tendril of her hair with one finger. “You mean his name isn’t Martin?”
Caleb exchanged a glance with his fellow detective. He wasn’t buying her line either.
Bergeron moved closer and narrowed his eyes. “You know damn well his name is Adrien Blanchard.”
“I need a lawyer present before I answer any more questions.”
She glanced away, then quickly returned her gaze to the two detectives. “You don’t have anything to press charges on me, so I’m leaving.” She stood and started for the door. “If you have any more questions for me, I’ll have a lawyer present.”
Caleb pushed his chair away from the table. “Sit tight. I’ll get an officer to give you a ride home.”
“No thanks,” she said, pulling a cell phone out her small handbag. “I’ll just call a cab.”
It was all Caleb could do to keep from racing out the door. He was more than anxious to interview Blanchard aka Martin Verbois. Blanchard had already been booked for DUI and using a false identity before being transferred to Homicide. His attorney presumably was off trying to get his client bonded out.
