Lucky Thirteen (The Raiford Chronicles Book 1)

by Janet Taylor-Perry

  Larkin chatted as she made coffee. “No offense, Ray, but your coffee is too strong. I’ll make it from now on. Take your meds and come butter some toast.”

  Ray was already putting his pills in his mouth. “I don’t have time to eat. I was supposed to go to Detective Reynolds this morning. It’s already past noon.”

  “You’ll go after breakfast. Sit.”

  He joked, “You’ve gotten bossy without your bracelet.”

  “I can be worse.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Butter the toast.” Larkin poured two bowls of Rice Krispies and cut strawberries into them. She noticed Ray obediently buttering the toast.

  She touched his shoulder. “Everything will be all right. After we eat, you’ll go to the police just like we discussed. I promise I’ll be right here when you bring Detective Reynolds back with you. We’ll tell him everything we know, and hopefully it’ll be enough for him to put the lunatic away.”

  “What if he puts me away, too?” he asked quietly. It was the first time he had voiced his fear. “I don’t want to go to jail. Or to the nuthouse.”

  “I won’t let that happen. I promise.”

  “Latrice made promises, too.” The architect’s normally steady hands shook as he buttered the toast.

  Larkin took the knife from him and laid it on the folding card table by the door. “I’m not Latrice,” she said as she slipped her arms around her strange captor. He leaned his head on her shoulder, and she could feel his body shake.

  Ray whispered, “I’m scared.”

  “Me, too,” she said. “Look at me.” She took his face in her hands and noticed the dark circles under his eyes again. Stress related. “You can do this,” she encouraged. “I believe in you. God won’t let you down in this. We prayed about it last night. You have to have faith.”

  He stood up straight and nodded. “Don’t pour milk on my cereal. I can’t eat right now. I need to go ahead and go. You really won’t leave, will you?”

  She shook her head. “As God is my witness, I’ll be right here when you get back.”

  He changed into a pair of khakis, a soft yellow button-down shirt, and brown loafers, but he did not take time to shave, leaving himself with a heavy shadow. After a look back at Larkin for assurance, he left.

  ♣♣♣

  The local reporter who had grabbed the detective’s arm and finally gotten an admission of a serial killer sat in his car across the street from the police station as he did every day waiting for a break in the biggest story of his career. He had seen three strange men earlier. He glanced up from texting to his employer and wondered how he had missed Detective Reynolds leaving the building, but he was entering again. “Strange,” the man said to himself.

  Ray Gautier nervously approached the dispatcher’s desk. The chubby bottled-blonde woman looked up. He said, “I need to see Detective Reynolds.”

  “Very funny,” replied the woman.

  “Why is that funny?”

  The woman cackled. “I’ll play along. All the way down the hall. Turn right. Last door on the right.”

  “Thank you.” He waited a moment for the woman to buzz the door open.

  ♣♣♣

  Raiford Gautier heard voices in the room on the left, and he smelled the pizza. It was past lunch time, so it was logical people were eating. Ray heard, “Eleven days. God, I hope we find her before that, and I have a good idea who the other male victim will be.” There was a brief paused before he heard the same voice, which sounded like the voice from his dream, say, “Gentlemen, I have another unbelievable story to tell you.”

  He knocked on the door frame to a room where five men and a woman sat with open pizza boxes and stacks of files. The three men facing the open door stared at him, mouths agape. Chris Milovich glanced over her shoulder and tapped the dark haired man, who also had on a soft yellow button-down shirt and khaki pants, beside her just as the man in the doorway said, “I’m looking for Detective Reynolds.”

  Detective Raiford Reynolds stood and turned around.

  Raiford Gautier gripped both sides of the doorway as the room began to spin.

  Detective Reynolds sprang across the room to support the other man who was on the verge of losing consciousness. With Ray Gautier’s arm draped over his shoulder, Ray Reynolds whispered, “Everything will be fine. There’s a lot to explain, but everything will be fine.” He led the man he had been looking for all morning across the hall to his office and shut the door. Excited voices next door became muffled. Chris’s voice took charge, and the detective knew his partner had the situation under control. She’ll offer Baker and the FBI sufficient explanation until I get back to them.

  Detective Reynolds steered his charge to the chair beside his desk. He grabbed a bottle of water from the small refrigerator on the other side of his desk, opened it, and handed it to his mirror image. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Ray Gautier stammered, “I…I…I have finally…gone completely…insane.”

  “No, you haven’t. I thought the same thing a week ago. Take a swig and try to stay calm. There’s much to tell. Let’s start this way. Hello, Raiford Gautier. I’m Raiford Reynolds, your twin brother.”

  The look on the unsuspecting twin’s face said it all.

  “Something stronger, maybe?” suggested the detective as he opened his drawer and retrieved a bottle of tequila.

  “I don’t drink,” replied Ray Gautier.

  “Of course…your medication. I do sometimes. Right now, I need a shot.” Detective Reynolds poured a shot into a glass he pulled from the drawer and knocked it back. “Where would you like me to start?”

  “Your name and my face?”

  The detective laughed. “I knew I’d like you. Sit right back and I’ll tell you a tale.” He leaned back in his chair and began a discourse.

  “Thirty years ago our birth mother, Audrey van Zandt, had a pair of twins. We were adopted by two different sets of parents who by some ironic stoke of fortune named us both Raiford. Are you following me so far? You did know you were adopted, didn’t you?”

  Gautier nodded. “Go on.”

  “All right. I didn’t know about you either until a few days ago. You apparently had something to do with the disappearance of Miss Larkin Sloan, although I, personally, don’t think you were acting of your own volition at the time.”

  “She’s fine,” Gautier rushed to say. “That’s why I came—to take you to her so we can figure out what to do.” He made as if to stand.

  “I gathered that,” remarked Detective Reynolds, indicating the man should stay seated with a hand wave.

  Gautier ventured, “Are you going to arrest me?”

  “No, I think you’re as much a victim as Larkin.”

  A sigh of relief was followed by, “I thought for certain I’d be behind bars about now.”

  “Then, why did you come in person? Why didn’t you just call? It took a great deal of courage to come in here, especially not knowing a thing about me.” Matching blue eyes connected in an unexplainable bond.

  “Walter tried to tell me last night.”

  “Yes, he told me. He called and told me to expect you. He’s a good friend. You can rely on him.”

  “I know.” Gautier took a long draught of water. “Well, where do we go from here? It’ll be difficult to have two Rays. Do your friends call you Ray?”

  “Yes, they do. Would you believe we both had sisters we called Ronnie? Yours was actually Rhonda and mine was Veronica. This is the anniversary of both their deaths. My sister was older and not adopted. Yours, younger and adopted, but it’s still strange. It gets stranger. We are both Delts—you at Tulane while I was at LSU. You graduated Magna Cum Laude while I barely scraped Cum Laude. I thought briefly that you might be a little smarter than I am, but then I decided not.” A smirk played about the detective’s lips. “You probably did better because you studied while I played. Now, let’s talk strange.” He leaned forward and pointed from himself to his brother. “Look at what we’re weari
ng.”

  Ray Gautier still seemed a little confused as he stared at his reflection. “I’ve dreamed about you, and I thought I was crazy,” he said.

  “And I’ve dreamed about you. Neither of us is crazy, but you’re right. We need to do something about our names, or it’ll be just like somebody yelling ‘Momma’ in a mall.”

  Gautier found himself laughing. “You know, I’ve always wanted to be called Raif. Raif Gautier sounds like an architect’s name, doesn’t it? It’s a little more exotic than Ray. Now that I have no family to offend, I could do that.”

  “If you want, have at it,” said Ray.

  “Yes, I want.” He bumped both arm rests on the chair with the palms of his hands. “From this moment on, I am Raif Gautier, architect. We still have a lot to talk about though. Our first priority is Larkin.”

  “Agreed,” affirmed Ray.

  17

  Face to Face with an Angel

  Ray frowned. He sat back in his chair, formed a fist, and rested his chin on it with his elbow against the arm of the chair. “Before we go anywhere, why don’t you at least tell me how you became involved in all of this?” he suggested.

  “I got off my meds.”

  “Can you be a little more specific? Walter Bertram told us what happened to you. He seemed to think your problems really started with the death of your mother.”

  “I guess he’s right. Mom would call everyday to make sure I had taken my meds because she knew that when I get busy working, I forget to even eat.

  Ray sniggered. “And they call me a workaholic.”

  Raif scowled. “I’m not a workaholic. I just get involved with my designs.”

  Ray leaned forward and waved a hand. “I’m not judging you.” I know how involved I can become in a case, especially one like this one. “Please, go on.”

  His brother nodded. “I realized I had run out of my medication and the prescription had expired when I started hearing voices, so I went to the health department for a quick fix so to speak. There was this new nurse, Latrice. She has a hypnotic voice when your mind is already playing tricks on you. Somehow she convinced me she would be able to make the voices stop. All I had to do was bring her Larkin. Actually”—He paused—“I took Larkin to the old monastery. I’m supposed to take care of her until Halloween.”

  Raif shifted his position. “She talked about Larkin being the one who will purify the country and unleash somebody to run things. When I wasn’t lucid, I was desperate for the voices to stop. I would’ve done anything.” He stopped and waited for some form of reply.

  “I’m listening,” Ray assured.

  “I guess you know I paid that kid to upset Larkin, but she wasn’t supposed to get hurt. Latrice was livid. Larkin is supposed to be pure and unblemished. However, Latrice didn’t count on Larkin’s persuasive personality. She got me back on my meds, and now I think Latrice is planning to hurt her.”

  “Kill her,” interrupted Ray. “Sacrifice her for some whacked-out religious thought. Then, she plans to kill you. Journey said he thought there might be a woman’s hand at work here. Well, I’ll be damned if I let that bitch hurt anyone else, most of all, my newfound brother.” The detective glanced at his watch. “We’ve already wasted twenty minutes talking. Let’s get this show on the road.” They stood. “Okay, Raif, lead the way. I’d like to meet this paragon of virtue or angel or whatever she is. Chris needs to come with us. You’ll like her. She’s pretty much an angel, too.”

  Ray took a pair of handcuffs from his desk drawer and sighed. “I’m not going to use these unless I have to. I want to believe you, but my first priority is the victim here. I have to make sure you’re on the up-and-up, so don’t forget there will be two guns pointing at you, okay?”

  Raif nodded. “You’re being more than fair.”

  A quick stop across the hall resulted in introductions, a nutshell story, and the beginning of an investigation into a nurse named Latrice at the health department.

  ♣♣♣

  Chris stopped in the door of the station. “Ray, there’s a reporter across the street.”

  “Damn it! Distract him while I get Raif into the car.”

  “How?”

  “Flirt with him.” He splayed fingers in the air. “Whatever it takes.”

  “I despise that jerk.” Chris’s eyebrows creased.

  “Do it anyway.” He gave her a cheesy grin and pretended to bat coquettish lashes.

  “Oh, you owe me big time.” Chris glared at Ray, but walked to the reporter’s car. “Trying to catch a byline?” she asked with a grin.

  “Agent Milovich, nice to see you again,” the reporter replied. “Got anything for me?”

  “Yeah. We got three FBI boys today. That should be a lot of help.”

  “That is good news. Names?”

  “Lawrence Dantzler is the team leader. Then, we have Patrick Swift, and Steve Journey, the profiler. In a day or two, we’ll have a profile to release. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” She dipped her head closer to the open window and heard a car pull up.

  With Raif lying in the back seat of the car, Ray called through to open passenger window, “You ready to go, partner?”

  “Yeah.” She stood straight and half turned.

  “You really gonna call?” asked the reporter.

  “As soon as the profile’s ready to be released,” assured Chris over her shoulder. She slid into the passenger seat.

  Ray peeled away. “One more minute won’t make a difference.” Chris snapped her seatbelt and looked over her shoulder. “You can get up, Mr. Gautier.”

  “Raif.”

  She dipped her head. “I’m Chris. Where’s your Altima?”

  “Left it in the parking lot,” Ray informed. “Is Clark Kent salivating over the tidbit you gave him or you?”

  “Shut up,” she retorted. “All I told him is that we got the FBI team today. Now, just drive.”

  ♣♣♣

  At dusk, the black Mustang parked in the alley behind the old monastery.

  Larkin had put on a jade green sweater and jeans from the outfits Ray had bought for her. When she heard voices outside the door, she flung it open with one word, “Ray?”

  The stunned captive stood face to face with two men whose faces she could not tell apart. Detective Reynolds from the news. That’s where I saw the face.

  Raif went into the room, calming a confused woman. “It’s all right, Larkin. Neither of us is crazy. Sit down, and I’ll explain.”

  She complied as Raif continued. “First, this is Detective Raiford Reynolds and his partner Christine Milovich.”

  “Raiford?” asked Larkin. “How is that possible?” She placed both hands to her temples and shook her head vigorously as if the action would clear her thoughts.

  “Long story,” he went on. “Suffice it to say twins placed for adoption to two different families who ironically chose the same name. However, from now on, he’s Ray, and I’m Raif.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you remember I told you Ray wasn’t what I had wanted to be called?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, Raif is the short name I always wanted, but it wasn’t what my folks called me. It would’ve been too uppity for them, and I didn’t want to upset them.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yep. Now, I’m turning you over to my brother so we can decide what to do next.”

  “If you say so.” Larkin turned her gaze to another face. “Well, Detective, what do we do to get this crazy woman and protect Ray…Raif at the same time?”

  “You really are an angel, aren’t you?” said Ray, mesmerized.

  “What?” Larkin barked. What does he mean by that?

  “I’m sorry,” the detective said. “That was inappropriate. First of all, what are you doing here? Why weren’t you out that door and gone the second Raif turned his back?” He pointed toward the exit.

  No angel here, she thought. I refuse to tell him a voice told me to stay. He’ll think I’m n
uts. She said, “I gave him my word. I’m not a liar. I don’t deceive people, Detective. I promised…Raif I’d be here when he brought you.”

  “What if he hadn’t?”

  “I had faith in him. He’s not the same man who brought me here. I almost ran the day he took off my shackle, but something told me to stay.” Larkin wanted to bite her tongue. Dang it! I just told him.

  Ray looked at his brother. Does she hear voices too? “Is she always like this—angelic?” the detective asked.

  Raif nodded.

  “Don’t talk about me as if I weren’t here,” said Larkin in a tone that was anything but saintly.

  Raif smiled. “Oh, Ray, she can be very assertive.”

  “So I see,” the detective acknowledged. “Why don’t you tell us what you know?”

  “I think I know your connection among the victims.”

  Ray looked taken aback. “How?”

  “I’m smarter than you think.” Larkin laughed. “Tell me about your twelve victims and what else you’ve figured out, especially some little something you didn’t release to the press. Then, I’ll know for sure.”

  “I’m grasping at straws. I’ll give you every detail, if you can give me a connection.”

  18

  The Deadly Virtue

  “Oh, by the way, it’s twenty-four victims,” corrected Ray.

  “What?” Larkin asked, dipping her head to the side.

  “If this Latrice woman is our killer, she has also killed the other twelve men she coerced or tricked into helping her.”

  “But of course. She didn’t use Raif for anyone but me,” said Larkin. “Then maybe both of us should consider ourselves lucky thirteen.” She gave Raif a significant look. “Tell me everything, Ray. May I call you Ray?”

  He nodded and pointed from himself to his partner. “Ray and Chris.”