Living up to his nickname, Moreno’s face looked hard as iron. He ducked inside the tent with Remy on his heels.
“Take five,” the lieutenant told the scene techs working in the tent. Once the small group left, he faced Remy. “I’m through with the go-around, Detective.” He pointed at the tent flap. “That message out there has a clear meaning to you, and it’s time you told me what the conversation between you and the RS killer was about.”
Remy spent the last five years making sure Marie’s killers wouldn’t have a reason to finish what they started in New Orleans. Nothing was about to change that now.
“The killer is trying to draw attention to me to take the spotlight off himself. I’m not playing his game.”
“LeBeau, I don’t really care what you think this maniac is doing. You’ve been hiding something about that phone call. Talk, or you’re off the case.”
“Lieutenant, you can — ”
“I can and I will. I wanted you on this because you’re the best I have. But you’re making stupid rookie mistakes, and it could cost us.” Moreno crossed his arms. “What’s it going to be?”
Remy ground his molars and glared at his boss. The Rodeo Sweethearts killer was going to ruin everything. Each time he dragged Remy closer to the surface, each time he risked the wrong people hearing. So far, Moreno managed to keep Remy’s name out of the public eye and present the facts, which put the spotlight on the lieutenant. Maybe Remy’s fears were unfounded. Why would anyone in New Orleans care what was going on here in Dallas?
Just the same, he couldn’t let his guard down. “One condition.”
Moreno’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“We make no sudden changes to anything.”
“What do you mean no sudden changes?”
“I mean we keep up the same appearances we’ve got now.”
“Start making sense, LeBeau,” Moreno said.
“The RS killer has been watching me. Close enough to know that I’m not sleeping. He commented on it when he called me the other night.”
Moreno cursed in Spanish and started pacing. “Do you think he’s been in your home?”
Remy shook his head. “I’ve taken extra precautions to make sure that never happens.”
Moreno’s eyebrows formed a V. “Why would you need to do that?”
“I’m overly cautious, sir.”
“If the RS killer is watching you, we need to find out how.” Moreno moved to tent flap and poked his head out. “Luc, can I see you?” He stepped back. “Since our latest victim used to work for dispatch, he might have gained access.”
Santorini entered the tent. “What can I do for you?”
“Have your computer whiz work with our IT guys and see if they can find out how much information the RS killer pulled from dispatch.”
“Gottcha.” He glanced at Remy, sympathy flickered in his eyes, and then he disappeared behind the flap.
Was the guy trying to butter him up? He was a private investigator. Working this case against Remy’s objections.
Moreno stepped in front of him. “Pull a stunt like that again, LeBeau, and I’ll yank you.”
“Look at it from my perspective, Lieutenant. What would you have me do?”
“Stop playing hero and man up. We all need help now and again, especially when you have a serial killer stalking you.”
If things were that simple. Sometimes the weight of his secrets threatened to strangle him. Remy’s instincts said to trust Moreno, but logic dictated otherwise. “Sir, are we done here? I’d like to get out there and help Anderson.”
Moreno sighed. “Sure.”
With a parting look at his lieutenant, Remy left the tent. His gaze slid over the scene and found Santorini next to his Escalade. His head bobbed as if he were agreeing with someone inside the SUV. Why was the PI helping with this case?
Remy paused next to the perimeter tape surrounding the body and eyed the tent. Moreno knew they had enough people, so why bring in an outside source? Remy might be keeping a more deadly secret, but those two were burying something between them.
They’d been on the case the first time around. Both knew the intimate secrets of the first set of murders. Something was not being said about the last time.
Remy’s gaze landed on Doc Warner as he bent over the body. The only other person to work those previous cases, he might be willing to divulge Moreno’s and Santorini’s secret.
Chapter Eighteen
Remy couldn’t name one detective who didn’t hate the job of informing victims’ families of their death. Especially when the victim used to be one of their own. On top of dealing with the grief, he had to pump them for information. He’d waded through an hour-long scream fest from the Cantrell family only to learn they didn’t even know that their daughter had been seeing someone, much less about her after-hours activities.
Sinking into his chair, Remy propped his heels on a desk corner, and let his head loll back onto the backrest. Twenty hours after Holly’s body was discovered, he hadn’t been home to change or clean up, and around midnight he’d dozed off in the break room. Determined to get another nap before the debriefing, Remy intertwined his fingers, settled his hands on his chest, and closed his eyes.
As his muscles relaxed, the clatter and chaos around him went mute. His mind drifted into a fog of nothingness.
“LeBeau.”
At the rough shake of his shoulder, he jolted. Blinking, he scowled. “Lay off, Anderson.” Remy rocked his chair forward, letting his feet thud against the floor.
“You need to see this.” C-Bar thrust a sheet of paper at him.
Remy took it, then glanced at his watch. He’d managed a ten-minute nap. Covering a yawn, he squinted at the fax and read. His partner tracked down the knife’s buyer, one Aaron Clark, twenty-three years old.
“Got a lock on his whereabouts?” Remy asked.
“Called his place, and a roommate said we could find him at the skate park. Probably be there for most of the day.”
Grabbing his badge and gun, Remy stood and slipped them into place. “Allons.”
“What?”
He heaved a frustrated sigh. These slip-ups into French were getting worse. “Sorry, let’s go.”
They took one of the department’s unmarked cars. Anderson drove while Remy reviewed the known facts on Aaron Clark.
“He was a kid when the first killings happened.”
“Maybe he knew the Rodeo Sweethearts killer, just didn’t realize it was him,” his partner suggested.
“How? This kid doesn’t even move in the rodeo circles.” He opened a police report. “He’s had one ticket, reckless behavior in traffic two years ago. Caught skating during rush hour. Officer issuing the citation reported the kid wanted to do something fun.”
Anderson snickered. “Remember being that stupid?”
Remy grinned. The stupidest thing he ever did was drag a full-grown momma gator out of the bayou. While hanging from a tree. “Some still are at our age and older.”
“So how does he get involved in the brutal murders of ten women?”
“I think this is just a smoke screen for the killer. Maybe he lifted the knife off the kid and planted it. Or stole his identity.”
Anderson parked the car across the street from the park and killed the engine. “I’m going with stolen identity.”
“Usually is.”
They exited the car and crossed the street. A brisk wind kicked up the leaves and scattered them, their brittle edges scraping against the pavement. Screams of laughter from the school-aged kids joined the clatter of skateboards and cheers.
Passing a cluster of park benches filled with watchful moms, a chill ran down Remy’s arms. He glanced at the group and noticed the man-hungry stares.
“The de
sperate housewives are on the prowl.” Anderson chuckled.
“They’re watching you, too.”
“But I’m not the one with a redheaded barrel racer zeroed in on me.”
Remy shot Anderson an irritated look, then pushed open the eight-foot high wrought iron gate and entered the skateboarding area.
It took them a few minutes to spot their guy. He skated past and did some kind of handstand on the opposite wall.
“Aaron Clark!”
The kid wobbled and landed on his rear. His skateboard clattered to the bottom of the dip. Aaron winced and climbed to his feet. “Man, who broke my concentration?”
A few of his buddies pointed at Remy and C-Bar.
Squinting, Aaron hobbled around to their side.
“Who are you?”
Both flashed their badges.
“Detectives LeBeau and Anderson.” Remy returned his badge to his clip. “We need to ask you a few questions about a purchase you made.”
One of Aaron’s pals brought his board to him, and then glided away. Tucking it under his arm, Aaron eyed them. “What kind of purchase?”
Anderson held out the photo of the knife. “A Benchmade thirty-eight hundred NTK knife. The serial number traced back to you.”
“Dude, why would I need a knife like that?” Aaron took the photo. “It looks like it could kill someone.”
Remy and Anderson glanced at each other. Uncanny how some people would spout off things they would want to take back if they had a clue.
“You didn’t buy that knife?” Remy asked.
Aaron returned the image. “No way. If I carried something like that on me, I’d probably stab myself.” He jerked a thumb at the skating bowl. “I do enough damage to myself just riding in here and on the X Games tour.”
Anderson grimaced. “You do this for a living?”
A huge smile lit the kid’s face. “They’re saying I could be the next Tony Hawke.”
Remy fought off the laugh. The kid was dreaming.
“What’s this about anyway?” Aaron asked.
“There’s reason to believe the knife might have been used in a crime,” Remy said.
“Whoa.”
“Did you buy it for someone else, as a gift?” Anderson asked as he scribbled on his pad.
“Nope. None of my buddies are into that kind of thing.” Aaron’s face scrunched. “But come to think of it, my bank called me a few weeks back to report a fraudulent purchase on my debit card.”
Remy latched on. “For what?”
“Don’t know for sure. Just said they were investigating the charge and gave me a new card.”
“We need to speak with your bank.”
Aaron shrugged. “Sure, go ahead.”
“Would you mind coming with us and give us permission to check into this? Otherwise we’ll have to get a warrant, and that could take all day,” Remy said.
“Guess I can. Do I need to ride with you, or can I take my car?”
“Take your car. We’ll follow you.”
The kid drove an older model Mazda that appeared to be well-cared for, new wax job and all.
“That I didn’t expect.” Anderson pulled out behind the Mazda.
“People will surprise you.” Remy hastily typed up the report as it stood on the laptop.
“Speaking of which, how was dinner with the Lewises yesterday?”
Remy’s gaze slid to his partner, then back to the laptop monitor. “Fine. Different, but fine.”
“Different how?”
“C-Bar, I’m Cajun. We don’t exactly celebrate Thanksgiving the same way y’all do.”
“Huh. I figured everybody had turkey.”
Remy chuckled. “Wanna bet Iron Man’s family doesn’t have turkey either?”
Anderson shook his head. “Not going to touch that one. Whenever you make a bet with someone, they always lose.”
Aaron parked his Mazda in a public parking lot across the street from a branch of a major national chain. Anderson found a spot, and they followed the kid into the bank. Aaron filed into the back of a long line, then scrambled out as Remy and Anderson bypassed the line and headed for the security guard next to the office area. They held up their badges.
“We need to speak with whoever handles account fraud,” Remy said.
“Wait here.” The guard headed back to the main office.
“Man, wish I had that kind of privilege to bump to the front of the line,” Aaron said.
Anderson looked at him. “Kid, we’re in the middle of an investigation, we don’t have time to lounge around.”
“Maybe I should be a cop,” Aaron muttered.
Remy clapped him on the shoulder. “Spare the force. They don’t have time for thrill seekers.”
The security guard returned with a well-composed brunette in a gray suit jacket and skirt and high heels. Anderson whistled under his breath.
“Focus, playboy,” Remy said and stepped forward.
The woman gave them a red-lipped smile and held out her hand. “Detectives, I’m Lori Bennett.”
Remy and Anderson shook her hand in turns.
“Would you follow me?” She retraced her steps down the hall and entered a fashionably decorated office.
Anderson directed Aaron to sit, and took the other seat, leaving Remy to guard the door.
Ms. Bennett clasped her hands in her lap and leaned forward. “How can I help you, gentlemen?”
“We need to verify a fraudulent purchase made on Mr. Clark’s account about two weeks ago,” Anderson said.
Ms. Bennett looked at Aaron. “And you’re Mr. Clark?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you’re authorizing the detective access to your personal information?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Well, the kid had some manners. Good for his mère.
Ms. Bennett slid a piece of paper and a pen across the desk. “I’ll need a form of photo ID. And could you write down your bank account number please?”
While Aaron gave her the information, Remy scanned the office. He didn’t do business with a national chain, since past experience conditioned him to stay local and small. Corruption in New Orleans moved in all circles, and the bigger the bank, the easier to move money undetected.
“I remember this.” Ms. Bennett’s soft voice reeled Remy back. She tapped through what must be a file. “Yes, there was a purchase made to an online site in Canada for over three hundred dollars.” She looked at Aaron. “I believe you set this account up for personal expenses, correct?”
“Yep. Only groceries and such.”
“Could we have the name of the online site?” Anderson asked.
“It’s a company called LPK Wholesales. We’re still disputing the charge. Seems this company doesn’t believe that Mr. Clark wasn’t the actual buyer.”
“Were you able to get a shipping address from them?”
Ms. Bennett shook her head. “Sorry, they’re being very stubborn about this, and we’ve had to bring in lawyers.”
Anderson glanced at Remy. He was probably thinking the same thing. The company wasn’t playing by the rules and trying to keep it quiet. Anderson stood. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Bennett.”
She smiled. “Quite welcome.”
The three men left the bank together. Remy turned to Aaron. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Clark.” He removed a business card and jotted down phone numbers for him and Anderson, then held out the card. “If anything comes up, you can reach us at one of those two numbers.”
Aaron took the card and slipped it into his wallet. “Sure thing.” He gave them a brief wave and jogged across the street.
Hooking his thumbs into his belt, Anderson sighed. “Now what?”
&
nbsp; “Follow the military angle.”
• • •
From his office, Carlos Moreno watched LeBeau and Anderson settle at their desks. Glancing at his watch, Carlos groaned. It’d been twenty-four hours since they discovered Holly Cantrell’s remains. He stared at LeBeau’s back.
The extra office chair squeaked, drawing Carlos’s attention.
“Despite what LeBeau thinks, a twenty-four hour watch should be put on his place,” Luc said.
Carlos faced him. “It won’t work.”
“You can’t risk having his death on your hands. This killer is targeting your lead detective.”
“LeBeau will spot the detail a mile away.” Carlos crossed the office floor and settled in his chair behind his desk. “The man has spent long hours on stakeouts. I won’t set him off.” He set his reading glasses on the desktop and ran both hands over his face. “Why didn’t we see this before?”
“Because if Jack was being harassed, he never told anyone.”
“He wouldn’t hide that kind of information. The guy was my partner, we shared everything.”
“Did you?” Luc hooked his elbow over the backrest. “I didn’t even know Jack had a stepson until you mentioned it.”
Carlos’s grin felt weak. “He wasn’t your partner. But you’re right. Took me a while to crack him open. You’d think if the killer harassed him, he’d say so.”
Had Luc figured out that Anderson and LeBeau weren’t close? Since assigning them together, Carlos noticed the two hadn’t clicked. Both of his detectives had secrets. And close as cops tended to get, there were some things you never mentioned to your fellow officers. But LeBeau’s records were sealed tighter than a beaten mob informant. Somehow that played into his reluctance to get close to anyone in this department.
Secrets ran rampant here in the homicide division. Yet, there were no secrets between families. Carlos sat forward. “Maybe he didn’t say anything to the law enforcement side.”
Luc frowned. “You think Jack’s wife might know?”
“If the RS killer was calling Jack at home, Susan might have been there when they came in. I need to talk to her.”
“Carlos, you shouldn’t involve yourself in this any more than you have.”
Texas Temptation Page 160
