“Please, help Greg.”
Kayla disconnected before Mattie’s journalistic enthusiasm kicked in with more questions.
* * * *
“LaPierre,” the guard called, unlocking his cell. “You’ve got a visitor. One hour. Hands out.”
Greg pushed himself from the bunk and approached the bars, doing as the guard asked. The second officer standing behind the first as backup, kept a steady gaze on Greg. This time, they didn’t shackle his feet. The guards bookended him, one in front leading the way, and the other behind ready to nail him in the kidneys if he stepped out of line. Accidentally, of course. At the end of the long corridor they turned left at the ‘T’. He pushed open the door into the visiting area. Hardly a table empty today. He scanned the room, and found her. Just like the night at the pub, his gaze followed an invisible signature that led to the tall brunette watching him approach.
He’d never had this chemistry with Diana. He wished he had, but Mattie’s long legs and spicy attitude lured him. He liked strong women, especially intelligent ones.
“How are you, considering?” Mattie asked when he reached the table.
“Not bad,” he answered, pulling the metal chair closer to sit. “Considering.”
“Here.” She pushed a cup of Tim Horton’s coffee across the table.
Her gaze flicked to the table and then back at him. “I’m guessing the food and java isn’t that great in this place.”
“Pretty awful, but then again you probably haven’t had coffee in the middle of the Afghan desert.”
A small smile crept across her lips. There was something very alluring about her. Maybe his thoughts should have been focused on spending the rest of his life in prison, but he knew he was innocent and somehow he’d get out of this. He hadn’t contacted anyone from his team. Whether the Navy had been advised of his incarceration was unknown. If they did know, they weren’t sending care packages.
“No, I haven’t spent time in the Middle East, but I imagine it isn’t lattes every night.”
“Instant coffee with warm water. Soak for five minutes. Steeped sand would taste better.” It earned him another smile and he sat back, enjoying the small pleasure.
“Mr. LaPierre, I’ve got more questions if you could just bear with me.”
“We’ve got an hour. Since it’s not a conjugal visit, guess I’ll answer the questions.”
Her cheeks blushed, but she didn’t miss a beat. “Good, I’m going to take notes, if that’s okay?”
He nodded.
“Do you have a lawyer yet?”
“Court appointed.”
“Those aren’t very good. Can you hire one?”
“Think I need one?”
Her pen hovered over the six by six inch notepad. “I know someone who’s really good, just in case.”
“Am I missing something here? You saw me leave the pub after two-thirty. Diana was killed in a window between two and three. You think I had her shoved in my back pocket while I sat in the pub appreciating you?”
She folded her hands and her features hardened. “Did you kill Diana, and if so, who was your partner?”
If a referee had been perched next to their table, he’d be shouting offside. Greg’s brows tightened with her question. He opened his mouth and then closed it for a moment. “My partner?”
She continued to stare, as if she wanted to suck the truth from his brain. “Why did the police not ask you about your partner?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t kill her.”
“Did the police ask you about an accomplice?”
“No. Where would you get this idea from?” He saw Admiral Austen walking toward him in his peripheral vision, but didn’t break eye contact with Mattie. “I left the pub and I walked home. To be clear, that did not include a quick stop to slaughter my ex-girlfriend.”
Thane reached the table. Mattie turned in her chair and took a double take as her eyes drove all the way up to the top of Austen’s head.
Greg rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Didn’t really think you’d come.”
“Taking a detour to Vegas crossed my mind,” Austen said, then looked down at Mattie, who’d risen to her feet.
“Mademoiselle Bidault, this is Admiral Thane Austen. Admiral, this is Mattie Bidault. She’s a journalist at the New Times Colonist. Until a couple minutes ago, I thought she believed I was innocent.”
Mattie nodded and extended her hand. “Sir, are you a friend of Mr. LaPierre’s?”
Thane and he exchanged a glance. The Admiral’s cool polar eyes swerved to Mattie. “We’re family.”
“Austen,” she said to herself. “Are you Kayla’s husband?”
She had both their attentions now. Thane rolled his eyes. Greg did the same.
“She called you, didn’t she? That woman never listens to anyone,” Greg said. He clamped his jaw tight to avoid spewing a profanity.
“Tell me about it,” Austen agreed. They all took a seat. “Do you need anything, LaPierre?”
“Could use some clean laundry and toiletries.”
Austen nodded. “I’ll get them and bring them back this afternoon. For now, let’s put it all on the table. Give me the timeline, and what the fuck happened with your weapon?”
Greg watched Mattie. Most people deferred to the enigmatic admiral.
“I was asking him the same thing,” she interrupted, which surprised him. “You never answered my question. Who was the other man?”
Austen raised a brow. They played a game of catch up. Greg went first, explaining his movements up until the time he arrived home at two-forty-five a.m. Austen asked a few questions but his main concern was the knife.
“Not sure when I lost the knife, maybe a month ago.”
Austen nodded. “Was it at home or on the base?”
“Home. It’s in my Go Bag. Least, it was,” Greg answered.
Austen turned his attention on Mattie. “Your turn. Why did you ask him about an accomplice?”
Mattie surveyed both of them and then leaned closer. “I visited Market Square the other night. I found an old guy who lives on the streets. He was there the night Diana was murdered. He saw it. All of it.”
She proceeded to tell them what she’d learned. Austen’s expression didn’t even flicker, neither did his. Her story didn’t put Greg at ease. It stacked the deck against him. If someone at the Vic PD was protecting someone, he was totally screwed.
“I’ve been trying to track down the two couples who surprised the killers.” Mattie’s cell rang and she excused herself, swivelling in her chair to talk.
“Kayla said she was leaving for San Diego. Has she called you yet?” Greg asked.
Austen nodded. “She’s staying with Marg, and the rest of the girls have converged like a pack of hungry wolves to see the kids. I’m sure it’s a loud place I’d rather not be,” he said, grinning. “I used to think a bomb blast was loud, but you haven’t heard my daughter scream when she wants something.”
Greg chuckled and nodded. “I bet.” Once upon a time, he hoped it was he and Kayla who would have a family and a lifelong love affair, but obviously fate had something else in store for him. He leaned over the table, not feeling as confident as he did an hour ago. “If they’re going to hang me for these murders regardless of timelines and evidence, there’s not a whole lot I can do about it.”
Austen mirrored his pose. “If I want to make my wife happy, and I always want to make my wife happy, I’ll find the truth.” He paused, stuck his tongue in his cheek and lowered his voice. “Then you can ask that journalist out on a date.” He sat back with a smug look.
Mattie stuffed her phone back in her purse. “I might have an opportunity to find out what’s really going on. Stuart Hellman, the cop that was my go-to guy and who’s been leaving me breadcrumbs, wants a date tonight.”
Greg shook his head. “I don’t think that’s wise. The way you described it, it sounds like he might be part of this.”
“How else am I
going to find out if there’s some kind of cover up? Maybe I’ve made them nervous. Flushed somebody out.”
“Screwing the guy isn’t going to get the answers,” he said harshly, then blinked with confusion at his own words. “What I mean to say, mademoiselle, is the only thing you’ll flush is your reputation.” Shit. What the fuck was he saying? He glanced sharply at Austen, who bit down on a grin. Greg wanted to punch him in the face. For more than one reason.
“I’m not going to do that,” she retorted with a little too much vigor.
Obviously, he’d offended her, but it didn’t stop his mouth from voicing his rankled emotions. “Right.”
Mattie’s mouth dropped open. “Mind your own damn business, convict.”
Austen snorted.
Fussing with the zipper on her purse, she said, “Stuart would never hurt me.”
“Hellman told you not to trust him, didn’t he?” Greg argued. He had a bad feeling about this and there was nothing he could do to protect her while sitting behind bars. Mattie’s cheeks burned a beautiful dusty rose color. “Okay, I get it. You’ve got the hots for the guy, but he’s involved somehow. So until you find out how, stay in a public place.”
“I want to see where Diana and the other women were found,” Austen interrupted.
“I’ll show you.” Mattie’s pretty brown eyes settled on him instead of Austen. It kinda shocked him since the Admiral still turned heads, even with the big chunk of gold Kayla bought for his ring finger. “I don’t believe you murdered anyone, Mr. LaPierre. Either that, or you’re a very good actor. My gut tells me you were set up. Do you have any connection with anyone in the police department?”
“No. None.”
“What about friends?”
“Some from the base. The guys on my team. Other than that,”—he turned his eyes toward Austen—“just him, and I’m pretty sure he was hoping I’d come home from my last deployment under a draped flag.”
Austen’s glare sparked. “If you’d stop telling my wife you love her, I’d gladly ask you over for Thanksgiving dinner more often,” he growled back.
Mattie’s brows rose to the top of her forehead, her eyes bouncing back and forth between them. Caught in a firestorm of who would look away first between him and Austen, Mattie’s hand sliced through the silent standoff. “Okay, I don’t know what this is about, but you can settle it when you’re out of prison. I’ll show Admiral Austen Market Square and the rest of the kill sites. I have some other leads to follow as well, but I’ll come by tomorrow.”
Greg hid the leap in his pulse from his expression. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Austen gripped his hand. “I’ve got two weeks, LaPierre. I’ll do what I can.”
Fuck, he hated this guy for being such a noble shit. “Thanks, Austen. I know you’re here mostly against your will, but I appreciate it.”
He watched Mattie walk away, and he more than liked what he saw.
“Mattie,” he called out. She turned. Austen kept walking, knowing what he had to say wasn’t for him.
She sauntered back and gave him an inquiring look.
He slid his hand across her shoulder and gently clutched her upper arm. “I’m concerned for your safety. If you’re right, and I’m in here to take the fall, they won’t want you digging to find the truth. Don’t dig. It’s too dangerous. I can’t watch over you.”
She offered him a soft smile, and he had the same reaction when he first saw her from a distance in the pub. Plenty of sparks arced between them, but he’d still been licking his wounds from Diana. Now he was locked up under suspicion of being a prolific serial killer.
“I’ve got friends in this town, too. Lots and lots of RCMP, to be exact,” she announced.
He tightened his grip and the smile disappeared from her face. “Mattie, seven women are dead. Whoever he is, he can get to you. Believe it or not, these guys love the exposure. He reads your articles. He may even target you. Don’t be cocky. You’re a sweet girl, and I think too trusting. Don’t make it easy for him.”
Her beautiful eyes grew a little and when she took a stuttering breath, Greg held his. She was afraid. At least a little, and that’s what he wanted.
Quickly, her expression altered to cover her fear. “Lieutenant Commander LaPierre, I know how to look over my shoulder. I was raised by a cop. I’m not a child.”
He shouldn’t have done it, but she had one hell of a body, and he was a man with a healthy sexual appetite. Even though Diana had been an eager lover, Mattie Bidault did something to him with just a look. A grin plucked at his lips as he appreciated her with a gripping gaze. “I can see that very clearly, mademoiselle.”
Her cheeks blushed. “I’ll be in touch.” She strutted away, and he kept appreciating.
Greg watched until he couldn’t see her anymore and ignored the odd circumstances. She was the only other woman who’d caused a flicker of interest at first glance in many, many years.
Chapter Ten
Mattie turned her gaze to the mountain of a man known as Admiral Austen once they stood under the clear blue sky. “Do you have a car?”
He ignored her for a moment, his eyes taking in the parking lot and green lawn dotted with towering trees fronting Wilkinson Road. Finally, he answered. “It’s parked over there.” He jerked his head to the right.
“Leave it there. We’ll take my car and start at the north end of the peninsula and work our way back to downtown Victoria.”
He nodded his agreement. “Can I ask why the front of a prison looks like Buckingham Palace?”
With a chuckle, she said, “This is Victoria, Admiral. Every historical building is made of brick and looks like it was plucked out of England and replaced here.”
Mattie showed the Admiral each kill site, starting with the corn maze. Three hours later they stood at the entrance to Helmcken Alley. She led the way into the narrow space with towering brick walls on both sides and uneven cement under her feet. Five low archways, evenly spaced, spanned the short alley. Stopping near the middle, she turned to face the Admiral. “This is the site where Suzann Bertram, the second victim, was found.”
“Historical place?”
She nodded as they slowly walked a little further. “This entire area is known as the heart of Old Town Victoria. A historical hub popular with tourists and the area where the Hudson’s Bay established a bustling trading post in 1843.” She pointed where they’d entered the alley. “Bastion Square, originally had one and two-story wood buildings and bastions surrounding the area. The north bastion is where the entrance of Bastion Square stands today. From Fort Victoria, the Hudson’s Bay Company traded with the aboriginal people and wet the whistle of the California gold miners.” As they strolled through the alley, she continued. “Back in the 1880’s, this city was filled with adventure seekers. A mix of lowlifes and others who saw themselves as modern upper class. Back then, the jail was located here in Helmcken Alley. The daily hangings occurred in the square.
The Admiral nodded. “Lots of ghost stories?”
“Plenty. Bastion Square lures ghost hunters, being one of the most haunted places in the world. The unlucky men dangling from the end of a rope were buried near the jail. When the jail was torn down, the bodies were left behind. In Boomerang Court,”—she wandered to a window located on the building to their left. Inside, two rings of brick situated on the floor looked like an entrance to a well—“That’s where they’re buried to this day.”
“Interesting,” the Admiral said. “Wish I’d come sooner and under different circumstances.”
“Maybe when this is all over, you can.” She offered a quick smile and wandered the way they’d come. Exiting the alley into the square with a large tiled design in the center, she stopped again. The Admiral surveyed the restored facades. “When the city restored Bastion Square, they renewed the buildings on three sides, but left one side open with a full view of Victoria Harbour.”
She zipped up her jacket, fending off the cold as they wandered pa
st the two-story wood and brick structures surrounding the courtyard.
“Believe in ghosts?” he asked. Although he probably meant his question to sound conversational, he always sounded a bit angry.
“Not really. Undecided, I guess. But I do believe this city has a serial killer.”
“There’s no doubt in that.”
“Do you think Greg is guilty?”
The Admiral’s jaw flexed. “He’s guilty of a lot of things that bother me, but a serial killer—I don’t think so.”
“By the look on your face, you’re not a hundred percent convinced.”
He let out a deep sigh and shook his head with resignation. “I’m convinced.”
“Follow me.”
She’d left Market Square until last. “I have some footwork to do.” When they reached the parking lot behind Market Square, she stopped and looked down the sloping grade of the lot. “I want to see if the company who runs this parkade has any info or details of the vehicles parked here between midnight and three AM the night Diana was murdered.”
“Good idea.” The Admiral turned, his eyes roving upwards to the tops of the old buildings, then all the way down to the graffiti painted on a garbage dumpster. “Guess I see which way to go.”
The large Market Square sign with a big yellow arrow pointed toward the breezeway drew his attention. “According to the homeless man I interviewed, the Ripper and his accomplice entered the Square through those gates.”
“Lead the way.”
“I’ve lived in Victoria all my life. Because my dad was a Mountie, I heard lots of stories, but the Ripper has changed everything.”
“My wife has never brought me to Victoria. She spent a lot of years here before settling in San Diego.”
“How come? It’s a beautiful city. Least, it was until someone started slaughtering women. It’s not really good for tourism. And you’re seeing it now in the dreariest time of year because of the weather.”
“Not sure. She’s visited with her best friend Nina, who lived here as well. They’ve brought the kids to see Nina’s parents, but she’s never asked me to come.”
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