by Metsy Hingle
“I mean, I’m not stupid, Jackson. I saw the way you looked at that woman. It wasn’t the way a cop looks at a witness.”
“You’re off base, Jerevicious.”
“Am I?”
“Yes,” Jack insisted. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but I told you, I met her a long time ago when she was just a kid. She went to school with my little sister, for Pete’s sake.”
“Yeah, well she’s not a kid anymore.”
“Like I said, you’re off base. There’s nothing going on there.”
Leon followed his lead and got inside the car. He looked over at him. “I hope that’s true, Jackson, because from where I’m sitting, things aren’t looking so good for your psychic lady friend.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that the Santos woman knows too much about the crime scene not to have been there. I’m thinking that maybe she was the one who pulled the trigger and killed the doc.”
“You’re wrong,” Jack told him.
“I sure hope I am—for her sake and for yours.”
What did she do now?
Kelly asked herself the same question she must have asked fifty times since the Reverend Mother had told her that Sister Grace had been cremated. She’d lain awake most of the night, frustrated and unsure about what to do. A trip to the cemetery to visit Sister’s grave again that morning and going over everything that had happened had brought her no closer to an answer. So she’d been driving around for hours, retracing old paths from her childhood and searching for answers.
While the Reverend Mother had been kind, the woman clearly hadn’t believed that Sister Grace had been murdered. And with no hope of exhuming the body to prove she was telling the truth, who was going to believe her?
The police? Despite the fact that she’d been correct about that man’s murder, it had been apparent that they thought she had a screw loose. Even Jack Callaghan, who hadn’t dismissed her claims outright, was just as wary as the others.
And could she blame them? Or him?
Hardly. If she were in their shoes, she’d probably feel the same way. Only she wasn’t in their shoes. She was in her own shoes, in her own skin. And she had seen Sister Grace murdered. Somehow, she had to find a way to prove it.
Kelly turned the car onto the familiar street that she had traveled so often—the one leading to the now-abandoned orphanage. Although St. Ann’s had technically relocated to a new, more modern facility in the suburbs, to her the ancient buildings located in the city would always be St. Ann’s.
She stopped her vehicle in front of the gated area. Shutting off the car’s engine, she stared up at the place that had been her home for so many years. Within those walls she’d cried enough tears into her pillow at night to fill the Mississippi River. But it was also within those walls that she had bonded with Sister Grace. Perhaps it was why she’d come back there now, she reasoned. She’d come home to search for answers.
Home.
Kelly grabbed her camera and exited the car. Then she made her way up the sidewalk. The place was huge—just as she remembered. Focusing her camera, she clicked off several shots in succession. Built in the late eighteenth century as a school and home for orphaned girls, the three-story white masonry structure and its grounds took up the entire city block. Slipping her camera strap over her neck, she unlatched the gate. The mechanism creaked as she pushed it open and then she walked onto the grounds.
The grass was overgrown and the gardens neglected, she noted. So was the playground equipment. Rust covered the jungle gym. The seat on one of the red wooden seesaws was faded and chipped. She spun the merry-go-round, heard the squeak of metal from non-use. Moving over to the swing set, Kelly felt a wave of sadness as she took in the disrepair. All that was left of one swing was the dangling chain. Rust covered the chain links of the others. The seat on another swing hung by its hinges. Kelly sat on the one swing that remained intact. And as she set the swing in motion, she remembered all the times she’d escaped out here on the swings, away from the singsong whispers of “Kelly’s a witch. Kelly’s a witch.” It was here that she had kicked her feet high until she could no longer hear the cruel voices. It was here that she had allowed herself to dream. And it was here that she had pretended she was like the princess in the fairy tale and she would turn into a swan, then fly away to some magical kingdom where she was loved.
A gust of wind whipped through the air, rustling the leaves in the giant oak trees. For a moment, Kelly could almost hear the ghostly, taunting voices of the children who had once played there. Shutting off the unhappy memories, she abandoned the swings. After clicking off several shots of the old oak, she walked over to stand in front of the main house. It seemed strange to see St. Ann’s like this, she thought. So dark. So empty. So still.
The wind kicked up again, sending leaves dancing around her and causing the old chapel bell to ring out a solitary note. She aimed her camera at the bell tower, fired off several more pictures. When she finished, she hugged her arms about herself and looked up at the second story where the chapel had been. She’d spent many hours praying in that chapel, she recalled, praying for someone to adopt her, for someone to want her.
At the sound of a twig snapping, Kelly whipped around. “Who’s there?”
But only the moan of the wind answered.
Suddenly uneasy, Kelly headed back toward the entrance gate. As she reached her car, she paused and looked around her, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching her. Out of habit, she lifted her camera and took several shots of the house across the street where the two old-maid Williams sisters used to live. The women had always been generous to Annie’s girls at Halloween, she recalled with fondness. And for a moment, she debated going over and ringing the bell to find out if they still lived there. But she didn’t see any lights on and there was no movement inside the house. Deciding against it, she lifted her camera and clicked off another series of shots.
Watching Kelly Santos lift her camera again, she pressed her back against the wall of the Williams house and tried to blend in with the shadows. She held her breath, waited. Finally, Kelly recapped her camera lens and got into the car.
Releasing her breath, she didn’t move for several moments as she waited for Kelly to start her car and buckle her seat belt. When the car pulled away from the curve, she stepped away from the house. Hatred beat hot and fast in her blood as she watched the woman drive away.
She had thought that killing the old nun would be the end of it, never expecting the woman to have a will. She’d even known a moment of panic when she’d discovered that she’d left one and had made bequests to three of her former charges from the orphanage. That was when she’d realized that one of those three girls had to be the one the nun was protecting.
She’d observed two of those girls at the nun’s funeral. One she’d ruled out because of her race. The other she’d been undecided about. She’d been about the right age, but her coloring had been darker than she had expected. So she’d begun gathering additional information on her before ruling her out. On the third girl—Kelly Santos—she had come up empty.
Until now.
Rage ripped through her as she remembered. They’d changed her name to Kelly, but she was the same little girl with long blond pigtails who’d been laughing in the pictures with her daddy.
Damn you, Kelly Santos. Why didn’t you die in that fire with your mother like you were supposed to?
The newspaper had said that she’d died. So had her mama and daddy. And to think, if it hadn’t been for that damned blackmailing Gilbert she might have gone on believing the bitch was dead. No matter, she told herself. Stepping out of the shadows, she stared down the street where Kelly’s car had driven away. “You should have stayed dead,” she told her. “Because now I’m just going to have to kill you all over again.”
Eight
“We’re supposed to be a team, man. I put my life in your hands every
time we go out on the street,” Leon told him as they headed for the Regent Hotel. “If you can’t be straight with me, then I’ve got to rethink whether I can trust you to cover my back.”
“What are you saying?” Jack asked.
“I’m saying if I can’t trust you, I don’t want to work with you. We go back to the station now and you ask the captain to assign you a new partner. It’s your call, Jackson. Either we work on this case together, or you work it with another partner. What’s it going to be?”
“Shit!” Jack slammed his fist against the steering wheel, furious with himself because Leon was right. “We work it together.”
“No more flying solo?”
“No more flying solo,” Jack promised. “I’m sorry.”
“All right. You keeping any more shit about this woman from me?”
“No,” Jack told him. “I swear it. Just go along with me on this for now, all right?”
Leon paused, looked over at him as they sat at a red light. “You really believe this woman has some kind of ESP that’s going to help us find the shooter?”
“Yes,” Jack told him, and meant it.
“What the hell then. I guess it’s worth a shot.”
“Thanks,” Jack responded, and hit the gas when the light turned green.
After several moments of silence, some of the tension eased. “You saw the way that little prick Nuccio perked up when the captain jumped your shit for not telling him you knew the Santos woman? He thinks he’s going to beat you out of that promotion.”
“I know he does,” Jack told him. And he just might. Keeping silent about his association with Kelly hadn’t been the wisest career move he’d made.
“Man, what in the hell were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” Jack admitted as they pulled up in front of the hotel.
“Then it’s time you started,” Leon told him as they exited the vehicle.
They walked across the hotel lobby and took the elevator up to Kelly’s floor in silence. When they reached her hotel room, Jack knocked on the door.
“Who is it?”
“Detectives Callaghan and Jerevicious.”
Kelly opened the door. One look at her face and Jack knew she wasn’t pleased to see them. Still, her voice was polite as she said, “Detectives, if you’re here with more questions about the statement I gave to the police the other night, now is really not a good time.”
“We’re not here about your statement. May we come in?”
“Like I said, now is really not a good time. I’m waiting for a call.”
“I promise, this will only take a few minutes.” Flashing her what he hoped was a charming smile, Jack held up three fingers and said, “Scout’s honor.”
Neither the smile nor the promise seemed to have any effect on her, and just when he thought she was going to shut the door in their faces, she stepped back. “All right. But you’ll need to make it quick.”
“Thanks,” he told her, and stepped inside her hotel suite with Leon right behind him.
“So what is it you want to discuss with me?”
The lady didn’t waste any time, Jack noted. And judging by her stance—arms crossed, feet planted firmly on the floor and eyes level—she was not one to suffer fools gladly. “We’re here to ask for your help.”
Her eyes were as skeptical as her voice when she said, “And just how is it you think I can help you?”
Deciding to just spit it out, Jack told her, “We want you to help us find out who murdered Martin Gilbert.”
“I’m afraid I’ve already told both you and your Sergeant Russo everything I can. There’s nothing more I can do.”
“Actually, there is,” he informed her. “You can—”
The phone on the table next to the couch began to ring. Her gaze darted to the ringing telephone and back to him. It was obvious that she was torn between taking the call and getting rid of them.
“Go ahead and answer it. We’ll wait.” When she hesitated he said, “You’d better get it or it’ll go back to the switchboard.”
Kelly hurried over to the phone, snatched it up. “Wyatt, I’m here. Yes, I know we were cut off. Either you hit a dead zone or there was some kind of interference with my cell phone in the hotel. This is a better connection.”
She paused a moment and her voice was short as she said, “Obviously, I’m still in New Orleans since you’re calling me on the hotel phone. And no, I am not leaving for the airport when I hang up. Hold on a minute,” she said, and put the phone on hold. “Excuse me, but I’ve got to take this call. Can I get back with you about this later? I could be a while.”
Jack looked at his partner and Leon said, “We don’t mind waiting until you’re finished.”
She sighed. “Suit yourself. But you’ll need to excuse me while I take this in the next room. If you insist on waiting, you might as well help yourself to something to drink.”
“Thanks,” Jack said to her retreating back.
“Wyatt? Sorry about that. I wanted to switch phones,” she began after entering the adjoining room.
Because she hadn’t shut the door all the way, Jack had no problem picking up her end of the conversation. And though he told himself he was wrong to eavesdrop, he found himself doing just that.
“I hope you’re right about this, Jackson.”
“I am,” Jack insisted. He was sure of it. Walking over to the counter, he snatched up a bottle of water, handed one to Leon.
“I’ve already told you I can’t leave yet. It’s personal, something I have to do.” She paused. “I don’t know. It could be just a couple of days, maybe a week, maybe longer. I’m not sure. I’ll have to let you know.”
Jack moved quietly about the living room of the suite, feigning an interest in the paintings when in truth he was focused on Kelly’s conversation and wondering who this fellow Wyatt was and what his relationship was to her.
“Try to put them off for a while,” she said. Another pause followed. “Then they’ll have to find somebody else to do the shoot because I can’t promise I’ll be back by then.”
Her boss? he wondered.
“Yes, Wyatt. I understand. Of course, I realize what a great opportunity this would be. And I appreciate everything you’ve done to make it happen. But I simply can’t commit to anything right now.” She paused again and there was no mistaking the stress in her voice as she continued, “I told you it’s something personal that I need to take care of. I’d rather not go into it right now.”
Jack couldn’t help wondering what that something personal was that was causing Kelly so much anxiety. Although his knowledge of her was limited to their encounter ten years ago and questioning her about the Gilbert case, she hadn’t struck him as high strung or overly emotional. Quite the opposite, he thought as he picked up the camera that was sitting on the table. He remembered Kelly as being cool, collected, almost resigned under what had to have been distressing circumstances for a teenager that long-ago night. She’d been equally unruffled a few days ago when he and Leon had arrived to question her about the homicide. Judging by her agitated state since they’d arrived, she was major stressed about something right now.
“All right. I promise I’ll give you a call in a few days and explain everything,” she said, her voice softening. “I will. And I love you, too. Bye.”
Her declaration of love to the faceless Wyatt surprised him, Jack admitted. He wasn’t sure why. After all, Kelly was a beautiful woman and no doubt she’d had her share of male admirers. Yet for some reason, hearing her say the words to the guy on the phone disturbed him.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said, exiting the bedroom. Her gaze immediately zeroed in on the camera Jack was holding. “I don’t allow anyone to touch my equipment,” she informed him.
“Sorry,” he said, and before he could return the camera to the table, she was there in front of him, reclaiming the fancy piece. As she did so, her fingers brushed his and Jack didn’t miss the way she snatched her
hand away, as though she’d been burned. Interesting, he thought. That little spark of awareness. “Your boss?” he asked casually.
“My agent,” she said, gently depositing the camera on the table.
“Sounded like he had an important project for you.”
She glanced up at him and arched her brow imperiously. “I should think you know it’s rude to eavesdrop, Detective.”
“Jack,” he corrected her. “And my apologies. It was difficult not to overhear.”
She sat down on the couch and folded her hands primly on her lap. “You said you wanted me to help with your investigation,” she prompted, terminating any further inquiries about why she’d passed on what sounded like a plum project.
Jack took the chair adjacent to the couch while Leon remained standing. “First off, you should know that our captain thinks the Gilbert homicide is a robbery that got out of hand and ended up a murder.”
“It wasn’t.”
He sat forward, resting his elbows on his legs. “I don’t think so, either.”
“And what about you, Detective Jerevicious?” Kelly asked, looking over at Leon, who stood tall and imposing in front of the window. “Do you agree with Detective Callaghan? Or do you think your captain is right?”
“Let’s just say I’m waiting to see how the evidence plays out.”
Aware of Leon’s misgivings, Jack said, “The problem is that with the exception of your statement, everything points to robbery being the motive.”
“It wasn’t,” she assured him. “This Dr. Gilbert knew his killer. He even arranged to meet her there to make the exchange and he was angry because she was late.”
“How do you know that?” Leon asked her.
She met his gaze. “The same way that I knew she killed him. I saw it.”
“In a vision,” Leon added.
“That’s right. He was blackmailing her and the minute he gave her the paper, she shot him.”
And as crazy as the story sounded, Jack believed her. “Then help us prove it,” Jack urged. “Help us find out who the woman was who shot him.”
