by Polly Iyer
Lucier’s warm hand touched her arm, bringing her back, his cat’s eyes watching, concerned. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Do you know where the cemetery is I described?”
“Not offhand, but you gave us enough information to find it. Anything else?”
“I sensed the isolation. There’s not much else around. I got an impression of something old and discarded there. Don’t ask me what that means. It could be the bodies in the earth, but I don’t think so.”
“Did you get a sense of the cemetery’s proximity?”
“Could be here or a thousand miles away,” she said.
“Got to be around somewhere,” Beecher said. “Whoever put a body in a cemetery, wasn’t about to drive a thousand miles. I’m guessing local, which, if your description is right, and past experience says it is, we’ll find it. Not many cemeteries in New Orleans are isolated and overgrown.”
“Mickey, plug the name Josiah Jackson into the computer. If nothing comes up, call the Genealogical and Historical Society. Willy, pull up Google Earth. Try to pinpoint a cemetery that fits the description.”
“What do you want me to do?” Beecher said.
“Run the rest of the card-playing buddies.”
“That was so cool, Diana,” Cash said. “You gonna do the shirt?”
“No need.”
“Why not?”
She couldn’t get the grizzly image out of her head. “Because both bodies are buried in one grave, near or in that cemetery, hiding in plain sight.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Cemetery Plot Thickens
Because the psychic intrusions left Diana drained, especially when her visions included dead bodies, Lucier sent her home to rest. He’d take dinner to her after work and make sure she was all right. Meanwhile, Cash searched the Internet for the right cemetery, hoping what Diana saw was local. Lucier intended to catch up on a backlog of paperwork.
Less than an hour later, Cash burst into his office, followed closely by Halloran. “Restview Cemetery, out near Read Boulevard,” he said. “A Josiah Jackson is buried there. Dates match. Location matches Diana’s description.”
“And across the street is a huge salvage car lot, hidden by a long wall,” Halloran said. “Picture’s clear on the satellite view. That accounts for old and discarded.”
Lucier bolted to his feet. “Let’s go.”
“You want me to call it in?” Halloran asked. “Get the crime scene people moving?”
“Not yet. I want to make sure we’re right.”
“Don’t you believe Diana’s vision?” Cash asked.
“Yes, and I’m sure she saw what she saw, but we don’t need the press all over us before we know the situation. Cash, come with me. Halloran, help Sam check the backgrounds of Chenault’s buddies. There’s a reason a cop turns avenger.” Or maybe not, Lucier thought. The idea of taking out a sleaze who had gotten off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist would be enough for most cops to go rogue.
Lucier barely heard Cash blather on about Diana as he shot through midafternoon traffic. Though he had long since become a believer, Diana’s psychic feats caused either doubt or amazement in most people. Cash idolized her.
Lucier hopped on I-10 to 90 and cut off on the long secluded road to the cemetery. The gate was open, and they drove through. After speaking with the attendant, who checked a list of names and pointed them in the direction of the final resting place of Josiah Jackson, they drove as far as they could, then walked to the back of the older part of the cemetery. Nestled far in the corner, in front of a border of trees, was Jackson’s headstone.
Cash searched around the area. “No dug up dirt I can see, Lieutenant. Could Diana be wrong?”
No new grave. No disturbed earth. Lucier’s stomach tightened. “She always said she wasn’t perfect.”
“But she definitely called the cemetery and the headstone,” Cash said. “How could she be wrong?”
Lucier wandered a way into the jungle of trees and brush. His stomach righted itself when he saw the mound of tamped-down earth a few feet inside. He didn’t smell death as much as feel it. “She isn’t.”
First he called Craven, then he called for the coroner and the crime scene crew. Finally, he called Diana to tell her they’d found the grave.
* * * * *
Charlie Cothran, clad in coveralls, tugged off his latex gloves and latched onto Lucier’s hand to help climb out of the now-open grave. Two bodies lay intertwined in a black tarp, clothes covered in dried blood. Lucier identified Denny Chenault and Cash did the same with Anton Alba, but the positive IDs would be made at the morgue.
“Bullets to their hearts,” Cothran said. “At close range. Looks like a .45, but I won’t be sure until I get them on the table. Hate that they’re cops.”
“Me too.”
“Doesn’t look like they put up much of a fight. We might find something under their fingernails.”
Lucier noted the hands of both victims were bagged, but considering the case so far, he doubted Cothran would find anything. “Clearly, the two men didn’t know what was coming.”
“Can’t tell your friends from your enemies these days,” Cothran said. “You have an idea who did this?”
“I could guess, but that’s all it would be. I have no proof. None. Nada. Zip.”
“You’ll figure it out.” Cothran moved toward his car. “I’m sure I’ll get a request to give the autopsies priority.”
“No doubt.”
When Lucier and Cash returned to the district, a message waited from the captain. Lucier had a feeling he was going to get chewed out, and he was right. Craven’s face was as stern as Lucier had ever seen.
“Don’t you think you might have shared your findings with me before you went trotting off on your own?”
“I wanted to make sure.”
“Are you putting the protection of your girlfriend above your duty to this office and the law?”
“I thought I was protecting the department, Captain. If word got out through our phantom leak, and Diana was wrong, we’d be ridiculed. Nevertheless, I should have informed you. I was wrong.”
Craven mumbled something Lucier didn’t understand, then said, “I’m not opposed to employing Ms. Racine as a consultant, but I’d like to know in advance what your plans are. Then, depending on her information, we can decide how to follow up. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
“No, sir, but I believed two cops were in the grave she saw in her vision. I wanted you to have all the facts before the story broke.”
Craven swiveled his computer screen. “Might be a bit late for that.”
Under the Times-Picayune banner in the newspaper’s electronic edition, Lucier saw one image of him and Cash heading across the cemetery grounds and another of the crime scene crew arriving. “How in hell ―”
“I don’t know,” Craven said. “Our mysterious leaker. Story by Jake Griffin. If I ever get my hands on whoever’s doing this, there’ll be hell to pay. Who knew about the cemetery?”
“No one but my team and Diana. I can vouch for them all.”
“Well, someone’s got a direct line to your office.”
“Not every leak has involved me or even this district. Remember the name of a suspect leaked a few months ago from District Two? Then someone posted that state representative’s involvement in an embezzlement scheme last year while he was still being quietly investigated.”
Craven paused, his brow creased. “And in each case, Jake Griffin wrote the follow-up story, and he got on it damn quick.”
“He’s paying moles to report to him when something breaks that could turn into a juicy story. Someone gave him a heads up when Cash and I left the building.”
“Get him and charge him with interfering with a police investigation. I don’t care if you have to lock him up. If fact, I prefer you do.”
“I already tried to do that. He said he gets anonymous emails.”
“I don’t care how
you nail him, just do it.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Oh, and, Ernie, don’t play lone wolf again. You’re on my team. Don’t forget it.”
“I won’t, Captain.”
Lucier didn’t blame Craven for being pissed. Cops were victims and more than likely murderers. How many were involved? Lucier figured the card-playing bunch, but he had nothing concrete other than they got together to play cards. A snarky run-in with Rickett didn’t count much either. Maybe it was time to pull them in one by one and turn up the heat. Then he wondered if someone talked, would he be signing another cop’s death warrant? How could he protect a cop without putting a target on the guy’s back?
And who the hell was leaking information?
He entered his office. “Where’s Beecher and Halloran?” Lucier asked Cash.
“Domestic call turned into the murder of an abusive husband. They just left.”
“Find anything about our poker group?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Our trip to the cemetery was photographed.” He pulled up the front page of the online newspaper.
Cash hopped to his feet. “How’d that happen?”
“The captain figures someone is feeding Griffin the information. Every time a leak exposes something going on in the parish, he gets first dibs on the story. That could only mean inside information.”
“But who? A cop? A secretary? No one knew but the five of us.”
“I know.” Lucier circled the office, checking the lamp and in and around the desk. Cash did the same with the window and light switch. Before long, they’d scoured the room to no avail. “Someone’s watching our comings and goings and reporting to Griffin. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“You want to bring Griffin in?”
“I’ll take care of this one myself.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
One More Time
Diana couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that plagued her since leaving the district. She tried to nap, but the vision of the two men intertwined in the grave kept surfacing until she got up and made a pot of coffee. She had trained herself over the years to put disturbing images out of her mind, but this time she couldn’t, and she didn’t know why.
She wondered if she could convince Lucier to let her have one more session, this time with Chenault’s body. She hadn’t wanted to know whether she read Chenault’s cap or Alba’s, but she wanted to know now. She called Lucier.
“Hey, have you rested any?” he asked.
“Not really. Too many things going on in my head.” She paused, knowing how Lucier would react to what she said next. “Can you arrange for me to go to the morgue to read Chenault?”
Silence hung on the line before Lucier said, “What for? You led us to him, why do you want to read him again.”
“Because I didn’t read him, did I? That was Alba’s cap, wasn’t it?”
Again, silence. “How did you know?”
“I was guessing. It’s just ―”
“What?”
“I don’t know, but I have an aching feeling I can learn more from Chenault, even dead. Remember, Keys was dead too, and I saw his last image.”
“You think you’ll see who killed him?”
“How can I say, Ernie? All I know is there’s more. I should have gone with you to the cemetery.”
“Glad you didn’t. Cash and I are all over the front page of the Picayune’s online newspaper.”
“What? How did that happen?” She listened while Lucier explained his and Captain Craven’s theory. “Great. Little moles everywhere. Damn Jake Griffin.”
“Exactly. What would really help is if you could zero in on the moles.”
“Not likely unless someone passes the info to me, and I doubt they’ll get anywhere near me. Besides, the leaker could be anyone in the entire department.” She let her words settle. “So, about the other thing? Can you get me to the morgue?”
“I’ll run your idea by the captain. He was all over me for not telling him what I was doing. Can’t say I blame him, but I won’t jump his head again. I’ll call you back.”
She took her cell phone into the bathroom to wait for Lucier’s callback while she showered, struggling to bury the ominous feeling that had left her unsettled. Times like these she cursed her so-called gift. She’d always reacted to touching something or someone, but lately, she received residual sensations, as if her reading or vision wasn’t complete. Was there really more she could glean from Chenault’s dead body?
* * * * *
Lucier asked Lissie Howard, the captain’s secretary, if he could see Craven. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again, going rogue. He smiled inwardly at the phrase made popular lately in the political arena. He’d never been that kind of cop. He’d always gone by the book, steady, dependable, methodical. Nothing flashy. Now he was the boyfriend of someone followed by the paparazzi, fans, and psychic groupies. He sighed. He’d have to learn to live with his new notoriety, because Diana was in his life to stay.
The captain waved him inside. Lucier felt a slight chill in the air. Was it his imagination? After the normal pleasantries, he explained Diana’s request.
“What does she think she’ll learn from Chenault?” Craven asked. “He’s dead.”
“So was Moran, and her vision led us to a murder.”
“But no murderer.”
“Unless Chenault is our man.”
“You think cops are involved, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do, but I can’t prove a connection. I want your permission to interview some of Chenault’s card-playing buddies.”
“This is your investigation.”
Lucier hesitated. “I’m getting mixed signals, Captain. I’m to report everything to you, but it’s my investigation. Which is it?”
“Your investigation, but I appreciate a head’s up. As far as interviewing cops, keep the interrogations off the record until you have something substantial. I don’t want anyone to think you have such a hard-on for solving this case that you’re targeting fellow cops.”
“Understood. I’ll call Charlie Cothran and have him ready Chenault’s body.”
“Good luck,” Craven said. “Are you picking up Ms. Racine?”
“Yes. She’s exhausted. I don’t want her driving.”
“Little lady’s got you on a short leash, hasn’t she? Never thought I’d see this, but now I remember you were protective of your wife.”
“Relationships are a two-way street, Jack. Nikki took care of me. So does Diana.”
“She’s pulled you out of the depths, made you more adventurous. You’ve always been so ―”
“Plodding?”
Craven didn’t smile, and his focus was unsettling. “No. Determined. Persistent. Different than plodding. Both plusses in a cop.”
“Okay, then. Let’s see what she comes up with.”
“Keep anything she finds quiet until you speak to me, okay? Keep Cothran out of the room. If other cops are involved, I don’t want anything leaking in this sieve of a parish.”
“Right. I didn’t even tell my team what we were going to do.”
“Excellent. Speaking of sieve, what are you doing about Jake Griffin?”
“I’ll have Beecher pick him up, and when I return from the morgue, I’ll interview him personally.”
“Good.”
By the time Lucier got back to his office, Beecher and Halloran had returned. They reported on the homicide, and Lucier said he had some errands to take care of and would be back in an hour or two. He’d keep everything quiet for now. Information was leaking out of all the districts like a drippy faucet. There could even be a bug planted somewhere, though he and Cash eliminated his office. He made a mental note to sweep the squad room, though he doubted they’d find anything.
He pulled Beecher aside. “Pick up Jake Griffin. The captain thinks, and I agree, that he’s got spies in all our districts to get a jump on whatever’s going on. If that’s the case, he’s int
erfering with police investigations, and he can cool his heels in a holding cell until we get more information, or maybe we’ll charge him with obstruction.”
“Yes!” Beecher said, pumping his fist. “He’s a slimy little insect. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
“Be back as soon as I can.”
Lucier got to his car and called Charlie Cothran to make Chenault’s body available, then drove to Diana’s house, fifteen minutes from the district.
They had agreed to live apart to see if their relationship survived their intense beginning. They were still together, still in love, and lately he’d been thinking about making their living arrangement permanent, though he hadn’t brought up the subject.
Diana was watering her plants in the front yard when he arrived. She shut off the water, replaced the hose on the hook, and grabbed her purse, hanging on the door. Lucier never tired of looking at her. He’d seen photos of her when she was a child with the same mass of curly black hair, and at thirty-three, she still looked like a teenager.
“What did Captain Craven say?”
“Well, I’m here.”
Smiling, she got in his car. “He probably thinks I’m a whackjob, and he’s not the only one.”
“I know you’re not, and the rest of them can go ―”
“Careful.”
Then he explained what the captain thought about Jake Griffin and his planted moles.
“Sounds like Jake. He or his photographer can’t follow everyone, so he must have you on top of the list.”
“Because of you. You’re the real story. Anything about Diana Racine is big news. Sorry, babe. Guess you can’t stay out of the limelight, no matter that you retired.”
“We’re a pair made for the news, and the news follows us around.”
“That it does.”
“What happens to whoever’s feeding him information?”
“Depending on the sensitivity of the case, they’d be fired, at least. If the info messed up an investigation, they’d be brought up on charges.”
