by Judith Lucci
Adam Lee stayed with Francoise and they continued to discuss the case and receive new information. Several hours later, the Congressman and the police Captain sent out for a fifth of Jack Daniels after realizing how enormous, well-connected, and well-monied HealthTrust was. The criminal underpinnings had become clear. Both knew it would prove to be an international conspiracy and would take months to unravel. They only hoped there would be minimal retribution lodged against the events of the day.
Strange to be in the office over the weekend, Alex thought. It was so quiet and there were no phones, no chattering Bridgett, and no interruptions. Alex reviewed correspondence as she sat at her desk. After a few minutes, she sat back in her chair and thought about the past week. Things are better, but I know it will be a long time before I get over Mitch, if ever. I feel betrayed, cheated again. I'm not sure if I will ever trust a man again. She'd trusted Robert, and he'd divorced her. She'd trusted Mitch, and he'd used her. There were so many unknowns about Mitch and his motives. Had he deliberately used her? Looking through her open office door, she noticed an overnight mail package on Bridgett's desk.
Alex sighed as she rose from her desk to retrieve the package. She picked up the parcel and her heart started beating furiously when she read the return address. It was from Mitch but had been mailed from Biloxi on Friday. Alex removed the letter with shaking hands, and a tape recorder fell out of the envelope. Mitch's big, bold handwriting stared up at her as she read aloud.
"Dear Alex, by the time you receive this, you'll either know everything because I've told you, or you'll know nothing because I'm dead. This letter explains everything.
First of all, I was dishonest with you at the beginning of our relationship. I sought you out because I owed a large sum of money to a mobster named Frederico Petrelli. It was a gambling debt. He approached me four months ago demanding that I get the dirt on CCMC because his friends wanted to buy it. I arranged to meet you, with the intent of learning ways in which Frederico could ruin the hospital. As time went by, I began to care for you and detest myself. Later, when I didn't deliver, Frederico told me he wanted the land owned by Bonnet's family so his associates could expand their casinos on the Riverfront. Of course, there was no way I could do that. I think it was just another threat to make me deliver on the CCMC information. Anyway, Frederico and a large man with a ponytail came to my house after we had dinner at Cafe Volange and told me I had until five o'clock the next day to deliver. To prove his point, Frederico burned my forearm. I left immediately and went to Biloxi to gamble. I lost heavily at the casino, and after that, I have no recollection of what happened. I returned for the Endymion Extravaganza so I could see you again and explain what had happened.
The recorder holds a tape I recorded the night Frederico and the man with the ponytail came to my apartment. They admit their part in the CCMC crimes, at least the shoot-out, and the attack on the heart patient. It's enough information to implicate them both. You almost caught me one night when my recorder fell out of my pocket. Forgive me for being so deceitful. I love you, Alex. Mitch”.
Alex finished reading Mitch's letter and sobbed uncontrollably. A little later, she called Robert and told him to meet her in Francoise's suite. As Alex took the elevator to Jack's room, she was comforted with the knowledge that Mitch had loved her, and had tried to do the right thing. In reality, Mitch's letter would close the case.
Robert, his arm casted and in a sling, Adam and Jack were waiting for her when she entered the suite.
Alex said, "Sit down. There was a package from Mitch in my office. Mailed Friday from Biloxi. He also sent me a tape recording, which I think will answer all your questions. Jack, will you read the letter. I'm too emotional." Alex handed the letter to Francoise.
Jack read the letter slowly. The letter was the missive of a doomed man.
"Turn on that damn recorder," Adam Patrick Lee growled. "Let's see what we've got!"
The recording implicated Frederico and Salvadal easily. In less than a minute Francoise called for a warrant for Frederico's arrest. Within an hour, Frederico was picked up and charged with the murder of Jonathan Mercier, the crime team reporting that the ballistics was a perfect match.
"Why'd Frederico kill Mercier?" Robert asked.
"Frederico knew Mercier was the weak link. Knew he'd implicate him later on. The mob leaves no witnesses."
Robert nodded in understanding.
Francoise turned to Alex. "We got them. All tied up in a nice little package, at least for now."
"Yep, we did. But, you owe me one and payback's going to be tough." Alex, her eyes hard and unsmiling, eyed the Captain.
"What the hell, what payback?" Captain Francoise was actually stammering. "What are you talking about, Alex?" A light of realization paled the Captain's already white face as he reviewed the possibilities. His thoughts returned to his recent elevator ride. He said, "Oh no, no way. No elevators, no damn elevators. I'm a sick man." Francoise looked around frantically.
Alex smiled. Now she knew his weakness, his Achilles heel. She thought about it and said, "Hmm. Elevators, that's a new twist. I'll have to work on the elevator." She paused to allow the fear to sink in. Then she looked at Jack and Robert and smiled. "You're both sick men and you're both leaving for Virginia on Tuesday to recuperate at Wyndley." Alex winked at her grandfather.
"Absolutely, we've got reservations to leave New Orleans on Tuesday morning. No excuses allowed." The Congressman looked pleased with the plan.
Francoise was so relieved that no elevators were involved, he said quickly, "Count me in, I'm coming."
Alex turned to Robert, "And you?"
The surgeon gave Alex a tender smile. "You bet. I want to see Grand."
The End
From the Author
Thank you so much for reading Chaos at Crescent City Medical Center, the first book in the Alexandra Destephano Medical Thriller Series. I hope you enjoyed it. Since reviews are very important to Indie authors. I would be delighted if you would review my book.
To err is human and to forgive is divine. I can honestly say that writing novels is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, and I’ve done a lot of things. Even though my books are professionally edited by several editors and reviewed by several others before they are published, you may find an error. I apologize in advance and I strive to correct errors as I find them.
I always want to hear from and connect with my readers. Please feel free to contact me at any time with questions, ideas for new books, or just plain anything. I am happy to answer any questions
Once again, many thanks for reading my book!
The Imposter
The
Imposter
A NOVEL BY
JUDITH LUCCI
Also by Judith Lucci
Alex Destephano Novels
Chaos at Crescent City Medical Center
Viral Intent
Toxic New Year
Evil: Finding Saint Germaine
Michaela McPherson Thrillers
The Case of Dr. Dude
The Case of the Dead Dowager
Others Books
Ebola: What You Must Know to Stay Safe
Meandering, Musing & Inspiration for the Soul
Angelina’s Tale
Copyright © 2013 by Judith Lucci
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN-13: 978-1512271591
ISBN-10: 1512271594
Printed in the United States of America
Acknowledgements
Once again, it has taken a village for me to write this book! Many thanks to Dr. Julie Sanford and Dr.
Donna Trimm for their beta reading and editing of The Imposter as well as Alice Tutwiler for her review of the book prior to publication. I would especially like to thank Jennifer Mandell of Bluestone Valley Publishing for her excellent input and final editing of the manuscript. Also, as always, I wish to think Eric Blumensen for his assistance with the final preparation of the book.
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my son, Eric and my daughter Tracey. Thanks for being there for me!
Chapter 1
"Holy Crap, Mary, Mother of God! What the hell is wrong with people? Are they crazy, stupid, or just nuts," hollered Jack Françoise to no one in particular, even though he was sure his rants could be heard through the bullpen of the 8th Police District. "Honest to God, two tourists with their throats torn out in the deepest, darkest part of the Quarter. What is wrong with these idiots? I don't even go in that part of the French Quarter. No one needs to go down there; no one in their right mind wants to go down there, not even NOPD's swat team in full combat gear. Holy Shit, can anybody be that stupid or that drunk?! I just don't get it."
Newly minted New Orleans Police Commander, Jack Françoise, sat behind his massive, but deeply scarred, walnut desk at 334 Royal Street glaring at two crime reports placed in his in-basket for review. A big, burly man who tended towards overweight, Jack looked distinguished in his Commander uniform and his polished medals matched the glint of silver in his hair. A man's man, Jack commanded the respect of almost everyone he met. He stared out of his tall office windows, already heating up in the August sun, but saw nothing. His attention returned to the crime sheets, and as he reached for his coffee cup, his administrative assistant and PR guy knocked at his doorframe.
"What's up, Jason? Did I wake everybody up yelling?"
Jason Aldridge grinned at his boss. "Well, maybe a few left over from the night beat, but they were due to go home anyway," Jason joked.
Jack shook his head. "Did you check out these murders in the Quarter last night? What the hell?”
“Yeah, pretty bad. Young people, too, from what I heard. Kind of similar to that woman they found in that abandoned warehouse near Canal over in the First District several years ago. By the way, the Coroner's Office just called and they want you over there ASAP. It's about this new case, the one they are investigating in the Quarter now."
"Yeah, I just bet it is," Jack muttered sarcastically. "Who's working the scene in the Quarter? Think I'll go over there on my way to see the M.E."
"I think Bridges caught the case, but he's probably gone now. Don't know who the head of the forensic team is. I can check for you.”
"Never mind, I don't care. If the M.E. calls back tell her I'm coming, but am stopping by the scene first."
"Will do, Capt'n! Whoops, Commander." Jason stumbled over his boss’s title and smiled apologetically.
"Just call me Jack. Skip the title. I don't act like a Commander anyway. Didn't even want to be one. I was and am happy in the trenches and on the street. But, as you know," Jack said wryly, “I never planned to leave them."
Jason nodded. "Yeah, I know that. I'm sure you'll always be a beat cop, no matter the title. You've never left the streets before, and you're too damn old and stubborn to start at this late date," Jason acknowledged, waving his boss out of the office. His heart swelled with pride, watching the big guy leave the 8th district office.
Jason loved being Jack's right hand man, a job he had just formally assumed several months ago when Jack had risen in the ranks. Jason had more respect for Jack Françoise than he'd ever had for any one man. Françoise could come across as a total police asshole, but deep inside, he was kind and generous and a true advocate for the citizens, particularly the victims of murder and violent crimes in New Orleans. Jack was also tenacious, bull-headed, and hard to work with, but Jason was used to this as well. Sometimes, Jack's dark moods surfaced when he reached a dead end in the crimes he sought to solve. In Jason's mind, Jack was a hero and always would be even though Jack would never claim fame or recognition for the cases he solved.
Jason smiled while considering that magical way Jack disappeared from press conferences and the media. He was sure Jack planned to keep it that way, even as a Commander. He was as humble as he was caring and altruistic and Jack flat out hated the press. Jason smiled to himself as he reflected on his years with Jack Françoise. An honorable man, Jason thought, closing the Commander's door quietly as he left the office.
Chapter 2
Jack hated the blast of August heat that momentarily blinded him while exiting the 8th District office. He jumped into his vintage, police-retrofitted silver Cadillac parked in a no parking zone on the side of the building, and headed down towards the Canal crime scene on Burgundy. He parked, illegally of course, at the corner of Toulouse, knowing that all NOPD in the area knew his car and would never ticket him. He trudged down towards the scene, wiping the sweat off his brow with a white linen handkerchief.
Jack, as hardened as he was to street scenes, turned his head away from a man with a needle in his arm and a guy lighting up his crack pipe while sitting in a doorway. He was convinced that neither man had seen the inside of a house or had a meal or shower in days. He quickly glanced inside a vacant, burned-out building on Canal noting several other vagrants boldly smoking crack, not caring who or what could see them. The bottom of the barrel, the dregs of humanity, hung out in this part of the Vieux Carre. The Commander hurried his pace towards the crime scene. He could see the yellow tape several blocks away and thought what a bitch it would be to climb back up the hill in this August heat. He hailed the CSI team’s chief processing the scene.
"Yo, Vern, what's your ornery ass doing up so early in the morning?" Jack asked, slapping the forensic chief on the back. "I thought you were working nights!"
Detective Vernon Bridges stood up, turned, and faced Jack smiling broadly. "Why Commander, what in the world are you doing down here in this hell hole so early? With your big promotion and all, I never expected you'd leave your air-conditioned office on Royal Street," Vern joshed, pumping the Commander's hand.
Jack returned the grin, happy to see his old friend. "Vern, you know me better than that. I get the hell out of there every chance I get so I don't have to write reports and go to meetings. I hate all of those damn meetings." Jack shook his head and sighed. "These bureaucrats are crazy. They even meet to decide where to place the water fountains." Jack rolled his eyes and Vern laughed heartily.
"Well, then, who writes the reports and goes to the meetings? Isn't that why you got the big pay raise?" Vern teased his old buddy.
"Jason goes. He likes meetings and, as my assistant, it’s his job to make me happy. So, he goes to the meetings and writes the reports, and that makes me happy. Besides, he's glad to get me out of there so he can do his own thing. So, what do we have here?" Françoise questioned, gesturing towards the crime scene.
Vern pointed to the two chalk-etched bodies on the ground and groaned, "The meat wagon took the bodies away an hour or so ago. Two kids, probably late teens or early twenties. Most likely tourists. They were pretty tatted up, lots of body piercings. Looked Goth, if you ask me, but then what the hell do I know? Black clothes, black hair, black nail polish and lipstick on the female vic, lots of metal."
Françoise shook his head. "Geez, not again. The report said their throats were torn out, sort of like an animal had attacked them. Anything else?"
Vern searched out his digital camera and flipped to a couple of shots. "They also had their wrists slit."
"Not much blood around here," Jack said. “Has anyone hosed down the streets? Had city maintenance been through here before they were found?"
"No, I don't think so, although they often come through before dawn. We waved off one truck when we got here a little after 5."
"Who called it in?" Jack asked.
"Anonymous. Someone dialed 911," Vern said, shrugging his shoulders. "Figures, doesn't it? Probably the sick SOB that did it. I got a funny feeling tha
t he’s sitting somewhere close, watching us work the scene. Been thinking that all morning," Vern ended, looking around the area at the rundown buildings and dark alleys.
"Could be. It's happened before. Any possibility they could have been killed somewhere else and dropped here? Any witnesses?"
"Shit, Françoise, you think we got a fairy godmother hanging out down here in no man's land? Nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything, and, the truth is, everybody we've seen is smoking a crack pipe, shooting up, or is drunk or drugged out of their mind."
"Yeah, got'cha. Figures. Get the troops to canvass the neighborhood. You may get lucky. Keep me posted. I am off to the Coroner's Office. The M.E. sent for me to talk about these two vics.”
"Will do. See you, Jack. Hey, by the way, looks like the male may have been upside down on that wrought-iron fence at one point. See the blood on the concrete? Stay out of trouble and meetings," Vern joked as he turned back to the scene.
“Upside down, what the hell,” Jack muttered to himself as he began his hike back to his car. “Damn, it's hotter than the gates of hell already.”
Chapter 3
When Jack reached his car, he was sweating like a pig. He opened the door of his silver Cadillac and sat down relishing the plush seats. He turned the AC on full blast, aimed all the vents towards himself, and sat there for a good three minutes taking pleasure in the cold air. Finally, he started the short distance towards the M.E.’s office on Rampart, praying for a decent parking place, even if it was illegal. He spied one. Bingo! It looked promising as he viewed the street parking. And the parking spot was legal. The day was looking a bit brighter as he slid into the metered spot. Of course, he would never put money in the meter.
Jack squinted from the florescent lights as he entered the temporary administrative offices of New Orleans Forensic Center. He was overcome by the smell of disinfectant and bleach. He high-fived the guard at the desk, signed-in, and continued down the back hall to the stark white autopsy room and morgue.
