by Jana DeLeon
Jackson walked into the police department and headed for his desk. The buzz in the open office dropped a notch as he passed through, and he held in a sigh. The department was so fragmented. Chief Bernard’s suicide had hit all of them hard, and not everyone had taken it the same way. Some were angry at Bernard’s involvement with a cover-up and thought he should have faced the music instead of taking the coward’s way out. Some didn’t want to believe the truth about the man they’d followed and respected for so many years and looked for others to blame. That’s where the Archers’ name came in, but since no legitimate blame could be placed on Corrine or Shaye, that left Jackson to take the heat.
“Look who decided to come in today,” Vincent said. “It’s the Archer family’s very own white knight.”
Jackson threw his keys on the desk, ignoring the senior officer. Vincent had a problem with Shaye that went back to her first case and her first run-in with the lazy, sexist detective. At the time, Jackson had been partnered with Vincent and he’d convinced himself to stay put and keep his mouth shut until Vincent rode his desk chair into retirement, even though he’d doubted his ability to do so every time Vincent opened his mouth.
But then things had heated up and Shaye found herself in the middle of the biggest and most horrific crimes that New Orleans had ever seen. Chief Bernard, recognizing Vincent’s bias against Shaye, had put him on desk duty and assigned Jackson to work with Detective Grayson, his current partner and senior officer. Jackson had been instrumental in helping Shaye take down some truly evil people, leading to her recall of her missing past, but the final showdown had left many dead and so many more devastated.
“What?” Vincent continued to prod. “You don’t speak to people anymore?”
Jackson looked directly at Vincent. “I don’t answer to you, and the jury’s still out as to whether or not you’re people.”
A couple of the other detectives chuckled and Vincent glared at them before whirling around in his chair. Jackson logged in to his computer and pulled up the case file for the missing persons case he’d been assigned three weeks ago. The boy was nineteen years old and a college student. His parents had reported him missing when he failed to return home after a fraternity party. Because they were one of the wealthier families in the city, Jackson had been asked to give them priority.
The reality was, when young adult males didn’t come home after a party, there were a lot of reasons for it that had nothing to do with the criminal element. Sleeping off a drunk. A girl. Pranks with friends. He’d seen a hundred cases of so-called missing college students who turned out to be having fun or avoiding their parents. The worst that had ever come of any of them was a trip to the hospital for alcohol poisoning or overdose, or a night in the drunk tank for fighting in public.
Jackson had suspected the missing boy, Ross St. Claire, would fall in the having too much fun and avoiding his parents category, but he’d inspected the pool house that the young man lived in and checked with the fraternity to verify Ross’s attendance at the party. Everyone remembered him being there, but no one remembered him leaving, and Ross’s car was still in the parking lot.
Past a certain point, Jackson was pretty sure no one had remembered their own names, which hadn’t helped the investigation any. Jackson had put out a BOLO on Ross and told his parents not to worry. That students did this all the time and he’d probably show up hungover and in desperate need of sleep by that afternoon.
He’d been right. Ross had shown up, but not that afternoon and not hungover or in need of sleep. He was dead.
Four days after he disappeared, a couple of kids hiking a well-used walking trail near Lake Pontchartrain had been unfortunate enough to find Ross’s body. He was naked and wrapped around a tree with packing plastic, his arms and legs rendered useless. A plastic bag covered his head and was secured with duct tape around his neck. Official cause of death was suffocation, but Jackson hadn’t needed the ME to tell him that. It had been obvious just looking at the boy’s face, and it was something that had stuck in his mind.
Being secured to a tree naked would have fit the profile of a fraternity prank, but only if the tree were in the middle of the quad where everyone could see. Placing the body on a walking path didn’t provide the embarrassment factor that the fraternities were looking for, and suffocating someone to death was well beyond their goals. Kids had sometimes died in hazing accidents, but it was usually from overdrinking or doing something dangerous, such as walking on the roof of a school building and falling.
Jackson had talked to the ME about the possibility of autoerotic asphyxiation, but the ME had said there were no signs of sexual activity. The interesting thing was there were no signs of a struggle, either. Ross’s fingernails were clean, no scratches or bruises on his body except for those that were likely due to his transport into the swamp. It was a crime without apparent reason with a victim who had no serious enemies.
Ross had been the rich son of a wealthy business owner. He ran with a group of guys in similar circumstances, several of whom he’d known since elementary school. His girlfriend was the niece of a state representative and spent her time hosting charity events with her socialite mother. Other students had admitted they didn’t like Ross overly much, but Jackson had yet to find a case of murder over someone being a “douche bag.”
“You make any headway on St. Claire?” Grayson’s voice sounded behind him.
Jackson turned around in his chair and looked up at his partner and senior officer. “Nothing to speak of. I’ve gone over the case notes a million times. No one remembers him leaving the party or saw him afterward. Some students were willing to admit that St. Claire was a bit of a bully, but I didn’t find anything worth killing over. I’m drawing a complete blank on motive. What about you? Anything come up when you interviewed the family?”
Grayson shook his head. “Nobody knows anything. Everyone loved Ross, and his father has no enemies, even the business kind, if you’re going to believe that rot.”
“I can’t fathom someone who’s been in business as long as Malcolm St. Claire hasn’t picked up an enemy or two.”
“But even if he had, why go after his son? If he wronged someone in a business deal, or whatever, that doesn’t even the score. I’ve met a ton of Malcolm’s type before, and he may be broken up now, but that doesn’t mean business won’t continue as usual.”
“Did you ask for the employee records?”
“Yeah. His HR person is going to copy them all and send them over. Twenty-six people fired over a two-year period. With over four hundred employees, that’s not really a huge amount. I know we have to go through the motions on this, but I’m not anticipating answers in those files.”
“Probably not, but there’s nothing else.”
Grayson blew out a breath. “We have to find something on this. Rhinehart is all over me and I’m running out of ways to avoid him.”
Jackson frowned. Rhinehart was the temporary police chief who had been drafted out of retirement until a replacement for Bernard could be found. Rhinehart was one of the old-school hard-asses who despised anything not specifically aligned with policy and procedure and pretty much thought everyone under the age of fifty was rash and stupid. He had a particular problem with Jackson because being “involved” with a victim was bad policy and didn’t look good for the department. Jackson’s pointing out that Rhinehart had met his wife while investigating her carjacking hadn’t scored him any points.
“Why is he so hung up on this case?” Jackson asked. “There are other murders and I don’t see him riding those detectives.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not friends with the grandfather of the other victims. A fact he shared with me ten minutes ago.”
“Crap.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t know what he expects us to do,” Jackson said. “We can’t create evidence out of thin air, and if we lean hard on the local socialites to talk bad about Malcolm St. Claire, he’ll hear about that too and won�
��t be any happier.”
“Agreed. We need to find someone who is on the inside of things, but isn’t beholden to St. Claire. Everyone I talked to is related and has dealings with him on some level with their own business. Even if they know something, they’re not going to volunteer it.”
Jackson glanced around to make sure no one was listening in, then leaned toward Grayson. “Shaye and Corrine returned home last night.”
Grayson’s eyes widened. “And you know this how?”
“Shaye came by my apartment this morning.”
“That’s huge. I’m surprised it hasn’t been rolling nonstop on every news channel.”
“They chartered a private jet and landed in the middle of the night. The crews aren’t sitting out in front of Corrine’s house 24-7 anymore, so they haven’t caught wind yet.”
“So they managed to slip in without notice, but I imagine the circus tents will go up soon.”
“I’m sure, but since they’re here and we’re not the media, maybe we could ask Corrine about St. Claire.”
Grayson slowly nodded. “They come from the same New Orleans royalty stock, so to speak, and St. Claire definitely had dealings with Archer Manufacturing, but I didn’t think Corrine had much to do with Pierce’s businesses.”
“No, but I would bet Pierce told her plenty whether she wanted to know or not. And if she asked people who worked for Archer Manufacturing to talk, they probably wouldn’t tell her no, especially given that all their jobs rest in her hands now.”
“And she’d know all the social gossip. Okay, but this isn’t something we want to do by phone. So how do we talk to her without the press catching on? Corrine and Shaye are going to have to face that nightmare sooner or later, but I don’t want to be the catalyst that brings it on.”
“I have an idea.”
6
Shaye easily located the convenience store behind the dorm building. She exited at the back of the dorm and crossed an empty lot that needed maintenance, then walked around to the front of the store. An older man stood behind the counter and looked up to scrutinize her when she entered. She stepped up and showed him her identification.
His eyes widened. “Archer? I thought you looked familiar. I’ve seen you on the news.”
Shaye held in a sigh and wondered for the millionth time just how much her past was going to affect her ability to do her job. “I imagine most everyone has.” She looked around the store, then back at the man. “Have you worked here long?”
“I own the place. Name’s George Moss, but everyone calls me Pops. I been here for going on thirty years. Keep saying I’m going to retire. Gets harder every year to keep the thieves out of here. And it’s not even the poor ones you got to worry about. The ones with money do it for sport. I got losses the last two years that I didn’t have in my first twenty put together. This generation went to hell in a handbasket, I tell you.”
“I’m sorry you’re having so much trouble. Maybe you should consider better security.”
Pops pointed to the cameras in the corners. “I got security. Can’t tell you how many times I went down to the police station with video and even names and they didn’t do shit. Too busy with serious crimes to worry about stolen candy bars. File it on my insurance, they said. If it was candy bars, I wouldn’t care, but they always go for the energy drinks. Thought about locking them up.”
“Maybe retirement wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
“Darn right it wouldn’t be. Anyway, I’m sure you didn’t come here to help with my problems, so what can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a student who lives in the dorm behind your store. His roommate said he left Sunday night to come here for a soda, but he hasn’t been seen since.”
“Probably on a bender. That’s their other scam—fake ID for beer. Like they can pull anything I haven’t seen before.”
“That’s probably true a lot of the time, but this student wasn’t the partying kind. He was more of a bookworm.” She pulled her phone out and showed Pops the picture she’d gotten from Tara.
Pops leaned over the counter and squinted at the screen. “Yeah, I know him. You’re right. He’s not the drinking type. Kinda shy, always polite. You said he’s disappeared?”
“Yes. Were you working Sunday night around nine?”
“I dropped in to pick up some accounting around that time or maybe a bit before, but I didn’t see the boy. One of my employees was working that shift.” Pops looked out the front window of the store. “There he is now. Name’s Thomas Pitre. He’s a student. Another one of them nerdy types and a little uppity. I tried calling him Tommy and he practically blanched.”
Shaye looked out the window at the young man who was chaining a bicycle to a post on the far side of the parking lot. He was about six feet tall, slim build, with unkempt hair and wire-framed glasses. He slumped as he walked, looking down, and didn’t make eye contact with either Shaye or Pops when he entered the store.
“Thomas,” Pops said as the young man approached the counter. “This lady needs to talk to you.”
He raised his head and looked at Pops, then Shaye, and his expression shifted from slightly startled to confused.
“What about?” he asked quietly.
“She’s looking for some kid who went missing Sunday night on his way to the store. She wants to know if you saw him.”
Thomas’s eyes widened. “Someone’s missing? Who?”
“Ethan Campbell,” Shaye said. “Do you know him?”
Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think so, but then most students pay cash and we have a credit card machine, so it’s not like I see names on cards.”
“And they don’t bother introducing themselves,” Shaye said, giving Thomas an encouraging smile.
“No, ma’am,” Thomas said.
Shaye pulled up the image of Ethan and showed it to Thomas. “This is Ethan Campbell. Do you recognize him?”
Thomas stared at the phone for a second, then nodded. “He comes in here a couple times a week. Usually to buy sodas and chips.”
“Did you see him Sunday night?” Shaye asked.
Thomas frowned. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know that I’d remember. I go to school full time and usually work nights, so days kinda run together.”
“I understand,” Shaye said. “Is there anything you can tell me about Ethan? Did he ever come in here with other people? Did you see him talking to anyone? Did he ever talk to you?”
“I saw him with that girl in the picture,” Thomas said. “Never anyone else that I can remember. He wasn’t much of a talker and neither am I. The girl was talking about math one time and I got the impression he was helping her with a class. I figure he’s probably smart.”
“He is,” Shaye said, and handed a business card to Thomas. “If you think of anything or hear anything around campus, please let me know.”
Thomas stared at the card a couple seconds, then put it in his back pocket. “You don’t think anything happened to him, do you? I mean, I work alone at night…”
“I don’t know what happened,” Shaye said, “but I have no reason to believe this area of town is any more dangerous than it ever was. I’m sure Ethan’s disappearance has nothing to do with this store.”
“Okay,” Thomas said, looking a bit relieved. “I’ll start stocking the sodas.” He headed through a door on the back wall.
Shaye turned to face Pops. “I don’t suppose you keep your security footage?”
Pops nodded. “I usually delete it after a month because it takes up so much space on my computer, and I’m not paying for one of those damned cloud things. Technology is going to send us all into bankruptcy.”
“Or an asylum,” Shaye said and smiled.
“Got that right. The security company keeps trying to get me to update. What for, I ask? What I got works fine and I know how to use it. Who has weeks to learn something new? Follow me.”
Pops waved her behind the counter and pointed to a door behind him. �
��Thomas!” he yelled. “Come watch the register for a couple minutes.”
Shaye followed Pops into the tiny office behind the counter and waited as he accessed the security footage, cursing every time he clicked the mouse. “Here it is,” he said finally. “This piece starts at eight p.m. and goes for four hours. If that kid came in here, he’ll be on there.”
Pops got out of the chair. “You go ahead and watch as long as you’d like. If I don’t get back to the counter, I’ll be stocking those sodas myself tomorrow and my back’s not what it used to be.”
Shaye slid into the chair as Pops left the room and turned her attention to the monitor. It was a feed split into four different views of the store. Shaye focused on the one that showed the front door and carefully studied everyone who entered. Thomas was right that the store did a healthy business at night. So healthy, in fact, that she was a little surprised Pops didn’t have two people working, but then she guessed the losses on theft weren’t as high as the pay for another clerk.
Thomas rang up a steady stream of college kids and the occasional adult, and around nine, things started to slow down. A young woman came inside waving at the gas pumps and Thomas went outside with her, then returned a couple minutes later. After cleaning his hands with antibacterial soap, he went to the door and locked it and headed through the door at the back of the store that Shaye had seen him walk through earlier. He came out about ten minutes later, pulling a dolly with several boxes on it.
He placed the dolly in front of the soda machine and then opened the front door, letting in a couple of guys who were waiting outside. While the guys were making their selections, Thomas started replacing cartridges in the soda machine and checking each offering to make sure it had the proper blend of carbonation and flavoring. After he rang up the guys, he continued stocking straws and napkins.
No one entered the store for another ten minutes, then a guy wearing a black jacket walked inside. Under different circumstances, it might not have stood out, but it was a particularly warm fall night in New Orleans. Most of the students who’d come into the store had been wearing shorts and T-shirts. Shaye leaned forward and watched as the guy went to the coolers and pulled out an energy drink.
