by Deanna Chase
Once he'd ended the call, he turned back to Lissette. “Have you heard from Demetrius?”
“Not yet,” Lissette answered.
Jon-Luc's senses hummed. “Is that normal?”
“Well, no, but he has been with me for many years. He is very competent. My husband hired him. Not only as a driver, but a bodyguard. I trust him with my life. I must admit, that is one reason I did not hurry to update the security on the house.
“He lives above the garage. If ever I need him, I can simply call. It has given me peace of mind since the passing of my husband. Then there is Michael, and he too lives on the property. He is younger, but he is a strapping young man. Both men are big and can handle themselves.”
“And where is this Michael? I’d like to speak with him.”
“Unfortunately, Michael is not here. I sent him to pick up some items for me.” She looked at her watch. “He should be returning within the hour. I will send him to you the moment he arrives.”
“Great. Now about those cameras. Do you have some place where we can set up as a security room?”
Lissette stood and smoothed her skirt. “I believe so, follow me.”
True to their word, the security company sent over several men who were busy working around the estate. They replaced the system in the main house, then added sensors at the electronic gate and around the outside wall of the property. Jon-Luc showed the men all the places he wanted cameras. They were busy erecting posts at the moment. Some would be hidden in trees. The cameras themselves were on order and would take a couple of days to arrive.
Claude had sent over three men. Jon-Luc had two walking the perimeter and one standing guard at the gate. The one at the gate had the house phone and Jon-Luc’s number programmed into his cell. He instructed him not to let anyone in without permission from either himself or Lissette.
Jon-Luc was in the middle of helping the man setting up the monitors in the butler's pantry, a small unused room off the kitchen in the back of the house when his cell phone rang.
“Boudreaux here.”
“This is Greg at the front gate. I have a suspicious looking guy who says he works here. His name is Demetrius Marcos.”
“Have you checked his ID?” Jon-Luc asked.
“Yes, and the address on it is this one. Should I let him in?”
“Yes. And tell him to come directly to the main house.”
“Yes, monsieur.”
Jon-Luc slipped his phone back into his pocket and made his way toward the front door. By the time he opened it, a black Rolls Royce had pulled up at the base of the steps. A muscle-bound guy unfolded himself from the driver’s seat. His eyes locked on Jon-Luc’s as he slammed the door and strode purposefully toward him. Animosity came off him in waves.
“This should be fun,” Jon-Luc muttered under his breath.
Then louder, he addressed the man. “You must be Demetrius.” Jon-Luc’s hand shot out while he waited for the man to make his way up the steps. He looked dangerous, not just his size, but the way he carried himself. He wore a tailored suit that looked expensive. A scar ran the length of his left cheek. He was a tad taller than Jon-Luc, about six-seven, and outweighed him by a good thirty pounds, all muscle.
The man stared at the outstretched hand and ignored it.
“Who are you? What is going on here?” His accent was heavy, Jon-Luc couldn’t place it.
“My name is Jon-Luc Boudreaux, and I’m consulting with Inspector Claude Rousseau, Criminal Division of the Police Nationale. I have a few questions for you.”
The man all but harrumphed as he stalked past him into the house. Jon-Luc shut the door and followed.
“Where would you like to talk?” Jon-Luc asked.
“I am going to eat my lunch. I do not care where you go.”
“Fine, the kitchen it is.” Jon-Luc watched as Demetrius headed straight to the stainless steel refrigerator and took out a giant sandwich on a plate surrounded with plastic wrap.
He grabbed a jar of pickles from the door, and a bottle of orange juice. He set them all on the island in the center of the room and sat on a stool, ignoring Jon-Luc. He opened the juice and drank straight from the container.
Jon-Luc sat on a stool across from him. “I’d like to know where you were last night.”
The plastic container of juice slammed down on the counter and the man stared at Jon-Luc. For a moment it didn’t look as if he would answer. Then he glared defiantly at him.
“I took a drive,” Demetrius finally said.
“Alone?”
“Yes, alone.”
“Where'd you go?”
“Around.”
This guy wasn't helping his cause. “Anyone who can verify that? Did you stop anywhere? Get gas maybe?” Jon-Luc asked.
“No.”
“And when did this drive take place?”
“I left around eleven and got back around three.” He took a huge bite of his sandwich.
“That’s a long drive.”
He chewed a bit before he answered. “I can do what I want with my time off.” He washed his sandwich down with some more juice before he took another bite. The way he was going at it, he’d have the entire thing finished in four, five bites tops.
“Yeah? Does that include mutilating rabbits in order to scare women?”
“I did not do that. I think you are going too far regarding some prank. Who was at the gate when I arrived?”
“Security.”
“I am Madame Beauchamp’s security. I have been for as long as I have worked here. She does not need no one else.” Then Demetrius shoved more of the sandwich into his mouth.
“Really. And what about last night when someone was on the property leaving a menacing message for Angela Henderson to find? What kind of security were you supplying then?”
“Michael told me he would be home. Why do you not talk with him?” Demetrius ate half a pickle in one bite.
“Oh, I will, believe me. But for now, I’m talking to you. And not getting very far, I might add.”
Demetrius popped the last bite of sandwich and pickle into his mouth and brushed the crumbs off on his pants. “I do not know what you want me to say,” he said through a mouthful of food. “I would not do such a thing.” He took his plate to the sink, then put the pickles and orange juice back in the fridge.
“So you didn’t stop at any clubs last night? Maybe have a drink with Claira Raines?” Jon-Luc watched as he slammed the refrigerator door, his back stiffened.
Without turning around he said, “What does she have to do with this?”
“She was murdered last night.” That got his attention. He swung around and glared at Jon-Luc.
“Claira is dead?”
Jon-Luc saw a shadow flicker across the man's face, then the scowl was back. He wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or just good acting. But this guy was hiding something, and Jon-Luc was going to find out what.
15
Angie entered the kitchen and stopped. Jon-Luc and Demetrius were squaring off as if they were about to go at each other.
“Am I interrupting something?” They turned their heads.
Jon-Luc came over to her. “Not at all. Did you need something?”
“Actually, I wanted to ask Demetrius to take me into the city. I need to get everything from the hotel and bring it back here. Lissette wants to set up operations in the ballroom.”
“Can Demetrius do it alone? I’d rather you not leave the grounds right now. I’d like to keep an eye on you.”
Angie glanced over at Demetrius. “Do you mind?” She dreaded his response, as she swore the guy hated her.
He shrugged. “Make a list. I need to go to my quarters first. I’ll pick it up from you on my way out.”
“Actually, we need everything: gowns, sewing machines, the riser. We’re moving the entire operation here until the show. Maybe you should take Michael with you.”
“I can do it,” he grumbled without looking her in the eye. An
gie flinched at his brusque attitude. He disappeared through the back door and she turned toward Jon-Luc.
“I guess I should move my things from the guest house,” Angie said.
“Let me help you,” Jon-Luc offered.
“It’s not much.”
“No problem. I’d like to talk with you alone anyway.” He opened the back door and waited for her to go first.
“Okay,” Angie said as she passed him on her way out.
Jon-Luc walked alongside her. “So, how you holding up?”
She slid him a look. “Do you mean after I woke to a butchered rabbit at my door, or how I found out I might be on a serial killer’s ‘To Do’ list?”
Jon-Luc chuckled. “Both.”
She grinned. “Isn’t that a lot like asking, other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?”
He laughed and shook his head. “I guess you’re right. Look, I know this is a lot to take in, but we're doing everything we can to catch this crazy son-of-a-bitch.”
“Yeah. Well, I’d really appreciate it if you could do it before he kills me.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Just sayin’.”
“Yeah.”
Jon-Luc placed his hand at the small of her back after they left the brick path and made their way across the grass. The contact made her tingle. Like Pavlov's dog, her body instantly reacted to his touch the way it had during the kiss they'd shared. Damn, the guy really knew his stuff. The way her female parts responded was embarrassing. Earlier, Lissette had just asked about him before he walked back into the room. Angie prayed he hadn’t heard.
They had just rounded the corner of the cottage when she stopped, and the smile died on her lips. A large puddle of dried blood stained the front stoop. In that moment, the enormity of the situation came flooding back.
She felt Jon-Luc's hand on her shoulder. “We should probably go through the front door,” he said quietly.
“Yeah.” She followed him to the formal entrance of the cottage.
Not until they entered her room did Jon-Luc break the silence. “You know, it was very inappropriate of me to kiss you, under the circumstances.”
Angie turned around with a load of clothes she'd just taken from the closet and threw them on the bed. “Let’s just say it took me by surprise,” she said without looking at him.
He chuckled. It sounded a bit self-conscious, something she never would have expected from this man. “Uh, yeah. You and me both,” he said before he grabbed a suitcase from the bottom of the closet, placed it on the bed and undid the zipper.
Jon-Luc’s cell phone rang and he excused himself before he walked out into the hall. “Yeah, Claude, what’s up?”
“I just came from autopsy. Cause of death on Claira Raines is exsanguination. The cut in the throat. Everything else was done to her body postmortem,” Claude said.
“Thank God for that. So, she bled to death like the others. Was she sexually assaulted?”
“No. What are you thinking?”
“I think this guy's getting off. There's a sexual component to his kills. Stripping the women, then taking their clothes with him. Shame could be part of his ritual. Everyone feels vulnerable when naked, women especially. It's been my experience, no matter how beautiful the woman, she's always critical about her body. Did your team do a specific search for semen?”
“I will check and get back to you.”
“Great. I talked to Demetrius Marcos, he’s the driver and Madame Beauchamp's bodyguard. This guy’s a real piece of work. He has no alibi for last night. I’ll need the dates when the other women where murdered to see if he has a reliable alibi for any of them.
“He has a real issue with me. I'm not certain if it's with all cops, or me in particular. I can’t tell what kind of accent he has, but it's not French. I thought he'd be Russian, because of the name, but that’s not quite it either.”
“Could it be Greek?” Claude asked.
“Maybe. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a mob connection in his background. This guy is rough. Madame Beauchamp claims her husband hired him. I’d place him in his mid-thirties. The other employee, Michael, hasn’t shown up yet.
“He was supposed to be watching things around here last night since it was Demetrius’ night off.” Jon-Luc paced the length of the hall as he spoke. “In my opinion, either guy would qualify as our killer. Both had access and knew the models. I believe the victims recognized the UNSUB and trusted him enough to go with him.”
“It is a possibility. What else is going on?” Claude asked.
“The guys you sent over showed up and I’m overseeing the installation of the new alarm system. Can’t yet say when I’ll be finished. How about we just keep in touch for now?”
“Sounds good.” Claude hung up and Jon-Luc did the same.
Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Jon-Luc’s attention. He jerked his head to the floor below. A naked Claira Raines stared at him with vacant holes, her once perfect body now marred by a gaping hole in the chest. The wound in her neck grinned at him like a garish smile, and blood seeped from the abrasion.
The apparition turned her back on him and floated toward the kitchen. She glanced back before disappearing through the closed door. Jon-Luc slipped his phone into a pocket and gave chase. By the time he yanked open the door, she was nowhere to be found. He ran out onto the lawn, his eyes scanning the grounds in all directions.
Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. Then he caught a glimpse of her again on the other side of the estate by the gazebo. Jon-Luc rushed toward her, but by the time he made it to the spot, she'd disappeared again. He stood in one place and spun around searching the gardens. It was no use. She was gone.
Claira was trying to show him something, but what?
Finally he gave up and jogged back to the cottage. When he entered the back door, Angie was coming down the stairs juggling two bags. He rushed over to take them from her.
“Thanks. Is everything all right?” she asked as she followed him down the rest of the stairs. “You’ve been gone awhile. Did it have anything to do with the phone call you received?”
“Everything's fine. I was just checking on the security guards. Sorry I didn’t tell you first.”
Jon-Luc led the way to the main house, then up the stairs to the second floor. “Did Lissette tell you which room you would be occupying?”
“Last room on the left,” Angie said as she took the lead.
“Wow, what an amazing room.” She walked straight to the window and looked down. “The pool looks so inviting from up here. I might just take a dip before supper.”
Jon-Luc set the bags on the bed and joined her. Obviously heated, steam wafted up from the water. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind joining you.” He turned his head to see her gazing up at him with those incredible blue eyes. A jolt shot through his body. He brushed her cheek with his finger, then quickly dropped his hand.
What the hell is wrong with me? I can't seem to keep my hands off her.
“Are you finding everything you need, Angela?” Lissette came into the room and stopped.
Angie moved away from Jon-Luc. “Everything's great, Lissette. Thank you so much for your hospitality.”
“Nonsense, you are family.” The older woman turned toward Jon-Luc. “Cocktails will be served at eight and dinner at nine. Will you be joining us this evening?” Her brilliant smile almost blinded him.
“Thank you for the invitation. I’m not sure at this time. I’ll have to see how things go.” He turned back to Angie. “Speaking of which, I’ll let you get settled.”
“Lissette, can I speak with you a moment, alone?” Jon-Luc asked as he led her out of the room.
16
As it turned out, Jon-Luc did not stay for dinner after all. Instead he met Claude at 36 Quai des Orfèvres as it was known by its address, headquarters to the Criminal Division of the Police Nationale in Paris. He and Claude sat alone in the viewing room studying the footage taken at
this morning’s crime scene.
“Do any of these men stand out to you?” Claude asked.
“No, dammit. You’d think after scanning this damn thing for the last two hours we’d have something." Jon-Luc hoped he’d see a man take off with a cop chasing him. Unfortunately, that hadn’t been captured on camera.
They did find the policeman who'd been brutally murdered. The forensic team was still busy going over both crime scenes, but so far they'd found no hair, fingerprints, fibers, or semen. Nothing to identify the killer. Jon-Luc sat back and ran his fingers through his hair.
“You done?” Claude asked.
“Boy, am I.”
Claude hit the lights, then walked back to the table and pulled some photos from a file. “Take a look at these.”
Jon-Luc picked them up and studied them. “Grainy. What am I looking at?”
“Those are still shots taken from a video feed in the club Crystal. This is Claira Raines with the tall man in the baseball cap. She talked with him for about ten minutes before they left together through the front door. Witnesses say he had to hold her up, she was so drunk. No one could give us a description of the guy's face. All they could say was he was big. None of the camera angles caught even a side view of his face. It’s as if he knew where they were located.”
“Great. I take it she was identified by the photo your guys were carrying? Because I sure wouldn’t be able recognize her from these shots.”
“Yes. Then we got hold of the surveillance video and our own guy sharpened the image as best he could to provide us with these stills.”
“So all we know about this guy is he's tall. That really narrows it down. Did any of your witnesses recognize the other victims?”
“No. Just Claira. I still have men scouring the city with their photos to all the clubs, but still nothing.”
