Did Moreau know anything about the murder on Dauphine? She’d seen him engaged in an intense conversation with the musician on the street. Maybe he hadn’t been stalking Jeri after all. The possibility that she’d misread his presence the previous evening made her feel like a very self-absorbed jerk.
“Who died? Was it a man or a woman?”
“A woman.”
Herb seemed to be enjoying the discussion a little too much, and the fleeting thought passed through her mind that Herb could be the killer. Once again, she rejected her thoughts as ridiculous. Herb wasn’t a killer, and he probably had a solid alibi…Jerilyn. Herb was a big old teddy bear. Something the owner didn’t want his patrons to know. Herb’s size alone was usually a deterrent to bar fights and other assorted criminal behaviors. Not always, but usually.
“Anyone we know?”
“I have no idea.”
Herb leaned onto the bar and dug his big hand into the leftover peanuts. Some of them spilled over onto the bar, and she swept them into the trash. Jeri cringed when he popped a handful into his mouth. Surely, he was aware how many grubby hands had touched them.
“Maybe you could ask that cop if he knows anything about the murder. I think he kind of has a thing for you. Maybe he’ll tell you.”
“What cop? Oh, you mean the one that was in here yesterday?”
She cringed. How much had Herb overheard? Would he tell anyone who she was?
“I don’t think I’m going to see him again. He was looking for someone, and I told him I hadn’t seen her.”
He nodded toward the door. “He’s standing over there on the other side of the street.”
She tossed the towel she’d been holding onto the bar. “Watch the bar for me, would you?”
In another minute, Jeri had marched out the front door, crossed the street, and planted herself right in front of the cop. “This is getting old.”
He grabbed her arm and dragged her into an alley between two buildings.
“Ow. Let go of me.” She considered screaming police brutality to anyone who would listen.
“I have a few questions for you, Jerilyn.” His eyes burned her with scorching heat.
“I told you I’m not—”
“Cut the crap. We both know who you are. What I want to know is what you were doing inside a vacant apartment on Dauphine.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “You mean where the woman was murdered?”
His anger turned to suspicion in a heartbeat. “How do you know about that?”
“Herb heard about it, and he told me.”
“Herb? Who’s Herb?”
“The bouncer.”
“So you’re telling me the bouncer told you about the murder? Are you sure you weren’t there when it happened?”
Fear rose up from her gut. His questions had serious implications.
She answered him with the most level tone she could manage. “I’ve never been inside any vacant apartment on Dauphine. Ever. I don’t know why you’d think I had anything to do with that.”
He lifted a plastic bag with the word evidence printed in black across a red label. “Not too many women color their hair this particular color of blue.”
That wasn’t exactly so. She’d seen a few on the streets of the Quarter. Was the guy blind?
She focused on the bag. Sure, there was a hair in there, but she had to squint to see it. How could he tell what color it was? Of course, he’d already had a lab tech analyze it.
If he thought she was a suspect, why hadn’t he pulled her into the police station and asked her to tell him what she knew about the murder? He was revealing too much of his hand by showing her the evidence so early in the game. Moreau wasn’t following good investigative procedure. Was he that bad at being an investigator, or was he cutting her some slack because she was a cop’s daughter? If he was treating her different because of whose daughter she was, then that wasn’t right. Not at all.
Maybe she would be argumentative just for the sake of being difficult. “So just because I dye my hair blue I’m a suspect?”
She stuck her jaw out, challenging him to defend his attitude.
“If this isn’t your hair, then you won’t mind giving me a sample of yours. If you weren’t in the apartment, you won’t mind dropping by the station and getting fingerprinted. Will you?”
Yes, she did mind.
“Is there no other way for you to rule me out as a suspect?” Like asking her about her alibi? Which she had.
He studied her face a long moment. “You’re more worried about your father finding out where you are than being investigated for murder?”
“I doubt if you’re going to be able to connect me to your victim or your scene in any other way besides that hair…if that is my hair.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on the wall behind him with the bag dangling from one hand. “You seem to know a lot about police procedure.”
She laughed without mirth. “We both know I’m a cop’s daughter.”
Damn, she’d just admitted who she was. It was sort of a relief. She didn’t have to pretend to be someone else any longer, and the cop didn’t have to pretend he didn’t know that’s what she’d been doing.
He seemed to struggle with indecision.
She decided to help him make up his mind. “Take me in then. Go ahead.”
She waited.
“That’s what I thought. You have nothing but that piece of hair. I work in a busy bar and come in contact with a lot of people. I could have come in contact with the killer, you know. Which would explain my hair at your crime scene. You’re wasting your time looking at me for that. I was working.”
Suspicion flashed in the cop’s eyes. “How do you know when she died?”
Jeri roared with aggravation. “I heard the sirens when we were talking yesterday. I was in the bar all night. From ten the night before until six yesterday morning. Herb and our customers are my alibis. I never left the bar. When would I have time? I barely have time to go to the restroom or grab a bite to eat.” So now he could follow up on her alibi. She had one. A solid one. “Are you going to arrest me or not? No? Then, leave me alone.”
The woman could have been dead for days or weeks or months, and how would Jerilyn know the difference? The cop had never said when the woman had died.
The weirdo and his bloody drink popped into Jeri’s memory. Should she tell the cop about the guy and his strange behavior? She still hadn’t had the intestinal strength to pull the weirdo’s glass tube out of the baggie and wash it. The thing sat on a shelf in her apartment.
Her gut instinct warned her to keep the information to herself.
“I have to get back to work.” She rushed away from Moreau before he could ask her any more questions.
****
Nick watched Jeri’s back as she walked away. He had debated how to approach her. Perhaps dealing with his inner dialog across the street from the bar where she worked hadn’t been the best move.
No, he didn’t think a woman had killed Jane Doe. The kill had been particularly brutal. It was a man’s crime. Not that a woman couldn’t pull it off, but women rarely committed that type of murder.
Still, he needed to either rule her out or continue to investigate her, and he couldn’t determine which way to go without fingerprints and a hair sample. Once he’d identified her as a person of interest, he couldn’t ignore the lead no matter how much she wanted to remain off the grid.
Of course, he understood why she would refuse to give him a sample of her hair. Still, he needed to explain how a strand of hair that particular color ended up at his crime scene. Jerilyn had explained, but her belligerent attitude hadn’t convinced him to clear her name from his list of persons of interest. So he added checking her alibi to his to-do list.
He walked the short distance to where he’d found a parking space at the curb in front of the derelict Royale Chateau Hotel. The air in his car was stifling when he slipped into the passenger seat. He rol
led the window down and sat for a long while, reluctant to return to the station.
His Uncle Ed was expecting an update. He groaned. Nick had nothing to report that Ed wanted to hear. By the end of the day, twenty-four hours would have passed, and the likelihood of finding her killer would have gone down drastically. Ed would not be a happy captain. Being his nephew would not shelter him from Ed’s cranky temperament. The temptation to ignore Ed’s request for an update was almost too much to resist.
Wanted Dead or Alive caused his cell phone to jump in his pocket. His choice of ringtone had seemed funny at the time he’d downloaded it. Over the last few days, the tune had gotten on his nerves.
“Moreau.” He growled his name at the phone.
“Boss wants to know when you’re coming in.”
Muffled background noises filtered through the fuzzy quality of the call. Petrie had him on speaker. The boss was probably standing right next to the rookie detective.
Nick deflected. “Any luck identifying our victim?”
Petrie cleared his throat. Perhaps he didn’t like being asked the question on speaker, but maybe he should have told Nick up front that the boss was listening in on the call.
“Her prints aren’t in the system, and she doesn’t match the description of any recent missing persons in our database.”
Well, that didn’t mean anything. The database had huge gaps in it. Had Petrie searched outside the New Orleans metro area? He’d have to ask the question when the captain wasn’t listening.
“So what do you think, Captain?”
He emphasized Ed’s rank because he knew it would irk him. Nick only did that when he wanted to remind his uncle they were related, and Ed knew that.
“Should we ask the public for assistance in identifying her?”
Ed grumbled something and then burst out with his reply. “Not yet. Broaden your inquiries outside of the New Orleans area.”
No, Nick didn’t think Ed would want to go public. Nick’s question had been a ploy to get Ed to acknowledge his presence.
“We’ll discuss it when you get here. Tonight, Nick. I want an update tonight before I leave. Get here within an hour.”
Nick felt brave. What was Ed going to do? Fire him. “Why? You got somewhere you need to be?”
The distinctive sound of a phone switching off speaker clicked in his ear. Nick waited a second. “Are we finally alone?”
Petrie spluttered something unintelligible.
“So this is what you’re going to do when Ed does that to you. Okay? You’re going to give me a code word…like…”
“I thought beginning my sentence with Boss would be a big clue, Moreau.”
Hmmm, maybe Petrie was a bit more perceptive than Nick had first thought. “Yeah. Yeah. That’s good. Let’s keep doing that.”
“You’re an ass, you know.”
Yeah. Now, they were bonding.
“Have you gotten the preliminary report from the coroner yet?”
“No.” The serious tone in Petrie’s voice put Nick on guard that he was about to say something Nick wouldn’t like. “He doesn’t want to give it to us until we come to the morgue. Corolla says he has something he wants to show us.”
“Tonight?”
“Of course not. He’s gone home for the day. First thing tomorrow.”
“You can go home if you want. I can update Ed.”
Petrie hesitated. “ I’d like to be in on that conversation.”
His partner had made a good choice. A detective’s work didn’t have set hours, and the sooner the younger cop accepted that the better off he’d be.
****
The next morning, Jeri stood across the street from a three-story building on Dauphine. Crime scene tape still blocked off the sidewalk in front of the building. She shuddered as the creepy vibe of the place rushed through her psyche. Her gaze strayed upward. The rays of the sun reflected off bare spots on the dirt-streaked glass in a third-floor window. She rubbed her eyes. Had she just caught a glimpse of movement? Surely not.
A male voice startled her. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
She swiveled to face the man. He towered over her by a least a foot, and she was a petite five foot three. His almost violet blue eyes stared at her with an intensity that made her squirm. No warmth radiated from the man. None whatsoever. In fact, a distinct chill settled over her spirit while she dared not flinch under his direct gaze.
She broke their stare down, leaned away from the stranger, and mentally prepared to run.
“I love old buildings. They speak to me.”
His comment stalled her. She glanced sideways at the guy. “They speak to you?”
He nudged the camera around his neck. “I’m a photographer.” He pointed at the third-floor. “She was in that room.”
“Who?” Her question stuttered out of her mouth. Had he seen the face in the window just as she had?
“The woman.”
Without a doubt, he meant he’d found the murder victim. She glanced up at the window. Had she just seen someone staring down at her from the room where he’d found the dead woman?
“So why did you come back here?”
His eyes seemed to glaze over as he focused on the third-floor window. “I can’t get her off my mind. You look a lot like her, you know.”
Jeri had the strange feeling he didn’t mean the dead woman. She backed away and turned to walk away.
“Hey wait.” He caught up with her.
The beginning of a scream tickled the back of her throat.
“You bartend at Johnny J’s, don’t you?”
She kept moving. “Ummm…no. You must have me confused with someone else.”
He laughed, a deep throaty laugh. “How many women dye their hair that color?”
She picked up her pace, but he caught up with her and grabbed her elbow.
“If you don’t let go of my arm, I’m screaming.”
He released her and backed up a step. “Hey. Take it easy. I don’t mean any harm. I just wanted to ask you something.”
She put some distance between them. “Ask me what?”
“If you would let me photograph you. I mean… You’re very photogenic.”
“Back off, creep.” Her leg muscles tensed.
She nearly toppled over when someone bumped into her. Her backpack slid to one side and shifted her balance. She twisted around and came face-to-face with Weirdo. Her pulse accelerated. Were the two men working together?
Blood covered Weirdo’s face. Streaks and smears of red colored his shirt and his ratty Army surplus jacket. The scream she’d been holding back ripped from her throat. The weirdo grabbed her wrist as he bent over, gasping for breath.
She twisted and struggled to loosen his grip. “Let go of me.”
The weirdo jerked on her arm until she had bent enough they were eye to eye. “You have to stop him.”
Her heart rate skyrocketed.
“I wasn’t sure at first…but now I know. You are the chosen one. You have to stop him.”
The photographer grabbed Weirdo by the shoulder and shoved him into a standing position, but the weirdo’s knees apparently gave out because he sank to the pavement. His kneecaps cracked when he hit the concrete. That might have been the most horrible sound Jeri had ever heard.
Still, Weirdo held onto her wrist as if his life depended on it, pulling her down to the sidewalk with him. He gripped her chin with his other blood-covered hand, pulled her head toward his lips, and whispered in her ear. “I give the gift to you.”
The horrible truth ripped through her like a shock wave. The man was dying while he had her chin captured in his strong grip.
“You have the gift now. Learn to use it wisely. Don’t waste it the way I did.” With those final words, his eyes rolled back in his head.
His fingers loosened. The strange man who ordered the strange mixed drinks fell over sideways, and the spark of life faded from his eyes.
She scrambled backward, away from hi
m. “Is he dead?”
The photographer pushed her aside to get between them. “No. It can’t be like this.”
Strange. The guy’s face had flushed. His voice rasped with anger instead of shock or fear. He squatted and pressed two fingers against the weirdo’s carotid artery. Just as the photographer’s fingers met the man’s skin, a rattle of air escaped him.
The photographer gasped and fell back against Jeri. A shockwave of revulsion passed through her. She shoved him off her and jumped to her feet.
“He shouldn’t have given you the gift. It doesn’t belong to you.”
By the time Weirdo had drawn his last breath, a crowd had gathered around them. To Jeri’s relief, Moreau pushed through the onlookers and stood over the dead man. His eyes met hers, and she knew she had some explaining to do.
Claw-like fingers wrapped around her upper arm, and she twisted to face the photographer. His eyes blazed with heat, almost like he had a fever. His voice rasped close to her ear. “Don’t tell the cop anything about the gift.”
A vision raced across her mind. A man held a bloody dripping knife high above a woman’s head. The raw terror in the woman’s eyes gripped Jeri’s insides with horror. The image left almost as quickly as it had appeared. A hollow sensation settled in the bottom of her gut. She wanted to run, but she couldn’t. Running would make her look guilty as sin.
Stinging pinpricks needled different parts of her body. What was happening to her? Jeri was only one more horrid sensation away from dissolving into hysteria. She lifted her hand to rub the sting on her chin, but Moreau’s hand shot out to stop her as he dragged her a few feet away from the photographer.
“Don’t.”
She gazed at him in bewilderment.
“There’s blood on your chin. We’ll need to take photos before you clean your face.”
That’s when the horror overtook her, and she gave in to the hysteria that had been escalating ever since the photographer had first stood next to her.
Chapter Four
Jeri sat in the back of Moreau’s car and sipped on the coffee someone had shoved into her hand. Another shudder rippled through her body. She wanted something stronger.
Second Sight (Prescience Series Book 1) Page 3
