Diabolical (Shaye Archer Series Book 3)

by Jana DeLeon

  For the life of him, Jackson couldn’t figure out what Vincent’s problem was. He was certain Vincent thought Jackson was making him look bad—actually working and all—but everyone in the department had known about Vincent’s lack of work ethic long before Jackson was saddled with him. Jackson’s recent successes had only served to highlight Vincent’s laziness, but so what? Vincent wanted to daydream into retirement, so why didn’t he? No one would say a word if he sat in his chair and let Jackson do all the work. So why didn’t he just shut up and ride his chair into retirement?

  Ego.

  That was almost always the answer with men and most assuredly with cops, but that left Jackson in the impossible position of either doing a lousy job or constantly having Vincent gunning for him. His own pride and ego refused to allow him to do a lousy job, so he supposed he’d spend the rest of Vincent’s time with the department serving as the sacrificial lamb to Vincent’s complaints.

  He walked into the department and gave the desk sergeant a nod. “Hold up, Jackson,” the desk sergeant said.

  “What’s up?” Jackson asked.

  “I’m supposed to send you to Chief Bernard’s office.”

  Jackson stiffened. Maybe Vincent had finally managed to get Jackson in trouble. “Any idea why?”

  “Maybe, but it’s not my place to say. Don’t sweat it. Bernard’s fair and he sees more than people think he does.”

  Crap. Jackson gave the man a nod and headed for the chief’s office. It was about Vincent. He should have known. The older detective hadn’t bothered to check in with him all day, despite the fact that Jackson had left him several messages, and now he was probably whining about paperwork that wasn’t done or something equally trivial. Jackson would just present his side of things, then go home for that shower and beer. Make that beers, plural. He was probably going to need them.

  He’d barely knocked on the chief’s office door when he heard the summons to enter. The desk sergeant had probably alerted the chief that Jackson was on his way. He stepped inside, and a tiny bit of relief coursed through him when he saw only the chief inside. No witnesses probably meant no reprimand for whatever violation he’d committed according to Vincent.

  The chief motioned for him to sit, and he sat across the desk from Bernard.

  “You’ve done some good work lately,” Bernard said. “Work that makes this department look good. More importantly, work that’s saved people—now and in the future.”

  Jackson struggled to control his surprise. This wasn’t at all where he thought the conversation was going to go. “Thank you.”

  “There’s been some rumbling from Vincent.”

  Jackson sat back in his chair.

  Here we go.

  “Talk about you providing confidential information to Ms. Archer,” Bernard continued, “and using police resources to aid a private investigator.”

  “None of that is true,” Jackson said. “Shaye’s case and mine intersected. I didn’t put her onto it. In fact, she was working it before I was.”

  “I know that, and don’t think I don’t see what Vincent is trying to do. I didn’t get to this position by being obtuse. But the tension the two of you are creating isn’t good for the department. So something has to give.”

  Bernard leaned forward in his chair and rested his arms on the desk. “Since Vincent seems determined to keep his head tucked in his turtle shell until retirement, I’m putting him on the Clancy files.”

  Jackson felt a flush move up his face, and he knew if there was any time that he should keep his mouth shut, it was now. But he couldn’t manage it. “So Vincent screws off and he gets to run one of the biggest cases in the department’s history?” He shook his head in disgust. It was even worse than Jackson getting fired. Not only had Vincent’s laziness gotten him on the biggest case the department had ever seen, he’d managed to make Jackson look like the bad guy.

  “Vincent won’t be running it. Frank will.”

  Jackson looked back at the chief as some of his anger began to dissipate. Detective Frank Rizzoli was a New York transplant who had made a name for himself with cold cases. He could ferret out criminals with minimal evidence better than anyone Jackson had ever known. He was also Grayson’s partner.

  “What about Grayson?” Jackson asked. He couldn’t picture the high-strung detective spending his days poring over notebooks, no matter how big the case was. Grayson liked to be in the middle of the action. He wouldn’t be happy at a desk.

  “Grayson needs a new partner. He’s requested you.”

  “Me?” Jackson struggled to contain his excitement. Grayson was a real cop, dedicated to the job and not afraid to go the extra mile to apprehend the criminal. He had probably twenty years or so on Jackson in age and fifteen with the NOLA police department. His case closure rate was solid and the other officers respected him. Jackson couldn’t ask for a better situation.

  “You two will have your own caseload, of course, but when Frank needs help running down leads on the Clancy files, you’ll be assisting there as well.”

  It just kept getting better. If Jackson had an inroad to the Clancy investigation, then he’d be able to find out if any progress was made concerning Shaye.

  And so would Vincent. Shit!

  “Uh, sir,” Jackson said. “I hope you don’t take this as disrespect, but are you sure it’s safe to put Vincent on the Clancy files…given that Ms. Archer is one of the victims?”

  “I’m aware of the potential for problems, and rest assured that the last person I want picking my job performance apart again is Senator Archer. We spoke at length yesterday. I’m rather hoping to avoid a repeat. Frank will limit Vincent’s access. Mostly he’ll be scanning and filing. Given his recent propensity for avoiding any real work, I don’t anticipate his sneaking documents home and attempting to decode them himself.”

  A wave of relief passed over Jackson. “No, sir. Probably not. Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For trying to keep Shaye’s name out of the news. I know it’s going to happen. We can’t keep it a secret forever, but if she just had more time to process…”

  Bernard tilted his head the side and studied Jackson for several seconds. “At first, I thought you were only infatuated with Ms. Archer. Not that I blamed you, of course. She’s a beautiful young lady. Intelligent and intriguing. But I misjudged you.”

  Bernard rose from his desk and Jackson stood with him.

  “Be very careful,” Bernard said. “Women like Shaye Archer come with a high price tag. You might find it’s one you’re not willing to pay.”

  Jackson knew he wasn’t talking about money. Shaye probably had more money than she’d ever use. Bernard was talking about her history, her notoriety. The fact that if he were involved with Shaye, it put him in the spotlight as well, likely for as long as he was willing to stand there. Spotlights didn’t just click off on women like Shaye. They tended to follow them quietly around, just waiting for the next event that needed to be highlighted.

  “I can afford it,” Jackson said.

  Bernard nodded. “Maybe you can. Go see Grayson. He’ll fill you in on your new assignment. Turn over anything you have on your current cases to Maxwell.”

  Jackson nodded and left the chief’s office. Grayson wasn’t at his desk, so Jackson headed for the break room. Grayson was pouring a cup of coffee and gave Jackson a nod as he entered.

  “You talk to Bernard?” Grayson asked.

  “Just left there. Thank you for requesting me. You don’t know how much…” Jackson trailed off, frustrated with himself for sounding so weak. He’d given Vincent entirely too much control over his emotions.

  “You might not be thanking me after you see our caseload. We drew a couple nasty ones and we’ll be helping out with the Clancy investigation as needed.” Grayson studied him for a moment. “I requested you because I like what I’ve seen out of you and unlike Vincent, I want you to share your insight with me. Anything seems off to you, let me know.
I don’t think my radar’s as finely tuned as yours, but I’ve got more years making the pieces fit. I think we can do some good work together.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Grayson nodded. “Frank said he has something he needs to show us.” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and handed them to Jackson. “Would you mind getting a folder from my desk? It’s labeled ‘Clancy.’ I’m keeping it locked up because it’s got some information on Shaye. I need to run and talk to the forensic team before we see Frank.”

  Jackson took the keys and looked at the odd-shaped piece of metal Grayson used as a key fob. “What is this?”

  “Huh? Oh, I’m not sure. Something my dad’s company used to make.”

  “Used to?”

  “He died when I was in college, and my mother sold the company. He used to have that on his desk at home, so I kept it.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Grayson waved a hand in dismissal. “They’re both gone now. They were older when they had me. I think maybe they hadn’t been able to have kids before but I never asked. Meet you back here in a couple minutes?”

  Jackson nodded and headed to Grayson’s desk to retrieve the file. When he got back to the break room, Grayson was already there waiting on him. Grayson took the file and headed down the hall toward the conference rooms. Jackson fell in step beside him, a silent war being conducted in his mind. The question he’d been wanting to ask since he’d left Bernard’s office was on the tip of his tongue, but he knew it was a place he probably shouldn’t go.

  Unable to squelch the desire, he finally blurted out, “Did Vincent do something to prompt these changes? I mean, other than the usual?”

  Grayson looked over at him and smirked. “You caught on to that, did you? Radar.” He shook his head. “You didn’t hear this from me, but word is Vincent went to IA and said you’d given classified information to Shaye Archer. He got IA riled up and one of the suits called a meeting with Ms. Archer today.”

  Anger coursed through every square inch of Jackson’s body. It was one thing for Vincent to mess with Jackson. It was completely another to drag Shaye into his games. “That lying son of a bitch. What happened?”

  Grayson let out a single laugh. “Your lady friend told them both off so bad that the suit left here with his tail tucked between his legs. Then she marched straight into Bernard’s office, and I don’t know what was said, but I would have paid money to hear it. Bernard came out of there apologizing all over himself and yelled at Vincent to get the hell in his office before Ms. Archer had even gotten two steps away.”

  Jackson grinned. “Good for her.”

  “Good for all of us. We could hear Bernard yelling clean through the walls, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. After five minutes or so, Vincent came stomping out and left, then Bernard called me in to tell me he was moving Frank to run the Clancy files and Vincent would be driving a scanner into retirement. I figured it was as good a time as any to ask if he would transfer you.”

  Jackson shook his head, still smiling. “I wonder what she said.”

  “Well, given that the two of you are friends, I was kinda hoping you’d find out and tell me. I wouldn’t repeat it, of course. But I have to admit to wanting to know really bad.”

  “So do I.”

  Grayson pushed the door to the conference room open and walked inside. Frank was working at one end of the table and looked up as they walked in. He was the only person in the room.

  “Lamotte’s official,” Grayson said. “Bernard just gave the word.”

  Frank nodded and motioned for them to come over. “Elliot figured out the code for another notebook. That’s four he’s been able to decipher so far. It looks like Clancy changed the code every year but some of these are repeats, like he used the original code for repeat buyers.”

  “Repeat buyers?” Jackson asked.

  “Yeah,” Frank said. “Elliot found the same names in journals with purchases that are years apart.”

  Jackson felt his excitement grow. “You have names for the buyers? We can start looking for them?”

  “Not exactly,” Frank said. “Clancy didn’t put ‘John Smith’ in the books. It’s all nicknames.”

  “Oh,” Jackson said, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice.

  “Don’t despair, Detective,” Frank said. “Every little step gets us one spot closer to figuring out a twenty-year horror movie. Anyway, here’s what I wanted to show you, and this is for you two only. Bernard’s already approved your working this.”

  Grayson and Jackson nodded.

  Frank pointed to a notation in one of the journals. “I matched this buyer amount and date with the transaction in the seller journal for Lydia Johnson.”

  Jackson drew in a breath. “You found the man who bought Shaye?”

  “His nickname,” Frank reminded him.

  Jackson leaned over and read the word Frank had written above the coded buyer name.

  “Diabolique,” Jackson said.

  “Several of the nicknames have been in French,” Frank said.

  “But you don’t know anything else?” Jackson asked. “Nothing else we could use to go on?”

  “Oh, there’s something else all right,” Frank said, his voice grim. “That’s why I sent for you. Take a look at this.” He pulled another journal over in front of them and pointed.

  “That’s the same name,” Grayson said. “A fifteen-year-old girl. So this buyer had at least two transactions with Clancy.”

  “This one was in June.” Frank flipped the notebook to the front cover and indicated the date in the upper right-hand corner.

  4

  “Oh my God.” Jackson’s stomach rolled. “He bought her last month. Another kid is probably going through the same hell that Shaye did. We have to find her.”

  Grayson nodded, his expression a mixture of disgust and anger. Jackson looked down at the journal again.

  Diabolical.

  5

  Dr. Warren Thompson turned off the television and placed his reading glasses on the end table. He waited a bit before rising from the recliner, allowing his aging eyes to adjust to the dim room. The clock on the far wall began to chime midnight, and he realized he’d been asleep for two hours already. The book that had sounded so interesting in premise hadn’t turned out to be nearly as good in execution, and he’d ended up watching television before dozing off. His back and knees protested as he rose, never letting him forget the forty-two years of work and four years of residency he’d put in before finally admitting his body no longer allowed him to practice medicine the way he wanted.

  So two weeks ago, he did what he never thought he’d do. He retired.

  The first week was all right. It felt more like he was on vacation really, but as Sunday approached and he wasn’t preparing his clothes for the upcoming week, the reality of long days with nothing to do stretched in front of him. The second week was a harsh and lonely awakening. His wife, Marie, had passed away five years before. He’d thought he handled her death well, but looking back, he realized he hadn’t planned for this reality.

  He sighed and headed upstairs, turning off the living room light as he went. Marie had warned him about living only for her and the job. When it was finally clear that the cancer she’d fought so bravely was going to win, she’d made him promise that he’d take up a hobby and make some friends outside of work. Now, with the days and weeks stretching before him, and endless cycle of Netflix, books, and his recliner, he had to admit that Marie had been right.

  Even from the grave she’d managed an “I told you so.”

  Without Marie or his work, to say Warren was at loose ends would be an understatement. His children, one son and one daughter, were successful, busy people with their own lives and responsibilities and didn’t have time to coddle a bored, lonely old man. His grandchildren were starting their careers and one granddaughter was pregnant. He was going to be a great grandfather. That made him smile. Ma
rie would have loved it, especially as it was her favorite granddaughter who was pregnant. Warren knew you weren’t supposed to have favorites. At least that’s what people said, but he also figured they were all liars. Human beings connected with each other on different levels. Why should it be any different just because they were blood?

  He climbed into bed and reached over to turn off the lamp. The silence gave him pause, as it always did. Marie had been a noisy sleeper, her snoring interrupted only by her tossing and turning. When he was working crazy hours during his residency, sometimes Warren had slept in the spare room just to get a good night’s sleep in. But over the years, he’d grown so used to her nighttime activity that now it felt odd to be so still and surrounded by quiet.

  He deliberated turning on the television, but decided against it. Sleep didn’t come as easily as it once had. The noise would be worse than the silence. And the news had been filled with stories of that despicable excuse for a human being John Clancy. The only moment of pleasure he’d derived from the stories was when they highlighted the private detective who’d helped expose Clancy.

  Shaye Archer was the only patient he’d treated who’d ever given him nightmares. She still remained the worst case of abuse he’d ever seen, and knowing that she’d grown up to be a beautiful, successful, and compassionate young woman made him extremely happy. But that didn’t mean that seeing another news story, covering the same tired information, would help him sleep. So he rolled over and closed his eyes, trying not to think of all the things he didn’t have to do the next day.

  He had just dozed off when he heard a noise downstairs.

  He jerked upright, then stilled again to listen, but only the gentle whir of the ceiling fan broke the silence. Had he dreamed it? He didn’t think so. He’d barely been asleep, and his racing heart was a clear indication that he hadn’t imagined it, either. Perhaps the noise was outside, but even as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. Now that he was alert he recognized the sound. It was the creaking of a loose floorboard in the kitchen. His Labrador had passed a couple years before and could no longer be blamed for noises in the night. The skies were clear and there wasn’t a breath of wind. That left only one explanation.