by Joanna Wayne
She had several patients balancing precariously on the thin edge of control. If this was a cry for help, she needed to check it out here at the office, where all of the phone numbers were at her fingertips. A quick slice with the sharp edge of her silver letter opener, and a slip of carefully folded notebook paper fell into her hand.
The message was typed. She scanned it and then sank into her chair, her stomach twisting into a tight knot. She read the words again.
Dr. McKnight,
Happy Holidays!
Your first surprise can be found in a vacant lot in Algiers. It is the body of a young woman. There will be more to follow. By Christmas you will be begging for mercy. I will show you the same mercy you showed me.
Sweet dreams, doctor.
The grisly images the letter painted ran through Susan’s mind like a nightmare in slow motion. Fingers trembling, she folded the sheet of paper and slid it back inside the envelope.
Who could have sent the message? Who was sick enough to think such insane thoughts? Did one of her patients suffer from inner torments so destructive they could drive him or her to murder?
Or had someone written this letter to punish her for some reason only the writer knew? She clutched at that thought, needing to believe the letter was no more than an idle threat.
But the images persisted. For all she knew, the man who wrote it could be out there now, standing in the dark shadows.
A shudder traveled her spine. All of a sudden she wanted to escape the isolation of her office. She had to call the police, but she could do it from the safety of her car. Hands trembling, she placed the note in the envelope inside her briefcase and headed for her car.
She jumped in the driver’s seat, started the car and backed the gray Lexus sedan out of her parking place and turned left, toward Prytania street. The rain had intensified, pelting her windshield in sheets. One hand on the wheel, she dialed 911 on her cellular phone and waited to be connected with the police.
“GIVE ME A HIGH FIVE, podner.” Jack Carter’s voice boomed and echoed down the walls of Children’s Hospital.
He moved on to the next bed. “Ho, ho, ho. And what do you want for Christmas, Matilda?”
A petite brunette in a hospital gown grinned and stared at him, reaching a bandaged arm to run her swollen and bruised fingers through his fake gray beard. “How did you know my name?” she asked, wonder shining in her dark eyes.
“Because I’m Santa Claus.” And because it was written on her wristband. He kept that fact to himself. Even Santa had to have a few secrets.
She giggled. “How did you know I was here?”
“Santa knows everything.”
“Then how come you had to ask me what I want for Christmas?”
“I didn’t.” He reached into the canvas bag that was depleting quickly and came up with a Barbie doll in a shimmering red dress. “I picked this out especially for you.”
“Oooooh. She’s so pretty.” She trailed her fingers along the hem of the doll’s skirt. “Can I keep her and take her home with me?”
“She’s yours. If you don’t take her home, I imagine she’ll be pretty upset with you.”
“My momma said Santa might not come this year because we have so many hospital bills. I fell from the tip-top of a tree in my backyard and broke my bones in seven places. But I knew you’d come. I just didn’t know you’d come before Christmas.”
“Old Santa visits hospitals early. That way you get a head start on Christmas fun.”
Matilda wound her good arm around Jack’s neck. He chucked her under the chin just as the beeper at his waist began its vibrating dance. He’d left his police radio in the unmarked car in the parking lot. Somehow precinct bantering about apprehending suspects didn’t quite match the aura of the red felt suit.
“Be a good girl, and stay out of those trees, Matilda.”
She promised she would and settled into skipping her new doll across her pillow while Jack headed down the hall in search of a phone. One night without an emergency. An hour to spread a little cheer with a bunch of hospitalized kids. You’d think that wouldn’t be too much to ask.
JACK SWERVED INTO the spot marked Tow Away Zone and straightened his red cap. The simplest thing would have been to finish his rounds at the hospital, change into street clothes and then make this call. But the Chief had insisted on a rush with this one. Dr. Susan McKnight, a shrink with clout and a complaint. A dangerous combination.
He’d finish up fast and get back to the hospital. Besides, a Santa cop might make this woman’s day. She could analyze his motives, evaluate his emotional stability and probably declare him unfit. She wouldn’t be the first. The chief did that on a regular basis.
Of course, the rest of the time he was patting him on the back and giving out the next tough assignment, the kind the more conventional cops turned up their noses at. It’s dirty and a little underhanded—give it to Jack Carter. He wondered why he’d drawn this call. And why the details had been so skimpy.
Jack rearranged his tummy stuffing as he covered the few steps to the wooden overhang and rang the bell. A shrill yell told him there was a kid in the house and that she had spied him through the peephole. This call might be more fun than he’d anticipated.
The door swung open, but the person standing inside was no kid. The greeter was female, definitely female. About five-seven, hair the color of peanut-butter fudge, piled on top of her head and tucked away with a pearl hairpiece. His gaze slid past her bedroom eyes, all the way to the black leather heels. The neat, tailored suit she wore did not disguise the curves that appeared in all the right places. She was definitely a looker.
“Solicitors are not allowed in this neighborhood.”
And a personality that canceled out all of her physical attributes, Jack decided, as her cool voice split the air between them. “Is that why you called the police? To report unwanted solicitors?” He fished his badge from his pocket and flashed it in her face.
She scrutinized him as if he were a slimy specimen she’d slid under a microscope. “No. I called the police over a very serious matter. I expected a serious response to my request, not a department store Santa in costume.”
“Cops have to make a living, too. A little moonlighting pays the bills,” he said, playing along with her mistaken assumption. It was always fun watching the high-and-mighty get agitated. “Now, if you’d invite me inside, I could hear your very serious complaint and quit wasting time. I left a long line of kids waiting at the department store.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“What you bring me, Santa?” A wide-eyed toddler pulled at the leg of his pants.
“Hello there, podner. Have you been a good boy?”
“Yes. I ate my peas, and I didn’t mean to pull Rebecca’s hair.”
“Then you deserve a treat” He rattled the keys in his oversized pocket and rummaged until he located a couple of wrapped candy canes. He held them out for the boy and his sister.
“Are you really Santa?” The pigtailed youngster spoke this time, her stare similar to her mom’s. Another doubting Thomas.
“He is not Santa, Rebecca. He’s just a man in a Santa Claus suit, the same way you weren’t really Cinderella when you dressed for Halloween.”
“I felt like Cinderella.”
“And I feel like Santa Claus,” Jack agreed, enjoying the fire the comment brought to the eyes of the gorgeous dragon lady. “Especially when my reindeer aren’t acting up.”
“Can I see your reindeer?”
“You’d have to go with me to the North Pole. It’s too warm in New Orleans for reindeer, except on Christmas Eve, of course.”
The dragon lady shot him an icy stare. “The funnydressed man is here to discuss business with me, Rebecca. I want you and Timmy to sit on the sofa and watch Beauty and the Beast. We’ll talk in the kitchen.”
“I don’t want to watch Beauty and the Beast.”
“That’s fine. Then watch one of your other movies.”
“No. Not time yet. I want to watch TV.”
“Right. First you can watch TV.”
“Can I sit in the kitchen with you?” Rebecca asked. “I won’t interrupt or anything.”
“Rebecca, please, just watch TV with your brother. I need you to help me out with this.”
Rebecca’s bottom lip dropped in a serious pout, but she obeyed, kicking off her shoes and climbing onto the sofa beside her brother. Jack followed Susan McKnight into a kitchen that smelled of spices and baked bread. Unlike the owner, the kitchen was warm and inviting. He took a chair at the wooden table. Susan leaned against the counter.
“So what is this problem you have that needs police assistance?”
“I received an unsigned note tonight, just before I left the office.” A tinge of fear caught in her otherwise smooth voice and captured Jack’s full attention.
“What kind of note?”
She opened her briefcase and took out an envelope. The tremble in her fingers was slight, but not so slight that it escaped Jack’s attention. She shoved the envelope across the table.
He slipped out the note and read it, touching only the edges of the paper, careful not to smudge any possible fingerprints.
“No stamp. How was this delivered?”
“One of my patients found it outside the door to my office, tucked under the edge of the mat.”
“Have you ever received anything like this before?”
“Of course not. I would have called the police if I had.”
“So who was the patient that found it?”
“My patient log is confidential.”
“Murder is serious business, Dr. McKnight.”
“So is confidentiality. And I’m well aware of my professional responsibility to the police and my patients. I’ll cooperate as much as I can, but the man who handed me the note isn’t the one who wrote it.”
“Are you telling me you know who wrote this note?”
“No, but earlier this evening, I was at my desk talking to Rebecca on the telephone. I thought I heard footsteps, but no one rang the bell. I decided it was just the wind, until my next patient found the note.”
“You know your patients. Is one of them nuts enough to commit murder and blame it on you?”
“Nuts? I’m sure you mean mentally ill. But the answer is no. At least, I don’t think so. I can’t even imagine one of them capable of writing a note like this. I’m not sure this is from a patient.”
She dropped to the chair opposite his, her hands twisting around a cloth napkin she’d lifted from the counter. So the woman wasn’t really made of iron. His protective urges surfaced, rough and raw, the way he lived.
“We don’t have a report of any bodies being found in Algiers, Dr. McKnight. My guess is this is some kind of kook out to frighten you.”
“That’s my guess, too. But we can’t be sure. Hostility of this severity can escalate quickly.”
“Yeah, or as we low-life cops in Santa suits say, the man might blow like a cheap firecracker.”
She drummed long, red nails on the kitchen table. “So I suggest you do something to stop him,” she said, freezing him with a challenging stare, her temporary vulnerability buried in the strong lines of her face.
“I plan to. Do you have a plastic bag I can store the note in? I’d like to have it checked for fingerprints. I’ll meet with you tomorrow at your office to discuss possible suspects.”
“You might note that it is scented,” she said, “with an unpleasant odor, some sort of men’s cologne, I believe.” She handed him the bag as the phone rang and she excused herself to answer it. Jack took the time to scribble a few notes.
Complainant might be hiding something. Not at all talkative where her patients were concerned Cool, reserved and a stickler for protocol.
He stored his other observations in his mind. The woman was a real looker. Enough to drive a sane man mad if the conditions were right.
A shuffling of feet at the door caught his attention. The pigtailed cutie had wandered over to check on him.
“My auntie mom’s talking on the phone.”
He stuck his pencil behind his ear. “Your auntie mom?”
“That’s what I call her, but she’s not my real mom or my aunt. She’s a guardian. That’s a person who takes care of you when your parents can’t.” She inched closer. “Auntie Mom’s real nice most of the time, but she doesn’t believe in Santa.”
“Do tell.”
“But I’m not sure if I believe or not.” She rose up on tiptoe to whisper the confession in his ear.
“Then we’ll keep this our secret.”
She giggled and ran her finger through his beard. “I’d like having a secret Santa.”
“Then I’m your man.”
She crawled in his lap and looked him in the eye. “If you’re the real Santa, I only want one thing for Christmas.”
“What’s that?”
“A husband for my auntie mom Timmy and I are too much for her to handle by herself. I heard her say so when she didn’t know I was listening. But if she had a husband, he could be our guardian, too, and they could keep us forever.”
Susan strode back into the room, saving Jack from having to come up with an answer. A husband for the beautiful doctor. A piece of cake. All he’d have to do was find someone compatible. Attila the Hun came to mind.
THE RAIN HAD SLOWED to a steady drizzle by the time Jack left the McKnight house and climbed under the steering wheel of his Ford. He poked the key into the ignition, but instead of turning it, he pulled the letter from its plastic pouch and read it one more time.
The note had the potential for stirring the blood of anxious news reporters and sending the citizens of New Orleans and the surrounding area into a frenzy. No wonder the Chief himself had put a rush on it.
Dr Susan McKnight was concerned the man in the Santa Claus suit might not take her case seriously enough, which just showed she could be wrong, Jack thought.
The police radio rumbled, and he twirled the control knobs to kill the static. A carjacking at Tchoupitoulas and Magazine. Two patrol cars in pursuit. He revved the motor and pulled into traffic. He’d have to finish his hospital fun another night. Right now he had to get out of these clothes and into some less criminal-friendly garb.
He’d just turned onto Rampart when the real news of the evening hit the waves. The body of a young woman had been found in the woods off Behrman Highway in Algiers. She’d been strangled with a silk scarf.
A cold image of death cracked like a whip in Jack’s head, spurring him into action. He yanked the portable flasher from the seat beside him and stuck it on the dashboard, the blue lights clearing the way as he sped through traffic. There was no time to waste on changing clothes. Santa Claus was on his way to the scene of the crime.
Chapter Two
Thursday, December 16
2:15 a.m.
It was past two in the morning when Jack Carter finally climbed into the shower. He adjusted the temperature until the water was as hot as he could stand it, then stood under the spray.
Soap and steamy water would help, but it could not begin to remove the horror of what he had witnessed tonight. From Santa Claus to homicide in less than sixty minutes. All in a night’s work for an NOPD detective, but he never got used to it.
And tonight was worse than most. Not that the murder scene was particularly grisly. If anything, it was clean. A simple murder. But the victim was way too young to die. She’d had her whole life ahead of her until someone decided he should be her executioner. He’d tied a silk scarf around her neck and squeezed until life had ebbed from her body.
A silk scarf. He hadn’t even been imaginative. So now he had a murderous maniac to track down and arrest. Of course that might be easier
than the task he’d have to face first thing in the morning. He’d have to greet Dr. Susan McKnight with the news that the note she’d received tonight had probably not been a hoax.
The details were still swimming in Jack’s mind as he dried himself and pulled on a pair of red flannel boxers. A female, Caucasian, looked to be in her mid-twenties. Sandy blond hair. Trim. Dressed in a business suit. And the one fact that rumbled in his mind from the moment he’d arrived on the scene. The victim had borne a startling resemblance to Dr. Susan McKnight.
Moving barefoot across the cold tile floors of his apartment, Jack walked to the kitchen and swung open the refrigerator door. Milk, beer or leftover pizza were his choices. He settled for a glass of milk and took it with him to bed.
He needed nourishment and sleep. First thing in the morning, he’d have to deal with the dragon lady. Somehow she held the key to the identity of the killer. And he intended to find it, before the crackpot continued adding his own twist to the tradition of holiday greetings.
8:00 a.m.
SUN PEEKED THROUGH the open blinds and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee floated on the air. Susan leaned over her desk, and perused the records in front of her.
“Don’t you believe in locking doors?” The male voice cut the early-morning quiet.
Susan jerked to attention, knocking the stack of files at her elbow to the floor. She recognized the voice but not the man standing in the doorway of her office. The fat, graying Santa of the night before had shed his stuffed red suit in favor of jeans, a gray sweatshirt and a lean, fit body.
“Don’t you believe in knocking?” she answered, reaching down to retrieve the nearest fallen files.
“My manners need work.” His lips parted in a half smile that clearly stated his manners were the least of his worries. “Interesting filing system you have.”
“Very funny, Detective Carter, but I’m sure you’re here for something more important than to spread joviality and candy canes.”
