by Polly Iyer
“Jeez.” Beecher rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
She broke free from Lucier and started for the door, then half turned. “You know, I stopped doing this not because of the skeptics—there would always be those—but because I found mostly dead people. That’s a huge burden for a little kid. At first, the police thought I had something to do with their disappearances because they didn’t believe a child could have that kind of power. I never wanted it, and each time I drew on those powers to find someone, I lost a part of me until there was almost nothing left. I’d forgotten how death felt until last night. Today too. I know you won’t believe this, but I hope you’re right and I’m wrong.” Then she slipped out the door.
* * * * *
Lucier ignored the look on Beecher’s face. He knew what was coming.
“She’s good,” Beecher said. “Got the act down pat, I’ll give her that.”
“And what if she’s right, Sam? What if Buffy Tyler is somewhere like Diana Racine described?”
The detective scoffed. “I’ll buy you the biggest goddamn steak at the restaurant of your choice.”
Lucier picked up the clothes Diana threw on the floor. “You’re on.”
“Don’t tell me you believe this charlatan.”
“Right now, we have nothing else. Can’t hurt to check.”
“Even if she’s right, which I doubt, there’re alligators in that bayou. We’d have to find a body pretty quick for there to be anything left.”
“Nevertheless, I’m getting authorization from the captain.”
Beecher stood, smoothed his wrinkled shirt over his belly and into his pants. “If you get the okay, I’m going too. I gotta see this.”
* * * * *
The captain approved Lucier’s request, and the next morning he and his team began their search. He requested the expertise of the park ranger, who suggested they concentrate on the banks of the bayou where gnarled tree roots formed underwater pockets—hiding places for gators to conceal their stash. Dark clouds moved in, and Lucier hoped they’d locate something before the rain started. Luckily, toward midafternoon, they found most of Buffy Tyler. Beecher watched stone-faced as divers scouring the secret retreats lifted her remains to the surface.
“I’m sorry the Racine woman is right, Sam, because Buffy is dead, but did you say I could pick any restaurant in town?”
“Hmmph,” Beecher grumbled. “This can’t be happening. No matter what you say, I still don’t believe that woman can do this. No way.”
“You have an explanation?”
“It’s a publicity stunt, and she’s involved in the murder.”
“What?”
Nearby cops turned around at hearing Lucier’s outcry. He lowered his voice. “You can’t be serious. She didn’t want anyone to know and seemed plenty irritated when word leaked. How do you explain the episode with Cyrano?”
Beecher thrust out his jaw defiantly. “No one saw him except her. Besides, getting someone to play the part wouldn’t be too hard. This is Mardi Gras for chrissakes. She made sure people saw her pass out. I’ll bet any money one of the Racines let the cat out of the bag. That father of hers is always looking for a way to cash in.”
“Let me get this straight.” Lucier jabbed his finger at Beecher’s chest. “You’re saying one of the Racines killed Buffy Tyler or had her killed, then hired someone to dress up like Cyrano to touch Ms. Racine so she’d pretend to have this vision to help the police find the body. All for publicity. That’s what you’re saying, right? You think those people are capable of murder?”
“Sure, why not?” Beecher said, obviously unwilling to concede. “I’ve looked up some stuff about Diana Racine. Her act is phony as hell. Most of what she tells people can be found with a little research. I bet she has a whole team of people working for her.”
“Yeah, well I’ve looked her up too. Spent last night going over some interviews from people she’d read. Every one said she detailed something in her reading that no one could have known. Every one of them. When she was a kid, institutes all over the world conducted hundreds of experiments for extrasensory perception and clairvoyance, all with unanimous verdicts. Diana Racine was the real thing. Ask the police departments who hired her for years, not to mention families with missing relatives the police had given up on. Her percentages were astounding.”
“Yeah, and all for a price.”
“No question, she made lots of money. But her father controlled that, not her. She was a kid, Sam.”
“Then why’d she quit?”
“You heard her today. Said the stress tore her up. That’s heavy stuff for a little girl.”
“So now she rakes in the dough by doing an act plus private readings for the likes of Francine Marigny and Claire Tyler.”
“Hey, so the woman has to make a living. And that’s another thing. She doesn’t need the money or the publicity. Diana Racine’s booked for years. If she’s a phony, something keeps audiences coming back for more.”
The two men walked toward their car, quickening their pace when the first drops of rain fell and arriving as the downpour hit.
“Maybe she is a showman,” Lucier said, flicking the rain off his hair. “So what? That doesn’t make her a phony and sure as hell doesn’t make her a murderer.” He zeroed in on Beecher. “What have you got against this woman, Sam? You seem blind to the possibility she’s on the level.”
Beecher popped an antacid into his mouth. “Gut instinct. I don’t believe in any of that supernatural crap.”
“Normally, neither do I, but I can’t ignore this. I’m going to talk to her tomorrow again.”
“Suit yourself, Ernie. But watch out. She’s a con artist.”
“Don’t bet another dinner, friend.”
Chapter Five
The Button Speaks
Diana opened the door of her hotel room, swallowed by an oversized terrycloth robe. She thought it was her mother, but it was the lieutenant. Damn, she wore no makeup and a tangle of uncontrollable ringlets tumbled from a hairclip on top of her head. Oh well, this wasn’t a social visit. He’d come to rub in the fact that she’d been wrong. But the minute she saw his expression and the downslope of his shoulders, she knew. Leaving the door open for him to follow, she turned, cinched her robe tighter, and settled on the small sofa in the sitting area.
“Sorry,” she said. “I really did hope I was wrong. I’ve never touched a killer before.” She looked at him, eyes steady. “He wanted me to see her, you know.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know. He said he wanted to test me. Why would anyone want to?” She picked at an imaginary hangnail. “I guess you hoped and prayed I was wrong too, didn’t you?”
“In my business you hope and pray you’re right; otherwise, you make big mistakes with people’s lives, not to mention the cost of all the people I requisitioned to search the bayou. But, yeah. I hoped you were wrong.”
Still fixed on her fingernail, she thought back to her father’s words.
Don’t look, Diana. You don’t need to see this. Come with me. We’ll get ice cream.
“With me it’s their deaths,” she said with a shiver, meeting Lucier’s gaze.
He waited before speaking. “From what I’ve read about your childhood, you found a couple of kidnap victims alive, and locating them aided the police in tracking the kidnappers. You also found some lost kids and an Alzheimer patient.”
Another past memory, and she turned to Lucier. “Yes, that’s true. Funny, I’d forgotten. Back then I was so overwhelmed by all the dark stuff I couldn’t breathe, torn between disappointing my parents, the families wanting my help, and the fantasy of having a normal life.”
“A lot to lay on a kid.”
She stifled a small chuckle. “They used to call me Diana, Goddess of the Hunt. Great nickname, huh?”
“Diana was also Goddess of the Moon.”
“That’s right. I almost forgot that too.”
“I need you t
o tell me everything you remember about the man who touched you.”
“I already did. Twice.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Don’t you think I’ve wracked my brain trying to think of something I missed?”
“Let’s go over the incident once more. Slowly. Everything from the minute this guy came into the picture. Please. I’ve got my men combing the area of the bayou where we found her, but anything you could recall, however small, might help.”
As much as she wanted to disassociate herself from the whole mess, Lucier’s pleading eyes drew her in. “Didn’t forensics come up with anything?”
“The initial report indicated death resulted from spinal shock due to a broken neck. She’d been sexually active, but no definite time frame on when.”
“Semen?”
“Probably used a condom. The water and alligators obliterated any other trace evidence.”
“Alligators? Jesus.”
“The killer cut her to draw them to the body, but we don’t think she was murdered where we found her. No indication of footprints, no dislodging of the ground or drag marks. The alligators took the body from the point of entry to their little hideaway, ate their fill, then planned to return later. I’m sure the killer hoped we wouldn’t find her so fast, if at all.”
“Yet by involving me he increased the chances of discovery.”
“Seems that way. Start from the beginning. If you don’t come up with anything, I’d like you to go with me to walk the area. Maybe you’ll get a feeling or whatever it is you get.”
“How come your partner’s not with you? Still a non-believer?”
“I told you, I don’t answer for anyone. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
“And what about you?”
“I don’t fight City Hall. I go with the evidence, and the evidence says you saw what you said. I can account for your whereabouts and the whereabouts of your parents from yesterday morning, so you’re in the clear.”
Diana rose from the sofa, her cheeks burning. “You mean you considered we might have had something to do with the murder of this girl? Why, you’re worse than your partner. At least, he’s up front with his contempt. But you. You waltz in here overflowing with sincerity, harboring suspicions I might be a murderer.”
“That’s my job,” Lucier said, “which I wouldn’t be doing if I didn’t check out every person involved in a murder. That means you and your parents. I understand how you feel, but put yourself in my place.”
“I don’t want to be in your place.” She glared at him. “I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the back.”
“Look, I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but you would have found out we were checking on you. There’s a killer out there, and you’re the only one who can help.”
“Why didn’t I keep my big mouth shut? Now, if I don’t help you, I’m screwed, and if I help and don’t find anything, I’m a fraud, which is what everyone thinks I am anyway.” She massaged the back of her neck to relieve the tension that had mounted since Lucier entered her hotel room. “I can’t win.”
“Sure you can.” Lucier grinned. “Come with me and help me find the killer.”
The nerve of this guy. “On the record—you’re one sneaky hypocrite.”
“I’m a good cop, Ms. Racine. Sorry if I offended you, but I did what good cops do.”
“Yeah, well, maybe.” She tightened the ties on her robe and picked up the phone. “I’m going to order coffee from room service. What about you?”
“Sure, I could use a little caffeine to calm my nerves. I’ve just received the worst dressing-down since my mother caught me at fifteen with a six-pack. And she was tough.”
Diana didn’t want to smile, but she did. So did Lucier.
Room service delivered the pot of coffee, they made small talk while drinking, then Diana pulled her legs into a lotus position and closed her eyes. She slipped back into the night of the party, relating everything as she visually remembered. This was not something she wanted to do, but she couldn’t ignore the off-chance an overlooked detail might surface. It didn’t.
She shook her head. “It’s exactly as I described the other times.”
“Will you go with me to the park?”
“The area has to be a huge.”
“Yes, but we’ll focus on the secluded areas populated by alligators. That narrows it down.”
Diana hesitated. “Okay, I’ll go, but I’ve got a show at eight.”
“No problem. I’ll make sure you’re back on time.” Lucier stood. “I didn’t think you’d accept. Thanks.”
“Well, at least I’m not predictable.”
“Oh, I’d say you’re anything but.”
“I need to change. I’ll be a minute.” She called from the bedroom, “Don’t you ever go home?”
“Sometimes.”
“Your family must like to see you occasionally.”
“Right now, work comes first.”
She changed into black nylon jogging pants and a white T-shirt, with a white cotton sweater tied around her waist. “I’m ready, let’s go.”
“Do you always wear black and white?” Lucier asked.
“Yes, except sometimes I add a little red. I made the decision years ago. Makes for an easy wardrobe. Now the audience expects it. It’s my trademark.”
“And no jewelry, I read.”
“Never. An eager reporter once accused me of hypnotizing an audience participant with a pendant. I only wear these pearl earrings now and, when I’m not performing, a ring or watch.”
Lucier opened the door and motioned her to go first. “You’re right. You can’t win, can you?”
She grabbed her purse. “Don’t remind me.”
Chapter Six
Background Check
Lucier drove. They left the city, crossed the Mississippi onto Westbank Expressway, and into Westwego, passing the camping area of the park and drove into the gnarly regions of the bayou. Police cars and SUVs spread around the area; uniformed officers combed the banks for clues.
“Let’s start where we found the body,” he said. “My guess is he killed her somewhere on the riding trail and brought her here, where he could park and carry her to the water. Searchers didn’t find anything on the trail, and we’re heading for an area where my men found tire tracks. Buffy wasn’t a lightweight. Tall, big boned, not heavy, but muscular. An exercise freak. It’d take a strong person to subdue her. Big, like your Cyrano, unless of course he caught her off guard. Engaging in a sexual act would do the trick. And Buffy, well let’s say she wouldn’t be adverse to playing with a stranger.”
“Why do you think he killed her on the riding trail?”
“Buffy would never go off with someone and leave her horse. She was a wild one, but she liked horses better than people, and being a wild one, she liked men almost as much as horses. But a certain type of man.”
“Like what type?”
“You know Claire Tyler. Think of the kind of man she’d want for her daughter, then think of the exact opposite. Rough, outdoorsy, good-looking. I’d say a perfect description of our killer. Unfortunately, this is Mardi Gras. There must be thousands in town fitting that description.”
Lucier pulled behind a police car. They got out and strolled the banks of the swampy bayou, passing crime scene investigators engaged in the search. “Anything?” he asked one of the searchers. The cop shook his head.
Lucier brought along Buffy Tyler’s scarf, but Diana received no special insights to indicate the woman set foot in the area. The scarf had already told its story.
She wished she hadn’t agreed to come. The body had been moved from its original position and moved again by alligators. How could anyone expect her to have a true reading? With so much ground to cover, if she came up empty, the fraud label would scream in forty-eight point type on the front page of the newspaper, in spite of being right about the body in the first place. They were both right. She couldn’t win.
An oversized thermos of coffee and a
few boxes of beignets sat on the tailgate of a pickup. Lucier poured her a cup and took one for himself. They passed on the deep-fried pastry. Diana concentrated on the ground when they resumed their walk, picking their way around the areas heavy with twisted growth. The air was thick with a mix of cypress and damp earth, lilac and jasmine, and the water rippled with bugs flicking the surface.
The noon sun beat down. They’d been walking since ten. Blisters burned Diana’s feet; her white cotton T-shirt was damp with sweat. She stopped Lucier near a small clearing as if it beckoned her. Scanning the ground, she bent down and touched a spot. When she rose, she held a small button in the palm of her hand and buried it in her fist. After about thirty seconds, she handed the button to Lucier.
“This came off her shirt. Here’s where he brought her.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see anything that might help?
She shook her head. “Just a vibration, nothing visual.”
Lucier connected with one of the crime scene specialists. “I want this area combed.” He pointed beyond the trees. “And take impressions of any tire tracks or footprints out there.”
Diana stood trancelike, gazing at the ground. Taking her arm, Lucier asked one of the officers to drive them back to his car. He opened the passenger door and guided her into the front seat. He got in back.
“Are you all right?” he asked when they arrived at his car.
She nodded, but she felt his eyes steady on her.
“You need something to eat,” he said.
“I need something to drink.”
“That too.”
They didn’t speak on the drive across the river. After a half dozen back roads, Lucier stopped at a small cabin. “I hope you like Cajun food.”
“I’m not a picky eater, but I need that drink.”
Inside, they followed the waitress to a table near a window that opened onto a vast marshland. “Nice view,” Diana said.
“Few tourists come here. This place caters mostly to locals.”
The owner, a mountain of a man with a gold front tooth and a diamond stud in his ear, welcomed them, making a point of patting the cop on the shoulder. “Been awhile, Ernie. Good to see you.”
