City of the Dead

by Eileen Dreyer

  “He is the most anal man in history,” she announced, viewing rows of folders marked with household and business accounts. Warranties and school submissions and health records for the boys.

  “He may be,” James admitted behind her, “but I think he’s kept his important stuff on the computer. I’m not finding anything like a checkbook or address book.”

  “What about the phone bills?”

  “Gone. He seems to have gone paperless since we were here last.”

  “And I sincerely doubt a knowledge of the begats in Genesis is gonna give us the password to his computer,” Chastity agreed. “Well, find what you can.”

  They found one car. One cell phone bill that had call forwarding, which Chastity kept, just in case it could help blast those alibi times, and a note from an insurance company about a new policy taken out on Faith in the last six months for an additional million dollars. Maybe not a murder incentive, Chastity thought, but definitely the icing on the cake.

  They found the contract Max had signed with New Life Associates for his wife to provide eggs for a price determined by auction. And they found an entire thick folder with records of every catalog buy Faith had made in the last five years.

  “She addicted to this shit or what?” James asked.

  Chastity thought of all those catalogs in Faith’s private room and shook her head. “No. I think it’s the only way she could shop. Max wouldn’t take the chance to let her shop like a normal person. He certainly wouldn’t let her loose with a credit card. Too much freedom.”

  “You assume.”

  She sighed. “Yeah. I assume. It’s still all pattern and supposition. No proof. But see the jewelry? Expensive, and escalating the last two years or so? That’s apology gifts.”

  “Apology gifts?”

  “Yeah. Classic in the abuse cycle. It’s the part where the husband begs forgiveness. ‘Here, honey, see what I bought to show you how sorry I am I had to hurt you? Even though it really was your fault, of course.’ I sure wish I could get records from those ERs Dr. Hayes-Adams talked about, see if I could match dates. We can already prove he changed the good gemstones.”

  “Still not proof of murder.”

  “Then let’s keep looking.”

  It was ten minutes later when Chastity opened the file marked Milliken-Powers. She was going to pass right by it since she didn’t recognize the name, but it was such a fat folder, she was intrigued. She opened it, and then she froze in surprise.

  “I may not have the smoking gun,” she said, her voice tight and her hands trembling just a little, “but I think I’ve just found the circumstantial case.”

  James looked up from where he’d been searching desk drawers. “Yeah?”

  “Do you know who Milliken-Powers is?”

  “Private detectives. They’re all the rage for the divorce and alimony crowd.”

  Chastity smiled for the first time in hours. “Oh, good. I smell a subpoena.”

  “Because?”

  She sucked in a breath and opened the file wider for him to see. “Because Max evidently used them to investigate every friend his wife ever made. Especially her friends from the Arlen Clinic. And these files go back at least three years.” She smiled, but it wasn’t pretty. “Max knew all about Susan’s reliance on Saint Roch, and how Frankie prayed to Yamaya.”

  She pointed to the section in the report on Frankie.

  “Cornmeal is used to begin any ritual…as offerings. Yamaya is particularly fond of cantaloupe, honey, white wine or rum, and fish of any kind, especially crab.”

  Exactly what had been left with Frankie’s body.

  James pulled the extensive file from her hands and flipped through it.

  “Your sister’s in here,” he said quietly.

  Chastity looked down to see that Max had compiled it all. Every sordid family secret, every damning detail that had harried Faith into adulthood. Her eating disorder, her obsession with grades, her terrible paralysis around water. Her testimony at the trial.

  Everything.

  That file was seven years old. Max and Faith had been married for six years.

  Chastity stood up and walked away. Max, it seemed, knew everything.

  Except where his wife had gone.

  And Chastity had damn near provided that for him as well.

  “Didn’t Dr. Hayes-Adams ask us about a warehouse fire?” James asked behind her.

  Chastity turned. “Why?”

  He held up one of the sheets. “The info on Willow. It’s eighteen months old and gives an address in Algiers. Describes it as a flop for the local transients.” He waved it a little. “I think what you have here might get you a search warrant.”

  “Good,” Chastity said, surreptitiously wiping at her wet cheeks. “Let’s get the bastard.”

  She called Gaudet, but he was on his answering machine again. “Sergeant, get out your search clothes. We’ve found the address of that warehouse in Algiers here in Max’s file. Also the name of the private investigative service he used to get information on Faith and all her friends. The Milliken-Powers Agency. He’s had information on them for at least a year that matches the details of their deaths. Please call me and tell me that’s enough.”

  His machine beeped, and Chastity thought of calling back to have somebody find him. She needed to know whether or not to take that file with her or leave it where it was.

  “Leave it,” James said when she asked him. “You have the name of the detective agency. They can verify everything.”

  Chastity nodded. “I just hate taking the chance that he’s going to destroy everything.”

  “If we get out of here in time, he won’t know he needs to.”

  “Did you find anything else?”

  “Just his last credit card statement, which he seems to have maxed out.”

  “Any suspicious activity?”

  “No gun shops or fruit stands, if that’s what you mean.”

  Chastity’s head came up, her attention straying to the closet. “Guns…”

  James sighed. “I’ll look. You stay in the file drawer.”

  He found no guns.

  “Probably in that damn silver BMW,” Chastity said. “Or…”

  She took a few minutes to run out to the garage, but the Cadillac was locked tight and bare of anything in the passenger area. Chastity would have killed to get inside that trunk, but she couldn’t find any keys. Besides, the last thing she needed right now was to set off an alarm.

  She was so close, she could feel it. She’d found the proof that would bring the police to Max long before he could find Faith. She could finally keep Faith safe.

  It was all she’d ever wanted to do. It was why she’d called the police ten years ago. So Faith would finally smile again. Instead, Faith had run away, right into the arms of another monster.

  Well, not again. Chastity was just diving back into the file drawer for the coup de grace when her cell phone went off.

  “You still at that man’s house?” Kareena asked bluntly.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Cause he ain’t where he supposed to be anymore.”

  Chastity looked around. There was still so much to search. “Okay,” she said anyway. “We’re leaving.”

  “Oh, and girl? Just so you feel better? The girls here say Dr. Stanton’s been getting more and more uncertain about showing up lately. Harder to get hold of, you know? And the case he was scheduled to do the morning that Frankie died was a clinic patient. A real poor clinic patient. You know what that mean?”

  Chastity felt the tightness of this bubbling in her chest. “Clinic patients are for the residents to practice on. He didn’t stay, did he?”

  “Not past ‘Hello, whose turn is it to cut today?’”

  “Call your handsome cop. We’re going.”

  Chastity and James were making sure everything was back in order when her phone rang again.

  “I’m going,” she asked without looking at the number. “I swear.”
<
br />   “Chastity?”

  Chastity stopped dead in her tracks. “Faith?”

  Her sister sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blame you. I just panicked.”

  Chastity found herself smiling. “I know. It’s okay. And Faith? It’s almost over. I think we finally got the evidence you need. I want you to go—”

  “You have evidence? What evidence? We’ve been trying for weeks.”

  Chastity laughed. “Well, it’s easy once you have an hour or so in Max’s office.”

  Chastity had expected her sister to laugh. Maybe to offer congratulations. Instead, she heard a stricken silence.

  “What office?”

  “The one in your house. By the way, did you have anything to do with the decor here? I have to tell you—”

  “You’re in the house? You’re there now?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Get out! Get out now! Jesus, Chastity, he’s got cameras everywhere in there. He probably already knows what you’re doing!”

  “Faith—”

  “Get out!”

  And then Faith hung up.

  For a second, Chastity just stared at the silent phone. “She says he has cameras in the house.”

  Oh, and she said once your sister hated cameras. Didn’t make sense to me.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, looking up at a startled James. “The cameras weren’t at the fertility clinic. They’re here.”

  He held out his hand. “Come on, then. Let’s go.”

  She stalled, though. “No. I need some of those files. If he knows we’ve been here, he’ll destroy them.”

  She spun around quickly, pulled the drawer back open. Reached for the Milliken-Powers file, the one she knew could be a nail in Max’s coffin. She thought she had enough time. After all, she’d just gotten the call. He had to get through traffic, all that water.

  She’d miscalculated.

  She knew it the minute she heard the odd, dull little thud and turned to find James crumpling to the ground.

  Behind him stood Max, and Max was holding a gun. A .45 with a bore the size of a cannon. It was pointed right at her face.

  “Too late,” he said, very calmly.

  Chastity felt her heart slam into her ribs. She clutched that file to her middle like a Kevlar vest. She tried very hard not to shake so hard he’d notice.

  She couldn’t show weakness.

  Max backed a bit away from the door. “Come along, Chastity.” Then he smiled. “You can even bring the file.”

  Chastity edged around his desk. Then she stepped over an unconscious James, where he lay bleeding from a laceration on the back of his head.

  “What do you want, Max?” she asked.

  He didn’t stop smiling. “I want Faith. But you knew that.”

  “Yes,” she said, taking a careful step closer. “I knew that. I’ve been trying to find her for you.”

  “You lied to me, Chastity. You said you’d be leaving town.”

  “I couldn’t get there, Max. The flights were booked.”

  “I see.” She was so close now, she could smell his cologne, the antibacterial soap he must have used on his hands. She could see his pupils dilate.

  “Oh,” she said, suddenly looking down.

  Making him look down.

  Making him look down just long enough for her to act. Lunging at him, she shoved his gun hand away with her left arm. Then she curled the fingers in her right hand and rammed the heel of it straight up at his nose.

  His nose crunched. He screamed. The file fluttered to the floor as Chastity slammed into him.

  She reached for the gun. It went off, the report thundering in the small space and deafening her for just a moment. She wasn’t going to get another chance. Max had a lot of weight on her. She had to get out to get help. It was the only way to save James.

  Max was still bent over, blood gushing through his fingers. Chastity gave him another shove, glad to see that his nose was bleeding all over his pristine white shirt. There she spun for the foyer and the front door.

  And came to a shuddering stop.

  “Chastity?”

  Her father was standing there.

  She wanted to run. She wanted to scream so loudly somebody on this moribund street would hear her and come to help. She wanted to raise her hands again and fight. The sight of one square-jawed, gray-haired man froze her to the floor.

  And she stood there just long enough for Max to recover. He didn’t hit her on the head, though. He wrapped his arms around her and shoved a sweet-smelling cloth against her nose.

  Ether.

  It figured.

  It was the last thought she had.

  No, the last thought she had was that her father had finally won.

  Twenty-Four

  The first coherent thought Chastity had was that she was going to be sick. The second was that she could smell ether. There was nothing else in the world like it, sickly sweet and cloying and more nauseating than the smell of decay. Her third was that she was being dragged by her heels. Up steps. Her head slammed into one and knocked her even dizzier than she was.

  She struggled to move, only to realize that she was tied. Hands behind her back, feet together, hog-tied like a beef heading for branding.

  She wasn’t, however, gagged.

  “Shit,” she groaned, trying hard to keep her stomach from heaving as she was dragged across the floor, the rough surface pulling at the old stitches in her back. Wood, she thought, but somewhere inside. She was soaking wet and cold and hurting, but wherever she was now seemed to be dry.

  She’d just about gotten her eyes open when her legs were dropped. That was when she smelled cologne over the ether.

  Drakkar Noir.

  Max.

  Chastity opened her eyes to find him bending over her, dripping water onto her face.

  “I should have been an anesthesiologist,” he said with a satisfied smile, panting a bit. “My timing is perfect.”

  “You must be proud,” Chastity managed, wondering what he’d do if she puked right in his face. The way she was feeling, it was a definite possibility. The ether smell still clung to her, unbearably sweet and sticky, her arms were behind her back, and her head hurt like hell. And her brother-in-law was smiling down at her as if she were today’s sacrifice.

  Then she heard it. The noise.

  Water.

  Rain beat at the walls. Wind rattled the windows, blowing harder than it had before, gusting so strongly that it seemed to shake the very floor. And if the rain didn’t shudder through the floor, the thunder did, deep and persistent and sharp.

  The storm was the worst by far, harsh enough that if she’d been in St. Louis, Chastity would have found the nearest basement.

  But that wasn’t what horrified her.

  Not the wind or rain or thunder.

  The water that lapped against the cabin. Chastity could hear it right below her head. Against the walls of the cabin, as if they were a boat anchored in a lake or something.

  Chastity twitched like an electric shock patient. “What the hell…”

  Max, just inches from her face, smiled. “Like it? It’s just for you.”

  Chastity finally had enough brain working to look around. They weren’t at Max’s house anymore. Max had dropped her in the middle of the set of Deliverance. Bare wood walls and floors, a couch, two chairs, and a pressboard coffee table. Two windows, a door. The place looked like it was made from two-by-fours and tacks, and it was shuddering with the wind.

  And the water.

  “Where are we?” she couldn’t help but ask, and knew that her voice sounded high and thin.

  Max laughed. “Thought you’d never ask. I’ve been saving this treat for Faith, but ya know what? I think you deserve it more. Actually, this place belongs to a friend of Faith’s. A hunting camp named Barataria, as if it were really something special. It’s not. Just four walls and a toilet that flushes into the swamp.”

  Chastity closed her eyes. “How nic
e.”

  He nudged her with a shoe. She opened her eyes again to see that his nose was swollen and red. She was glad.

  “I’m not finished,” he snapped.

  “Sorry.”

  “You need to know where you are. You’re out off the Chef Menteur Highway, in a shack that’s built up out of the water on stilts. Only the water is just a little deeper than usual. In about six hours, this whole house will be gone. Probably blown away, if the water doesn’t swallow it in the storm surge. Poetic, I call it.”

  Chastity tried hard to catch her breath. “Why?”

  His smile grew cold. “Justice. It amuses me to think that you’ll die in the worst way you could possibly imagine.”

  She tried hard to seem calm. “You know about that, huh?”

  “Of course. Faith isn’t any better, you know. She can hardly shower. But she won’t have to worry about it much longer. Thanks to you, I’ve finally tracked her down.”

  Another gust of wind shook the cabin, making Chastity want to reach out and hold on to something. Hard to do with her hands tied behind her back. Lightning strobed across the bare walls, and thunder made it hard to hear.

  And the water lapped right beneath her head, roiling with the wind and rain. Chastity had thought she’d had trouble crossing the Mississippi. Max was right. This was the nightmare of her soul.

  “Where’s James?” she asked, hearing how thin her control was.

  “Behind you. And you probably missed this, considering you were unconscious, but you know that shot I got off? It hit him in his good shoulder. I’d say it’s just not your day all-round.”

  Chastity stretched around to see that James lay behind her, a small pool of congealing blood darkening the floor beneath his right arm. He wasn’t tied, but Chastity figured he probably didn’t need to be. His arm looked completely out of order. He was unconscious, but he was breathing.

  “You put him out, too?” she asked.

  “Why, yes. A little ether, a bit of Versed, and all is manageable. Of course, for him I injected a little more. I’m not as interested in his suffering as I am in his not being around to testify. Besides, it’s his cab you two came in. His cab they’re going to find here to mark the spot where the two of you perished in the hurricane.”