New Orleans Noir

by Joanna Wayne

  “A life I’m sure you miss and can’t wait to get back to.”

  She couldn’t deny that, but she’d never let Hunter know that a huge part of what was making this so difficult was being with him.

  Time to change the subject. “Did you bring the recording of Mia’s calls with the monster?”

  “No. We’ll need to go down to the precinct for me to play them for you. That is police policy when dealing with this type of homicide.”

  And then she’d need a drink. She was a train wreck now. She might freak out completely when she heard those calls.

  Chapter Eight

  This was Helena’s first visit to a police precinct. Dozens of people were crowded into tight quarters, most working in individual cubicles or small private offices. The rest were in groups, engaged in conversation in the open space or clustered around one of the cubicles.

  She noted that over half of the offices and cubicles were empty. That made sense. The real police work was undoubtedly done on the streets.

  Hunter led her through a maze, acknowledging a few people with a nod or a small wave. He stopped at one office with an open door and introduced her to Lane Crosby, a lanky man with heavy facial hair who looked to be in his midforties, and Natalie Martin, an attractive brunette woman about the same age.

  “Do they know why I’m here today?” Helena asked as the continued down the maze of small offices.

  “They do and neither of them think it’s a good idea, though Natalie Martin does have some ideas for discussion that center around the phone calls you’re getting. That’s one reason I wanted Barker and Natalie to at least meet you.”

  “Do you think saying hello changed their mind about my listening to the calls to Mia?”

  “No, and I didn’t expect it to. But it’s a start. They’re concerned about any information leaking out at this crucial stage in the investigation. The more people who know the facts we’ve kept under wraps, the more likely the press will pick up a leak and run with the info. It’s their job, of course, but sometimes it makes it harder for us to do ours.”

  Hunter stopped at a door near the end of the hall and opened it with a key.

  She stepped inside. The room was barely big enough for a rectangular conference table and the eight folding chairs huddled around it. A small, professional grade player was already set up at the end of the table.

  “Are others joining us?” she asked.

  “No, it will be just the two of us, but we’re short on private meeting space.” He pulled out a chair for her. “Take a seat and we’ll get started.”

  “Will we be listening to a tape or a digital recording?”

  “Digital. We’ll start when you’re ready, but we can stop at any point to talk about what you’ve heard or to give yourself a break to recoup.”

  “If it’s that bad, the most difficult part may be knowing that Mia had to listen to it.”

  “She was always cool. It was almost as if she enjoyed her part in going after this monster.”

  “I wouldn’t know since I was kept out of the loop, but I never knew her to back down from a challenge.”

  “She would have made a terrific law enforcement officer,” Hunter said. “Missed her calling. She’d probably be running the whole FBI now.”

  “Don’t expect the same from me,” Helena assured him. “Dealing with killers is positively not my calling.”

  “You’re hanging in there pretty well so far.” Hunter took the seat catty-corner from hers at the end of the table.

  “Just as a reminder, we don’t have a record of their first conversation since no one saw that one coming. All we have is the report from her as to what she remembered. I don’t have that with me, but I’ve read it enough times, I almost have it memorized.”

  “Can you brief me on that before we get started?” Helena said. “That will give me a better sense of how the conversations flowed.”

  “Basically, the first contact was a meet and greet moment.”

  “Which means?”

  “He called her by name and noted that she’d been very busy and successful in raising funds to help get him arrested. He insisted that he wasn’t the monster she described him as. Told her he had no more control over his murders then she did over her breathing. And then he threw in a few gory details, some in French.”

  “He sounds insane.”

  “He did on the subsequent calls, too.”

  “What else did he say on the first call?”

  “He hoped they could become friends and that she shouldn’t go to the cops. Then he stressed he wasn’t afraid of the cops because we were too stupid to see what was right in front of our faces. That’s pretty much the opinion of criminals in general—that is until they get arrested.”

  “Did he threaten her?”

  “Not other than an implied threat that if she talked to anyone in law enforcement, she would pay dearly for that mistake.”

  “So, I’m guessing Mia immediately called 911?”

  “No. She immediately called me.”

  Hunter Bergeron to the rescue. Mia’s calling him almost felt like a betrayal to Helena except that it had likely been the smartest thing to do.

  “I think we’ve covered call one,” Hunter said. “The other two will be much shorter since he was no doubt avoiding our tracking the call and showing up to arrest him.”

  “He seems to be well versed in how these investigations work.”

  “He got better at it as he went along. Are you ready to start the machine?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  She sat up straight in her chair but clasped her hands in her lap. Hunter punched the play button.

  “Call two.”

  “Hello.”

  A chill struck bone deep when she heard Mia’s voice. It was almost as if Mia was speaking to them from the grave.

  “Bonjour, madam. Have you missed me?” The voice sounded male.

  “A little. Why did you wait so long to call?”

  Mia was definitely playing along with him. Obviously, she’d been coached on how to handle the calls. She sounded amazingly calm.

  “I know you hate me, but you don’t know the real me. You think I like killing?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “It’s more like an obsession. But there were memorable moments, like when I helped her out of her red silky panties.”

  “I don’t want to hear about panties. I think you want to turn yourself in.”

  The phone clicked, the connection broken.

  The machine kept running.

  The third call was in a female voice. “What was your father like, Mia?”

  “He was a good and loving man. Was yours?”

  “He was a cowardly wimp, let my stepmother walk all over him. I hate wimps.”

  “You need help. I can get it for you.”

  “No, but I’d love to meet your granddaughter. I hear she’s beautiful. Will she be visiting soon?”

  “Don’t ever mention her again.”

  “I won’t. It’s time to move on. Aide de Dieu.”

  Helena shuddered as the connection broke. Aide de Dieu. God help. “What did he mean by that?”

  “We’re not sure. Mia fell four days later. We investigated thoroughly. Like I said before, no sign of foul play.”

  “How close did you come to actually tracking his location through the phone calls?”

  “Not close enough nor fast enough to ever see him or talk to anyone who had. We can verify that the calls were from somewhere within a sixty-mile radius of the French Quarter.”

  “And he never contacted anyone about the other murders?”

  “If he has, none of them have shared it with the police.”

  “There must be a reason he contacted Mia and no one else. Maybe Mia was right and it w
as a cry for help.”

  “I think it was far more likely he was just running scared because she had everyone talking about him and searching for him, all looking to collect the sizable reward money. She’s not here now, so he’s taking it out on you.”

  “All that reward money and yet he still hasn’t been apprehended,” Helena said. “So, he might actually be criminally insane and yet brilliant.”

  “He’s smart, but we’ll get him eventually,” Hunter said. “The challenge is arresting him before he kills his next victim. That’s why we’ve got so many men working this full-time.”

  “And why you don’t get to eat or sleep on a regular basis?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t mean to crash on your couch in the wee hours of the morning. I just closed my eyes and that was it.”

  “No problem,” she said, though it had been. It had set off a chain of desire and arousal that threatened her shaky control.

  “If that’s all you have, let’s get out of here,” she said, suddenly eager to be out in the sunshine and with enough people that hopefully an incidental touch or a sympathetic word wouldn’t set her off again.

  Hunter unplugged the listening device and wrapped the cord. “What do you have planned for the rest of the day?”

  “I thought I’d give Alyssa a call and see if she’s free for lunch.”

  “Good idea. Both of you need a break from this garbage. I can drop you off at her place or drop both of you off at the restaurant of your choice.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She placed the call while Hunter waited. Alyssa seemed pleased at Helena’s invite, and suggested they have lunch at the Napoleon House, a favorite French Quarter spot of almost everybody who spent any time there. Plus, it was within walking distance.

  After getting off the phone Helena saw no reason not to mention her plans for the evening since Hunter insisted on knowing every move she made.

  “I’m having dinner tonight with Pierre Benoit.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “He invited me, and I owe him a dinner.”

  “I ask again. Why?”

  “He kind of walked me through some of the legal entanglements in settling Mia’s estate. He seems like a nice guy. What is it you have against him?”

  “Other than that he’s arrogant and rude?”

  “I haven’t found him to be either of those things. For the record, he doesn’t seem to be any fonder of you than you are of him.”

  “What’s he complaining about?”

  “He says you harassed him and went overboard with your interrogation. Not in those exact words, but that was the drift.”

  “I did my job.”

  “Did you consider him a suspect?”

  “I considered everybody a suspect until I could prove they weren’t.”

  “Then he’s no longer a suspect in your eyes?”

  “He had opportunity and the ability, but no motive. And he has an ironclad alibi, though I never fully trust those, either.”

  “What about Connor Harrington?” she asked, not sure why he popped into her mind so quickly.

  “He checked out, along with everybody else who I could link in any way with Elizabeth. I thought for a while we might have a credible online suspect. Turned out the supposedly college freshman she was hot and heavy with on a chat site was eighty-five and lives halfway around the world.” He opened the door and they started down the hallway. “Where are you and Mr. Personality going to dinner?”

  There was no way to miss the satire. Could it possibly be that Hunter was jealous of her going out with Pierre? If he was, the emotion was six years too late.

  “Pierre mentioned a new French restaurant in the Garden District he wants to try.”

  “Nice. Somewhere you can swallow slimy snails.”

  “Says a man who sucks the heads on crawfish. Besides, I like escargot.”

  “Touché. I’ll still need the name of the restaurant.”

  “I’ll be with Pierre. I’m sure I won’t need a bodyguard.”

  “Never trust a Frenchman.”

  “Your last name is Bergeron. You’re French Creole.”

  “Exactly.”

  She shook her head at him and struggled to keep from smiling. He could always make her laugh—until the day he’d left her drowning in tears.

  She quickened her pace and didn’t slow down until they were back in Hunter’s car.

  Hunter picked Alyssa up on the way and let them out near the front door of the restaurant.

  They requested a table in the back corner, so it would be quiet enough to talk.

  “You can’t imagine how glad I was to hear from you,” Alyssa said as soon as the hostess walked away.

  “Is anything wrong?” Helena asked.

  “Possibly, and it concerns you.”

  Chapter Nine

  The look on Alyssa’s face emphasized her dismay. Helena had no idea what was coming next.

  “Do you remember that tourist I told you about, the one whose resemblance to Elizabeth Grayson is absolutely uncanny?”

  “Lacy?”

  “Right. I had a dream about her last night.”

  “I’m not surprised, considering how upset you got when you met her.”

  “She wasn’t by herself in the dream,” Alyssa said. “You were with her.”

  “Definitely a nightmare,” Helena said. “I haven’t even met her.”

  “I’m sure it was you,” Alyssa explained. “You and Lacy were running through a swampy area, tripping on underbrush and ducking tree branches.”

  “Why were we running?”

  “To get away from the man who was chasing you.”

  “The same unidentifiable man with a knife?” Helena asked.

  “Yes. The bloody hunting knife was identifiable. I’m not a medium,” Alyssa insisted again. “But it sure seems like the universe is trying to tell me something.”

  Helena reached across the table and laid her hands on top of Alyssa’s. They were icy cold.

  “I can understand why you’re upset, Alyssa, but this is likely your subconscious reacting to all the talk of the serial killer and seeing someone who reminded you of Elizabeth.”

  “I know that, but the nightmare seemed so real.”

  “Have you ever correctly predicted a dangerous event?”

  “No. Except...”

  “Except what?

  “Twenty years ago when my six-year-old sister drowned in a neighbor’s pool. I saw her floating under the water one night in a dream. She was smiling up at me peacefully. Six days later she was dead.”

  Chills ran up Helena’s spine. She understood Alyssa’s fear of dreams and her own imagination a lot better now. “Is that the only time you had a dangerous premonition that came true?”

  “Pretty much. I mean I can frequently tell when a woman is cruising for trouble with a lover or job, but that has more to do with what she tells me and how she says it. That comes from years of practicing.”

  “I know you’re worried about me and Lacy, but you’ve got to leave this in the hands of the police. I’m not in danger. Neither is Lacy. Hunter Bergeron and the NOPD are making certain of that.”

  “Intellectually, I know that,” Alyssa agreed. “There are cops everywhere in the French Quarter. Uniformed and plainclothes. Walking. Driving cars. Some even on horseback. But...”

  The waitress came to take their drink order.

  “I’d like a glass of chardonnay,” Helena said “How about you, Alyssa? A little alcohol might calm those ragged nerves.”

  “Can’t hurt,” she said. “I’ll have the same.”

  Alyssa didn’t exactly relax, but after two glasses of wine, a large bowl of seafood gumbo with toasted baguette slices and an hour of avoiding any talk of the French Kiss Killer, they managed to find a few
things to laugh about before they said their goodbyes.

  In spite of her assurances to Alyssa, Helena found herself turning back more than once on the walk home to make sure she wasn’t being stalked.

  * * *

  BY 6:30 THAT EVENING, Helena had showered, glossed her lips, applied a light coat of mascara and did what she could to tame her hair—which wasn’t much in this kind of humidity.

  She pulled her favorite, slightly revealing little black dress from the closet and slipped into it while her mind replayed her last two phone calls of the afternoon.

  Thankfully, both were on her new, private phone and not from the phantom caller.

  The first call had been from Beth Macon, the owner of the Boston gallery where Helena would start work in November. Beth had sold one of Helena’s favorite paintings for seven thousand dollars.

  The amount was dizzying to Helena and several thousand more than she’d ever made on one oil painting.

  She’d celebrate with a glass of good champagne tonight with Pierre Benoit. At least they’d have something pleasant to discuss.

  She was truly starting to dread their evening though it had little to do with Pierre and all to do with her. It would be hard to be congenial with a guy she barely knew when her life was trapped in a tangled, murderous web.

  The second call had been from Beverly Ingram. She still had no inquiries about the vacant apartment. That was a first since the apartments had always been in such demand.

  Location. Location. Location. In the heart of the French Quarter. A beautiful courtyard and tons of atmosphere. The shadow of a serial killer hanging over it like a shroud.

  Helena unzipped the travel jewelry bag she’d brought with her and chose a favorite pair of silver hoop earrings. She slipped out of her comfortable flats and into a pair of red, strappy sandals with nosebleed heels.

  A quick turn in front of the mirror and she decided she looked nice enough for an expensive French restaurant. Or for dinner at the Aquarelle Hotel. Considering that option immediately improved her level of enthusiasm.

  She’d have a much better chance of running into Lacy and her friend there and get to see for herself this remarkable likeness that Alyssa kept talking about.