New Orleans Noir

by Joanna Wayne

  “I’m just repeating her words.”

  Hunter took Helena’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m doing my best to see that there are no victims. And even if there are, no matter what the Orillons conjure up, you are not going to be one of them.”

  Robicheaux nodded. “And I’ll be right there to see that Hunter has all the help he needs even if it means me moving in with you to be here when Hunter can’t.”

  “I trust you with her life, but not anywhere near her bed,” Hunter quipped.

  Helena wasn’t sure he was joking.

  Hunter stood. “I hate to leave such good company, but I’ve got to go now. If I’m late, I’ll catch hell from the chief.”

  Helena walked Hunter to the door. He held her in his arms and the thrill of being near him rocked her to her soul. Still she couldn’t help thinking about Brigitte’s words. Two victims.

  “Does Lacy have full-time police protection?” Helena asked.

  “She will now, as a precaution until she leaves the area. But she won’t be aware of it.”

  “Thanks. That eases my mind. Will you be back tonight?” she asked, trying not to sound needy or afraid.

  “I’ll be back if you want me.”

  “I do.”

  “I’m not sure when. Barker and I will probably be working into the wee hours of the morning with all the new information we have to check out.”

  “I can go to the store and pick up something for dinner,” Helena offered. “It’s finally cool enough we could eat on the balcony by candlelight.”

  “How am I supposed to resist an invitation like that?”

  “I was being quite selfish and hoping you couldn’t.”

  “Barker won’t like it, but I can probably get away for an hour or so around eight. You light the candles. I’ll bring wine and dinner from my favorite steak house.”

  He trailed kisses from her earlobe to her lips.

  And then he was gone, leaving her hungry for more of him.

  Robicheaux took his time, hanging around until the press conference started. She had no choice but to invite him to watch it with her in the sitting room.

  She would have preferred watching it without his commentary so that she could fully appreciate how intelligent, professional and gorgeous Hunter looked giving his spiel.

  When the press conference was over, she practically pushed Robicheaux out the door. She went upstairs and was just stepping out of her clothes to shower when her phone rang.

  She grabbed the phone and checked the caller ID. Randi. Terrible timing, but it could be important.

  “I’ve got great news for you,” Randi said as soon as they got past the hellos.

  That, Helena wasn’t expecting. “What kind of news?”

  “I think we have a buyer and from what I hear, he’s willing to pay the full appraisal price and possibly more.”

  Helena swallowed hard. A promising, prospective buyer. That’s what she’d come back to New Orleans for. She should be jubilant. Instead anxiety settled like lead weights in her chest.

  “Who is the interested party?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’m talking to the man’s Realtor agent at this point, but it sounds like we’re dealing with a celebrity of some sort or perhaps foreign royalty. He doesn’t want his name revealed and he doesn’t plan to use it for rental property so either he has a huge family or expects a lot of visitors.”

  Last Tuesday Helena would have been thrilled with this offer. That was before she’d reunited with Hunter, before he’d turned her world upside down. Before they’d made love.

  She better understood his reasons for leaving before, but his miserable past was still his past. Could he promise and deliver forever, or would he walk away and break her heart again?

  If he did, how would she ever get over that?

  “I can request an appraisal tomorrow,” Randi said. “Get that and then we’ll see how serious our mystery buyer is.”

  Helena couldn’t say yes—or no. “I need time to think this over.”

  “I don’t recommend waiting around long,” Randi said. “Real estate offers can go from hot to icy cold fast. Getting an appraisal doesn’t obligate you to sell.”

  “You’re right. I suppose an appraisal couldn’t hurt.”

  “Agreed. I’ll order one tomorrow and ask for a rush. I’m surprised you don’t sound more excited, though. Are you having second thoughts about selling your late grandmother’s beautiful home?”

  Second thoughts. Third thoughts. All of them wrapped up in Hunter. “Perhaps,” Helena admitted. “Let me know when you get the appraisal.”

  “Will do.”

  What she wanted was a lifetime of loving Hunter Bergeron. But it had to be all or nothing. No walking out when the going got tough. No crushing her heart and all her dreams again.

  She needed commitment.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hunter’s spirits were plunging fast. With time of the essence, he and the rest of the task force seemed to be running in circles.

  He pushed back from the table and walked over to their map of where each previous murder had taken place. “The first two victims no longer matter in the immediate scheme since their killer is dead. Presserman couldn’t be the copycat killer since he was in prison during the third and fourth murders.”

  “The way I see it is our web grows smaller,” Lane Crosby said. “I think we should narrow this down to a killer who knew Elizabeth and probably knew Mia Cosworth and possibly Helena, as well, before trying to figure out anyone’s connection to Samson Everson or Presserman.”

  “So now we’re looking for the man who killed victims three and four and then started making bizarre phone calls to first Mia and now Helena Cosworth,” Barker said.

  “And he’s playing us like a well-tuned Stradivarius,” Hunter said.

  “Top of suspects on my list has always been Pierre Benoit,” Barker said. “The guy’s the perfect suspect and not just because I don’t like his attitude. He speaks fluent French.”

  “He knew Mia, Ella and Elizabeth fairly well,” Hunter said. “Plus, he’s good-looking and suave enough that young women would be attracted to him.”

  “And he has an airtight alibi,” Crosby reminded them.

  “Or maybe not,” Hunter said. “He was out of the country for the first two murders but not for Elizabeth’s. Barker, how about you recheck which continent he was on at the time of the third murder?”

  “How about we also put a tail on him for the next couple of days?” Barker said. “If he’s Elizabeth’s killer, he may lose his cool and try to skip town now that this new evidence is out.”

  “What about Connor Harrington?” Andy George asked. “I say we take another look at him, too.”

  “No reason not to.” Hunter checked his watch. Eight o’clock. He expected an argument when he suggested they break for dinner. He didn’t get it. Everyone was weary and hungry and needed some time with their family, but no one was ready to call it a night.

  All five of the task force members agreed to meet back at ten to pore over the files for something they might have missed when they thought they were dealing with a serial killer who’d killed all four women.

  Hunter called in a to-go order for filet mignons and salad from his favorite steak house. He’d make a quick stop at the liquor store, splurge for a bottle of good red wine and then he’d head straight for Helena’s.

  For the first time since he was a kid cowering from a drunken father, he was afraid. Afraid that he wasn’t doing enough to protect Helena, though he had her house watched 24/7 and had her followed wherever she went.

  But the brazen copycat killer was both incredibly evil and cunning. Hunter should never have let Helena take the phone calls from a maniac. He should have encouraged her from the first to go back to wherever home was until the killer was ar
rested.

  It wasn’t too late. Getting out of that house and out of New Orleans was surely the safest course of action. She wasn’t one to take orders, but he’d do his best to persuade her to leave right away.

  Her safety was all that mattered.

  * * *

  THE CRESCENT MOON floated in the night sky surrounded by brilliant stars that put Helena’s fluttering candle to shame.

  She sat across the iron bistro table from Hunter sipping her wine on what should have been one of the most poignantly romantic moments of her life. Instead anxiety and tension flooded the space between them.

  Her perfectly grilled filet was barely touched. Hunter’s plate was clean, amazing considering the deep worry lines that furrowed his brow.

  His kiss when he’d arrived had been both tender and strained. Conversation since then had been almost nonexistent. But unspoken or not, the tension dominated the night and let heartbreaking memories sneak into her consciousness.

  It was stress and fear brought on by his job that had ripped them apart before. That time the situation had hit too close to home for him. She understood that better after hearing about his tragic childhood, but still his drawing away now troubled her.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked.

  “I’m just thinking you must be wishing that you’d never come back to New Orleans even temporarily.”

  “I don’t regret coming back, though I admit the timing is bad.”

  “Do you still have a house in the Boston area?” Hunter asked.

  “Yes. And a new job starting in November.”

  “The job of your dreams. The life of your dreams.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Mia.” He turned to face her, then reached across the table and took both her hands in his. “I’ve given this a lot of thought, Helena. I think you should take the first flight back to Boston either tonight or in the morning.”

  She swallowed hard. “Are you that eager to get rid of me?”

  “I’m that determined to keep you safe until the killer is off the streets. Hopefully that will be soon. Don’t tell anyone you know around here where you are going. No one, not even Ella.”

  “Ella’s not a killer.”

  “No, but she’s a talker.”

  “Then you think the killer is someone she’s close to?” Helena asked.

  “I’ve never ruled that out.”

  Helena’s resolve swelled. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not going anywhere, Hunter. I’m the only personal contact you have with the French Kiss Killer. One more phone call might give us that breakthrough moment.”

  “I’ve gone along with you until now,” Hunter said, “but the game has become too deadly. Even in Boston, you’ll need a bodyguard. Robicheaux can hook you up with one.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. You do your job—I’ll be here waiting for the bastard’s call.”

  Hunter pushed back from the table. “There’s a law against ignoring a policeman’s orders.”

  “Really? Then arrest me.”

  “I’m considering that. Until I do, I’m moving Doug Conn into the carriage house with you tonight. He’s not a member of the task force but he’s one of the best detectives in the department. No one will get by him.”

  “If that’s what it takes, then bring him on.”

  * * *

  HELENA WAS EVEN more stubborn than Hunter remembered. It was an exasperating trait and weirdly he loved her all the more for it. She’d always gone after what she wanted.

  At one time that had been him. He’d blown that. Now it was apparently a career in Boston she needed. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine himself fitting in her art world.

  Mia had suspected that all along. She hadn’t specifically pointed out that Helena’s life was better without him in it. Her words had been more tactful, but the message had been clear. Clearer yet had been her conviction that he’d broken Helena’s heart once and that she didn’t deserve that from him again.

  He agreed. He loved Helena too much to ever put her through any kind of pain again. How could he ask her to give up a life she loved, one that challenged her great talent, to be with him?

  And how in the world could he ever give her up again?

  His phone vibrated, and he took a call from Barker.

  “What’s up?”

  “I told you I wanted to put a tail on Pierre Benoit.”

  “Yeah. Did the chief balk on that?”

  “No, but so far we haven’t been able to locate him. A neighbor said she saw him leaving with a suitcase a couple of hours ago. I managed to get in touch with his supervising attorney at the law firm where he works. He said Pierre came in right before he left work today and requested a week’s emergency leave.”

  “Did he get it?”

  “He did. If I can’t locate Pierre soon I’ll put out an APB as a person of interest.”

  Robicheaux and Barker had considered Pierre Benoit a serious suspect from the beginning. Maybe he should have paid more attention to their hunches all along.

  * * *

  THE CLANGING OF garbage cans and the odor of fresh brewed coffee woke Helena from a restless sleep. She rolled over and experienced a sinking feeling when she realized that Hunter wasn’t in bed with her. Evidently Doug Conn had brewed the coffee.

  The grandfather clock on the landing chimed six times as she stretched and kicked off the top sheet. The air-conditioning was already cranking away even though thunderstorms and a dip in the temperature were forecast for late afternoon.

  There had been no call from the killer that night. Weirdly, she regretted that, even though a madman’s call in that spine-tingling child’s voice tore her apart. But at least a call from him offered one more chance to locate him before it was too late.

  Hunter had stayed until Doug Conn arrived for duty last night. Helena had hated to see him leave, but Doug had proved to be super nice and very professional.

  He’d set up his laptop on the seldom used dining room table and assured her he was armed and ready to protect. She’d only seen the pistol he wore at his waist but suspected he had another weapon or two on him somewhere.

  She slid her feet into her slippers, stepped over to the sliding glass door and opened the lightweight privacy drapes. The gloomy gray of predawn was depressing.

  The two chairs pushed away from the table were bitter reminders of how quickly last night’s dinner had gone from promising to a clash of wills. But the evening had still ended with a kiss at the door.

  She walked to the bathroom, splashed her face with cold water and tamed her hair with a few strokes from her hairbrush.

  She slipped into a full-skirted cotton dress and a pair of sandals and started down the staircase toward the inviting odor of coffee.

  It was still impossible to descend the stairs without thinking of her grandmother and how much she missed her. She didn’t doubt that Mia had discouraged Hunter from looking her up when he’d moved back to New Orleans.

  She knew better than anyone how long it had taken for Helena to get her life back on track after their breakup. Nonetheless, the final decision not to contact Helena had still been Hunter’s.

  That was all in the past. The issues now were more confusing. Was the magic she felt with him lasting, or was it the danger that intensified their emotions to a fever point? Did he want her to leave because he thought their relationship was moving too fast, or was it purely for her own safety?

  “Hope I didn’t wake you,” Doug said as she joined him in the kitchen.

  “No, I’m an early riser—even when my life is normal. Have you heard from Hunter?”

  “A couple of times during the wee hours of the morning and again about thirty minutes ago,” Doug said.

  So Hunter had no doubt had little or no sleep last night. “Are there any ne
w developments in the case?”

  “A couple, but I’ll let him tell you about them. He asked that you call when you woke. He didn’t want to disturb you. Coffee’s fresh if you want some.”

  “Thanks.” She poured herself a cup. “I can cook you some bacon and pancakes after I talk to Hunter or there’s my standby of yogurt and granola that you can help yourself to.”

  “Actually, I’ll be leaving as soon as my replacement gets here. Hunter will fill you in on that.”

  “Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my coffee onto the private courtyard patio and call Hunter.”

  “Is that the one off the downstairs bedroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll walk out with you and secure the area and then give you all the privacy you need.”

  In many ways this level of protection was more frightening than being on her own, a constant reminder that she was living under a time bomb of danger.

  But if Brigitte had been right, there would be two victims. Was there some young woman right now going about her life with no hint that someone was stalking her and planning her murder?

  Five minutes later, Helena had settled in a dark green Adirondack chair with a view of the privacy fence that surrounded her, pots of late-blooming asters and lantana and a male cardinal who perched on the top of a standing bird feeder. Hunter’s phone rang twice before he answered.

  “Doug said you wanted me to call.”

  “Yeah. I did. Can I call you right back, ten minutes or less?”

  “Certainly.”

  He sounded weary and a little edgy. Hopefully it was not because the killer had struck during the night. She finished her coffee and set the empty cup on the table beside her chair, scaring off a gecko who tumbled to the stone floor.

  She grabbed the phone when it rang. “Hello.”

  “Sorry about that, but I was on the phone with Barker and it couldn’t wait.”

  “A new development?” she asked, praying it was a good one.

  “Pierre Benoit was picked up for questioning in Dallas, Texas, a couple of hours ago.”