The Stalking, page 14
“You didn’t talk in their room?”
He hesitated—too long, she thought.
“They were awake a while, I guess,” he said with a shrug. “So how long were you in Miami?”
“Two years. I started in New York, spent time there, then Chicago, and then Miami,” she said. He’d really neatly sidestepped the question. At the moment, she decided not to push it. It was that, or just accuse him of being a liar. “You?”
“Military, college, the academy, Houston, New York, and then the Krewe.”
She had looked up the Krewe, as much as she was able; they were considered both an “elite” unit and a “weird” unit of the FBI. They were also known for being one of the most effective units in the agency.
There was no way to earn your way into the Krewe—Adam Harrison approved you or he did not, with Jackson’s endorsement probably being the first step. But you could be a rookie, or a person with years of service, or not in the agency at all—and be a pick for the unit.
So, what was the criteria?
He glanced her way. “You came into this line of work because of your cousin,” he said, and she wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.
“And you?” she asked, taking his words as a statement.
“It was probably because of your cousin, too,” he said. “And that makes me think that Jimmy Mercury has to be innocent. I remember that day. He just looked at me with an expression that said Let’s get him. He knew that we just couldn’t let Lassiter get away. He knew Janine—he was just a few years older than her in high school, though he was living in New Orleans by then. He believed you when you cried out.”
“You acted with him, just as quickly,” she reminded him.
He smiled at that. “I knew that day that taking down a man like Lassiter meant something.” He chuckled ruefully. “Up until then, I’d thought maybe I’d follow Jimmy’s footsteps, make music my life. Music, of course, is the best drug in the world to soothe people, but I’m not a genius like Jimmy. But I am good at what I do.”
“A genius?” she asked him.
He glanced her way with an odd expression. “I have talents.” He was thoughtful, and again changed the subject—subtly.
“It’s true that I have a hard time thinking that Jimmy could be guilty of anything because he’s my friend, but I’ve learned that you can never rule anyone out unless you can rule them out by solid evidence. I knew Jimmy. I knew Mike a bit—we played ball together when I was young. I knew Coach Beaufort because he was involved in community games. I didn’t know Katie or Nelson well because we were never involved in the same activities. And the choir... I thought I was a jock. I never worked with the organist, Jacques Derringer.”
Cheyenne thought about Derringer. “He’s maybe a strange one. He made it obvious when he didn’t think you should be in the choir. He had his favorites—but in our community, he couldn’t throw anyone out, no matter how bad they were.”
He glanced at her with a smile.
“Did he like you?”
“I was Janine’s cousin. And I can carry a tune. Not like Janine, but he didn’t want to kick me out.”
“So, he had a thing on Janine.”
“Maybe,” she said. “I didn’t know Katie and Nelson well—you were a few years older than them, but remember, I was a few years younger. They were gamers from a young age, and I was never as keen on video games. I mean, I was a kid, I played them like everyone else, but when they weren’t playing games online, they were still quiet and into one another.”
“Katie seems happy now.”
“Isn’t that the way it can often be? The jocks don’t do so well later in life—and the nerds have the brains and the ability to take over the world?”
“They own a music shop—that’s not exactly taking over the world.”
“But they’re doing well.”
“True,” he agreed.
Andre drove fast, but safely, and they arrived at the cemetery in good time. He parked on the grass by the stone wall, near the entrance.
The cemetery gates appeared to be closed.
“That’s so unusual. Almost everyone living anywhere near here has a relative here in a family tomb or just their own small cement tomb...the gates are always open by this time,” Cheyenne said.
“We might have stirred up a pot and made things different,” Andre said, but as he spoke, he set his hand on the gate—and it gave. The gates had been closed but not locked.
“I wonder if the house is locked,” Cheyenne said, heading down the path that led to the house, with the cemetery to the right near the entry.
She hadn’t intended to go in toward the mausoleums and tombs. But as she walked, Janine popped out from between tombs, Christian right behind her.
“Cheyenne,” Janine said in a stage whisper.
Cheyenne glared at her.
“Sorry! Okay, you can’t answer me—G-man on your tail. So, just listen, there’s a note on our tomb! You have to come see. Oh, my God, you need to leave, to get out of here. I’m afraid for you!”
Cheyenne was startled when Andre almost brushed her aside, frowning fiercely—and looking straight at Janine.
“A note?” he demanded. “On your family tomb?”
Cheyenne stared at Andre, disbelieving at first.
“You see... Janine?” she demanded.
“And her friend,” he said impatiently. “The note is on the tomb?” he asked.
He was already walking. He knew the family tomb. Cheyenne stared at Janine and Christian, and then hurried after him.
“Hey!”
He wasn’t paying attention; he was at the tomb. She didn’t see a note on the gates because it had fallen to the ground, she thought—or there was another bit of trash on there—and Andre had pulled on a glove and stooped to retrieve it.
The note appeared to have been written on a cocktail napkin—from a bar/restaurant called The Last Cavalier on Frenchman Street in New Orleans.
Andre read it and then looked up at Cheyenne.
“We have to get this in immediately—see if our techs can get anything off it. Fingerprints, ink, anything.”
“What does it say?” she demanded.
“‘Tombs are lonely if no one enters after a decade,’” he read. He looked at Cheyenne with genuine concern. “We should get you out of here—far, far away.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Cheyenne said, angry. “That doesn’t mean anything. And if it did, I’m an agent—trained. I can take care of myself. I also believe that our killer is a coward. He goes after defenseless women, not trained cops or agents. And what is the matter with you? You see Janine and Christian, and you saw them before, and you didn’t say a word?”
“Frankly, I was wondering when you were going to introduce me,” he said.
“You son of a bitch!” Cheyenne exclaimed.
“Hey...that’s not the point here!” Janine said, turning to Andre. “I’m Janine Dumas, which, of course, you know. And I remember you. I didn’t at first, but now...you were there. You helped Jimmy go after Lassiter. This is my friend Christian Mayhew, and...well, we’re doing our best to help in some way. And you’re right. I’m terrified for my cousin.”
“Pretty scary,” Christian murmured.
“Stop it!” Cheyenne exclaimed. “You found that note on the ground. It could have been for anyone and meant anything.”
“No, originally, it was attached to the gate,” Janine said. She stared at Andre. “Wow. You see us! I can’t tell you how rare that is. I mean, we can make people sense us—shiver and look around and all and say that a place is haunted—but the only person to see us before was Cheyenne.”
“It is rare,” Andre assured her. “And nice to remeet you. Christian, I’m not sure we ever met, so I thank you for being here, for helping.”
“Where Janine goes, so go I!” Christian said.
They were all behaving as if they’d met over at coffee, or at a party.
Cheyenne could do nothing to control the anger sweeping through her. She stared at Andre. “You made a fool of me,” she snapped furiously.
“I didn’t. I merely waited until you were ready to tell me, but then, today...with this, I had no choice any longer.” He turned to Janine. “When did you find the note?” he asked, raising it in his gloved hand.
“We just saw it this morning—maybe an hour ago. We kept checking to see if you two were coming back here—or, frankly, watching for anyone else who might have come,” Janine said.
“But I’m sorry, we should have been, but we haven’t just been hanging out here. I mean, under normal circumstances, it’s just depressing,” Christian said.
“We should have stayed on guard,” Janine said.
“It’s all right, you couldn’t have known,” Andre said. “But here’s an important question—have you seen anyone visiting? Specifically, your old friends or acquaintances, who might have known Lassiter and secretly admired him.”
Janine and Christian looked at one another. Janine answered for them both.
“We just...we haven’t been here. We can be here, though, and we will be here.”
“Why were the gates left unlocked, do you know?”
“We saw the guy Mr. Mason, the cemetery manager, here last night,” Christian said.
“But he was just at the house. Some people came through. Old Mr. Tybalt died the other day—he was over a hundred, so it wasn’t a tragedy. Anyway, his people met here to plan a funeral. It’s going to take place Saturday.”
Three days, Cheyenne thought.
“He was only at the house?” Andre asked.
“As far as we saw. We did hang around awhile when the police and the crime scene experts were here—they were everywhere. As of now, we just saw people at the house. Again, not sure what that means, since we weren’t here the entire time.”
“Do you have any friends who might have been here?” Andre asked.
Again, Christian and Janine looked at one another. “Anthony and Gerard, maybe,” Christian suggested.
“And who are they?” Andre asked.
“Captain Gerard Bouche and Lieutenant Anthony Kendall,” Janine said. “The first was Confederate calvary—his family tomb is over there. And the second was Union infantry. Anyway, he was interred in Gerard’s family tomb at Gerard’s request. Anthony tried to save Gerard in life, he was the medic who pulled him off the field, and in death...they hang around.”
“Wait!” Christian said, his features knit in thought. “Janine, remember, it was some time ago, and I don’t remember the last time I saw her but...” He broke off, looking from Cheyenne to Andre. “Once, just once, we saw a young woman, so pretty...just staring up at the house. I talked to her, and she was polite and sweet, but she didn’t want to be with us. She said her name was Melissa. She was so sad.”
“Melissa Carrier,” Janine said softly. “She was killed in the 1860s—by the Rougarou. At least, I think that’s who she was. Her dress was beautiful, antebellum. Many people died and were buried here in the Civil War, but she said she was Melissa, and she was so sad, and she seemed to want to be alone, and so we left her alone.
“Oh!” Janine said. “There’s Mr. Macy, but he was killed during Prohibition. He’s cool—when he’s around. I don’t quite get what they’re all waiting for. Maybe we all have a reason. I do believe that I know why I’m hanging around—I might well be here as I am because my cousin is an idiot agent who thinks she’s untouchable,” she finished, looking hard at Cheyenne.
None of this was improving Cheyenne’s temper.
She had to get away from all of them. She felt such a burning anger—irrational, wrong, maybe—it didn’t matter. “I’m going,” she said. “I’m going to the hospital to see Lacey Murton. You all can figure things out here just as long as you like. If you need me, if there’s something important, you can call me.”
She turned and left; she thought that someone might pursue her, but they didn’t.
As she headed out, she remembered that Andre had driven since it was Andre’s rental car they had used, and he had the keys.
That was okay; she had a phone. She could call a ride through an app.
Standing in front of the gates, she waited only a few minutes, and then the car and driver arrived.
In fifteen minutes, she was at the hospital. She hurried up to Lacey’s room, trying not to think about her situation or argue herself out of being angry.
Andre had seen Janine and Christian before. He had heard every word that they’d said. She couldn’t remember quite what they had talked about that day, but she was still...humiliated. Why, she wasn’t sure—being seen just talking to oneself could have been more embarrassing.
She tried to refocus when she got to the hospital; Lacey should be much better now. They should be releasing her shortly. Now she could talk; now hopefully she could remember.
Lacey had been moved out of intensive care and was in a private room. Cheyenne headed right up and gave her credentials to the officer on duty. When she walked into Lacey’s room, an attractive woman in her early fifties came quickly to the door, looking at her suspiciously, but Lacey twisted around in her bed and saw Cheyenne.
“Oh, thank you—you did come back!” Lacey said.
“I told you that I would,” Cheyenne said. “I want to know how you’re doing and how you’re feeling.”
“Hi, I’m Lacey’s mom, Sheila,” the older woman said, offering her a hand.
“Special Agent Cheyenne Dumas. Sheila, nice to meet you.”
There was worry in the woman’s eyes; they were light gray, enhancing the darkness of her hair and the paleness of her cheeks.
She must have been worried sick for her daughter, and then relieved beyond comprehension. And now frightened again.
A monster was still out there.
Sheila Murton looked at her daughter and gave her a weak smile. “If this agent is here now...this wonderful agent to whom we are so grateful,” she said, her face showing the depth of her emotion, “I’m going to head down to the cafeteria for a bit. That’s all right with everyone?”
“Perfect, Mom, you take a break,” Lacey said.
Sheila still looked concerned. “I’ll be here a bit,” Cheyenne promised.
Sheila pursed her lips in a worried smile and started to exit. She paused, looking back. “Thank you. Thank you for...for everything.”
“We’re grateful, too,” Cheyenne said.
Lacey’s mother left the room. Cheyenne took her chair.
“They’re going to let me go tomorrow or the next day,” Lacey told her.
“Don’t worry, we’ll keep a guard on you, if it will make you feel better. I’m not actually with his unit, but I know the head of Special Agent Rousseau’s unit, and I know he’ll make sure that you have one of his people watching over you.”
“I’ll be okay. I’m going to my parents’ place for a while. My mom has this incredible Belgian shepherd who will warn me... Then again, having an ace protector won’t be a bad thing,” Lacey said. She sounded far more cheerful than she had before, but then the last time Cheyenne had seen her, she had barely made it to the hospital.
“I think it will be a good thing,” Cheyenne assured her.
Lacey shivered. “You think that he hasn’t been caught. You think that he might come after me again?”
“I really don’t know,” Cheyenne said honestly. “They’ve arrested Mr. Justine, but I don’t think he’s guilty—just older, tired and oblivious. We’re looking into others involved with the cemetery and mortuary, but—” she paused and grimaced “—as of yet, we don’t know. We don’t have a solid suspect. We have what are called ‘people of interest.’”
“I wish I could help catch him,” Lacey said. “Although, as I told you, I thought he was some kind of a performer, or someone just dressed up for a wild party. We both know that there can be a wild party in NOLA with or without a special holiday going on. Or I thought that maybe he was usually one of those human statues that you see sometimes on Jackson Square. I would never recognize him again if I were to see him. It’s so frustrating. And scary.”
“I know. You told me that, but I was hoping that maybe we could go back through it all—and you might remember something, a little detail.”
“But—”
“Will you try it my way?”
“You saved my life,” Lacey said softly, “I’ll do anything you ask.”
“Technically, Andre Rousseau saved your life,” Cheyenne said, smiling gently to hide the war of emotions going on within her.
Andre was good; damned good. His instincts were right on, he could listen, he didn’t accept what appeared on the surface to be truth, but was willing to question it. And she had been attracted to him, right or wrong, in the middle of all this, but she had found herself more than keenly attracted...physically attracted... She had liked him, really liked him, and he had made a fool of her.
“Is something wrong?” Lacey asked her.
“No, no. What I’d like you to do is close your eyes, and then we can go through the night that you were taken. You remember what was going on before, right?”
Lacey nodded, pulling up the sheets on her hospital bed. She was already almost seated, the bed raised to a high incline.
“Close your eyes.”
She did.
“You were out with friends, just having a nice time. Tell me about it.”
“My friend Amelia works at a restaurant on Magazine Street. She just got a raise—and became night manager. We were celebrating at a little bar off Decatur. No smoking in it, so... I think I told you, I smoke when I drink? I wasn’t drunk—though I’d had a few. Maybe even one too many.”
“What was the bar like?” Cheyenne asked.
