The Whispering Room Page 8

  “I’m doing the best I can,” she whispered.

  Not good enough, said a voice inside her head.

  Johnny’s voice.

  He’s our son, Evangeline. Why can’t you love him the way he deserves to be loved?

  It was a question she’d asked herself a million times since the rainy Tuesday night her baby had been born.

  Turning out the light, she tiptoed from the nursery and headed for the kitchen, where she poured herself a glass of wine. Grabbing the baby monitor, she went outside to sit on the front stoop for a while.

  With twilight came a cooling breeze from the gulf that stirred the banana trees and the night-blooming jasmine climbing up a neighbor’s trellis.

  This was the time of day, with the sky still glowing from the sunset and the air soft and perfumed, that Evangeline missed Johnny the most. At times like this, her loneliness seemed bone-deep and boundless.

  Down the street, several cars were parked in front of a house blazing with lights. Music and laughter drifted through the open windows, and melancholy tightened like a fist around Evangeline’s heart.

  She wondered if they were celebrating an anniversary or a birthday, or if a casual get-together had blossomed into a full-blown party.

  That was the way it used to happen at their place. Not this house, but the home she and Johnny had shared. Almost all of their parties had begun with a few friends dropping by. Then calls would be made, food and drink would be brought in. Before Evangeline knew it, their tiny house would be brimming with cops and the spouses of cops.

  People who worked in law enforcement were an insular bunch, and as with any other group, there were those who fit in and those who didn’t. Most of the cops Evangeline worked with had always viewed her as something of an odd duck, but once she and Johnny became a couple, they’d at least made an effort to accept her. If doubts lingered, it was shelved for Johnny’s sake because everyone loved him.

  But since his death, Evangeline was once again the odd man out. Not that she cared about a social life. Even growing up in the midst of a loving family, she’d always been a loner.

  But Johnny was the opposite. He’d loved being surrounded by people.

  Evangeline supposed his need for company came from being so alone as a child. His mother had abandoned him when he was a baby, leaving him to be raised by an aging grandmother who lived in the country. When she passed, he’d been shuffled through a series of foster homes until he was old enough to strike out on his own.

  So, yeah, it was easy to understand why family and friends had meant so much to him.

  Which made it all the more poignant that he’d died alone, in a deserted parking garage, crawling toward the exit.

  Evangeline drew a shaky breath as memories of that night flooded through her.

  Mitchell had come to the house to break the news to her. She’d been so stunned and distraught, she hadn’t asked for many of the details that first night. It was only later that she’d found out Johnny had been shot three times.

  According to the coroner, the first bullet had only maimed him. He’d tried to get away from his assailant, but the second shot to the heart had killed him. The third shot had hit him in the face and obliterated his appearance so that even a forensic dental exam had been useless.

  “Evangeline? That you up there, hon?”

  She’d been so engrossed in dark memories, she hadn’t noticed her elderly neighbor approach the walkway in front of her house. The woman stood at the edge of the yard, peering through the falling dusk.

  “You’re out kind of late, aren’t you, Miss Violet? Is everything okay?”

  “I’m looking for Smokey. That blame cat got out again. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

  “No, but if I do, I’ll grab him and bring him home.”

  “Thanks, hon. I’d be much obliged. Ornery ol’ coot ain’t worth much, but he’s all I got. I’d hate to lose him.”

  “Try not to worry. I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” Evangeline promised.

  She watched as Violet shuffled back across the street. The woman stood in the yard for a few minutes, calling loudly for her cat before she finally gave up and went inside.

  The night fell silent, except for the occasional burst of laughter from down the street. A moth flitted past Evangeline’s cheek, and as she swatted it away, she caught a movement off to the side of the porch.

  She froze, trying not to react, but her heart thudded against her chest, and she suddenly wished she’d brought her gun outside with her. She, of all people, knew how dangerous the city had become, with roving gangs of thugs terrorizing neighborhoods that had once been considered safe havens.

  As Evangeline searched the darkness, she thought about her son, all alone in the house. If someone were hiding in the shadows, it would be up to her to protect him.

  She waited, breathless, but nothing happened.

  After a few moments, she got up and went inside. Locking the door, she turned out the light and went straight for her weapon. Then she moved back to the front door and parted the curtain.

  Nothing moved outside. Maybe it had been her imagination.

  But for the longest time, Evangeline watched the darkness. She felt restless and uneasy, and she couldn’t shake the notion that someone had been at the corner of the porch, watching her. That he might still be out there now, waiting for her to go to bed.

  She left the window and headed for the nursery. She could see the glow of the night-light from down the hallway, and as she pushed open the door, her gaze went immediately to the crib, where she could see her son sleeping.

  Nothing was out of place, so there was no reason to worry. No reason at all for the chill that slid up her spine as she stepped into the room or for the hammer of her heart as her gaze fastened on the baby.

  He was lying just as she’d left him earlier, and yet…

  Something was…not right.

  Evangeline could feel it. It was as if the very air had been disturbed by…what?

  Her breath came a little too fast as she reached for the light switch. The sudden brilliance caused her to blink and J.D. fretted in his sleep. Quickly, she moved to the side of the crib as her gaze darted around the room.

  The space was furnished with only the baby’s bed, a changing table and a rocking chair by the window. Evangeline could see the whole room in one glance, and she knew, without a doubt, that she and her son were alone.

  So why was the hair at the back of her neck standing on end?

  Why was she suddenly so uneasy in her own home?

  She walked over to the window and parted the curtains to glance out. It was still early and she could see a light shining in the window of the house next door. But the fact that her neighbors were up and about did little to assuage her disquiet.

  As she turned from the window, she saw something on the floor. She thought at first it was a piece of transparent paper that had fallen off the mobile or out of the box that it had been packed in. But when she stooped to pick it up, she jerked her hand back in revulsion.

  It wasn’t paper, she realized with a shiver.

  It was a bit of molted snakeskin.

  Eight

  By the time Evangeline dropped the baby off at her mother’s house the next morning, listened to the latest tirade about her father and fought rush-hour traffic back into the city, she felt as if she’d already put in a full day.

  Waking up tired was getting to be an annoying habit with her, but she supposed it was the same with any new mother. This time, though, she couldn’t blame her exhaustion on the baby. He’d slept soundly through most of the night, but even with the house so quiet, Evangeline had slept fitfully. Paul Courtland’s grisly murder had mingled with that piece of molted snakeskin to create some very disturbing nightmares.

  She was convinced the skin had fallen out of the box the mobile had come in or else she or Jessie had carried it inside on the bottom of a shoe. Just in case it had come from the crime scene, Evangeline had used twee
zers to bag the skin, and then she’d put it in her purse to drop off at the lab.

  With her heart in her throat, she’d gone through the house checking in cabinets and underneath furniture, although she didn’t see how a snake could get inside. For all she knew, the skin could be an old one. The reptile that had shed it was probably long gone.

  Still, the very thought of a snake lurking somewhere in her house gave her uncontrollable shivers, and before she’d left that morning, she’d arranged to have a professional exterminator come and search every square inch of the house, including the tiny attic. She’d left a key with her neighbor, who had promised to come over and supervise the search.

  The fact that the skin had been in J.D.’s room made Evangeline all the more nervous. She was glad he would be spending the day with her mother in Metairie.

  As soon as she got to the station, she went straight for coffee, but she barely had time to stir in a packet of sweetener before the captain called her and Mitchell in for a briefing. The Courtland homicide was shaping up to be a high-profile investigation, and that was exactly the kind of case that Angelette Lapierre liked to micromanage.

  She was seated behind her desk reading the Times-Picayune when they entered her office. Motioning for them to take seats across from her, she held up the paper. “Either of you see this?”

  “Not yet,” Mitchell said as he settled into his chair. Like Evangeline, he’d carried in a cup of coffee, which he placed on the corner of Lapierre’s desk. “What’s going on?”

  “Paul Courtland’s murder made the front page. You two should be happy they got your names right.”

  “You hear that, Evie? We’re famous. Think we can parlay our fifteen minutes into a book deal?”

  “I’d rather you parlay it into an arrest,” Lapierre said dryly. She was a gorgeous woman, the kind that generated controversy and gossip everywhere she went. But she wasn’t exactly known for her sense of humor.

  “Goes without saying,” Mitchell muttered.

  She gave him a withering look. “The murder of a wealthy white attorney puts a different face on the violence down here, so you better believe the media will milk it for all it’s worth. And once they get wind of how Courtland died, they’ll go ape-shit crazy. That’s why I want to keep a lid on this thing until we know what we’re dealing with. Don’t go talking to reporters, either of you. Let me handle the press.”

  Evangeline resisted the urge to shoot Mitchell a knowing glance. “Fine by me.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” he agreed.

  Lapierre folded the paper and tossed it aside. “Where are we on the investigation?”

  “I’ve located Courtland’s loft in the Warehouse District,” Mitchell said. “I’m meeting his landlady over there this morning.”

  “And I’m looking into the brother’s death,” Evangeline added. “No way can that be a coincidence.”

  “What about the wife?” Lapierre’s gaze went from one to the other, giving them each a turn on the hot seat. “How do you like her as a suspect?”

  “I don’t think she had anything to do with it,” Evangeline said. “Her shock seemed genuine to me, but I know we’ve all come across some pretty good actresses in our time.”

  Lapierre turned to Mitchell. “Hebert?”

  “I agree with Evie. I think the brother’s death pretty much puts the kibosh on the Widow Courtland as a suspect, but if we find out she and the brother were engaged in a little horizontal mambo, I reserve the right to change my mind. Likewise if we turn up a mistress at Courtland’s loft.”

  “I think we need to lean a little harder on Sonny Betts,” Evangeline said.

  Lapierre sat back in her chair and studied her for a moment. Her eyes were dark and hooded. She couldn’t seem to turn off her sensuality even when talking to another woman. “As soon as you open up that can of worms, you’ll have feds crawling all over the place. Betts is their boy.”

  “Somebody’s already opened it,” Evangeline said. “I seriously doubt those guys just happened upon the crime scene yesterday morning.”

  “You think someone here tipped them off?”

  Evangeline shrugged. “They found out somehow. And they were there for a reason.”

  “And you think that reason has something to do with Sonny Betts.”

  “It’s worth looking into. Courtland was his attorney, although according to both Mrs. Courtland and Betts, the two parted ways after he was acquitted.” She paused, then said, “From everything Mrs. Courtland said, it sounds as though the feds might have been leaning on Courtland pretty hard. If they convinced him to drop a dime on his client, that’d be a pretty good motive for murder.”

  “Mrs. Courtland also mentioned something about a dead cop,” Mitchell offered. When Evangeline blasted him a warning glance, he barely shrugged.

  “What about a dead cop?” Lapierre’s tone sharpened.

  “As in, Courtland said he didn’t want to end up like that dead cop.”

  The captain’s gaze lit on Evangeline and her attitude subtly shifted. “I see.”

  Damn you, Mitchell.

  “Theroux?”

  “Yeah, Captain?”

  “You have anything more to add?”

  “It would sure be helpful if we knew who those two agents were yesterday and what they’re up to.”

  “I’ve got a contact or two in the federal building.” Lapierre absently tapped a manicured nail on the desk, as if her mind were suddenly somewhere else. “I’ll make a call, see what I can find out.”

  “What do you want us to do about Sonny Betts?”

  “We need to be careful how we handle that situation so we don’t step on any toes. And right now we don’t have anything but a hunch tying him to Courtland’s murder.” She reached for her phone, indicating their meeting was over. “One more thing,” she said as they stood and headed for the door.

  They turned in unison.

  “This whole thing leaves a real bad taste in my mouth. This isn’t just murder. There’s something dark going on here, and I don’t much like where this case seems to be headed. I’ll like it even less if somebody starts leaking to the press. You get me?”

  They both indicated that they did.

  “Then go find me the killer before somebody else turns up dead on my watch. And, Theroux?”

  “Captain?”

  “Don’t make this personal. It’s not about you and it’s not about a dead cop. It’s about finding Paul Courtland’s killer. Understood?”

  “Understood.” Evangeline resisted the temptation to add but what I do on my own time is my business.

  As it turned out, she had another chance to make that argument a little while later when Lapierre called her back into the office, this time alone.

  “I’m taking you off the Courtland case,” Lapierre said without preface.

  Evangeline had not expected that. She stared at her superior in speechless outrage.

  “Mitchell will take the lead. Turn over all your notes to him.”

  “Am I allowed to ask why?” Evangeline said through clenched teeth. She was furious, but she also knew losing her temper would do far more harm than good with Angelette Lapierre.

  “I saw the way you looked when Mitchell brought up that conversation about a dead cop. You’ve already fixated on the notion that Johnny’s death is somehow tied to Paul Courtland and Sonny Betts. Fixated, I might add, without a shred of evidence.”

  “That’s not true,” Evangeline protested. “I’ve done nothing but work this case by the book.”

  Lapierre gave her a cool appraisal. “That may be true at the moment, but I see the potential for conflict of interest and I’m nipping it in the bud before we have a compromised investigation.”

  Evangeline glared back at her. “What brought this on so suddenly? You weren’t concerned this morning. Someone must have said something.”

  Lapierre folded her hands on the desk and leaned forward. “Actually, your behavior since Johnny’s death has caused me conce
rn for quite some time now. You’re obsessed with finding his killer, so much so that you’re in danger of losing your objectivity. And a detective with tunnel vision is no good to me or anyone else.”

  “So that’s it.”

  “That’s it for the Courtland investigation, but there’s no shortage of misery in this city. You’ve got a shitload of other cases to work on. Do us both a favor and let this one go without a fight. There’s no way you’ll win it.”

  Wordlessly, Evangeline stood and started toward the door.

  “Evangeline?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. It was the first time the captain had ever addressed her by her first name.

  “Contrary to what you may think, I like you. You’ve got the potential to be a damn good investigator. Don’t do something stupid to derail a promising career before it ever gets traction.”

  “With all due respect, Captain…”

  Lapierre lifted a brow, but her expression made it clear she didn’t want to hear further argument.

  Evangeline decided to let it go. You had to pick your battles and all that. “With all due respect, I’m the one who could have found Paul Courtland’s killer for you.”

  “You’ll get your chance on another case. In the meantime…I have a question for you. Ever cross paths with an FBI agent named Declan Nash?”

  Evangeline thought for a moment, then shook her head.

  “Never even heard the name?” Lapierre asked.

  “Not that I remember. Why?”

  Lapierre’s expression turned pensive as she observed Evangeline from across the room. “He sure as hell seems to know a lot about you.”

  Nine

  As fleecy white clouds scuttled across the bright blue sky, temporarily blocking the sun, Lynette Jennings cast a wary eye heavenward. Despite the cloud coverage, the day was hot and humid, with only the barest hint of a breeze blowing in from the lake.

  But a storm was headed their way.

  Lynette could feel it in her bones.

  She’d lived all her life on the Louisiana Gulf Coast, and even as a kid, she’d always been highly attuned to a sudden shift in weather patterns and wind direction, the slightest drop of barometric pressure. The atmospheric changes seemed to creep along her skin, giving her aches and pains in her joints and chilling her all the way down to her core.