Dangerous Mercy: A Novel (29 page)

“You don’t know that. Give it time. Besides, I thought the sheriff asked you not to leave town.”

“Asked. But unless he’s got somethin’ on me, I can do what I want.”

Murray stuffed a slice of bacon into his mouth. “How old are you, man?”

“Fifty-four. Don’t let the gray in my hair fool you. I got a lot o’ workin’ years left. And I’m plenty fit.”

“Maybe so. But how many years did it take you to get your landscaping business off the ground? Do you really want to start over?”

“I’ll tell you what I don’t want: I don’t want to live in a town where folks think I could be a murderer.”

“People will forget about it after a while.” Murray leaned forward, his hands folded on the table, and lowered his voice. “To tell you the truth, it wouldn’t bother me if you
did
do it.”

“I told you I didn’t.”

“I know what you told me. I’m just sayin’ …”

“Keep your doubts to yourself, Murray. I got enough trouble.”

“I never said I doubted you. I just said it wouldn’t bother me.”

“Well, it bothers me.” Noah’s face was taut, his eyes scolding. “It burns me that people will believe what they want, even though there’s no evidence.”

“Like I said, they’ll forget about it after a while.”

“Well, I won’t. And neither will the Langleys.”

CHAPTER 30

Jude walked down the long hallway, his rubber soles squeaking on the newly polished floor. He opened the door to the lounge and saw a pretty blonde woman about forty, dressed in a white skirt and navy blazer, sitting at a round table, sipping a Coke and thumbing through a magazine.

She looked up and smiled, a dead ringer for Julia Roberts. “Sheriff Prejean, I’m Special Agent Kyle Duffy.”

He stood mute for a moment, trying to erase the image he’d had of a thirtysomething stiff in a dark suit and tie. He shook her hand. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Her smile was suddenly as wide as the Mississippi. “It’s okay that you’re surprised I’m a woman. I get that a lot. Kyle was my mother’s maiden name, and my parents were determined to give it to their firstborn.”

Jude returned her smile. “Thank you for coming, Special Agent Duffy.”

“I’d really prefer first names, if that’s okay with you.”

“Sure, call me Jude. Let’s go to my office and get started.”

Kyle threw her empty can in the recycle bin and picked up a black leather briefcase.

Jude walked toward his office, Kyle keeping stride, her straight blonde hair falling over her shoulders and down her back. Her pleasant attitude and relaxed demeanor were very different from the last fed he had worked with.

“I’ve reviewed everything your office faxed to the field office,” she said. “I believe this killer has given us a road map that leads right to him. We just have to read the signs.”

“We’ve been trying to do that, but we’re stumped at the moment.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

He led the way into his office. “Why don’t we sit there at the conference table? Can I get you something to drink?”

“No thanks, I just had a Coke.”

He reached into the small refrigerator next to the file cabinet and pulled out a bottle of water, then sat at the table across from her.

“How was your drive up from New Orleans?”

“Uneventful. A lot of tourist traffic. This is my first time in Les Barbes. What a pleasant-looking community.”

“Thanks. We’re pretty proud of it. Murders are rare here. Or at least they were. We’ve had five in just over a week—one wasn’t related to this case. I want this guy’s head on a stick.”

“I understand.” Kyle opened her briefcase and pulled out a tape recorder. “I’d like to record your comments, if it’s okay with you.”

“Sure.”

“Sheriff, tell me in your own words what you know about this case.”

Jude unscrewed the cap on the water bottle and took a sip. “The Bathtub Killer, probably acting alone, has targeted four victims so far. Three were CEOs of major companies who have been responsible for layoffs that also resulted in numerous foreclosures. The fourth victim was a wife and stay-at-home mom. Married to a high-profile defense attorney. We’ve been unable to establish a connection between her and the other victims, other than, a few years back, she worked for Aubry Computer Systems for thirteen months. On the surface, it appears to be a coincidence, but we’re digging deeper.”

“Tell me about the killer’s MO.”

“He drugs his victims and drowns them in the bathtub—the three CEOs were still dressed in business attire and the fourth victim in her nightgown. No defensive wounds. No sign of sexual assault. The victims were found submerged in water, their hands folded on their chests as if they were positioned in a coffin.” He opened the file and laid photographs of the crime scenes on the table. “The killer spray painted—in black—the pound sign followed by a numeral, beginning with number one on the first victim and ending with number four on the last victim. The CEOs each had a safe that was found open and empty of valuables. The fourth victim had a safe, but it was not unlocked, and the surviving spouse indicated the contents were intact. The murder scenes have been mostly clean, but we have been able to piece together enough evidence to conclude the same person was present at all four. Handwriting analysis determined that the spray-painted numbers were formed by the same person. And the brand of spray paint was Rust-Oleum, which can be bought almost anywhere paint is sold.”

Kyle lifted her gaze, her deep brown eyes reminding him of Colette’s. “Tell me about the evidence.”

“We got matching DNA from the bathrooms of three murder scenes: a Kleenex found in a trash can in Jeanette Stein’s, an eyelash found in the sink at Girard Darveau’s, and skin cells on a towel found at Peter Gautier’s. Unfortunately, the DNA did not match anything in the NCIC database.

“There’s something else.” Jude picked up the latest evidence report and thumbed through it until he found what he was looking for. “No useful DNA was found at Nicole Aubry’s murder scene. We did find a muddy right shoe print on the wet floor—a man’s size ten. But the sole pattern wasn’t distinct enough to identify the brand of shoe. The soil analysis showed soil consistent with this area and containing a broadleaf weed killer that can be purchased at any garden center but was not present on the lawns of any of the four victims. However, high traces of that same broadleaf weed killer was found in soil samples collected from the floor at each of the murder scenes. That’s about it.”

Kyle pulled her hair back and put a rubber band around it. “Jude, you said the victims were drugged. Was the same substance used in each case?”

“Yes. The toxicology report indicated that each victim’s blood contained a significant level of the veterinary anesthetic ketamine, known on the street as ‘Special K’ or cat Valium.”

“I’m familiar with it,” Kyle said.

“Oh, one more thing … We’ve had several people contact us after receiving an anonymous note containing ten one-hundred-dollar bills. The message in the card was the same in each, ‘This belongs to you.’”

“You think this is money stolen by the killer?” she said.

“I do. I think he’s attempting to give back some of the money he feels the CEOs got in bonuses in spite of the layoffs.”

“Were the notes signed?”

“No, but they were printed by hand. We have them in evidence. The only fingerprints we found on any of them are the recipient’s.”

Kyle seemed to be deep in thought. Finally she said, “You’ve given me a great overview. Thanks. I’d like to spend some time in the files and go through the evidence. Is there someplace quiet where I could work?”

“Sure, I can put you in one of the interview rooms. In your opinion, is this guy through killing?”

“It’s too early to give you an opinion. I need time to review the facts. I should have a profile worked up for you yet today—
tomorrow
morning at the latest.”

“I really appreciate whatever you can tell us.”

She flashed him a knowing smile. “Look, there’s no need for you to feel territorial in any way. I’m here at your request to profile your perp. I don’t have jurisdiction, and I really don’t want it. So let’s make sure we’re both on the same page.”

“We are. I’m eager to hear what you come up with. Once we have some idea who we’re looking for, maybe all this evidence will start to click.”

Adele heard a vehicle pull in the driveway and looked out just as Murray got out of his truck. She walked to the front door and stepped out on the brick porch.

“Hello, Murray. My goodness, it’s exactly three thirty.”

He flashed a boyish grin, his fiery red hair catching glints of the afternoon sun and looking uncharacteristically in place. He was dressed in khaki pants and a green golf shirt. Was he quietly celebrating his birthday?

“Well, Adele. You’ve climbed a mountain or two. Are you ready to tackle a Banana Mountain?”

“Oh my, yes. I’ve been craving it all day. You look very nice, Murray.”

“I thought it might be helpful if I didn’t embarrass you.”

“For heaven’s sake, if you embarrassed me, I would never have invited you to go with me.”

Murray folded his arms across his chest, his grin widening. “Look at
you
in pants and those spiffy Nikes.”

“I dressed for the climb up into your truck.”

“I brought the step stool. Come on. It’ll be much easier.”

“I’ll be ready in just a moment.”

Adele went inside, grabbed her purse, and came out and locked the front door.

“Here we go,” Murray said.

“I wonder what a Banana Mountain looks like.” Adele giggled. “In this heat, we can’t get a to-go box.”

“Something tells me we won’t need one.” Murray opened the passenger-side door and pulled out a sturdy-looking step stool and set it on the ground. He took Adele’s hand. “Ready?”

“I’ve tackled steeper in my day. Let’s do this.” Adele held tightly to Murray’s hand and climbed the steps, using her cane. She slid right into the passenger seat. “Not bad for an octogenarian.”

“Not bad at all,” Murray said. “I wish you’d known my grandma Sophie. You two would’ve gotten along famously.”

“I’d love to hear more about her.”

Adele remembered him saying that his grandmother had died on his twelfth birthday and birthdays made him depressed. Maybe today’s would be different.

Murray walked around to the driver’s side of the truck and climbed in behind the wheel.

“We’re off.”

“I love being up so high,” she said. “I may not want to get out at Scoops.”

Murray laughed. “Tell you what. I’ll take the long way and we can enjoy the ride.”

Adele looked out the window and took in the world from this vantage point. It was hard not letting on that she knew Murray was turning thirty today.

What a shame not to celebrate this milestone in his young life.

Zoe stood with Pierce and Grace on the brick porch at Adele’s and rang the doorbell a second time.

“We probably should’ve called first,” Pierce said. “But it’ll be fun to surprise her.”

“I want to see Addie!” Grace said. “I give her
big
hug.”

Zoe pushed the doorbell again. “Why isn’t Isabel answering? Maybe they went out to run errands or something.”

“I’ll check the garage window,” Pierce said, “and see if Isabel’s car’s in there.”

Pierce jogged over to the garage, cupped his hands around his eyes, and looked in the window. He turned to Zoe and shook his head. “The garage is empty. They must be out.”

Zoe spotted something under the brick next to the front door. She bent down to see what it was. It was an envelope with Adele’s name handwritten on it—from Danny Clinton, Professional Investigator.

Pierce came up on the porch. “What are you looking at, babe?”

“I thought it was a flier. But it’s something for Adele from a professional investigator. I know this name. Adele used this same guy back when I was working for her. She always checked out her household staff, and she’s probably done that for Isabel. Seems unprofessional of a PI to leave personal information out here instead of dropping it in the mail slot.”

Pierce put his hand on her shoulder. “I thought you said Adele had Isabel checked out before she hired her.”