Only By Moonlight (13 page)

LaShaun opened the solid wood door, but left
the storm door locked. She gazed through the glass at Neal
Montgomery. “What is the lawyer representing the worst serial
killer in Louisiana history doing on my doorstep?”

“Good morning, Ms. Rousselle,” Montgomery
said, ignoring her lack of a cordial greeting. “I apologize for not
scheduling an appointment, but my mission to save Emanuel Young is
rather urgent.”

“How does that concern me?” LaShaun shot
back. She didn’t like him. Every one of her senses, normal and
paranormal, seemed to kick in shouting something was off about the
man. “The DA wouldn’t be happy to know you’re talking to a witness
without telling him.”

“I’m investigating on behalf of my client,
which is legal and in fact my ethical duty. You haven’t been called
as a witness. Yet.” Montgomery let an eyebrow slip up briefly after
he said the last word.

LaShaun gazed at him for a few seconds.
“Uh-huh. Court rooms don’t scare me.”

“So I’ve heard. I won’t take much of your
time I promise. I just have a few questions.” Montgomery wore a
look of patience.

“Come on in. I knew you’d appeal Judge
Barrow’s decision.” LaShaun clicked the locks back and let him in.
“Can I get you anything?”

“I’m good.” Montgomery smiled.

LaShaun led the way into her formal living
room. She sat down in a chair and Montgomery sat in another one
across from her. He looked around. She could feel him assessing
what approach to take. Montgomery wanted her off guard, but had to
figure out how to rattle her. LaShaun waited him out. Finally he
looked at her again.

“So what got you interested in trying to free
a sadistic psychopath?” LaShaun said before he could speak. She
titled her head to one side.

Montgomery let an easy smile slide across his
handsome face. “Our justice system--”

“Our legal system is built on the principle
that everyone deserves a good defense. Yeah, I know,” LaShaun cut
in. He blinked in surprise, but he recovered fast.

“We don’t think he got the best defense the
first time around. By ‘we’ I mean our team at the True Justice
Project. We very carefully review cases before we take them.”
Montgomery stood and walked around the room gazing at antiques. He
leaned forward to stare at a miniature painting of a Rousselle
ancestor. “Your family goes back several generations in Vermilion
Parish I hear.”

“Five to be exact. Manny’s family has been
here almost as long,” LaShaun said. When Montgomery straightened
and faced her again, she raised an eyebrow.

“Of course, the point of my visit is not to
explore your family tree. Rather, let’s talk about Manny’s family.
Orin Young was suspected of being a uniquely vicious person.”
Montgomery sat down again.

“His partners in crime were more than eager
to give him up,” LaShaun said.

“Once they knew he was dead. He seemed to
inspire great fear in people. Manny has told me the way Orin and
Ethan treated him. His descriptions of the physical abuse he
suffered are chilling, to say the least.” Montgomery sat forward,
elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. “Obviously this shaped
Manny’s personality and behavior.”

“Which doesn’t mean he should be let loose on
the world again,” LaShaun replied mildly.

“If he’s innocent?” Montgomery sat back
against the chair.

“You won’t prove that Manny didn’t kill
anyone, Mr. Montgomery. There is physical evidence that put him
with at least two of the twelve victims. He was in the area where
the murders occurred.”

“He hung out with those people. They were all
transient, living a high risk life-style.” Montgomery rubbed his
chin. “We can show evidence that Orin Young met some of those
victims on his property, the house on Black Bayou.”

“What?” LaShaun felt a tingle up her arms.
The mention of the house where Orin Young acted out his depraved
urges triggered images in her mind.

Montgomery smiled with satisfaction at
surprising her at last. He nodded. “Yes. Manny told us of Orin’s
sick parties.”

“You mentioned evidence.” LaShaun gripped the
arms of her chair, fighting the compulsion to gag. She felt
buffeted by waves of emotions; craving for liquor, lust, greed and
terror. With great effort she pushed against the gut wrenching
sensation from horrible deeds committed in that place.

“Are you feeling alright, Ms. Rousselle? I
don’t know why we need to be so formal here in this lovely setting.
Call me Neal, and I’ll call you LaShaun. Not La-La, which is what
your grandmother used to call you as a little girl. That would be
too familiar.” Montgomery’s voice seemed to float far away and then
back, getting louder.

LaShaun took in deep breaths. “I don’t
understand...” her voice trailed off.

“It’s quite simple really. Emanuel Young took
the blame for Orin Young’s depraved crimes, a terrible miscarriage
of justice, LaShaun.” Montgomery stared at her steadily.

“I... I don’t believe,” she said, her throat
feeling tight as she tried to go on.

Suddenly the atmosphere in the room shifted.
Air rushed in as though several windows had been opened. A solid
series of thumps sounded. LaShaun whispered a prayer she’d read in
one of six old family journals. Once she managed to steady her
breathing LaShaun’s thinking cleared. When she stood so did
Montgomery. He wore a wary expression, but covered it quickly with
a smile.

“You looked a little green there for minute.
Maybe you should get a glass of water with a little mint to settle
your stomach,” he said.

“I’m feeling fine. Thank you, Mr.
Montgomery,” LaShaun said firmly in control again. “So if you had
this evidence, why didn’t you present it in court the other
day?”

“We got some leads we didn’t have then,
thanks to a friend of yours,” Montgomery replied.

“Mine?” LaShaun frowned at him.

“The well-know journalist James Schaffer. He
did a series of investigative reports on the events surrounding
your capture of Orin Young.”

“I didn’t capture anybody. I helped search
for a little girl. Deputy Chase Broussard, Sheriff Arceneaux, and
their officers brought those guys in.” LaShaun frowned. “If he’s
your source then I’m afraid Manny shouldn’t get his hopes up. James
Schaffer is a reality show ghost chaser, not a journalist. He’d
turn a squirrel hunt into a battle with Big Foot to get
ratings.”

“It’s not just Schaffer’s theories. As I
said, we’re gathering real evidence,” Montgomery replied.

LaShaun focused her energy on him, imagining
it as a laser. She pushed the heat out to him. “Why do you really
want Manny to get out of prison?”

Montgomery’s flared nostrils were the only
sign he felt anything. “Orin Young was the true monster. Manny was
his victim.”

“That’s only part of the truth.” LaShaun felt
a throbbing pain start at the base of her neck and move to her
temple. She broke off the focus of her gift. “Manny won’t leave
prison alive, Mr. Montgomery.”

Montgomery leaned forward in the chair.
“You’re a fascinating woman with an amazing presence.”

Krystal Hardy appeared suddenly in the
archway leading into LaShaun’s formal parlor. She shot a brief
glance at Montgomery, a chilly smile on her thin face. “The woods
around here are lovely, Ms. Rousselle.”

LaShaun glanced at Montgomery sharply. “So
you distracted me to give your partner a chance to search my
property. If you’ve been in my house looking around...”

“I needed to stretch my legs after a long
drive from New Orleans. I assure you I wasn’t in your home or
snooping around outside. I was merely admiring your property,”
Krystal Hardy said before Montgomery could speak.

“I see,” LaShaun drawled.

“Quite interesting that your family cemetery
is on the property. That was quite common in rural areas in the
eighteenth and even into the nineteenth century. I could almost
feel the spirits of the Rousselle and LeGrange ancestors.” Krystal
Hardy gazed around at the paintings on the walls as she spoke.

“Yes, I wouldn’t doubt you could sense the
power of the old ones, Ms. Hardy.” LaShaun walked to her slowly.
“They were strong people in life. The story of Louisiana and my
family are quite unique.”

“So I’m told,” Krystal Hardy replied.

LaShaun sensed that the woman had a fierce
love, even an obsession, for Neal Montgomery. Despite her cool
exterior, Krystal didn’t like that Montgomery had been alone with
LaShaun. LaShaun faced Montgomery and brushed back her thick hair.
Montgomery smiled as his bold gaze swept over her.

“Are we finished here, Neal?” Krystal
said.

“Did Orin Young give you any indication that
he’d committed those murders, the ones poor Manny was convicted of
I mean?” Montgomery seemed not to notice his colleague’s soft hiss
of displeasure.

“No, he didn’t,” LaShaun replied mildly.

“Did Manny ever mention that his father or
grandfather was present during the crimes or might have been
responsible?” Montgomery asked.

“He never mentioned anything like that,”
LaShaun said. “I won’t help any effort to release him. Now if
you’ll excuse me I have things to do.”

“I apologize for showing up unannounced. Next
time I’ll make an appointment.” Montgomery started for the door
with Krystal head of him.

“Don’t bother. I have nothing else to tell
you,” LaShaun said. She followed them to the front door.

Krystal was already on the porch as though
eager to leave. “Goodbye, Ms. Rousselle.”

“Goodbye. You should be careful wandering
around people’s property out here, Ms. Hardy. Us country folk are
likely to shoot first and then find out who we plugged.” LaShaun
grinned when the woman took a step back.

Montgomery laughed out loud. “You certainly
live up to your reputation. Thank you for being patient with us,
Ms. Rousselle. Goodbye.”

LaShaun watched them drive away in the silver
Mercedes Benz SUV. She spent the rest of the afternoon doing
research on Neal Montgomery.

Chapter 8

Wednesday morning dawned bright and cold.
LaShaun’s to-do list still flashed reminders on the calendar app of
her tablet. Yet she’d been too glued to her desktop to take notice.
When her phone rang, she fully expected to hear Chase’s deep sultry
voice telling her he would once again have to work and wouldn’t see
her that day. Instead her friend Savannah’s voice surprised
her.

“Girl we got trouble,” Savannah said.

Twenty minutes later LaShaun stood in M.J.’s
office, too keyed up to sit down. M.J. waved aside the deputy who
acted as her assistant when LaShaun rushed in without asking or
knocking. Still the young woman stood outside her boss’s office on
alert. Only the second black female officer in the Vermilion Parish
Sheriff’s Office, Toni Ferdinand seemed eager to prove her worth.
LaShaun nodded to Deputy Ferdinand. She got a nod in return before
Deputy Ferdinand closed the door and went back to her desk. LaShaun
turned back to the acting sheriff. M.J. spoke in a clipped tone
into her cell phone.

“I’ll update you when I know more, Mayor.
Yes, of course.” M.J. hit the off button and dropped the phone onto
her desk. She looked up at LaShaun. “Damn, you got the word fast.
CNN ain’t got nothin’ on the small town network of gossips.”

“Savannah called me. Is Chase okay? What the
hell...” LaShaun glanced around through the glass that made up one
half of the office walls. The other officers seemed to be carrying
on as usual.

“He’s fine. Wish I could say the same for the
witness he was interviewing,” M.J. snapped and scowled ahead.
“Remember I asked you if something was different about Chase?”

LaShaun sat down slowly. “Yeah, out at the
scene where we found Becky.”

“He tried to take Dave’s head off out there.
Now he’s slapping around suspects and witnesses.” M.J. nodded when
LaShaun gasped. “Kid was cussin’ everybody in sight and was stupid
enough to get in Chase’s face. Chase knocked him on his ass; kid
was out for about ten minutes.”

“Oh my God,” LaShaun blurted out.

“Doctor at the ER says it was a minor thing,
mostly stunned him. But they’re keeping him in the hospital
overnight just to be safe. His mama is already screaming about a
lawsuit, racism and police brutality. Yeah, the kid is black. Like
we don’t have enough crap to shovel,” M.J. said angrily.

“I’m sure Chase felt threatened, M.J. You
know Chase doesn’t go around beating up kids, or anyone else for
that matter.” LaShaun rubbed her forehead as though that would help
her get answers. “He’s more stressed out than I realized.”

M.J. tapped an ink pen on the surface of her
desk for a few minutes. “You think maybe he’s having some problems
from his time over in Afghanistan? PTSD is very common for
veterans.”

“No,” LaShaun said quickly. “I’ve never seen
him act like he’s having flashbacks or any other symptoms.”

“Sometimes it can be delayed. I took classes
because PTSD affects cops, too. We see a lot of bad stuff.”

LaShaun shook her head. “I would have
noticed, M.J.”

“The thing is Chase, doesn’t talk about his
time over there, so you don’t really know the details of how rough
it was for him.”

“Look, this is one instance--”

“He talked tough to a couple of suspects a
few days ago. Then he went after Dave, and now this. I’m worried
about his career, but more important I’m worried about him.” M.J.
gazed at LaShaun steadily.

“I know you care about Chase, M.J.,” LaShaun
replied. “Is he suspended?”

M.J. sat back. “We caught a break. Two
residents of the trailer park back up Chase’s account that the kid
made physical threats. That helps. But two local reporters were
already in town. I hear they’ve been talking to this kid’s mama
already.”