Possession (11 page)

O
NE OF THE ADVANTAGES
of being an FBI agent was access to considerable resources. Each city and county had to account for every lab test, every autopsy, a monetary value placed on each item and coming out of a fixed budget. But with federal involvement, Akela was able to green-light direct funding of New Orleans’s criminal investigation unit.

She had already been through the preliminary information Chevalier had passed on to her, but she had the feeling that she hadn’t had access to everything. Wishful thinking? Maybe so. But she also knew that the jaded detective was collecting only the evidence that would place Claude behind bars for a long, long time to come. Anything else would be easily allowed to fall by the wayside because, as Chevalier had so conveniently put it, “Why cloud the issue?”

It was just past 7:00 a.m. She’d purposely got an early start that morning after putting in a phone call
and finding out the NOPD head forensics expert in charge of the case liked to come into the “office” in the dead of night, when she felt her biorhythms worked more efficiently. She would be calling it a “night” at around eight or so. So if Akela wanted to talk to her, it would have to be now.

Akela flashed her ID at the security guard posted outside the crime laboratory, then pushed open the door to the examining room, struck immediately by the smell of cleaning solution and blood.

“Dr. Landau?”

The sound of metal clanking against metal then a muffled, “Back here.”

Akela navigated the large room, around tables and counters and large wastebaskets in the general direction she thought she’d heard the voice. There, positioned over a body with her magnifying glass hovering over an open chest cavity, sat a woman of about her age, her brown hair pulled back and under a blue protective cap, her clothes covered by a blue smock, rubber gloves on her hands. Akela forced herself not to look directly at the body of a middle-aged man and put the tray of coffee and doughnuts she held down on a nearby table.

“Mmm, thanks,” Julie Landau said without looking up at her. She blindly reached for one of the coffees, popped the lid, then took a long pull from it.

Akela looked around the quiet area, careful not to specifically acknowledge much of what she was looking at. The first time she’d had to ID a body, she’d upchucked everything on the sidewalk outside the medical examiner’s office. She knew better than to challenge that gag instinct now.

Landau finally pushed the magnifying glass away, slid her own reading glasses to the top of her capped head, then looked at Akela.

“Not a lot of people know how to do that.”

“Do what?’

“Keep quiet.” She smiled then took off her rubber gloves one by one. “They’re usually reminding me of who they are or asking questions when I’m obviously absorbed in something else.”

She reached for something on a counter to her other side and handed Akela a folder.

“I think this is what you’re looking for.”

Akela read the file folder label marked
Laraway, Claire,
then opened it, scanning the top page as Landau swiveled around on her stool and checked out the doughnuts. She chose a sprinkle-covered one, shook it then bit into it.

“It says here you found a hair inside the neck wound?”

Landau nodded. “Yeah. Didn’t belong to the victim or the suspect.”

Akela stared at her. She’d been told that there had been no trace evidence from an outside source. “How can you be sure?”

The forensics expert raised a brow. “Because I identified two types of hair from the bed and the one in the wound didn’t match them. And there was only one specimen.”

“Which would indicate…”

“That there was a third person involved.”

Akela’s chest lightened as she read the rest of the material. The investigation indicated that the killer had been left-handed, given the depth and sweep of the wound. Claude was right-handed. But, of course, that bit of information meant little because he could have done it that way to throw off the investigation.

She shivered.

“Can you tell if the hair belongs to a man or a woman?”

“Not yet. I’ve sent it to Virginia for further analysis.” She chewed on her doughnut. “I will tell you I believe the hair was planted.”

“Planted?”

“Mmm.” She used her pinkie to wipe a pink sprinkle from the side of her mouth. “There was something about the way it was placed, nice and neat and with the follicle attached, inside the wound that set off an alarm or two.” She squinted at her. “I’m trained to pay attention to those alarms.”

A planted hair indicated premeditation. Given that the entire case against Claude hinged on the murder being a crime of passion, there was no room for premeditation.

Akela smiled at the doctor.

“Looks like I gave you the info you were looking for.”

“Pardon me?”

She polished off the doughnut, scrubbed up and then reached for a fresh pair of rubber gloves. “You hoping the guy didn’t do it?”

Akela closed the file. “Let’s just say that there are a few other things that set off an alarm or two of my own. And I’m trained to pay attention to those alarms.”

C
LAUDE KNEW
it probably wasn’t the best idea he’d had, but he’d already proven his inability to sit around and let his fate be decided for him. Hell, given that he couldn’t truly trust his own brother in the situation, he had only himself to rely on.

He jimmied the lock on the door to the apartment Claire had shared with a woman named Joann Bennett, a skill he’d picked up on the street long ago. He’d watched a woman he guessed was Claire’s roommate leave a few minutes ago, probably on her way to work. Since Claire’s body had
been flown back to her home in Toledo, Ohio, life, he guessed, had to go on as usual.

He slipped inside the small, dark apartment and stood still for a moment, allowing his eyesight to adjust. A look around showed a modest place decorated with bright colors. In the corner was a collection of boxes. Claire’s things? Claude suspected they were. Probably Bennett was already in the market for a new roommate. After all, dead roommates couldn’t help make the rent.

He opened the top box, peered at the various photo albums and high school yearbooks there, then moved the box aside and opened the next one. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Something, anything to prove his innocence would do the trick. But exactly what that something would be, he didn’t know.

During his questioning of those who had seen Claire with friends that night, he hadn’t leaned of a boyfriend, longstanding or otherwise. Of course, he couldn’t actually approach her roommate or any of her friends himself, not without fear of scaring them off, seeing as his picture was featured on the cover of the only city newspaper. So he’d taken this chance.

He heard a key in the door lock.

Damn.

He quickly put the boxes back together and ducked into one of the two bedrooms that looked as if it may have been Claire’s, given the way it was cleaned up with no personal touches remaining. He closed the door partially and stood off to the side, watching as the woman who had left earlier returned, holding a drugstore bag. Apparently she hadn’t gone to work.

Claude debated what he should do from there. The roommate disappeared inside the bathroom and moments later he heard running water. He stepped to the window. The apartment was on the first floor, but there were bars on the window that had been painted over.

He heard a knock on the apartment door. Looking in that direction through the window, he saw none other than Akela checking her watch.

He couldn’t question the roommate, but Akela most certainly could.

A
KELA FELT
the unmistakable feeling that she was being watched again. It might be the middle of the morning, and broad daylight, but just being at this end of the Quarter, outside the main drag, with sparse foot and car traffic, put her on edge. She checked her firearm, then readjusted her suit jacket.

“Miss Bennett?” She addressed the young
woman who answered the door. “It’s Agent Akela Brooks with the FBI. I spoke to you on the phone this morning.”

“Yes. Come in.”

She followed the young woman inside the small apartment. “Thanks for agreeing to see me. I understand that police have already been by and it must be difficult for you to relive the incident….”

The young woman shrugged. “Claire didn’t live here all that long. Two months.”

Akela took her notepad out and jotted down the information. “You weren’t friends before then?”

“No. We met through an ad I put in the paper looking for someone to share the rent.” She gestured toward one of two doors. “Like I’m doing again.”

“You two didn’t become close during those two months?”

Akela already knew that Joann Bennett hadn’t been with Claire the night she met Claude. But other than that, she knew little about Claire beyond that she was a paralegal and had been checking into taking a few prelaw courses at Tulane. At twenty-seven, perhaps she’d decided that the life she’d mapped out wasn’t quite panning out the way she’d hoped and she’d decided to promote herself from paralegal to lawyer.

“No, we didn’t. I spend a lot of time over at my boyfriend’s place.”

“The two of you never went out?”

“No. I mean, maybe lunch once or twice. But while I never saw anyone, I got the impression she was involved with someone, too.”

Akela noted that, then pointed toward the boxes. “Are these her things?”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with them. I talked to her mother yesterday, but she didn’t seem all that interested in Claire’s personal belongings. Her sister is supposed to be calling me sometime today or tomorrow. I’m going to ask if she wants me to ship the things to her. I can only imagine how much it’s going to cost me.”

Akela stepped closer to the boxes in question. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Sure. Go ahead.” She glanced toward the small kitchenette. “I was just going to make some tea. Would you like a cup?”

“Yes. That would be nice, thanks.”

Akela opened the top box and thumbed through a photo album filled with pictures probably taken during Mardi Gras a couple of years back.

“She kept a diary,” Joann said, bringing in a plate of cookies. “I think it’s in the third box down.”

Diary.

Akela frowned. “Did you tell the police about it?”

“Yeah. The detective, Chevalier, didn’t appear all that interested, though.”

Of course, Chevalier wouldn’t be interested. He already had his killer—or would when he arrested Claude, anyway.

Joann went back into the kitchen as Akela moved the top two boxes out of the way. She found a leather-bound journal near the top of the third one. She opened it and read the date on the first page. A year ago. She turned away from the boxes and closer to the front window where the light was better. The entries were written in neat script, all in black ink. Seemed Claire Laraway had passed penmanship with flying colors. She leafed through the entries, paying close attention to any entries that appeared different than the others. She found one twenty pages in. The words were cramped as if written in a hurry.

Akela read through the remainder of the entry. While it was apparent the subject was a man she’d been dating for an unspecified period of time, there
was no mention of a name. Instead Claire had used words like
the jerk
to describe him.

She turned a few pages.

Akela frowned at the use of an initial rather than a full name. She checked out the date noted at the top of the page. Two weeks ago.

So Claire had been dating a married man she called ‘C.’

“Anything interesting?” Joann asked, bringing in two cups of hot steaming water from the kitchen along with a small box of tea selections.

“Maybe.”

Akela sat down opposite her and chose a tea, putting the bag in to steep. “Have you read this?”

Joann shook her head as she selected her own tea. “No. I mean, I thought about it, but something creeped me out about the whole thing, you know, now that she’s dead.”

Akela nodded. “I agree.”

“You probably have to do stuff like this all the time, though, don’t you? I mean, go through dead people’s stuff.”

Akela had never really looked at her job that way. “Sometimes.”

She got that feeling of being watched again and fought a shiver, even though the room was warm.

She put the journal down on the coffee table and then went about taking the bag out of her tea. “You wouldn’t happen to have come across Claire’s address book or anything, would you?”

Joann shook her head. “No. I think she might have had it in her purse or something. Maybe her mom got her personal stuff from the hospital or something.”

“Maybe.” She crossed her legs. “Did Claire happen to mention anyone, a guy whose name may have begun with a
C?
”

Joann appeared to think about it. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Do you have a phone here?”

“You can use my cell if you want.”

“No hard line?”

“No. Both Claire and I used our cell phones, so what’s the point?”

What was the point indeed? She wondered if there were any old cell phone bills in the boxes and guessed that anything that was Claire’s would be in there. Joann struck her as a thorough person.

“God, what am I going to with that stuff?”
Joann said. “I have a girl coming by this afternoon to take a look at the room.”

Akela blew on her tea and took a sip. “I could probably take the boxes off your hands if you want.”

Joann looked at her hopefully. “Could you really? I mean, I’d have to call her mother and let her know you have them, not that I think she’d care. She said something like, ‘What the hell do you want me to do with them?’ when I told her about the boxes.”

“No problem. I can put them in the mail after I’m done with them.”

“Oh, that would be so great!”