The Vanishing (19 page)

Anna relaxed back onto the bed. “Thank goodness. I told my mother to get them into hiding. The villagers can sustain themselves at several other locations in the swamp for months without leaving. Those safeguards have been in place as long as anyone can remember.”

“That’s good,” Max said, “and smart. And it buys us time to catch the man doing this.”

“So you never reached the village when you went into the swamp?” Colette asked.

“No. I was almost there when the bokor caught me. He must have been waiting for me, because I never heard him approach.”

“Did you get a look at him?”

“No. He grabbed me from behind and threw a bag over my head. He held me in a shack somewhere in the swamp for days. He returned every night to bring food and try to convince me to tell him where the coins were, but he was always wearing a mask.”

“How did you get away?” Colette asked.

“One night, he decided to move me. He had to untie my legs so that I could walk, and I’d managed to loosen the ropes on my hands a little. I waited until we reached thick brush and swung around, knocking the gun from his hands. He grabbed me and I fought with him. As we fell, I pulled on the mask, but I was twisted around and couldn’t get a glimpse of his face. Then he hit me in the head with something, maybe a rock. I kicked him in the gut to knock his wind out then I ran.”

“You are very brave,” Colette said, unable to imagine everything her friend had been through.

“Did you notice anything familiar about the bokor?” Max asked. “Maybe he is one of the men from Pirate’s Cove.”

Anna shook her head. “I don’t really know the people in the Cove. Only selected people from the village went into Pirate’s Cove to trade, and it was usually the elders.”

“But the people in Pirate’s Cove are aware that Cache exists?” Max asked.

“I guess. I’m sure they know people live out in the swamp, but there’s other villages out there besides Cache.”

“We’re going to figure all this out,” Max assured her.

Anna nodded, a determined look on her face. “What do you need from me?”

“The name of the pawnshop, for starters. That shop is where it all started.”

“Do you think the man who bought the coins is the bokor?” Anna asked.

“Possibly. It’s also possible that when he went to Pirate’s Cove looking for you, he tipped off someone locally and they decided to try their hand at collecting a fortune.”

“No one in Pirate’s Cove said that the dealer asked about coins,” Colette pointed out.

“Exactly,” Max said. “If someone in Pirate’s Cove is the bokor, he’d be careful not to mention the coins at all. We need to track who knew about the coins, and that starts with the pawnshop. Where did you sell the coins?”

“Landry’s Pawn on Canal Street.”

Colette gave Anna a hug. “You’re safe here. There’s a policeman right outside your room. I’ll call you as soon as we know something.”

Anna squeezed her tightly. “Please keep my mother safe.”

Colette released her and looked her straight in the eyes. “I promise.”

Chapter Fifteen

Max’s cell phone began ringing as soon as they walked out of the hospital, and he was relieved to see it was Holt. He’d been worried about them going to Pirate’s Cove and stirring things up. Not that he didn’t trust Holt. His brother was the shrewdest person he’d ever met and it was Alex’s profession to size people up, but whoever was behind this had already shown how far he was willing to go. If he’d moved from determined to desperate, then things could go from bad to worse in a millisecond.

“Boy, do I have news for you,” Max said.

“I’ve got some for you, too,” Holt said. “You first.”

Max filled in his brother on Anna’s awakening and her story.

“I have a drawing for you of the antiques dealer,” Holt said when he finished.

“How did you manage that?”

“The café owner drew it. I let him think he was the guy who’d hurt Anna.”

Max could feel his excitement growing. They were closing in. He could feel it.

“There’s something else, though,” Holt said then told him about the café owner’s injured arm. “It could be coincidence.”

“But?”

“But he’s hiding something. I just have no idea what.”

“So how do you want to handle this?”

“Unfortunately, I have some bad news, too. I’m going to have to meet you somewhere in New Orleans and give you the drawing. The attorney for the case we’re testifying on wants to meet with us tonight, and we haven’t even packed a bag. We’re going to have to head home and organize our notes for the trial and get on the road by early evening.”

“That’s fine. We’re leaving the hospital now. There’s a gas station at the first exit off the highway to New Orleans. We’ll meet you there, then you’re not going much out of your way.”

“We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

Max closed his phone and relayed everything to Colette.

“Do you think Tom could be the bokor?”

“Anything’s possible at this point.”

“Then why would he draw the picture of the antiques dealer?”

“To send us on a wild-goose chase, maybe?”

Colette frowned. “I see. So what do we do now?”

“We get the drawing and pay a visit to the pawnshop guy to see if he resembles it.”

“And if he sold the coins?”

“Then we find the buyer.”

* * *

I
T TOOK ONLY
twenty minutes to meet Holt and Alex and obtain the drawing and then another fifteen minutes to locate the pawnshop on Canal Street. One glance was all Max needed to know that the bald, overweight man behind the counter at the pawnshop and the man in the drawing were not the same.

Max introduced himself and gave the man his card. “You bought some gold coins from a woman named Anna Huval a couple of months ago. I need to know what happened to them.”

The man’s jaw set in a hard line. “I don’t give out information about my customers. Not even to detectives.”

“The woman who sold you the coins is being stalked by someone who believes she has more. She’s in the hospital right now because of it. You can tell me or I can get the police to come down here. But if they have to get a warrant, you know they’re going to look at everything. All I want is this one piece of information.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Someone attacked her, you say? That pretty young blonde girl?”

“Yes. And he’s threatened her family. I need to know who else knew about those coins besides you.”

The man held up both hands. “I ain’t looking to do business with people that attack girls. I’ll get you the name of the buyer.”

He pulled a notebook from under the counter and flipped back through the pages. “He’s a coin collector and the first prospective buyer I called. Turned out to be the only one I needed to. He paid top dollar for the coins, no questions asked.” He sighed. “I guess that should have tipped me off that something was up.”

“How much did he pay, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“A thousand each. I’m guessing they were worth a lot more based on the girl being stalked, but he was smart about it—if he’d have offered more, I would have put them up for bid.”

“He probably knew that.”

“Yeah.” Clearly disgusted, the man grabbed a business card from the holder on the desk and wrote the coin buyer’s information on it.

“Good luck,” he said as he handed the card to Max. “If you need me to testify or something, that’s no problem. This kind of thing is bad for business, for all of us pawnshop owners, not just me.”

“Thanks for your help,” Max said and they left the shop.

“Marshall Lambert.” He read the name and address on the card as soon as they climbed into the Jeep. “I know this area of St. Charles Avenue. Mr. Lambert is doing very well.”

“Do you think he’ll talk to us?” Colette asked.

He put the Jeep in gear and pulled away. “We’re about to see.”

Colette whistled as they pulled up in front of the massive iron gate that separated the long, curved drive of Lambert’s mansion from the general population. Thick, enormous hedges grew along the gate, preventing a view of the house from the street. Max pulled up to a speaker and pressed the button to call the main house.

“Can I help you?” A very proper voice sounded over the intercom.

“My name is Max Duhon. I’d like to speak to Mr. Lambert.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I think Mr. Lambert will be interested in speaking to me. It’s in reference to some gold coins he purchased a couple of months ago.”

“I’ll check with Mr. Lambert. Please give me a minute.”

Max looked over at Colette, who held up crossed fingers.

A minute later, the intercom crackled and the same proper voice returned. “Mr. Lambert will speak with you. Please proceed through the gate to the main house.”

The gate creaked slowly open and Max drove through, following the drive as it curved around. He could see the rooflines of the house, but a thick grove of trees blocked a clear view. As he pulled through the trees and into the courtyard, he heard Colette gasp.

The house rose up in front of them like something out of an old gothic movie. Dark stone walls towered above them with stained-glass windows flickering in the sunlight like blinking eyes. Dying vines clung to the walls, the brown, decaying tendrils clutching at the stone like bony fingers.

“How can he live in there?” Colette whispered.

“Maybe he’s as creepy as the house.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Max opened the Jeep door. “Let’s find out.”

They walked slowly up to the front door, and before he even knocked, it swung open and a white-haired butler, in a black suit and dress shirt, motioned to them to enter.

“This way, sir,” he said and Max recognized the proper voice from the intercom.

He led them down a dimly lit hallway so cluttered with tables, vases and objets d’art that only a narrow walkway remained. At the end of the hallway, he opened a door. Only the light from flickering candles could be seen from where Max stood.

The butler stepped back and motioned for them to enter. Colette reached for Max’s hand, and he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze before stepping through the doorway and into the room.

Candles lined tables along every wall, creating a dim glow in the room. Colette’s grip on his hand tightened as she scanned the walls along with him. They were covered with artifacts, mostly Haitian. Ceremonial masks, similar to the ones found in the church, statues and weapons hung on every available area of wall space. Tables with statues, jewelry and hand-carved tools littered the room, leaving only a small area to stand.

Something moved in the corner and Max stiffened, automatically beginning to reach for his weapon, but Colette’s hand kept him in check.

“Good evening.” The man in the corner stepped closer to them and the candlelight illuminated his face.

It was him. The man in the drawing.

Colette sucked in a breath and took an involuntary step back. He released her hand and extended his hand to the man. “My name is Max Duhon.”

“Marshall Lambert,” the man said. He barely clasped Max’s hand then released it as if offended by the very touch. “You’re here about some coins I purchased?”

“Yes. You bought them from Landry’s Pawnshop on Canal Street.”

“I remember them well. Very unique. In fact, I have been unable to trace their origin or to find a match to the ones I acquired.”

“But you tried to find the seller. You went to Pirate’s Cove looking for the woman who sold them to the pawnshop.”

“Yes. I hoped to get some background on the coins and see if the woman had any other coins I might be interested in.”

“How did you know to look in Pirate’s Cove?”

“The pawnshop owner told me where the woman came from, but apparently, he was wrong. No one in the town had ever seen her before.”

“The townspeople said you showed them a photo of the woman. Where did you get that photo?”

“From the pawnshop owner, of course. It came off his security camera.”

“Funny, I just came from the pawnshop, and the owner didn’t mention telling you the woman’s hometown or providing you with a picture from his security cameras.”

Lambert laughed. “I’m sure he didn’t. He could hardly afford for word to get out that he reveals detailed information about his sellers. It took a bit of convincing to get the information myself, but everyone has their price.”

“The woman was attacked last week and injured so badly that she’s still in the hospital.”

Lambert shook his head, but looked neither surprised nor dismayed at Max’s words. “That’s unfortunate.”

“I don’t suppose you know anything about it.”

“Me? I think you misunderstand what I do, Mr. Duhon. I purchase artifacts and collectibles from willing sellers. I don’t manhandle people for their property. You’ve seen my house. I’m hardly a ruffian.”

“Sorry, Mr. Lambert, but I’ve been hired to protect the woman. I have to ask.”

“Of course. If you have no other questions for me, I’d like to return to my cataloging. I have quite a bit of work to do before bedtime.”

What Max would prefer to do was turn on the lights and take a good, hard look at Marshall Lambert and see if he could remove that smug sound from his voice, but he couldn’t afford to get arrested. Not to mention that physically harassing the man would probably weaken the district attorney’s case against him if things got that far.

“I appreciate your time,” Max said as Lambert retreated back into the shadows.

Max heard a door open and close at the far end of the room. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“I thought you’d never ask.” She hurried ahead of him, pushing her way out of the room and down the hall as quickly as she could skirt Lambert’s collectibles. Max hurried behind, giving the butler a quick thanks before exiting the house.

They jumped into his Jeep and drove back to the gate that seemed to magically open as they approached. No doubt, somewhere in the little mansion of horrors, Marshall Lambert was watching them on a security camera.

“That was weird,” Max said as soon as they pulled onto the street.