Authors: Erica Spindler
That told Mira everything she needed to know. She ended the call and stuffed her phone into the back pocket of her capri pants. Dr. Jasper had kept the truth from her. She and Jeff’s mother were more than just “board member” acquaintances.
Was Dr. Jasper the one who had been terrorizing her?
But why now? After almost four years?
The man in the car looked an awful lot like Jeff. The smell of his aftershave. His voice on the phone.
Mira began to pace. It didn’t make sense, did it? No, she thought, answering her own question. None of it did.
She stopped pacing and lifted her face to the ceiling. What should she do now? Who could she turn to?
Connor.
She wanted to trust him. She wanted it so badly. Why not just let go and allow herself to? He’d said he was in love with her. He made her feel safe. He’d brought her Nola, for Pete’s sake.
But he’d also called Jeff a liar. All this craziness had begun after he’d come back into her life. The police suspected him of being a killer.
A killer. Father Girod. Preacher. Anton. Poor Mrs. Latrobe. Mira shuddered as the image of the woman filled her head. That horrible grimace. The orange 4 on her forehead. As if she had been just a number, one in a line of many.
One in a line of many.
Mira caught her breath. Is that what the number had meant? Was there to be a five and a six? Was there a number waiting for her?
Fear shot through her. She sank into the sofa. Suddenly, knowing who she could trust became urgent. This wasn’t simply about someone playing a sick game with her.
People were dying.
She hadn’t really connected the two before. She hadn’t thought the murders had anything to do with her. Not really.
But they did. Dear God.
A betrayal by Connor would crush her.
She needed him in her life, but she had to know if she could trust him. She couldn’t discover the answer to that question sitting here.
Mira grabbed her purse, keys and Nola, then hurried to her car.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Wednesday, August 17
6:10
P.M.
Captain O’Shay moved her gaze from Malone to Stacy to Bayle and back again. Her expression let them know she was not a happy camper. “We have four victims already,” she said, “and you’re telling me to expect three more?”
“Maybe,” Malone offered. “If our theory is correct.”
“Explain.”
“The perp left us a message at the Gallier scene—”
“He cast out Seven Demons.”
“Yes. Today we have another victim. This one with the number four on her forehead.”
“And you believe it means…”
“That Latrobe was ‘demon’ number four. Gallier was number three.”
“It’s a countdown,” Stacy said. “Seven demons, four down, three to go.”
Captain O’Shay drummed her fingers on the desktop. “Which would make Father Girod and Preacher numbers one and two. You’re certain it’s the same perp? Different MO.”
Spencer shook his head. “Not really, Captain. Each murder’s been different. What’s remained the same is the UNSUB’s method of communicating with us and—”
Bayle jumped in. “The connection to Mira Gallier.”
“Why these victims?” Captain O’Shay asked. “If your theory’s correct, what’s our guy’s motivation? Clearly, Gallier’s a key piece of the puzzle. It’s a question of how she fits in.”
“Someone’s killing these people for her?” Stacy offered. “Anton Gallier was an enemy and the busybody neighbor was an annoyance.”
Malone agreed. “Connor Scott, maybe. It all started when he came back into her life. And he’s in love with her.”
Captain O’Shay frowned. “So who’s next? Who’s number five?”
“We find out who else Gallier has issues with?” Stacy said.
“Seems to me we might all be on that list.” Malone grinned. “We better watch our backs.”
“Not funny,” Stacy said. “I’m not even officially recovered from my last run-in with a perp.”
“Maybe no one else is on the list?”
Malone looked disbelievingly at Bayle. “How do you figure?”
“Anton Gallier was the intended target. The busybody neighbor saw something. Everything else has been a smokescreen to cover her father-in-law’s murder.”
“I was tailing her,” Stacy offered. “Her story checks out.”
“An elaborate ruse.”
“Ridiculously elaborate,” she said. “Come on, Karin. She didn’t know she was being tailed.”
“Think about it,” Bayle insisted, “Mira Gallier and Scott create the scenario together, then they act it out. Real time.”
Stacy shook her head. “I see where you’re coming from, but it just doesn’t feel right to me. I’ve got to go with Spencer on this one.”
“Of course you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know damn well. He’s your fiancé. You’re not going against him. At least not until you’ve got that ring on your finger.”
“Detective,” Captain O’Shay said sharply, “that’s enough!”
“Is it? I don’t think so. What’s she doing here, anyway? Not only is she
not
working this case, she’s on leave.”
Bayle turned back to Captain O’Shay. “Of course, considering the circumstances, bringing that to your attention probably won’t do any good.”
“What circumstances are those, Detective?”
“It’s all in the family, right?”
Malone winced. Challenging Captain O’Shay’s ethics was a dangerous move.
“You’d better back down, Detective. Right now. If you’re going to accuse me of favoritism, you better be ready to back it up.”
Bayle flushed. “Requesting a word in private, Captain.”
“I think that might be a good idea. Detectives, give us a minute.”
Malone and Stacy filed out of the office, closing the door behind them. He looked at Stacy. “What’s Bayle’s deal? You worked with her briefly, she always like this?”
“That’s not the Karin Bayle I worked with. The Karin I know is a level-headed, good cop.”
“Her breakdown, what was that all about?”
“Not sure. We weren’t working together then.”
“Who was?”
She thought a moment. “Donna St. Cloud. She’s DIU, First District. ”
“You know her?”
“Not well, but well enough to ask a couple questions.”
The captain’s door opened; Bayle stepped out. “She wants you both inside.”
Captain O’Shay stood in front of her desk, arms folded across her chest. “Take a seat.” They did and she pinned Malone with her gaze. “Bayle’s made a serious accusation against you.”
“It’s bullshit.”
“Conflict of interest. Dereliction of duties. Impaired judgment.”
Stacy snorted in disgust and Captain O’Shay turned that steely gaze on her. “You have something to add, Detective Killian?”
“Yeah, Captain, I do. It’s
absolute
bullshit.”
“Let’s see. Malone, you manipulated an investigation by insinuating Detective Killian, not only your fiancée but an officer out on medical leave, into it. According to Bayle, you did it so you could shut her out. Case in point, you learned of the Latrobe homicide first and notified your partner last. She arrived to the scene after you had questioned the witness.”
“That’s Bayle’s interpretation, Captain. Yes, I asked Stacy to tail Gallier. A decision that had nothing to do with my relationship with her and everything to do with her relationship with Gallier. Do I trust Stacy not to screw up? A lot more than some minimal-experience uniform you might have agreed to assign to her.”
“That’s right, Malone,
I
would have assigned. I’m in charge here. I call the shots, not you.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Your reckless arrogance has put me in an extremely awkward position.”
“I apologize, Captain.”
“And you,” she said, turning her gaze back to Stacy. “You think you’re ready to come back, Detective? Fine. You bring me an okay from your physician and I’ll welcome you with open arms. Until then, you’re on medical leave. Is that clear?”
“Crystal, Captain.”
Malone stood. “I respectfully request you take Bayle off the case. She has her own agenda and, frankly, I don’t trust she has my back.”
“Funny, she said the same thing about you.”
“What’s your decision, Captain?”
“Put your ass back in that chair, Detective.” She motioned to Stacy. “Thank you, Detective Killian. That will be all. Send Detective Bayle back in.”
A moment later, Bayle had rejoined them. Malone noticed that she wouldn’t look at him.
“You two will put this petty, inappropriate bullshit aside and work together. We have four victims and I expect you to get your collective acts together. If you don’t, I’ll pull both your asses off this case and park them at desks.”
Bayle jumped to her feet. “Captain, with all due respect—”
“Can it, Detective. My focus is making sure we don’t have another victim. I suggest you get Scott back in here for questioning. If you haven’t already, create a time line. I want to know the last time someone saw Latrobe alive and what Scott was doing every minute after. And work together, dammit!”
“But, Captain—”
“That’ll be all. Keep me posted.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Wednesday, August 17
7:20
P.M.
Scott came with an attorney this time. Malone recognized him from the newspaper. Phillip Knight was a celebrity lawyer. One of the best criminal defense attorneys in the city, he was as smart as he was slippery. Scott wasn’t taking any chances. Of course, rich people rarely did.
They took seats in the interview room. Malone studied Scott and had to give the guy props—he looked completely relaxed.
Malone introduced himself to the lawyer, then turned to Scott. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Scott. Have you ever heard the name Louise Latrobe?”
Scott shook his head. “No.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“You and Mira Gallier are good friends, correct?” He agreed and Malone went on. “And when Jeff Gallier was alive, you spent a good bit of time in their home?”
Again, he agreed.
“In all that time, did you meet any of their neighbors?”
Scott appeared to think a moment, then shook his head. “No.”
“Did Jeff or Mira talk about any of their neighbors? Socialize with them?”
“Not that I remember.”
“They never mentioned a neighbor who was difficult? Nosy?”
His expression altered slightly. “Wait, there was something … a neighbor who spied on them. The old lady who lived to their right.”
Malone made a note of Scott’s sudden recollection. “Would it surprise you to learn her name was Louise Latrobe?”
“I wouldn’t feel any particular way about it.” He folded his hands on the table. “Since I didn’t know her.”
“How about if I told you she was dead? That she had been murdered?”
That got a reaction. From both Scott and his attorney.
The lawyer leaned forward. “That has nothing to do with my client. He’s already told you he didn’t know her.”
“Where have you been the past twenty-four hours, Mr. Scott?”
“Around.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“Could you?”
“From the time you left here last night until now.”
“Are you serious?” asked Knight, indignant. “Surely you don’t expect my client to give you a minute-by-minute account?”
“But I do, Mr. Knight. With an emphasis on the highlights.”
Knight pressed. “If you have a victim—”
“We do.”
“—you have an approximate time of death. I don’t appreciate you wasting our time.”
“Sometimes TOD doesn’t tell the whole tale. She was last seen alive around this time yesterday.”
The attorney started to argue, but Scott stopped him. “Yesterday I left questioning here and went to Mira Gallier’s.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re friends. And because I needed her to know the truth.”
“About what?”
“My feelings for her.”
“Which are?”
“None of your business.”
Malone decided to let that go. “How long were you there?”
“Not long. Maybe thirty minutes. At the outside.”
“Then where’d you go?”
“Home.”
“You still at your parents’?”
“I was. It was my last night there.”
“What time was that?”
“Eleven, eleven thirty.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?”
“Nope. My parents are in the mountains of North Carolina. They go every August. And the staff had left for the day.”
“How about security video? I noticed the property was wired.”
He looked surprised but unconcerned. “It is. You can check the alarm code record as well. My code is unique to me.”
Malone made a note. “Then what?”
“Had a beer. Or two. And went to bed.”
“This morning, what time did you wake up?”
“Early. Five or just before.”
“Wow, that’s early for a guy who’s not working.”
“Since the war, I don’t sleep like I used to.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Scott shrugged. Malone continued. “Up around five, what then?”
“Grabbed a coffee. Left before the staff arrived.”
“Left for where?”
He hesitated, looking uncomfortable for the first time. “Mira Gallier’s.”
Interesting. By his own admission, Scott had been in the vicinity of the crime scene twice in twenty-four hours. The attorney didn’t look pleased.
“What time was that?” Malone asked.
“I got there around six.”
“Seems a little early for a social call.”
“She was up.”
“What was the reason for the early visit?”
He shifted slightly in his seat. “Personal.”
“A woman is dead. And you, Mr. Scott, just happened to be steps away from where the murder occurred, not once but twice within a matter of hours.”
The lawyer leaned over and whispered something in Scott’s ear. Scott nodded, then met Malone’s eyes once more. “We’d left it in a bad place the night before. I wanted to make it right.”
“You fought?”
“Had a disagreement.”
“About?”
“Her husband. I tried to tell her he hadn’t been a saint. My mistake.”
“Not a saint,” Malone repeated. “What does that mean?”