Into the Dark (26 page)

“Nah. He was all over the place, exploring.”

Exploring for a place to stash Emilie. “Did he spend more time in any one area? Or have you happened across a camp that looked like someone was trying to hide it?” Nathan said.

“I stick to my places. It’s hard to hide a camp, ’less you want to deal with even more water. Best to be in the open places.”

“You’re not,” Emilie said. “You’re way out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeah, but I’m on higher ground. And I pay attention to the weather and know when to get the hell out of Dodge.”

“Does it flood down here a lot?” Ronson asked.

“Enough to be a pain in the ass. Lucky Vegas don’t get that much rain.”

“Where’s the best place to truly hide?” Nathan tightened his grip around Emilie’s shoulders to ground her to him.

“From the cops?”

“From everyone,” Nathan said.

“Deeper in. In the black areas where no one goes.”

“Isn’t this deep enough?” Avery glanced around and then shivered. Nathan rolled his eyes.

“This ain’t nothing. Go in another fifty feet and it’s like a crypt. Air’s so stale you can hardly breathe. Even I get the bubbleguts down there.”

“Have you seen the southern man recently?” Emilie said.

“Once. Right after the night Burrell let it slip about the tunnel. Saw him snooping around the drain near Fremont Street.”

“What did you talk about?” Emilie tensed. Nathan rubbed her shoulders.

“Dunno. He talked a good game. Liked to impress us with facts and history. Like we was all dumbasses.”

“What kind of history?” Nathan asked.

“Shit, all sorts. Talked about the Depression, old Vegas, gambling.” Snake’s hand dug around under the chair and emerged with a battered, plastic water bottle. “Now that I think about it, he did love to talk about the Old South.”

“Any specific places?” Nathan asked.

“Don’t remember. Sometimes he’d slip into another language. French, maybe. And I didn’t have a clue what he was sayin’.”

“What was it?” Emilie demanded.

“Well, I don’t know if I can say it right—”

“Try,” Ronson urged.

“All right.” Snake cleared his throat. He said, ‘
lese an vye pèn. Wa fom an
.’”

“Say it again.” Emilie’s voice trembled.

“
Lese an vye pèn. Wa fom an
.’”

“What is it?” Ronson asked. “Do you know what he’s saying?”

“That’s not French,” Emilie said. “
Wa
isn’t a part of the French language. It’s Creole.”

“How do you know?” Avery demanded. Nathan wanted to pop him in the jaw again.

“Because I’ve always been interested in the differences between traditional French, Cajun, and Creole. And Evan and I took a trip to New Orleans on our third anniversary. I’ve heard it before.”

“Can you translate?” Ronson asked.

“Not much.
Lese
is leave. I think
fom
is woman.”

“Cajun and Creole are the same, right?” Chris asked.

“Different heritages,” Emilie said. “Creole language is based on French, but it’s a distinct system all its own.”

“Where are the main Creole communities?” Avery asked.

“Scattered all over. There are several in Southeast Texas. California also has a lot of Creoles, but the epicenter of Creole culture is Louisiana. There are large community groups down there.”

“Then we’ve got a starting point,” Ronson said. “I’ll check for similar crimes in those three states. I’ll also look for any Creole communities in the greater Vegas areas. There’ve got to be a few.”

“What other Creole words did he use?” Emilie was growing fidgety on the bucket.

“They was all random, honey. Just that one phrase he said all the time.”

“There’s got to be more.” Emilie’s hands clenched into fists on her lap until they turned white. Her right foot rhythmically thudded against the cement.

“Did he talk about me? A redheaded woman? Where did he go in the tunnels? Did he have a secret place?”

“Calm down,” Nathan said. “Badgering him isn’t going to help.”

“Honey, if he did, I never saw it. Never mentioned you that I recall.” Snake scratched the heavy stubble on his chin. “His favorite thing to talk about was the past. Sometimes he’d ramble on ’bout how the past could tell our futures or some weird shit like that.”

“But he never said anything about Miss Emilie?” Defeat crept into her voice.

“Josephine.” Snake sat up straighter. “He did talk ’bout her, more than once.”

“Josephine.” Emilie twisted to look up at Nathan. “That’s the name he mentioned in the bank and then got upset when I asked about her.”

“Yeah, he didn’t like to answer no questions,” Snake said. “Just talked about how sweet she was, how she’d have been scared to death of this place. Didn’t trust the dark, I guess.”

“She sounds like a child,” Ronson said.

“The Taker told me Josephine’s bad luck came in the daylight,” Emilie said. “Something bad happened to her.”

“Figured that. Whenever he talked about her, he’d get this look. Half-crazy and half-miserable. Wondered if she was his kid or something.”

Emilie had gone silent. Her foot-tapping ceased, her breathing deepened.

“What is it?” Nathan asked.

“The
fleur-de-lis
.”

“What?”

“In the bank, the Taker said we had a connection that I wore for all to see.” Her hand went to her necklace, tracing the engraving. “It’s the necklace.
Mémé
gave it to me before she died. I’m so stupid. It’s been right here all along.”

Emilie took the necklace off and handed it to Ronson. “See the design?

The
fleur-de-lis
?”

“Yeah, the Saints,” Chris said. “Great football team.”

“A
Louisiana
football team.” Ronson caught on.

“Exactly,” Emilie said. “The
fleur-de-lis
is a French symbol established by the monarchy centuries ago. It’s used in a lot of cities with French heritage, but it’s practically a coat of arms in Louisiana.”

“He’s a Louisiana Creole,” Nathan said.

“I’m sure of it. That’s what he meant. He saw my necklace and somehow thought it was a sign that we were meant to be.” Emilie shivered.

“We’ll research every crime in Louisiana that remotely resembles kidnapping,” Ronson said.

“Start in the New Orleans area,” Emilie said. “The biggest Creole population is there and farther along the Cane River, I think. A lot of the old plantations there have Creole history. And look for Josephine.”

“I’ll have the Louisiana field office dig into it. But without a last name, I’m not sure what they can find.”

“Snake, did he ever mention the
fleur-de-lis
?” She shined her light on the bell.

“No, but that design looks just like the ring he wore.”

“What ring?” Emilie jerked, her body poised to spring.

“He usually had on gloves, the kind with the fingers cut off at the knuckles. Only saw it once. Shoulda stole it. Stone had to be real.”

“What did it look like?”

“Old. Big fat ruby with gold. That design,” he pointed to Emilie’s necklace, “was on the side of it.”

The Taker’s words made sense now. But had the necklace reinforced his obsession or ignited it?

Emilie said nothing on the long trip back to the drainage ditch. Nathan kept her close, his hand latched onto hers. Her skin was clammy with nerves.

“This is good news.” Nathan tried to reassure her. “Ronson can narrow down the search.”

“This necklace has been my talisman. Now it’s tainted.”

“No, it’s not. It’s the same necklace your grandmother gave you. Those memories are still there.”

He squinted as they emerged into the bright sunlight. Emilie stumbled out and leaned against the dirty culvert. Her face was pale, her eyes closed again the sun.

Avery’s phone rang. “Detective Avery.”

Nathan touched Emilie’s arm. Heat sparked at his fingertips. She jerked in surprise, and then attempted a smile.

“At least we found Snake.”

“We’re going to find the Taker, too.”

“Emilie.” Avery stood at the mouth of the drain. He never called Emilie by her first name. Dread crept over Nathan.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Avery began.

“What is it?” Emilie dropped Nathan’s hand and stepped forward.

“It’s your mother. She’s dead.”

Emilie swayed. Nathan caught her before she fell.

“What happened?” Ronson dropped her gear and dug her phone out of her pocket.

“Homicide. She was found in an alley just two blocks from her hotel.”

“She was
murdered
?” Emilie sagged against Nathan.

“I’m sorry,” Avery said.

“How?”

“You don’t need the details,” Nathan said. “Those are images you’ll never get rid of.”

“Yes, she does,” Avery countered. “She needs to understand. Your mother was stabbed.”

“But who? Claire is…was a real bitch unless she thought it was advantageous to be kind. But I’m the only person she knows here. Who could have done this?”

“There was a note with your mother, addressed to you. It matched the handwriting from the one on your car yesterday.”

“What are you saying?” Emilie pushed herself away from Nathan and stared up at Avery.

“Your mother was murdered by the Taker.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“That’s her.” Emilie stared through the thick glass at her mother’s lifeless face. Claire Chambers lay on the steel gurney, a blue paper sheet draped over her body. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slack in death. A gray pallor colored her skin.

“When did it happen?” Nathan stood behind Emilie, his chest against her back. His presence was the only thing holding her together.

“Coroner put time of death at around ten last night,” Ronson said. “I’m sorry we had to put you through this, but we needed a formal I.D.”

“How many times was she stabbed?” She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Claire’s face. Her plastic features had begun to droop.

“Multiple times.”

Nathan’s hand slipped around her waist. “We should go. You’ve seen enough.”

The coroner covered Claire’s face, her final shroud a regulation-issue material used on every other body in the morgue. Claire would have been horrified.

Emilie turned her back on her mother’s body. “I want to see the note.”

Ronson handed her the evidence bag. Emilie recognized the handwriting immediately. It was the same elegant scrawl, written by the same fine-point black pen.

Dearest Miss Emilie,

I promised you everything would be as it should very soon, and I have taken the first step to fulfilling that pledge. Your mother has caused you such pain, and her arrival only sent you on a further tailspin. I will never forget the anguish in your voice or the sadness it caused me to see you drown your anger with drink.

Claire Chambers will no longer be a threat to your happiness. Your burden is lifted. Please consider her judgment my gift of love.

I know now why you were not ready in the bank. Your life had too many loose ends. I have tied them off, and we are one step closer to spending eternity together.

Until we meet again.

“Son-of-a-bitch.” Nathan read the note over Emilie’s shoulder, his breath warm against her neck. “He thinks he’s done her a favor.”

The words blurred together through Emilie’s tears. Her last conversation with Claire had been cruel, with insults slung back and forth amid bitter truths. Now, Claire was gone. The mother who’d never wanted Emilie had departed this world in the most horrific way.

Because of her. But she hadn’t asked for the Taker to murder Claire. Still, he’d done it for Emilie. It was all her fault.

“Listen to me.” Nathan grabbed her arms. “You’re not to blame for any of his. And thanks to you, we know what his trigger was. We know he’s probably from Louisiana. We’re getting closer.”

“Not close enough.”

“We
will
catch him.” Ronson pried the note from Emilie’s clenched hand. “I’ve already got a call into the Louisiana field office. It’s only a matter of time.”

But what else would happen before he was caught? Who else would die?

“You can’t go anywhere alone,” Ronson said. “Not even to drive to work.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Nathan said.

“I just want to go back to Jeremy’s.” She was tired and dirty. The stink of the tunnels clung to her clothes.

“Is there anyone we can call for you?” Ronson asked. “We’ll inform her husband if you wish.”

“I’ll call Sam. He deserves to hear from me.”

“He can’t claim the body for burial until the coroner releases it. That could be several days.”

“I’ll make sure he’s aware.”

“It’s time to go.” Nathan’s hand was firm on her back as he led Emilie out of the morgue.

“A patrol car will be stationed outside the Vance’s home and the bank,” Ronson said. “Limit your movements as much as possible.”

Emilie waited in UMC’s massive entryway while Nathan retrieved his car. She was barely aware of the activity surrounding her. She sat on an island alone while the rest of the world moved in fast forward, whirling by Emilie without noticing her pain.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Ronson stood a foot away. She’d sent Avery to the station to start the Louisiana search. Emilie was grateful she didn’t have to listen to the pompous detective spout theories about her mother’s murder.

“Just find the Taker. That’s the only way this is going to end.”

* * * *

Nathan followed Emilie inside the Vance’s empty home. He hadn’t seen this coming. The Taker had elevated his obsession to a whole new level, and the worst part was he truly believed he was doing what was best for Emilie. He saw himself as her savior. He wasn’t going to stop until he was caught.

Emilie had been silent on the ride over. Now she marched into the Vance’s big kitchen with purpose. She pulled two glasses out of the cabinet and filled them with water.

“Let’s go outside.” Emilie handed him a glass. “We stink.”

The back deck stretched across two-thirds of the Vance’s house. She kicked a toy car out of her way and then sat down on a large glider. Nathan settled next to her. He slipped his arm behind her shoulders.