Lucky Thirteen (4 page)

“He’s an engineer, but he works offshore
. I don’t even know if he’s home now.”

“We’ll find out,” Chris said
.

Dr. Fairchild stood and shook hands with both Ray and Chris
. Ray assured Rona as best he could, “I’ll call you with any scheduling or information. Thank you.”

With a nod, Dr. Fairchild left.

♣♣♣

Ray turned to Chris. “Another paragon of virtue. Is that the connection, Chris? Are they all angels in disguise? Well, I’ll be damned if I let this angel suffer the hell the others did.”

Chris
tapped her notes with the pen she held. “Really smart, religious, do-gooder.”

Beautiful
. Ray shuddered and shrugged. “We’ll see. Will you,
please
, get us some breakfast while I shower?”

“Sure,” said Chris as calmly as ever while grabbing her purse and heading out the door.

“Nothing sweet! Real breakfast!” Ray called after her. He picked up Larkin Sloan’s picture before he headed to the showers. He looked at her soft features and glanced at the description Dr. Fairchild had written on back:
five feet, two inches, 100 pounds, auburn hair, brown eyes, double pierced ears, perfect teeth
. Ray thought again that if all he had heard and seen of Larkin Sloan were true, she was
too
perfect. He sighed.

He laid everything down and headed to the showers
. As he went, he thought:
Larkin. Now, that would be an angel’s name
.

4

Feeling of Futility

R
a
y
showered and shaved quickly, which resulted in several nicks. He kept unopened packages of undershirts, boxers, and socks in his locker. The time had come to open them. He felt cleaner even in the same Levis he had been wearing. He finger-combed short black hair, used some of the communal mouthwash, looked at his reflection and grumbled, “Good enough. Now I have to make a phone call. Damn it.”

At his desk, he
dialed FBI headquarters...and waited. Finally off hold, he demanded assistance in what he had dubbed his “Angel Slayer” case as he’d showered.

Chris returned bearing two
full southern breakfasts with juice and coffee. She caught one side of Ray’s heated conversation.

“Look, it’s apparent that you pompous, big
-shot assholes in Washington care very little about the goings-on in a little back bayou Louisiana town like Eau Bouease you think is filled with moronic inbred Coonasses…I know I have Chris, and she’s terrific, but we
cannot
do this alone.” As if tapping out the number, he rhythmically drummed a pen on his desk in frustration. “We have twelve dead women, and a thirteenth is missing…Yeah, right. I would put money on the fact that you would have an entire platoon at work if these murders were taking place within the city of New Orleans…Yeah, I think I have the solution. It’s time to go to the press about your lack of support. I bet they’ll be
very
accommodating, seeing as how one of their own was one of the victims…What’s that?....It’s about fucking time!” Ray slammed the receiver down.

“Give ’
em hell, Ray!” Chris shouted. “What’s about time? Finally more help?”

“Yeah
. They said a team of investigators including a profiler will be coming in about a week. They have to put a team together. I still want it
yesterday
.”

He
grinned and motioned Chris to the desk. “Let’s eat. I need sustenance.

“How’s the head?”

He raised his hand. “Just don’t talk loudly. I think I’ll feel better after I eat.”

♣♣♣

After a hearty breakfast, Ray’s headache became just a throbbing nuisance.
He flipped through his notes. “Fairchild said she talked to the ER doctor, but that’s our first stop. There are two cab companies in town.” He opened the phonebook and located both numbers. Handing them to Chris on a scrap of paper, he said, “Track the cabbie while I drive.”

The FBI agent
had success with the second number. One of their drivers had been assaulted and had his cab stolen. Chris got a name and address. “We’ll run with this one.” She waggled the scrap of paper in the air.

When they arrived at the hospital, Ray and Chris spoke with Dr. Bixby who vaguely remembered a slender dark
-haired driver when Larkin got into the cab, but that was all. He said, “I didn’t get a good look at the driver’s face.”

Ray demanded, “We need to see the security
video from just before the time Larkin Sloan signed in until you saw her leave in the cab.”

Dr. Bixby said, “Follow me
. I’ll take you to the chief of security.”

They followed the doctor
down several hallways. Eager to help any way he could when he heard what was needed, the security chief found the correct tape and gave it to the police.

Chris
lifted an eyebrow. “VCR? Not digital?”

Ray and Chris watched the
images on a VCR in the security office. Ray pointed. “Larkin arriving with Mr. Manning.”

“He’s being very protective,” Chris muttered.

Tapping the screen, she said, “How much time? Half a minute? There’s a cab.”

About a minute after the cab stopped, t
he passenger, wearing a hooded sweat shirt and jeans, got out, opened the driver’s door, pushed the apparent driver gently to the passenger side of the car, and slid into the driver’s seat. The cab left.

Ray sat forward
. “I can’t see his face.”

“He was avoiding the camera,”
Chris said. “He has on golfing gloves.”

“Looks like it
. Damn it! No prints, but those looked like expensive gloves.” He glanced at Chris. “Our kook plays golf.”

The hood of the cab appeared back in the frame, but
they could see nothing more of the driver. When Larkin Sloan left, she went directly to the cab. It backed up and left the area.

“That was too damned strange,” groaned Ray
. “Chris, do you have the same feeling of futility as I do?”

“It’s frustrating Ray, but we’ll get there
. There’s something off about a man who’s a killer. Did you notice how gently he moved the driver?”

“
Yeah, but he wasn’t after him.”

“Maybe,”
said the FBI agent not in total agreement with the detective.

Ray held up the tape
. “We have to take this one.”

“Of course,”
the security officer agreed. “Just sign the proper form.” The hospital employee pulled out a form for the detective to sign. Ray slipped the tape into a manila envelope and labeled it.

“Next stop?”
Chris asked in the parking lot.

Ray held up a finger
. He walked to where the cab had been parked and looked around carefully. “Nothing. I was hoping for a cigarette butt or gum wrapper.”

He turned to his partner
. “Larkin’s house, just in case the cab took her home and she passed out from the pain killers or had an allergic reaction.”

“Right.”
Chris nodded with pursed lips. “If nothing else, we might learn something more about the too-perfect Larkin Sloan.”

“Then, Dupree
,” Ray said, getting into his car. “My gut tells me he knows something.”

♣♣♣

Ray and Chris drove to the antebellum house owned by Larkin Sloan
. Located in an historical part of town and set rather far from the nearest neighbor, the house, surrounded by a picket fence, looked like a picture postcard. The grass was neatly clipped. Chrysanthemums lined the walkway. The snow-white paint with charcoal shutters and trim was fresh. The wide, inviting veranda above steep stone steps supported a porch swing at one end and two old-fashioned rocking chairs with a wicker table between them at the other. All along the porch eve hung wind chimes in a multitude of sizes of varying materials. The gentle breeze created a relaxing, soothing symphony. The high-pitched tinkle of the seashells combined with the hollow, discordant bump of bamboo and the low metallic clank of copper pipe produced a calm, which Ray inhaled, surveying the front porch. Chris looked at him as he breathed deeply with his eyes closed.
It’s so peaceful here. I haven’t felt this connected and serene in almost a year.

“Ray?”
Chris nudged him with her elbow.

“Sorry.”

Ray tried the front door while Chris tried the back door and a side door. All were locked, as were all the windows. There was no response to resounding knocks and several pulls on the velvet bell cord.

Lifting the edge of the welcome mat,
“Not that obvious,” he remarked. “Now, where would this woman hide a spare key?”

“Nowhere,” Chris grunted with a scowl. “Not safe.”

“This is the South where we still want to believe in the goodness of our fellow man.” Cynicism oozed. He looked around and laughed. “In plain sight, of course.” One of the wind chimes consisted of a dozen keys jingling together. Ray cupped the keys in his hand. “Which one is it, Chris?”

The agent
examined the keys before choosing an antique brass key. “This one. It looks like the easiest one to get off.”

Ray slipped the key off its small hook
. It fit the front door lock perfectly. Ray and Chris stepped through the door into a foyer that made them feel as if they had entered a time warp and were in the 1860s before war had torn the country apart and devastated the South. Nothing in the vestibule would have made them believe they were in 2008. The floors, the furniture, even the rug seemed to be in mint antebellum condition. Stepping into the living room let the two know they were still in the twenty-first century and the owner’s adventure in the restoration of the old house was far from complete. A mixture of a few antiques with many modern conveniences, including a computer, returned the pair to reality. The only thing in perfect antique condition was the polished hardwood flooring.

Ray was suddenly startled by a bump against his leg and a gravely meow
. He bent down and picked up the animal. “Hi there, Cyclops.” The cat’s one eye was bright blue, almost like his own. “Appropriate name. She’s not here, is she?”

Cyclops let out a loud meow.

“
No, and you feel scared, too. You don’t know what will become of you without her. I tell you what: You can go home with me until we find her.”

Chris stared.
“Ray, have you lost your mind?”

“No
. This animal would be dead without his mistress. I’ll keep him safe for her until she comes home.”
Rona’s suspicions are right on target. She really does know Larkin.

“What if…”

The detective shook his head vehemently. “Don’t even say it.”

“Ray.”

“I mean it, Chris. This one gets saved. Let’s look around, but I think it’s pointless. There’s nothing here to tell us where she is.”

Ray and Chris discovered only two bedrooms were furnished
, one clearly an unused guest room. The other, which showed signs of use and had its own private bath, had to be the one Larkin used. In an otherwise pristine house, the bed was unmade. Ray looked down and saw a brown pump and a black pump. He pointed. “She left in a hurry.” He dipped his head toward the still-blinking alarm clock. “I bet she overslept and got dressed in the dark. Remember that round of severe thunderstorms?” His cheeks dimpled as he pictured Larkin frantically getting ready for work.

Brow furrowed,
Chris remarked, “Dr. Fairchild said she had a bad day. I’d say the worst if she’s been abducted by our killer.” She searched the closet and commented, “She has a conservative wardrobe.”

“Really?”
Ray asked holding, up a couple of dangling pieces of jewelry. “These aren’t earrings, Chris. What are they?”

“Belly button rings,” she answered
. “So, Miss Sloan has her navel pierced.” Short dark blonde hair touched the base of the agent’s neck as she shrugged. “No big deal, Ray. Lots of people have body piercings.”

“I bet Dr. Fairchild doesn’t know
.” Ray sniggered. “Maybe Miss Sloan has a really wild side.”

Chris
cocked one eyebrow. “Maybe it just makes her feel pretty. Most of the men I know think belly button rings are sexy. Don’t you?”

He puckered his lips
. “Yeah, on perfectly tight abs.”

“She’s an athlete according to Dr. Fairchild
. I bet her abs
are
perfectly tight. I’m checking the bathroom.”

Chris came out to find Ray banging the side
of Larkin’s computer. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“It’s password protected,” he growled
. “I wonder what she’s hiding on here. I don’t know enough about her to guess her password.”

“Well, bring it along
. We’ll get our techno geeks to get in. There was nothing significant in the bathroom. She has no prescription drugs, not even the pill. Of course, she could be like me and carry that in her purse. She had some acetaminophen and some ibuprofen, nothing stronger, and some Benadryl and Neosporin and Band-Aids. She’s not a drug addict.”

“Not an alcoholic either
. There’s a bottle of white wine and some margarita mix in the refrigerator and a bottle of Cuervo Gold above the stove. Dr. Fairchild said she liked margaritas.”

“Yes
. One thing is for certain, though. She’s not here.”

“Yeah.
” Ray gusted a sigh. “That was too much to hope for.
Allons
.” He waved his hand forward.

She gave him a half frown at his use of French.

“Let’s go,” he clarified.

After thoroughly searching Larkin Sloan’s house, which included taking her computer
, Ray bagged the cat’s food, but decided to get a new litter box and litter.

Chris questioned, “Are you seriously taking the cat with you?”

“Somebody has to take care of him.”

“Then
why don’t you just come by and feed him?”

“No, he needs to feel secure.”

“Ray, it’s a cat.”

“He’s special to Larkin!”
Ray said defensively. “He was a lost cause until she came along. I will
not
let her be a lost cause.”

Chris gave Ray a puzzled look
, dipping one eyebrow. “You’ve finally lost it,” she said.