Dangerous Mercy: A Novel (6 page)

She walked over to the table by the window, where her hanging fern thrived and where Savannah was pouring coffee refills.

“Hi, Mama.” Grace smiled from her booster seat, her face and dress surprisingly clean.

Zoe returned her daughter’s smile and realized everyone else seemed somber. “Is … something wrong?”

“The FedEx driver just left,” Savannah said. “He said there’s been a second murder—Peter Gautier.”

“The bigwig at the sugar plant?”

Savannah nodded. “Drowned in the bathtub, just the like the first. The killer spray painted the number two at the scene. So who’s number three?”

Zoe locked gazes with Hebert as she processed the terrifying implications. “For heaven’s sake, the killer had a grievance with the CEOs of the bank and sugar refinery. He must be someone who worked at the sugar plant, lost his job, and then his house. How hard can it be for the authorities to narrow it down?”

“Dey may not have enough time,” Hebert said. “Dis guy’s killed two people in two days.”

Zoe’s skin turned to gooseflesh. “Well, they’d better! I shudder to think he’s already marked his third victim.”

Sheriff Jude Prejean stood in the master bathroom at the Gautiers’ lake house and watched as his deputies zipped the body bag that held Peter’s waterlogged body.

“I’m going to head back to the office,” Jude said to Gil Marcel. “As soon as we have the list of layoffs and foreclosures, we can start comparing names.”

“I’ve got Castille and Doucet working on it right now,” Gil said. “Somebody wanted these guys to pay—and wanted them aware of what was happening to them. It was cold and calculating of the killer to drug them and render them helpless. He probably hasn’t been subtle about his feelings for them either. Once we start questioning family and friends, someone should stand out.”

“I hope you’re right.” Jude stared at the body bag. “But we both know the bitterness that’s prevalent in this community. I’m not sure that attitude alone will be a red flag.”

“Maybe not. But the vocal ones can be a starting point.”

Jude was aware of voices in the hallway, then Aimee Rivette came into the room with a thirtysomething Ivy-League-looking man who bore a strong resemblance to the victim.

“He’s over here,” Aimee said. “Your brother has already identified him. You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.”

Aimee walked over to the body bag, bent down, and unzipped it enough that Peter Gautier’s face could be seen.

The young man looked down at his father, then swallowed hard and remained silent for a few moments. “What are you doing to find his killer?”

“Let me answer that.” Jude walked over and extended his hand. “I’m Sheriff Prejean. I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

“Kevin Gautier.” He shook Jude’s hand, his palms sweaty, his handshake solid.

“We’re in the process of getting the names of everyone who has been laid off from the sugar plant in the past five years,” Jude said, “and comparing it to the names of foreclosures at Roux River Bank.”

“There’re plenty of people who have a bone to pick with my father,” Kevin said. “He’s had to lay off hundreds of people. Everyone blames him. But it was just business. That’s what happens when the economy gets dicey.”

“There’s no justification for murder.” Jude held Kevin’s gaze. “We’re going to get whoever did this to your father.”

“I hope you mean that, Sheriff. I doubt you’re going to get much public support.”

“Public sentiment is what it is. It doesn’t affect my judgment or my oath to uphold the law. I want justice as much as you do.”

“Some might argue that this
is
justice.” Kevin’s eyes brimmed with tears.

“Well, son, I’m not one of them.” Jude put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“What do
you
think?” Kevin’s taut face flushed, and then his expression softened. “So what happens next?”

“The coroner is about to take your father’s body to the lab. We have to perform an autopsy to confirm the cause of death. According to the coroner’s preliminary analysis, your father was drugged before he was drowned.”

Kevin stared at the zipped body bag. “Like Mr. Darveau?”

“We’ll know for sure after the autopsy.”

“I sure hope you find him.”

“Are you afraid we won’t?”

“No, sir. I’m afraid if you don’t, I’ll track him down and kill him myself.”

Jude studied the young Gautier. Was it grief that had made him so angry? Or was there more to it?

CHAPTER 6

Murray pushed open the door at Zoe B’s, the tinkling of the bell causing a dozen pairs of eyes to look his way. He spotted Zoe moving in his direction. Her gait and her bobbed chestnut hair and blue-gray eyes bore a striking resemblance to his late mother. An unexpected pang of grief tightened his throat.

“Well, hi there,” she said. “Are you here for lunch?”

“Actually I was on my way back to Haven House. I thought I’d check in here first to see how your computer’s working.”

“Perfectly.” Zoe smiled. There was his mother again. Why hadn’t he noticed it the day before? “I was able to get online using the laptop. Lightning fast, too.”

“You’re not having any problems?”

“None whatsoever. I don’t know why we didn’t go wireless sooner. Adele Woodmore said you’re going to get her set up.”

“I offered to. She’s such a nice lady.”

“One of my favorite people.”

Murray nodded. “Mine, too.”

“She doesn’t need all the bells and whistles on a laptop. I doubt she would use it for anything other than email and browsing.”

“I won’t let the floor person sell her more than she needs.”

“You seem to know a lot about computers. Do you have a degree in computer science?”

Murray smiled. “I’m mostly self-taught, like someone who instinctively knows how to play the piano.”

“I know what you mean. My husband is that way with cooking.”

Murray nodded and glanced at his watch. “If there’s nothing you need me to do, I’m going to head out. Lunch at Haven House is come-and-go from eleven thirty to one. I’m starved. I’ve had a busy morning.”

“Father Vince said you stay busy all the time.”

“This morning I installed a new toilet and fixed an automatic garage door that was stuck.” He winked. “This afternoon I’m fixing a sprinkler system. I don’t think I’m going to run out of things to fix or install.”

A man walked up to her, dressed in a chef’s hat and apron—and a stony expression.

“Zoe, I need your opinion in the kitchen for a minute,” he said.

“This is Murray Hamelin,” she said. “Murray, this is my husband, Pierce—”

“I thought you were finished with the computer.” Pierce’s face was taut, his lips pressed together. His de Gaulle-like nose seemed out of joint.

“I came by to make sure everything was working properly,” Murray said.

“And is it?”

“According to your wife, everything’s great.” Murray glanced over at Zoe and then held Pierce’s intimidating gaze. “That’s what I like to hear. Call if you have any problems.”

“We’ll do that.” Pierce took a step forward but didn’t offer his hand. “You don’t need to stop by unless you hear from us. I’m sure you have plenty of other jobs that require your attention.”

“This was just a courtesy call.” Murray tipped the bill of his New Orleans Saints cap. “You folks have a nice day.”

He pushed open the door and stepped outside and into the tide of tourists moving under the galleries that overhung the sidewalk. He moved past the coffee shop, the aroma of fresh-ground coffee beans replacing the foul vibes he got off Pierce Broussard. Talk about a control freak. What was
his
problem?

Zoe walked across the dining room at the eatery, Pierce behind her. She pushed open the door to the kitchen and went inside, then stopped and turned around, her hands on her hips.

“Pierce, what is
wrong
with you?”

“I needed you to taste the gumbo. My allergies are bothering me, and my taster is off.”

“That is so lame.” She hoped her gaze bored straight into his conscience.

“All right.” Pierce threw his hands in the air. “I don’t want Murray hanging around here.”

“Hanging around? Are you kidding? He was here all of two minutes, just checking to see if the computer was working okay.”

“He could’ve called.”

Zoe took a breath and lowered her voice. “You’re the one who’s always complaining that the work ethic today is lousy. Here’s a guy who takes pride in his work, and you practically threw him out.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Not with your hands—with your hostility. How’d you even know Murray was here?”

“I came out to see which of the guys was winning at checkers. I saw you talking to him, and I just wanted him to leave.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “You’re going to have to get a handle on your paranoia. Murray is a nice guy who is working hard to get his life back. He didn’t deserve to be insulted. I was embarrassed for him—and for you for treating him that way.”

Pierce’s face turned bright pink. “I suppose I was abrupt.”

“I told you I would keep Grace away from the men at Haven House, but I can’t make them disappear. Murray’s offered to help Adele pick out a laptop and get online, and I know she’s going to have more jobs for him to do. And so is Vanessa. I don’t want to cringe every time Murray’s name comes up because I know you’re uncomfortable.”

“You won’t, babe. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself from now on. I’m sorry I embarrassed you.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Really.”

“Do I need to remind you that when we put the Christian fish symbol on our front door, we knew we would be held to a higher standard? What do you think your attitude said to Murray and anyone else who overheard you?”

“I said I was sorry.”

Zoe sighed. “You did. Apology accepted.”

Murray parked his truck along Jacquard Street and Flynn pulled in behind him, driving Father Vince’s Toyota Camry.

Murray got out and started walking briskly toward Haven House, Flynn catching up with him and keeping pace.

“Father Vince sent me on a job this morning,” Flynn said.

“Good for you.”

“Ain’t you even curious what it was?”

“No.”

Flynn jabbed him in the ribs. “Aw, come on, man. Cut me a little slack. I washed windows all morning at the public library—for only fifty bucks.”

“It’s fifty bucks more than you had yesterday.”

“Thanks for the math lesson. What’re you doing this afternoon?”

“None of your business.”

“Think I’ll watch the ball game.”

“Why don’t you ask Father Vince if there’s something you can do to help around here?”

“Because I worked all morning, and I want to watch the ball game.”

Murray shook his head. “Heaven forbid you should put in an eight-hour day, like the rest of us.”

Flynn laughed. “So did you hear the Bathtub Killer struck again?”

“The who?”

“That’s what they’re calling the dude who killed Girard Darveau, now that he’s drowned a second CEO in the bathtub.”

“Who?”

“Peter Gautier—lord of the sugar refinery.”

Murray glanced over at Flynn. “Where’d you hear that?”

“The padre’s Toyota has a great radio.” He flashed a toothy grin. “There was a day when I might’ve been tempted to steal it. But I’m getting my mind renewed now. That’s why we’re here, right?”

“We’re here to work our way back into society, moron. But you still have the mind-set of a freeloader.”

Murray bounded up the steps and went in the front door.

Father Vince was coming down the stairs. “Oh good, you’re both back. Hope you’re hungry. Chef laid out a nice spread. The blackened chicken pasta salad is amazing. So did you guys have a productive morning?”

Murray nodded. “I did. Got a garage door fixed
and
a new toilet installed. I’ve got a sprinkler system to work on this afternoon.”

Flynn tossed the car keys to Father Vince. “I doubt the windows at the library have ever been cleaner, though that window cleaner isn’t streakless like it claimed to be.” He flopped on the couch, his arms folded across his chest. “I guess you heard there’s been another murder?”

Father Vince suddenly looked somber. “Yes. I spoke with Monsignor Robidoux after he got back from administering last rites. It’s looking more and more like revenge. Such a waste. The killer isn’t going to feel better after he’s eliminated the people who’ve hurt him. He’s never going to find peace through violence.”

“How can you know that?” Flynn said.

“Because I’ve heard confessions for a decade. People don’t find peace by hurting others.”

Flynn pursed his lips. “Not if they have a conscience. But what if they don’t? What if this killer doesn’t even believe in God?”

“If he doesn’t believe in God, Flynn, he’ll
never
find peace, no matter what he does. Either way, committing murder is an exercise in futility.”

“Father, you’re wasting your time trying to reason with this pinheaded
bon rien
,” Murray said. “I’m going to go wash up.”

Murray went upstairs and washed his face and hands, then left the bathroom and ran into Flynn at the top of the stairs.

“You really don’t like me, do you?” Flynn said.

“What was your first clue?”

Flynn grabbed him by his T-shirt. “I’m fed up with your sarcasm. I said I was sorry for not helping you move the old lady’s furniture. Let it go.”

“Maybe I don’t want to let it go.”

“You want your lousy thirty bucks back?” Flynn reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He took out a twenty and a ten and dropped them on the floor. “We’re even. Now get off my back.”

“I’ll get off your back when you stop acting like a jerk, which is never.”

“Keep messing with me, dude, and I’ll shut you up.”

“Good luck with that. I’m shaking in my boots.” Murray shoved him aside, stepped on the bills, and went down the stairs.

When he reached the bottom, Noah Washington was walking out of the kitchen and into the dining room, his lunch buffet choices piled on a plate.

“Father Vince oughta kick that guy outta here,” Noah said, “until he changes his attitude. He washes a few windows and thinks he’s done his share for a while. He sure isn’t tryin’ to work his way back into society.”

“Let’s not ruin our appetites by talking about him.” Murray grinned and snitched an olive off Noah’s plate. “Save me a place. Let me load a plate, and I’ll be right there.”