Possession (12 page)

Silence settled between them as they pretended interest in their tea.

Then Joann asked, “Is it true what they say? You know, about dead people talking?”

Akela lifted the journal. “In this case, it appears to be true. And Claire has a lot to say.”

She only hoped there was something in there that would help clear Claude’s name.

A
KELA HEFTED
the last of the boxes into the trunk of her plain agency sedan and thanked Joann Bennett for her help. She stood for a long moment, watching as the young woman returned to her apartment then closed the door.

In her job as agent, she’d been exposed to many interesting situations, today’s circumstances ranking low on the list, but nonetheless unusual. Joann Bennett had seemed virtually unconcerned that her roommate had been murdered. Akela supposed part of her behavior might have to do with the mentality shared by many, that since it had happened to Claire, the odds of something similar happening again so close to home were slim.

Still, Akela couldn’t help feeling concerned on Joann’s behalf. She knew victims were chosen for their denial abilities. And Bennett was not that unlike, say, a waitress at a strip joint who decided to walk home late at night thinking she didn’t have
anything to worry about, not thinking about the fact that a potential rapist could be following on her heels.

She closed the trunk then let herself into the car, putting Claire’s journal in the backseat. Of course, her own sense of danger came from the feeling she, herself, was being watched lately. It didn’t matter what time of the day or night, there, just under her skin, was the unmistakable sense that she wasn’t alone no matter where she was.

Akela checked her cell phone then started the engine.

Someone opened the passenger door.

Akela automatically reached for her firearm, then looked over.

“Claude!” She retracted her hand, but found the traitorous limb shaking. “I wouldn’t do that again unless you’re after a piece of lead.”

He climbed inside to sit on the passenger’s seat, closed the door then nodded toward the street. “It would probably be a good idea if you started driving.”

She put the car into gear and headed farther out of the Quarter.

“What were you doing at Claire’s apartment?” she asked.

“Waiting in the other room.”

Akela looked at him sharply. “Bennett knew you were there?”

“No. She’d left and I thought she’d gone to work so I let myself in to go through the boxes you now have in your trunk.”

Akela tightened her hands on the steering wheel. “Adding B and E to your list of arrest warrants isn’t going to help your case any.”

She concentrated on driving, but could feel his intense gaze on her profile.

“What would you have me do, Akela? Wait to see what happens first—if I get arrested or have to turn myself in?”

She suddenly had difficulty swallowing.

He had a point, of course. She couldn’t see herself waiting around and putting her future blindly in the hands of others, either.

Still, she wished it hadn’t been him she’d felt watching her. It made her feel uncomfortable in a way she was loath to admit.

“What did you uncover?” he asked.

She reached into the backseat and handed him the journal. “I haven’t had a chance to go over the whole thing yet, but it appears the victim was involved with a married man and they were experiencing difficulties.”

He accepted the journal. “Her name was Claire.”

Akela was so accustomed to keeping a professional wall up between her and victims she sometimes forgot that they had names. It was called survival.

She asked, “Did Claire mention anything to you about being involved with anyone else?”

“No.”

She was both disappointed and relieved that he didn’t elaborate. Likely he and Claire hadn’t done much talking during their time together.

“Did you see a name?” he asked.

She took the open journal from his hands. “Why? So you can break into his place?”

She put the journal in the backseat again and watched as he lifted the leather cowboy hat he wore and ran his fingers through his damp, tousled hair.

“This waiting is driving me crazy,” he said, an edge to his voice she hadn’t heard before.

Without knowing that’s what she was going to do, Akela reached across and put her hand on top of his, slowly stroking it. “You know, there is something you can do.”

“Turn myself in? Not an option. Anyway, how would that help anything?”

“Depending on how you do it, you could turn public opinion in your favor.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time. Akela gauged that he might be ready to hear more.

“If you proclaim your innocence and good faith by turning yourself over to authorities, stating your trust that your name will be cleared, it could make a world of difference.”

It could also save his life.

At this point, with the evidence Chevalier had already compiled against him, if a takedown went wrong and Claude was…shot, his guilt would never be questioned.

He stared at her. “My name and likeness are already all over the papers, Akela. I’m being called the Quarter Killer.”

That, in her opinion, was all the more reason for him to turn himself in. The court of public opinion was already in full swing, based on information she had little doubt Chevalier was leaking to the press outlining a damning case against the man next to her. And the longer he didn’t respond to the charges, the worse it looked for him.

“Pull over here.”

She was surprised by the request. She hadn’t known what she expected once he’d climbed into her car, but it wasn’t that he would leave as quickly as he’d shown up.

“Claude…” She touched his arm when he moved to get out.

He looked at her, his gaze intense, his features somber.

“Look, I’m worried about you. The longer this drags on, the worse it gets for you.” She reached for her purse and took out her pad and pen, writing down a name then handing it to him. “This is one of my contacts at the
Times-Picayune
. Call her. Tell her I sent you.”

“What if she calls NOPD?”

“She won’t. She has too much to gain by getting an exclusive scoop from the suspect himself.”

He didn’t say anything.

“At least promise me you’ll consider calling her. At the very least it can help create some positive groundwork.”

“For when I surrender to authorities?”

Akela looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

They both knew that eventually that’s what it would come down to.

He climbed out of the car, but paused before closing the door.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” he said.

His comment surprised her. Aside from being completely off topic, that he’d made a point of bringing up her personal life confused her.

“Do you have a picture?”

She wasn’t sure what to make of his question, so she just opened up the glove compartment where she kept her wallet and flipped it open.

Claude took it.

“She’s beautiful.”

She smiled. “Yes, she is, isn’t she?”

He handed back the wallet, a cryptic look on his face.

“Claude?”

He waited.

“Promise me you’ll think about what I said.”

He nodded, then closed the door.

Akela sat, watching as he strode down the street, then turned a corner, disappearing from sight.

L
ATER THAT NIGHT
, Akela wasn’t sure what was worse: hearing from Claude, or not hearing from him.

She lay in Daisy’s double bed, the four-year-old cuddled up to her side, reading the journal she’d exchanged for the fairy tale after her daughter had fallen asleep in the middle of chapter two. She had her cell phone with her, and the house was quiet enough for her to think that her parents had long since called it a night. But rather than going to her own room, she cuddled Daisy a little closer then
rubbed the creased skin between her eyes, going over the notes she’d made from the journal so far.

It was obvious that Claire had had an ongoing affair with a married man. Akela could only count four times that Claire had actually met him—at least those were the only meetings she’d taken time to write about, the journal far from a daily dairy but more a place to record happy and angry memories. Most of it focused on her job as a paralegal where she called the pay paltry and the stress high. The other, more personal entries had never mentioned the married man by name, although she’d mentioned other men’s names. Akela didn’t think Claire actually called him ‘C’ but rather guessed the generic reference was rooted in her own guilt associated with the situation.

Akela wished she had chosen a different initial. That the name Claude began with the letter she used didn’t bode well, even if Claude was very much single.

It was obvious Claire had expected the man to leave his wife for her. Did any woman ever get into such a sticky situation without believing that? But as time and frustration wore on, Claire’s notes became more caustic and angry, at one point even mentioning having found out where the man lived and paying a visit to his wife, to whom she also hadn’t referred by name. Akela checked three
times, but there was no follow-up mention of the meeting or how it had gone.

Not that it would have made a difference. If her married lover’s name had been Charlie, the odds of finding him were slim to none. The young woman had been nothing if not private. A visit to her office had offered up very little additional information. She’d lunched for an hour every day, but never invited anyone to come with her, and never talked about where she’d been or whom she may have lunched with outside the office. She’d never received calls at work, but did take the occasional call on her cell phone.

Akela read a note she’d made to herself to check for cell bills in the boxes still in her trunk.

So what had happened to Claire the night she’d hooked up with Claude? Had she gone out planning to get even with a lover who would probably never leave his wife? And had that married lover then murdered her for her efforts, pinning it on Claude?

Her left arm began to feel prickly from holding it in the same position for too long. She put the journal on the nightstand then gently moved Daisy until she was lying by herself, smoothing back her hair when the four-year-old sighed and tried to snuggle again. She got up with a minimum of fuss,
switched off the light, collected her things, then made her way to her room down the hall. After she’d closed her door after herself, she leaned against the solidly carved wood, immediately aware again of that sensation of being watched. She shuddered, leaving the light off as she placed the journal on a dresser then made her way to bed.

For long minutes she lay there, arms at her sides, staring at the outline of the cypress tree outside on her ceiling. She’d known Claude had been a frequent visitor to Hotel Josephine. Had anyone asked the pretty owner if Claire had been a regular customer? She couldn’t remember. But if the couple hadn’t rendezvoused at her apartment, and since his place was obviously out, they’d had to meet somewhere.

She switched on the light and went to jot down a note to herself to follow up on the question, just as she heard something scratch against her window.

Akela froze. Her bedroom was on the second floor with no easy means of access aside from a narrow storm drain. She slowly reached to switch off the light and lay there, watching the window. There was a light breeze tonight and the shadows of the cypress waved on the ceiling. Again, the scratching sounded.

She took off the chain she wore around her neck
at home that held the key to the heavy nightstand and unlocked the drawer, reaching for her service gun. With slow movements, she crept toward the window, flicking off the safety on the gun and staying well to the side, out of the sightline of anyone outside. Her heart thudding thickly in her chest, she held the pistol out in front of her, using the end of the barrel to nudge the curtains out of the way.

A branch swayed, scratching across the glass and nearly causing Akela to jump out of her skin.

She dropped the gun to her side and closed her eyes, damning her overactive imagination. What had she thought? That merely by thinking about the killer he’d appear outside her bedroom window?

She’d never really bought into the hocus-pocus and the voodoo connected to her hometown, but she had to admit that this case was beginning to get to her.

She began to straighten the curtains when a shadow of what looked like a man moved across the back lawn. She caught her breath, straining to see better. But whether it had been a man or another dark shadow caused by the wind and moon would remain forever a mystery, because she didn’t see it again.

“W
E’VE GOT A LINE
on Lafitte.”

Akela had awakened that morning not having slept well and more agitated than she’d ever been, thereby completely unprepared for Detective Alan Chevalier’s pronouncement the following morning.

“What?”

“I said we got a line on Lafitte. He’s in the city.”

The Eighth District station was abuzz with activity, giving the morning a surreal feeling. Colors seemed somehow more vivid, background noise louder.

Chevalier was shrugging into his ever-present overcoat. “Word came in from one of our snitches this morning. He’s at a hotel over on Bourbon Street, close enough to the Hotel Josephine to spit on it.”

Akela was familiar with the hotel if only because she was familiar with everything within a quarter mile radius of where Claire Laraway had been murdered.

“How reliable a snitch are we talking about?” she asked, her mood taking a further nosedive.

She’d been ready to confront Chevalier on his policy of ignoring evidence because it didn’t support the airtight case he was making against Claude. Now the detective was about to arrest him.

“Reliable enough.” He considered her closely. A little too closely. “Why?”

“Seems like a waste of time to dispatch an arrest team if the man is still in the surrounding bayous.”

“The information is consistent with some other tips we received yesterday.”

Chevalier, along with three other armed detectives, passed her on the way out through the bull pen. She followed them onto the street where two squad cars with uniformed officers were also waiting.

Akela’s mind swam with the scene. If she had arrived two minutes later, she would have missed the raid.

“What’s the matter, Brooks? I would have thought you’d be happy that we’ll finally have the guy who held you hostage.”

She climbed into the backseat of his plain sedan, another detective sitting in the front seat next to Chevalier.

“I’m just wondering how reliable this informa
tion is. I haven’t come across anything that would lead me to indicate that Lafitte was back in the city.”

Alan met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Maybe you’ve been checking in the wrong places.”

Akela focused her attention outside the car, finding it ironic that she could say the same of him but for opposing reasons.

All too soon the sedans sped into place a block up from the hotel in question. Officers, both uniformed and plainclothes, spilled out, the closing of car doors almost rhythmic. In contrast, Akela’s heart beat an uneven cadence in her chest as she fingered her cell phone in her pocket.

Three officers rounded to the back of the hotel while Akela followed Chevalier and three others into the lobby, two staying put outside.

Chevalier stayed her with a hand. “Wait here.”

Akela stared at him. “I want to be present for the arrest.”

“Why? In case I need visual verification? I think I can handle that.” He took his firearm out of its holster. “Stay here.”

The four men bypassed the elevator and took the stairs up to the left.

Akela paced a short way across the airy lobby, the setup and decor not unlike that of Hotel Josephine in that it was in dire need of renovation. A
guy in his early twenties manned the front desk, but as soon as the officers disappeared up the stairs, he quickly stepped into a back room, presumably out of the line of fire.

She paced again, then plopped down on a chair, blowing out a frustrated puff of air. What was the point of bringing her along if he wasn’t going to include her in the arrest?

Then again, it probably had never been his intention to bring her along at all. That was why he’d been in a hellfire rush to get out of the station: he’d hoped to be gone by the time she showed up.

Akela crossed her arms and her legs, swinging her foot quickly back and forth as she waited. She checked her watch. If Claude was, indeed, in one of the rooms, then there was very little she could do to help protect him now. She only hoped he didn’t put up a fight. Chevalier and his men looked as though they’d be only too happy to shoot him.

C
LAUDE PICKED UP
the room phone on the first ring.

“They’re coming up,” said the front desk guy he’d slipped a fifty the night he’d checked in.

He didn’t need to ask who was on their way up. He quickly hung up the phone, grabbed his things then climbed from the window of the third-story room. The balcony connected to the other rooms,
so it didn’t take a great deal of effort to navigate his way three rooms over. He looked down to find three uniformed officers spilling out into the back alley, their guns drawn. He quickly opened the window and let himself inside the empty room, hoping not to be spotted. Once inside, he crossed to the door, pressing his ear to the wood.

“Open up! Police!” someone shouted, then he heard the sound of wood cracking.

A moment later, Claude opened the door a hair, watching as the officers burst into the room where he’d stayed the past couple of nights. That was his cue to come out of the room he stood in and rush the elevator directly across the way.

Unlike many of the hotels in the area, this one had basement access, one of the many reasons he’d chosen it. He stepped in the elevator and pressed the button for that level then stood back out of sight. The elevator ground to a stop at the second floor. Claude closed his eyes and muttered a curse under his breath as a pair of tourists in polyester got in.

“I didn’t know it would be so infernally hot here,” the woman was saying, looking through her large straw bag for something, then slipping on a pair of sunglasses.

Claude said a quiet prayer as the man pushed the lobby button.

Damn.

He tried to make himself one with the side of the elevator as it drew to a stop and the doors slid open on the lobby level.

The couple stepped out. Just as the doors were sliding shut, he looked out—and met Akela’s gaze where she sat in the lobby looking none too happy.

The doors closed.

A
KELA SAT FROZEN
to the spot, questioning what she’d just seen.

Had Claude really just been on that elevator?

She looked around for any nearby officers, began to get up, nearly ran into the couple that had gotten out of the elevator, then sat back down again.

“Did you see him?”

She blinked up at where Chevalier had just burst back into the lobby from the stairs, noticeably out of breath as he looked wildly around, gun drawn.

Akela debated telling him she’d just seen Claude on the elevator, obviously heading down, but then decided not to if only because she’d then have to explain what she was still doing sitting there.

“No.”

“Damn it all to hell.”

The rumpled detective strode toward the doors, talking madly into his radio.

“Team two, do you have anything?”

A blip of static then, “No, sir. Nothing out back.”

Akela fought the urge to smile as she got up and followed Chevalier back outside, discreetly searching for signs of Claude.

Then she remembered the front deskman and the fact that the detective hadn’t approached him. Could he have been the snitch? If so, she had the feeling that the guy had been working both sides of the equation and had given Claude the warning he’d needed to make his escape.

Of course, all she had to do was say the word and the officers now gathering in front of the hotel would refocus their efforts on the lower level of the hotel.

But she remained staunchly silent, figuring it was what Chevalier deserved for trying to cut her out of the arrest.

“M
IMI
C
ULPEPPER
?”

Akela had been putting off this meeting for as long as she could, not looking forward to talking to a woman both Josie and the strip club owner suspected might have negative things to say about Claude. But as her list of options for proving his innocence shortened, she was forced to look into this lead, hoping against hope that everyone was wrong and that Mimi would give her something she could use.

“What the hell do you want?”

“My name’s Akela Brooks. I’m with the FBI.”

There was a long silence from the speaker situated outside the front doors to the three-story apartment building near Jackson Square. For a moment, she thought the woman might ignore her. Then she heard the buzz indicating she was being let in. She pushed open the front door and stepped inside the stuffy hall. She took the steps to the third-floor landing and found herself face-to-face with a woman younger than she was.

“Mimi Culpepper?”

“You were expecting somebody else?” she asked, her arms crossed over her chest, an impressive chest in a tight white T-shirt with something written in red glitter that Akela couldn’t make out. The shirt combined with snug jeans revealed a body that had been built for stripping. The blonde was stunningly pretty, even if her sneering expression was not.

“I was wondering when they were going to send somebody over here,” she said hotly.

Akela frowned as she fished her notepad from her jacket pocket. “They?”

“The police, of course. I called them the day that poor girl was killed.”

Akela supposed she should be glad she hadn’t
said “the poor girl Claude killed,” but she got the distinct impression that that’s what Mimi was going to say anyway.

“And no one’s been over to take your statement?”

“Nope.”

Probably Chevalier would have been there with bells on had he known he was dealing with a prime witness for the prosecution.

“So what is it you have to say that will help in the investigation, Miss Culpepper?”

She blinked at her. “That he did it, of course. Claude Lafitte killed that girl as surely as I’m standing here.”

Akela stared at her, a shiver running over her skin despite her suspicion that the woman was lying. “And your reason for thinking that is…”

“I don’t just think it, lady, I know it.” She pointed to her own neck. “He tried to strangle me.”

Akela looked at the neck in question. “And when might this have occurred?”

“Right after sex.”

The woman looked a little too smug.

Akela said, “That’s not what I meant.” She slapped her notebook closed. “At any rate, the victim wasn’t strangled.”

She debated the wisdom of sharing that tidbit. For all she knew, Mimi Culpepper would put an
other call into Chevalier and change her story, claim that Claude had tried to slit her throat.

She shivered again, remembering the image of Claire Laraway lying on that hotel bed naked and unmoving.

“Is that it?” the woman asked.

Akela stared at her. “For now.”

She turned and walked down the stairs, wondering how Claude had ever thought to get involved with such a scornful woman.

“How can I contact you?”

“You can’t,” Akela called back up the stairs. “We’ll call you.”

A
COUPLE OF HOURS LATER
Akela found herself back at Hotel Josephine. There was something hovering just outside her train of thought that kept drawing her back to the hotel, something she hoped the return visit would help bring out.

Josie didn’t appear surprised to see her. Then again, she suspected that Josie was surprised by very little. It was more than just the fact that she owned and ran the hotel; there was an air about her that spoke of a difficult life, a struggle that left her dark eyes wary and her demeanor standoffish.

“Agent Brooks,” she said when Akela entered. “What can I do for you today?”

Akela looked around the large lobby. While there wasn’t much activity, things appeared to be going slightly better than they had been two days ago. “Just stopping in for a minute to see if you’ve remembered anything else.”

Josie shook her head as she swiped at something on the counter. “Nothing.”

Akela watched a couple come down the stairs. “Looks like business has picked back up.”

“Tourists who don’t know about what went down.”

Akela nodded, figuring as much.

“That and one of the ghost tours has started coming by here.”

“Oh?” Akela was aware of the nightly walking tours popular with the tourists. New Orleans was known as the ghost capital of the U.S. and some of the local folk took great advantage of the title.

“Yeah. At about nine every night a group stands outside the doors and the guide tells them all about the murder in gruesome detail.” Was it her, or had Josie just shuddered? “The Quarter Killer. A story designed to strike the fear of God in young women, you know, seeing as he’s still running around loose.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about being scared.”

Josie stared at her. “I just don’t like me or my place being connected to the story.”

Akela had the feeling that the murder wasn’t the first time the hotel’s name had made it into the news, but pretty much every place in New Orleans had a history, so she wasn’t about to push the issue.

“I was wondering if anyone thought to ask you about the victim.”

Josie waited as Akela took her notepad out of her pocket.

“Do you remember seeing her around before that night?”

Josie looked evasive.

Interesting…

“So you did, then.”

Josie shrugged. “Part of what makes me successful is that I don’t go around wagging my tongue.”

“Even if it means catching the Quarter Killer?”

Josie narrowed her eyes. “Judging by the news, the police are convinced that Claude Lafitte is your man.”

“Let’s just say some additional evidence has come to light. Now about Claire Laraway…”

Josie sighed as if she would really prefer not to be having this conversation. Akela was struck by how close they’d come to not having it. “She was in here once or twice before that night.”

“Which one was it? Once or twice?”

“Four times. She always came alone and rented a room.”

“But she didn’t stay alone.”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I never saw her with anyone.”

“But you strike me as the type that knows what’s going on at all times in her place of business.”

“So I am.”

“The man she met…”