Читать книгу The Whispering Room - Amanda Stevens - Страница 12

A few moments later, Mitchell put voice to his skepticism as they pulled away from the Courtland home.

“I’m telling you, Evie, this case is starting to give me the creeps.”

“No kidding.”

“What are the chances that two brothers dying of snakebites within months of each other could turn out to be just some bizarre coincidence?”

“In my professional opinion? Slim to none.”

Mitchell was driving this time and Evangeline turned to glance back at the house. She couldn’t get Meredith Courtland out of her mind. Now that her husband was dead, their separation would haunt her even more. She’d find herself constantly wondering about the what-ifs and the what-might-have-beens if they’d stayed together.

Evangeline knew all about those games and how they could creep up on you in the middle of the night. How they could undermine your memories, make you think of all the stupid little things you should have done differently, all the petty arguments you wished you could take back. She knew firsthand how all that blame could wear you down night after night, month after month, until you had nothing left but regrets.

Mitchell looked at her. “I’m wondering if someone’s been playing around with the goofer dust.”

“The what?”

“You know, graveyard dirt. Zombie powder. The Brothers Courtland may have crossed someone dabbling in something a little heavier than the practice of law.”

“Like voodoo?”

“Voodoo. Hoodoo. Conjure.” He scowled at the road. “A lot of names for the same crazy-ass mumbo jumbo.”

“Yeah, I admit the snake angle is freaky. And pretty damn messed-up. But my money is still on Sonny Betts. He’s involved in this somehow, we just have to find the link. I say we pay him a visit, rattle his cage a little. See what falls out.”

Mitchell rubbed the side of his nose with his index finger. “You know, a lot of guys like Betts are into Santería. Especially the ones with connections to the Mexican drug cartels.”

“Oh yeah?” Evangeline peeled her sticky ponytail from the back of her neck.

“I saw a show about it on the Discovery Channel.”

She turned to stare at him.

“What?”

“You watch the Discovery Channel? Somehow I figured the Cartoon Network was more your speed.”

“I’m a man of many tastes,” he said. “You should know that about me by now.”

“So you were watching the Discovery Channel…”

“Yeah, and like I said, it was about these drug dealers using Santería to impress their enemies and keep their underlings in line. Only they called it La Regla de Lukumi. Or some shit like that.” He rolled down his window and a breath of hot air rushed in. “This car smells like a friggin’ ashtray.” Like a lot of ex-smokers, Mitchell had a low tolerance for cigarette odor.

“I’ve never even heard of…what did you call it?”

“La Regla de Lukumi. I’d never heard of it, either, until I saw it on this show. Anyway, there’s a group that operates along the border called the Zetas. They’re militia and ex-military officers from south of the border with some Guatemalan Special Forces thrown in to boot.”

“In other words, a bunch of real badasses.”

“Badasses with a capital B. The drug cartels recruit these guys to act as enforcers. And now they’re deepening their networks into cities like Houston and Dallas. From what I saw, they’re about as nasty a gang as you’re ever likely to meet up with, and get this—they even have their own witch doctor, shaman, big kahuna…whatever you want to call it…that advises them.”

“You think these Zetas have made it all the way into New Orleans? That’s who Betts is trying to impress?”

“Not the Zetas, per se, but their employer. You gotta understand how these people operate, Evie. They don’t just believe in taking out the enemy. They think if he dies screaming, they’ll still have power over him in the afterlife. Hence, their affinity for torture. I’m willing to bet Paul Courtland and his brother did some heavy-duty screaming before they died.”

“I don’t doubt it, but it all sounds a little too spiritual for a guy like Betts.”

“I’m not saying he believes it. He’s just not above using it to make a point.”

Evangeline reached over and adjusted the air conditioner vent so that it would blow directly on her face. Mitchell took the hint and rolled up his window.

He shot her a quick glance. “So what do you think?”

“I’m not sure I buy the whole Zeta thing, but I guess I wouldn’t put much of anything past Betts.”

“Exactly. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I’ve been thinking about those two men Meredith Courtland saw in her husband’s study that night. From the way she described that meeting, it sounds like they were putting the screws to Courtland. She heard arguing and she could tell her husband was angry. The trial was over, he’d done his part…yada, yada, yada. If those guys were federal agents, isn’t it possible Courtland was playing both ends against the middle?”

“Working for the feds, you mean?”

“Let’s say, cooperating with the feds.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something? It was Courtland who got Betts off.”

“So?”

“If Courtland was ‘cooperating’ with the feds—” Mitchell put the word in finger quotes “—why would he work so damn hard to get Betts acquitted?”

“Maybe they had bigger fish to fry. The middleman, for instance, between Betts and the cartel. What better way of finding out who his supplier was than by putting someone inside his operation that he trusted? His lawyer, no less.”

“So Betts’s acquittal, according to your theory, was all some master plan by the men in black?” Mitchell thought about that for a moment. “What about Courtland’s brother? Where does his death fit into this whole grand scheme of yours?”

“His death was a warning. Or an insurance policy. Betts didn’t go to trial until the fall, but Courtland would have already been prepping the case in the summer when his brother was killed. Betts ordered the hit, then threatened the rest of Courtland’s family if things didn’t go in his favor. That could be when Courtland started cooperating with the feds.”

“And the snakes?”

Evangeline suppressed a shudder as she turned to stare out the window. The gardens along St. Charles flashed by the window in a colorful blur. “Maybe they wanted to make it look like an accident to anyone but Paul Courtland.”

“Or maybe, like I said, Betts wanted to impress the head honchos.”

“Yeah, maybe so.”

Mitchell was still frowning at the road, deepening the creases in his forehead and around his eyes. He never wore sunglasses and probably didn’t even own a bottle of sunscreen. The skin on his face and arms was like old leather. “So a few days after Meredith Courtland overhears the conversation in the study, her husband moves out and tells her the marriage is over. What do you make of that?”

“It sounds to me like Paul Courtland was trying to put some distance between himself and his family.”

“Yep. That’s what it sounds like to me, too. Or maybe, like she said, she just missed the signals. The trouble between them could have been brewing for a long time. Meredith Courtland wouldn’t be the first person to lie to herself about the condition of her marriage.”

They fell silent for a few minutes while Mitchell negotiated the heavy traffic in the Quarter. As they drove by the liquor stores and souvenir shops on the lower end of Decatur, Evangeline could tell something was on his mind. He was still watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“Okay, spit it out,” she said.

He suddenly looked uneasy. “How long are we going to ignore the elephant in the backseat?”

She pretended not to know what he meant. “What elephant?”

“‘I don’t want to end up like that dead cop.’ That’s what she said her husband told those guys that night, right?”

“I guess.”

Mitchell turned and dropped his chin, as if he were peering at her over the top of invisible glasses. “You guess?”

“All right, yeah, that’s supposedly what Courtland said.”

“So let’s talk about it,” Mitchell said impatiently. “Because I know damn well you’re thinking about it.”

Evangeline closed her eyes as she let her head fall against the back of the seat. It was a relief to finally say it. “What if he was talking about Johnny?”

“You know that’s a long shot, right?”

“Why?”

“Why?” He ticked off the reasons on one hand. “One, Johnny’s not the only cop who’s been killed in this city. Two, we don’t even know that he was talking about an NOPD cop. Three, there’s not a shred of evidence that connects Johnny to Sonny Betts or Paul Courtland.”

“That we know of.”

“Four…four,” he insisted when she tried to talk over him. “Johnny’s death was a random act of violence. Tragic and senseless, but that’s all it was. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I know you don’t, but it happens, Evie. New Orleans is a dangerous place. We don’t call tourists ‘walking ATM machines’ for nothing.”

He eased his way around a stalled car, and from Evangeline’s perspective, they seemed to squeeze by with only a hair to spare.

“George Mason was the lead on Johnny’s case. He’s a determined guy. If there was something to find, he would have found it.”

“Not if the crime scene was swept before he got there,” she said.

“Well, hell. Why didn’t I think of that?”

She responded with an irritated glower.

Mitchell sighed. “Okay, humor me, here. Swept by who? Elvis?” He shook his head. “Do you hear what you’re saying? Do you know how you sound?”

She knew exactly how she sounded, but she wasn’t backing down. This had been eating at her for months. “You were the one who brought it up.”

“I was hoping if we talked it through, you’d get how ridiculous this all sounds. If you keep going on like this…” His mouth tightened.

“What?”

He hesitated. “Okay, I didn’t want to get into this, but maybe it needs to be said. You want to know why some of the other cops have a hard time looking you in the eye these days? Why they’re not so crazy to work with you anymore?”

“Uh, because they’re a bunch of macho asstards?”

He ignored that. “It’s because ever since the shooting, you’ve made it clear you think something about the investigation wasn’t kosher. You’ve been letting some none-too-subtle insinuations slip out about a cover-up. Hell, for all I know, you think I’m in on it, too. Whatever it is.”

“You know I don’t think that.”

“The God’s honest truth? I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t have the slightest idea where your head is these days. Kathy said you’d called the house at least a dozen times last week looking for Nathan.”

“That’s an exaggeration. I called twice.”

Nathan Mallet had worked cases with Johnny in the year before his death. They weren’t officially partners, but Nathan would know better than anyone if Johnny had been involved in something dangerous.

But the shooting had shaken him up. He’d been a mess at the funeral and afterward he wouldn’t return Evangeline’s phone calls. Now it seemed he’d dropped off the face of the earth. His wife, Kathy, claimed she hadn’t seen him in weeks.

“I just don’t understand why he won’t talk to me,” Evangeline said.

“No big mystery there. From what I hear, he’s down in New Iberia working on one of his old man’s shrimp boats. I talked to his sister not too long ago, and she said the last time she saw him, he looked terrible. She thinks he may be on dope. Crystal meth, most likely. That shit is everywhere these days.”

“And you don’t find that kind of behavior at all suspect? He hasn’t been the same since Johnny died, and you know it.”

“You try losing a partner and see how it affects you.”

“He and Johnny weren’t partners.”

“Neither are we,” Mitchell said. “Not officially anyway. But I’d hate like hell for something to happen to you. Even if you do exasperate the crap out of me at times.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly. “What I can’t get over is how Nathan left. He didn’t even resign. He just dropped out of sight.”

“Like that’s unusual around here. We’re the Big Easy, remember?”

She shrugged.

“Besides, Nathan’s always been a flake. Comes from being raised by a drunk. His old man was always half-stoned, even at work. I’m not surprised Nathan has some of the same reliability issues. They say addiction runs in families, don’t they?”

“Yeah, that’s what they say.”

Evangeline decided to let the matter drop, but she still had her own theory regarding Nathan Mallet. His behavior sounded to her like the manifestation of a guilty conscience. Why else would he go to such pains to avoid her?

“I wish you’d just let this go,” Mitchell grumbled.

“I will. Just as soon as I find some answers.”

“And if you don’t find the kind of answers you want?” His worry for her seemed to settle in all the deep grooves and crevices of his careworn face. “You think Johnny would want you obsessing about his death like this?”

Evangeline didn’t answer.

“Hell, no, he wouldn’t. He’d want you to get right back out there and build a life without him.”

She drew a breath and said quietly, “If the situation were reversed, he’d be doing the same thing I am.”

“You sure about that? The Johnny Theroux I knew would make sure his kid was his main priority.”

“You think I’m neglecting J.D.?” Her voice sounded more hurt than she wanted it to.

“I never said that. But one of these days, that boy is going to need a daddy, Evie.”

She stared at him in outrage. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

His shrug was anything but apologetic. “Call me old-fashioned, but I happen to think a boy needs a male role model. And no offense, but you’re not—”

“Not what?” she demanded. “Getting any younger?”

He grinned. “I was going to say, you’re not taking care of yourself. Look at you. You’re as skinny as a fence rail.”

“So? I’m also as healthy as a horse.”

“Physically, maybe,” he muttered.

“I heard that.”

His grin broadened. “It’d do you good to get out more. Have some fun, is all I’m sayin’.” His tone turned sly. “A blind man could see that Tony Vincent’s got a thing for you. Would it kill you to throw the man a bone? Maybe have dinner with him or something?”

“What are you, his pimp?”

Mitchell chuckled. “You could do a lot worse.”

“I don’t even know why I’m having this conversation with you. It’s ridiculous. We should be talking to Sonny Betts right now.”

“That’s going to be tricky. The feds consider him their territory.”

Evangeline shrugged. “He’s a person of interest in a homicide investigation. He’s our territory now.”

“Okay, but if we’re taking a ride out there today, I need some fortification first. How about lunch? I’m in the mood for catfish. Let’s go to Dessie’s.”

Mitchell let her out in front of the restaurant while he drove around the block to find a parking place.

As Evangeline stood in the shade of the colonnade, she spotted a dark gray sedan in the traffic on Decatur. She wondered for a moment if it was the same gray car they’d seen at the crime scene that morning, if they were being tailed by the feds.

But when Mitchell came whistling around the corner, she decided not to mention it to him. He’d probably think she was starting to obsess about that, too.

“Hey,” he said. “Give me a day or two and I’ll see if I can find out where Nathan is staying. The old lady’s pretty tight with his sister.”