Читать книгу Flash Point - Metsy Hingle - Страница 12

What a night, Kelly thought as she sat in the parlor of the convent the next morning and waited for the Reverend Mother. After the chaos at the police station the previous night, the quiet serenity of the convent was a welcome contrast. She sighed, wondering if reporting her vision had made any difference.

Had they found the man in time? Or had she opened herself up to all the speculation for nothing?

It was too late now to second-guess her actions, Kelly told herself. She’d done what she’d had to do. Doing her best to forget about what had happened, she focused on her surroundings. The dark heavy drapes that hung from the windows had been pulled open, allowing morning sun into the somber-looking room. She could smell the hint of lemon on the freshly polished furniture, and the tile floor gleamed as though it had just been waxed. Shelves of books lined one entire wall, while another wall was adorned with an oil painting depicting the Blessed Mother’s Assumption. Ivory candles and a vase of pink roses with baby’s breath rested on a table beneath the portrait.

Wandering about the room, Kelly trailed her fingertips across the open Bible lying atop a table. Her lips twitched as she caught herself remembering Sister Grace’s infamous white-glove tests in the rooms at St. Ann’s. Not a smidgen of dust to be found in here, Kelly mused. Which came as no surprise. If there was one thing she’d learned in her years at St. Ann’s it was that the nuns truly believed in that old adage, “cleanliness is next to godliness.”

“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, Ms. Santos.”

Kelly swung around at the sound of the nun’s voice, surprised that she’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard the nun enter the room. “Not at all, Reverend Mother,” she told the tall, energetic woman in the flowing blue-and-white habit. “I only arrived a few minutes ago.”

“That’s good. I’m afraid we had a little problem with the choir practice after mass and it has my whole morning running behind schedule.” She held out her hand. “I’m Sister Wilhelmina. I’m supposed to be the one who keeps everything in line here at the Sisters of Mary Convent, although I’m not at all sure I succeed.”

“From what Sister Grace told me, you do an excellent job,” Kelly said, already liking the woman. She shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You’re most gracious as well as lovely, Ms. Santos. Thank you.”

“Please, call me Kelly.”

The nun bowed her head. “As you wish. Why don’t we have a seat over here,” she said, motioning to the settees grouped around a coffee table. “I’ve asked that tea be brought in for us.”

Kelly took the seat indicated. “I appreciate you agreeing to see me on such short notice, Reverend Mother.”

“Nonsense,” the nun told her as she sat down across from her. “I only wish it could have been under happier circumstances.”

“So do I.”

“Since I’ve only been here for a short time, I’m afraid I didn’t know Sister Grace very well. But I do know she was devoted to ‘her girls,’ as she called her former charges from St. Ann’s. She was particularly proud of you and your success as a photographer.”

Kelly swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Thank you for telling me.”

The Reverend Mother dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Ah, here’s Bess now with our tea,” she said as a plump, rosy-cheeked woman brought in a tray bearing a silver teapot, china cups and serving pieces. She placed it on the table. “Thank you, Bess. I’ll pour.”

“Yes, Reverend Mother,” the woman replied, and quietly exited the room.

As the Reverend Mother served them both tea, Kelly experienced a moment of déjà vu. Suddenly she was ten years old again, seated in the parlor of St. Ann’s on Christmas Eve. The other girls had all departed for the weekend to spend the holiday with extended family members while she had remained at St. Ann’s because she’d had no place to go, no family to visit. Evidently Sister Grace had picked up on her loneliness, because shortly after the last of the girls had left, she had called her down to the parlor. When she’d arrived, the nun had prepared a pot of tea for them and had served it in the convent’s good china cups. It had been the first of many holiday afternoons that she had spent in the nun’s company.

“Kelly?”

At the sound of her name, Kelly shook off the memories. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

“I asked if you’d like sugar with your tea?”

“No, thank you. Just milk, please.”

“You looked as though you were a thousand miles away just now,” the nun pointed out as she added milk to Kelly’s cup and then to her own.

“I was remembering Sister Grace,” Kelly admitted. “She served me my very first cup of tea in a silver pot very much like that one. And we had old-fashioned English scones and lemon curd with it.”

“Well, I’m afraid we don’t have any scones,” the Reverend Mother informed her, a smile in her voice that matched the one in her hazel eyes. “But Bess’s chocolate-chip-walnut cookies are excellent. Would you like to try one?”

“Yes, thank you,” Kelly replied, and took one of the cookies from the dish and placed it on the plate beside her tea.

The nun placed a cookie on her own plate and sat back. “So tell me about your tea party with Sister Grace. Was it for a special occasion?”

“Actually, it was Christmas Eve,” Kelly told her. “It became sort of a ritual, you might say. After that, every year, whether I was at St. Ann’s or in a foster home, she and I would still meet to have tea and scones together.”

“It sounds like a lovely tradition.”

“It was,” Kelly replied. And instead of dreading the Christmas season because she had no family to share it with, she’d come to look forward to her time with Sister Grace.

“Were you and Sister Grace able to continue your tradition after you left New Orleans?”

“No,” Kelly admitted. “When I left St. Ann’s, I left New Orleans.” And she’d sworn never to return. Kelly put down her teacup and broke off a piece of the cookie. “This is the first time I’ve been back since I left ten years ago.”

“I see. I seem to recall Sister Grace mentioning how demanding your job is. She said you traveled a great deal.”

“Yes.” But her traveling and her job hadn’t been her reason for staying away, Kelly admitted silently. “I should have come back to see her.”

“I’m sure Sister Grace understood about the demands of your career, Kelly. I do know that she was happy that you and some of her other girls stayed in touch with her.”

“I still should have come,” Kelly replied, unable to take any comfort in the nun’s words. She met the other woman’s eyes. “A couple of months ago Sister Grace asked me to come. She said she needed to talk to me about something. But I…I put her off and took an assignment in Europe instead.”

“And now that she’s dead, you feel guilty.”

Kelly nodded. She returned the untouched cookie to her plate. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Probably.” The Reverend Mother put aside her tea and leaned forward. “But there was no way any of us could have known that she would be taken from us so soon. You have no reason to feel guilty for your decision.”

“I have every reason to feel guilty,” Kelly insisted. “I could have turned down the assignment and come back like she asked me to do. But I didn’t because I didn’t want to come back here.”

“Why not?” the nun asked.

“Because I knew coming here would dredge up unhappy memories,” Kelly confessed. She clasped her hands. “Except for Sister Grace, there were few bright spots in my life here. I swore to myself that as soon as I was old enough, I’d leave and start over. Build a new life for myself, a happy life.”

“And did you succeed?”

“I enjoy my work and I’m good at it. And I’m not unhappy,” Kelly responded, knowing as she spoke the words that the description of her life left much to be desired. “But I wish…I wish I had known how ill Sister Grace was. If I had, I’d have come.” And if she had, maybe she wouldn’t be plagued with such a sense of loss.

“I suspect that she didn’t want you to know. As I told you on the phone, Sister Grace’s heart wasn’t strong. She’d been on medication for quite some time.”

“But she died so suddenly.”

“I know, my child. But that’s how heart attacks are,” the Reverend Mother told her. “You must try to take solace in knowing that she’s with our Lord now in paradise.”

Kelly knew the nun was right. Yet it did little to ease the ache in her heart. When the church bells sounded, Kelly stood. “Thank you for your time, Reverend Mother. And for the tea.”

“You’re most welcome.” The Reverend Mother rose and escorted Kelly from the parlor to the entrance door. “Will you be returning to New York now?”

“Probably in a few days. I have to meet with Sister Grace’s attorneys first and I want to visit her grave.” And just saying those words made her want to weep. She still couldn’t imagine never hearing Sister Grace’s voice again, never receiving another one of her letters.

The Reverend Mother touched her arm. “Sister Grace is at peace now with our Lord, Kelly. Try not to grieve for her, but be happy for her.”

“I’ll try,” Kelly promised. But even as she left the convent to go visit the nun’s grave, she knew that it wasn’t for Sister Grace that she grieved, but for herself. Because now she was truly all alone.

Jack surveyed the stripped-down, older-model Lincoln in the alley that contained the city’s latest homicide. The car’s hubcaps and wheels had been stolen, along with the license plate. He stripped off the disposable gloves he’d put on to check the scene for evidence. “Any ID on him?” Jack asked the cop who had been first on the crime scene, where a man had been found with a gunshot wound to his chest.

“No, sir. His wallet’s gone and he’s not wearing any jewelry.”

“Chances are whoever took the wallet, took the jewelry, too,” Jack remarked. “What about registration papers on the car?”

“The glove box was empty, too.”

Which meant any papers identifying the car’s owner were gone, too. “Get a couple of officers and start canvassing the area within a six-block radius. Maybe someone saw or heard something,” Jack instructed, even though he suspected that with all the Halloween hoopla going on last night, they were likely to get more than a few reports of strange happenings.

“Yes, sir,” the young cop replied, and started to head off.

“Officer, one more thing,” Jack called out.

“Sir?”

“Check around with some of the shop owners and residents, find out which street musicians usually hang out around here,” Jack instructed, recalling the statement Sarge had taken from the woman, in which she’d claimed there was music playing on a nearby corner. “Question them, see if anyone remembers seeing or hearing something that seemed odd—even for Halloween.”

“Yes, sir,” the police officer said. “Anything else?”

“No, you’ve got enough to keep you busy for a while. Get back to me or Detective Jerevicious if you find anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once the beat cop was gone, Jack walked over to Leon, who had already questioned the woman who had reported the abandoned car with the body and was now conferring with the crime-scene team. “Find out anything new?”

“Not really. Looks like a robbery-homicide. They’re dusting the vehicle for prints now.”

“M.E. give a time of death yet?” Jack asked.

“I asked and she nearly bit my head off. Figured I’d let you charm her and see if she’ll give you an answer.”

Jack strolled over to where the medical examiner was finishing up her preliminary look at the victim. “Nice seeing you last night, Doc. I almost didn’t recognize you in that red number you were wearing.”

“You didn’t look so bad yourself, Callaghan,” Dr. Jordan Winston declared as she checked the vic’s pupils. She flicked off her penlight and motioned for the body to be loaded into the coroner’s van.

“What can you tell me about the vic?” he asked.

“White male, probably late sixties, two gunshot wounds to the heart delivered at close range. Small caliber weapon, probably a .22. I’ll let you know for sure when I get the bullets out.”

The doc was good, Jack thought, because he’d already figured the gun was a .22 himself. “Any idea on the time of death?”

“Based on lividity, my best guess is sometime between eleven o’clock and one o’clock this morning. I’ll be able to narrow it down once I get him back to the lab and run some tests.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“By the way, Callaghan, I liked your lady friend. Very classy. And smart.”

“Yes, she is,” Jack said, deciding there was little point in denying that Alicia had been his date last night since everyone—including his mother and Alicia herself—had placed them together as a couple. With any luck, last night he had finally got the message across, at least to Alicia, that they weren’t meant for each other.

“She put me onto a sweet little Victorian that’s about to go on the market. If the place is half as good as she says it is, I’ll be giving her a call and making an offer on it.”

“I’m sure Alicia will appreciate your business. You’ll let me know when you can pinpoint the exact time of death on our John Doe?” he asked, eager to change the topic.

She gave him a pointed look, as though she knew exactly what he was doing. “Check with my office this afternoon.”

As Jordan Winston returned to her team, Leon walked over to him. “Any luck on getting an ETD?”

“Piece of cake. I don’t know what your problem is with the lady,” Jack teased, knowing that it had taken him years to establish an easy relationship with Jordan Winston. The lady took a long time to warm up to people and she was still putting Leon through hoops. “She couldn’t have been more cooperative. Maybe you should try changing your cologne.”

“There’s not a damn thing wrong with my cologne. The woman just flat-out doesn’t like me,” Leon fired back, and grumbled something about female doctors who had a thing for blue-eyed men. “So are you going to tell me the time or not?”

“Between 11:00 p.m. and 1:00 a.m.”

“Well, what do you know. According to the captain, Sarge’s psychic came in around midnight,” Leon reminded him.

“Yeah, I know,” Jack replied as he recalled the description given of the woman named Kelly Santos who’d come into the station last night. He knew in his gut that it was the same Kelly Santos who had gone to school with his kid sister Meredith—the same teenage girl he had rescued from punks in the park years ago. The same girl who had spooked him when she’d announced that he should ditch law school and become a cop if that was what he wanted to do. Since he’d been wrestling with that dilemma for months and hadn’t breathed a word about it to anyone, not even the woman he’d been engaged to marry, he hadn’t known what to make of her. Nor had he known what to make of her telling him that she was sorry, but his fiancée wasn’t going to stand by him. Only months later did he recall that the girl had been dead right on both counts.

“Kind of weird, don’t you think?”

“What’s weird?” Jack asked, pulling his thoughts from the past back to the murder scene at hand.

“You know, that woman claiming to have had a vision of a man being murdered in a car and then a stiff meeting her description turning up dead in a car just like she said.”

Jack shrugged. “I guess so. Strange things happen sometimes.”

“Come on, Jackson. Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind that the woman knocked the guy off and then came into the station and fed Sarge that line of bull about having some kind of vision to cover her ass.”

While Leon’s comments made perfect sense, the idea of the sad-eyed girl he remembered killing anyone didn’t set well with him. “It’s a possibility,” he conceded. “But if she did kill the man, it seems the smart thing would have been to just keep quiet.”

“Like I said,” Leon began as they headed down the street toward the car. “Maybe she did it to take suspicion off herself.”

“Or maybe she really did see him get offed,” Jack offered.

“Don’t tell me you believe in this psychic shit.”

“I’m trying to keep an open mind,” Jack informed his partner.

They both stopped on the corner, waiting for traffic. “Then try opening your mind to the possibility that the lady might have killed the vic, decided to make up all that crap about a vision to cover her tracks, and to drum up some business for herself at the same time.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this so-called psychic stuff. Come on, man. You’ve seen how many of them are lined up around the Square. Imagine how many people would be flocking to this Santos woman if word got out she’d predicted a murder.”

“She’s not one of those scam artists,” Jack defended as they crossed the street.

“Hang on a second,” Leon said, catching his arm and stopping them both in the middle of the block. “You telling me you’re buying her story? That you think this Santos dame really did have some kind of vision?”

“I’m not saying any such thing.” Jack jerked his arm free and resumed walking. “All I know is that we’ve got a dead body and a witness who says she saw the murder.”

“In a vision,” Leon reminded him.

“Vision or not, right now she’s the only lead we’ve got,” Jack told him as he unlocked the car. “So I say, let’s go interview our witness.”

But interviewing their witness proved more difficult than he’d anticipated, Jack conceded later that afternoon. The lady had been out when they’d arrived at the Regent Hotel and had yet to return. Not that he and Leon hadn’t been busy. They had. In between calls to the hotel, they had spent the better part of the day chasing down leads in the murder investigation. And so far, they’d come up empty. He told himself it was the reason he was more determined than ever to nail down the interview with Kelly Santos. He hit the redial button on his cell phone.

“Good afternoon, the Regent Hotel.”

“Has Ms. Kelly Santos returned to the hotel yet?” Jack asked.

“One moment, sir,” the operator said. Seconds later, she came back on the line. “Yes, sir. She has. Would you like me to ring her room for you?”

“No, thanks,” Jack said, and ended the call.

“She still out?” Leon asked, some of the frustration they were both feeling echoing in his voice.

“Nope. She’s back,” he told Leon, and they both climbed back into the car. He started the engine.

Fifteen minutes later, he and Leon entered the hotel lobby and approached the front desk. “Good afternoon. I’m Detective Callaghan. This is my partner, Detective Jerevicious. We need to know what room Ms. Kelly Santos is staying in.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t give out that information. But if you’d care to use one of the house phones over there…” she began, indicating the row of phones on the far wall. “The operator can connect you to Ms. Santos’s room and she can give you her room number.”

As discreetly as he could, Jack showed the woman his badge and her friendly smile faded. “Actually, it wasn’t a request. We need to ask Ms. Santos some questions and would prefer not to announce ourselves. So if you’d just give me that room number, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Officer. Detective,” she amended. “But I’ll need to get my supervisor.”

And after a brief chat with the clerk’s supervisor and Jack’s assurance that there was no problem with the hotel’s guest, Jack and Leon stood in front of Kelly’s hotel room door. Jack knocked on the door and it was opened almost immediately.

“Yes?”

For a moment, Jack thought he’d made a mistake. The woman who stood before him bore little resemblance to the scrawny teenage Kelly Santos whom he’d rescued a decade ago. The ivory sweater and coffee-colored skirt she wore skimmed along enticing female curves. Her hair was still blond, but instead of hanging like a curtain behind which the young Kelly had hidden, this woman’s hair was styled in layers that fell to her shoulders. Her skin was smooth and perfect, her cheekbones high and the unsmiling mouth too wide for her narrow face. Then Jack looked into her eyes. There was no mistaking those eyes. Big haunting brown eyes that had seemed too old for a young girl’s face. Wary eyes filled with secrets. She was the Kelly Santos from his past. And for the space of a heartbeat, he waited, wondering if she would remember him. But if she did, she gave no indication.

“Ms. Santos? Ms. Kelly Santos?” Leon asked, stepping forward to break the silence.

“Yes.”

“I’m Detective Napoleon Jerevicious with the New Orleans Police Department. This is my partner, Detective Callaghan. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

A look of utter hopelessness flickered across her features. “You found him.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Him?” Leon prompted, and Jack didn’t miss the suspicious note in his partner’s voice.

“The man in the car. The one I saw get shot. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is,” Jack said. “And we need to ask you some questions.” When a door opened down the hall and the woman who exited cast a curious glance their way, he suggested, “It might be better if we came inside where it’s more private.”

“Yes, of course,” she replied politely, and opened the door wider, allowing them to enter. Once they were in the room, Kelly directed them to the sitting area. “Please, sit down.”

Leon opted for the small sofa, his large frame taking up most of the space, while Jack chose one of the two armchairs that had been grouped with the sofa around a coffee table.

“There’s probably some soda or wine in the minibar. Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thanks,” Jack said, not bothering to point out that they were on duty.

“Nothing for me, either, ma’am,” Leon replied.

“All right.” Kelly took a seat in the other chair and clasped her hands together. “You said you had some questions for me.”

“We need to go over a few details in the statement you gave to Sergeant Russo last night,” Jack began. For a moment, he debated reminding her that they had met before, but decided against it. Best to keep things professional, he reasoned.

They went over the details of her statement again and Kelly related the events of the evening—picking up the newspaper, having a vision of the man in the car with the woman in black, of that woman removing a gun from her bag and shooting him. And given Kelly’s stricken expression as she related the incident for them, Jack concluded that whether she’d had a vision of the killing or had seen the thing firsthand, the experience had been real for her.

“And you have no idea who the victim or the alleged woman with the gun were?” Leon asked.

“None at all.”

“You have to admit it seems kind of strange that you should know every detail about the man’s murder, but not know who he or his killer was.”

“Believe me, Detective, I’m aware of how strange it sounds. But it’s the truth. I’ve never laid eyes on either of them before I picked up that newspaper in the café. And even then, I didn’t see them in the traditional sense.”

“What about a description of the woman?” Jack asked. “Can you tell us what she looked like?”

Kelly shifted her somber brown eyes to his face. “I’m afraid it was dark inside the car and she was wearing some kind of cloak with a hood that shadowed her face. I never got a clear look at her. Only of her gloved hand reaching for the gun, then pulling the trigger.”

“You said she called the man ‘Doctor,”’ Jack pointed out, approaching it from a different slant. “Do you think you’d be able to recognize her voice if you heard it again?”

Kelly paused, seeming to consider his question for a moment. “I doubt it. She spoke very softly, almost a whisper. And the man, well he was breathing kind of hard, like he was winded or maybe had asthma or something. Plus with the street noise and music, she could be sitting across the table talking to me right now and I don’t know that I’d recognize her voice.”

“What about—”

Leon’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, and answered the phone. “Jerevicious. Yeah? Hang on a second.” He stood. “I’m going to need to take this call.”

“If you want some privacy, you’re welcome to go into the bedroom,” Kelly offered.

“Thanks,” he told her, and disappeared into the adjoining room.

When they were alone, Kelly said, “I see you decided to follow your dream after all.”

“I didn’t think you remembered me,” Jack told her, unable to mask his surprise.

Kelly gave him a slow smile. “I was an impressionable teenager the last time I saw you. It’s not likely that I’d forget the man who saved my most valuable possession.”

Jack swallowed, taken aback by her candor. He also worried that the event had traumatized her more than he’d ever suspected. “Actually, I don’t think those punks would have really done anything to you. At heart, they were cowards who got their kicks out of scaring young girls. I doubt they’d have taken things any further.”

The smile turned into a chuckle. “I wasn’t referring to my virtue, Detective Callaghan. I was talking about my camera. I’d worked after school and on weekends for six months to buy it. It was my most valuable possession.”

Jack flushed, felt like an idiot for overreacting.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t resist,” she said, stifling a grin. “From your expression, it was obvious that you were worried I’d been permanently scarred by that incident in the park. I wasn’t.”

“You could have been.”

The smile faded from her lips. “Trust me, Detective. Benny Farrell and Reed Parker weren’t the first ones to think that, because no one else wanted me, I was fair game for them to do whatever they pleased to me. I never lost any sleep because of them. I’m tougher than that.”

Because she had had to be. Admiration and anger ripped at him as he thought of what her life must have been like. “I’m sorry. I never really thought about what it was like for you growing up at St. Ann’s.”

“There was no reason for you to,” she informed him matter-of-factly. “You come from a close-knit family, but I don’t. That’s not anyone’s fault. It’s simply the way things are. It’s certainly not something you should feel guilty about.”

“I don’t. I’m just sorry that your life was so tough.”

“Don’t be,” she informed him, her voice turning chilly. She stood, crossed her arms. “I’ve done just fine for myself. So you can save your pity, Detective. I don’t need it or want it.”

Jack shot to his feet. “First off, the name’s Jack. Since we share some history, I think we can dispense with the formalities. Second, you can quit trying to put words in my mouth. I don’t feel guilty because you grew up without a family and I sure as hell don’t pity you. I admire you. I did back when you were a kid. And I do now because you obviously did make something of yourself.”

She opened her mouth then clamped it shut, as though his remark had taken the wind out of her sails. After a moment, she whooshed out a breath. “I’m sorry,” she finally managed to say with all the enthusiasm of someone who’d just been poked with a needle.

Jack chuckled. “I get the feeling that you don’t do that often. Apologize,” he explained.

“I don’t.”

“Don’t make many mistakes, huh?”

“Hardly,” she said. “I make tons of them. But I try not to do or say things that I’ll regret.”

“Guess that explains why you look as though chewing a bucket of nails would have been preferable to telling me you’re sorry,” he teased.

Streaks of color raced up her pale cheeks. “It would have,” she admitted. “I guess I’m a little sensitive about my heritage. Or lack thereof.”

“A little sensitive?” he prompted, hoping to get her to smile at him again.

“All right. A lot sensitive,” she conceded, and rewarded him with a hint of that smile he’d wanted. “Anyway, I really am sorry for—”

“Jackson, we’ve got to roll,” Leon said, exiting the other room.

The homicide detective in him took charge. “What’s up?”

Leon looked from him to Kelly and back again. “The vic’s wallet turned up. We’ve got an ID on the man.”

“Who was he?” Kelly asked. When Leon hesitated, she said, “Please, I’d like to know. ‘Seeing’ things like I do—it makes me feel somehow connected to the persons involved.”

Leon glanced at him again and Jack nodded. “His name was Martin Gilbert. He was from Pass Christian, Mississippi.” Leon paused a moment. “And until five years ago, he was a doctor.”

“What happened five years ago?” Kelly asked.

“His license was revoked for performing illegal abortions on minors.”