by Jana DeLeon
He stared at her for several seconds, clearly weighing the pros and cons. Finally, he said, “You gotta understand, I didn’t see anything myself. None of us did.”
He reached for the package of cigarettes sitting on the table and lit one up. He puffed quickly several times, then leaned toward her. “We got a tip that there was a store of stolen US weapons in a village just outside of our base camp. Our unit went in. We identified the structure and had it surrounded. David and Ron were closest to the structure, but no one was supposed to breach until we got the signal.”
“But they went in anyway.”
Paul nodded and puffed on the cigarette again. “We didn’t know at first. Not for a while. We were all holding position, waiting for orders. There wasn’t any gunfire—nothing to signal that they had breached the structure. When we finally got the signal to move, they didn’t respond.”
“So you assumed they’d been flanked?”
“Yeah. We rushed in from all sides and threw tear gas into the structure, then we entered.”
Paul downed the rest of his whiskey, his hand shaking as he placed the glass back on the table. “The intel was wrong. The structure was a family home.”
“The gas would only immobilize them, right?” Shaye asked, not understanding why he was so upset.
Paul stared down at the table. “They’d been slaughtered. The mother and father and all four kids, including an infant. They were tied to chairs and tortured, cuts all over their bodies, and their eyes…” He choked up. “Their eyes had been gouged out. Every one of them.”
He looked up at her as he delivered the last sentence, and Shaye felt her stomach roll as she thought about the infant. What kind of monster could do such a thing?
“You’re saying David and Ron did that?”
“The blood was fresh. There were two blankets on the floor covered with it.”
“They wore them to protect their clothes?”
Paul nodded. “But they both had blood on their boots. I don’t know if anyone else noticed. I glanced down and saw and when I looked up, David was staring at me with that dead look he’d get. His eyes would turn dark and lifeless, like a snake, and he’d stare at you until you wanted to crawl out of your own skin to get away. He knew I knew. I could feel it. Maybe the others felt it too.”
Paul shook his head. “Either way. None of us ever said a word. Not to command. Not to each other. We reported what we found when we returned to base, and command put it down to roving bands of thieves that were in the area.”
“But you don’t think that’s what happened.”
“No ma’am. David and Ron are what happened. I’m as sure of that as I am that you’re sitting here in front of me. And that’s why I said I don’t want anything to do with your investigation. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since that day. Every time I close my eyes, I see that family, then that dead-eyed look from David. I’d take ten bad teeth over one of those dreams.”
Shaye’s heart clenched at Paul’s words. She understood all too well how nightmares could destroy your waking life. “Have you talked to someone? Everything you say is confidential.”
“No. Plenty of guys around here tried it. I didn’t see it do any good for them. Probably not going to for me. You know, I thought I’d seen bad things in Iraq…really horrible stuff. And then I saw that.”
He looked directly at her. “I looked right in the face of pure evil. And the worst part is, it wasn’t the enemy.”
Chapter Seventeen
As soon as she got into her car, Shaye pulled out her cell phone. Her conversation with Paul had completely unnerved her. At first, she’d convinced herself he was making it up to throw her off track, but no way could he fake the suffering she’d seen when he’d told her about the nightmares. Paul had some deep issues to work out, and she hoped he’d get the help he needed before it was too late.
The thing that nagged at her as she pulled out of the parking lot was why Ron had given her Paul’s name in the first place. But then she’d remembered that Paul was supposed to ship out today, and Ron would probably have known that through his mother. Throwing out Paul’s name was an easy way to get her focus on someone else and someone she would have had a hard time contacting for days at least, if not longer.
Paul also confirmed that he’d never visited Ron in New Orleans, which Shaye had figured once she’d heard the Iraq story. Basically, everything Ron said was a lie. At least, that’s the way it looked to Shaye. Of the two, Paul was the more believable. In fact, Shaye would bet her nine years of therapy that Paul was telling the truth. Ron, on the other hand, had dished out the lies so easily and without a change in behavior. All signs pointed to Ron as the stalker. He looked enough like David for people to be mistaken, even a traumatized Emma could have gotten it wrong in the dark, with only a sliver of moonlight to illuminate his face.
Ron thought putting her on Paul’s scent would buy him time. Days, or possibly weeks. He hadn’t counted on a bad tooth keeping Paul available for Shaye to question. He didn’t know his time had just expired.
She pulled up Ron’s number but didn’t press it.
It probably wasn’t smart to confront a sociopath.
But Ron didn’t know that she’d talked to Paul, and Paul certainly wasn’t going to let that secret out. He’d already promised her he wouldn’t tell anyone they’d spoken and never wanted to hear the names Ron Duhon and David Grange again. What she needed was a picture. If she could arrange another meeting with Ron, she could establish herself across the street behind a car and snap a shot of him. Then she could hunt down Hustle and see if he could ID Ron as the man who’d given him the scarf.
That should be enough to get the police to question Ron. She bit her lower lip. Shouldn’t it?
Before she could change her mind, she pressed Ron’s phone number.
You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service…
What the hell? She hung up and checked the number in her history. That was definitely the one she’d used to call Ron the day before. She hit the number again. A couple seconds later, the message repeated.
She scrolled down and found the number for Wellman Oil and Gas and dialed. Greta answered the phone.
“Hi, this is Shaye Archer. I talked to some of your employees a couple days ago.”
“Of course, Ms. Archer,” Greta said. “What can I help you with?”
“I tried to reach Ron Duhon, but his cell phone has been disconnected. Did he provide you with a new number?”
“No. I’m afraid Mr. Duhon is no longer employed by Wellman Oil and Gas.”
“Can you tell me why?”
“He called yesterday and said he had another job and wouldn’t be back. The crew manager was fit to be tied, as Ron was supposed to go offshore tomorrow.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“I’m sorry, but no.”
“Would you mind giving me his home address?”
“Not at all. Let me look it up.” Greta was silent for a couple seconds, then gave Shaye the address.
“Thank you,” Shaye said.
“No problem. Have a great day!”
Shaye tossed her cell phone onto the passenger’s seat. As soon as she hit Interstate 49, she pressed the accelerator down, hurtling her SUV forward. The four-and-half-hour drive stretched in front of her like an eternity. Ron already had a day’s jump on her, and now he was getting another. Another day to cover his tracks, plant more misdirection, set up alibis.
Or finish the job.
###
Eleonore inched forward across the bedroom until Corrine made it to her sitting room couch and sank onto the overstuffed cushions. “You’re hovering,” Corrine said as she looked up at Eleonore.
“I have a medical degree. When our friends are injured we’re required to hover. I’m pretty sure I took an oath.”
Corrine smiled. “I’m fine. Really. As long as I don’t have to sprint. If that need arises, just go ahe
ad and shoot me.”
Eleonore walked over to the bar and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. She poured Corrine a shot and handed it to her. “That should take the edge off.”
Corrine took the shot and glanced over at the bar. “I’ll have Marie move everything to the pantry.”
“Please don’t go to any trouble. I’m not an addict looking for a fix. Me and your whiskey are safe.”
“You’re sure?” Corrine already felt bad enough that Shaye’s treatment had kicked Eleonore off the wagon. She didn’t want to tempt her further. Not that she knew much about Eleonore’s trouble with alcohol. Her friend rarely mentioned it and had never provided details.
Eleonore sat on a chair next to her and sighed. “Look, I had a drinking problem before, but I’m not your average alcoholic. It’s not something I crave all the time, never was. It’s a crutch, just like food or drugs or church or whatever else people use to escape reality for a bit. That’s an explanation, not an excuse, by the way. And this time, it won’t get out of control.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Simple. Because my tastes have improved, and I’m lazy and cheap.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I never liked wine or beer—scotch was always my drink of choice, and I’ve found that I can’t stomach even a sip of the cheap stuff. Carlin’s Beverages is the closest place that carries the brand I like, and it’s a five-mile drive across the middle of the city. Besides, have you seen the price on a good bottle of scotch? Good Lord, I almost fainted.”
Corrine smiled. Eleonore always made light of things, especially when she knew they’d weigh on Corrine, but this time, Corrine decided she could take her friend at her word. Eleonore might hedge on some things, but she had never outright lied to Corrine. If her friend said she could handle it, then Corrine had no doubt Eleonore thought she could.
She downed the shot and handed the glass back to Eleonore. “Normally, I would say it’s too early, but since I’ve been sitting in that awful hospital bed all morning, and my back and ribs are killing me, I’m going to say make it a double.”
“Didn’t the hospital give you something for pain?”
“Yeah, advice. They told me to take some aspirin.”
Eleonore gave her a disgusted look. “Aspirin? What is their problem?”
“Too many addicts faking back injuries to scam drugs is my guess.”
“You’re a social worker who was pushed down a flight of stairs while you were doing your job. Hardly an addict looking for a fix.”
“Two social workers were arrested last week for dealing drugs to case parents. Want to take a guess where they got the drugs?”
“Jesus H. Christ.” Eleonore pulled a pad of paper out of her purse and scribbled on it. “This is the big advantage of being a medical doctor rather than a psychologist. I’ll give this to your housekeeper to get filled, and don’t let the pain get too bad before you take one.”
“Thanks.”
Eleonore cocked her head to the side and studied Corrine for several seconds. “Have you considered a job with less risk?”
“Now you sound like my father.”
“A successful man who has never been shoved down a flight of stairs.”
“If some of his business competitors got the chance, that could change.”
“Touché. Look, I see this as a wake-up call. Things are changing. Every day this city gets more dangerous than the day before. People care less and hold grudges more. You walked into an abandoned building alone on the basis of an anonymous phone call. If those painters hadn’t shown up… I’m not saying you should quit. I know what the job means to you, but I think you need to stop taking some of the risks you do.”
“I know. I’ve thought about little else all day. This wasn’t the first time someone’s taken a swipe at me. You know that, but it’s the first time it was calculated. Most of the lumps I’ve taken have been due to emotional outbursts while I was conducting an on-site visit.”
Eleonore nodded. “Not premeditation.”
Corrine locked her gaze on Eleonore’s. “Don’t tell anyone, especially Shaye, but this scared the shit out of me. When he was standing over me, I knew with absolute certainty that I was going to die.” Tears welled and she rubbed her nose with her finger. “Now all I can think is ‘what if.’”
Eleonore reached over and put her hand on Corrine’s arm. “Me too, honey. Me too.”
###
Shaye pulled up in front of the apartment building and parked. She pulled her nine-millimeter out of her purse and tucked it in her waistband under her shirt. After talking with Paul, she knew what Ron was capable of. No way was he getting the jump on her while she struggled to pull her gun out of her purse. She wasn’t about to be that evening news story.
As she walked up the sidewalk to the building, she questioned, once again, the insanity of what she was doing. What was she going to say to Ron if he was there? Hi, I talked to Paul and you’re a psycho? And how was she supposed to get a picture of him standing in front of him? Her current plan was to ascertain Ron was home, ask a couple of innocuous follow-up questions, then wait across the street for Ron to leave the apartment. Her camera was always in her car and the telephoto lens she had would make Ron look like he was standing in front of her, even from a half block away.
The building had three breezeways with the apartment doors off of them that dead-ended at the back of the building. The end of the first breezeway was where Ron’s apartment was located. As she walked down the breezeway, she realize how isolated she was. The apartments contained no windows on the front facing the breezeway, and the angle of the building made her passage invisible to anyone except another person in the same stretch. Essentially, she was in a tunnel with one exit and no view to outsiders.
She stopped in front of the apartment door and put her ear up against it, trying to hear if there was any sound of movement inside. A television blared a Law & Order rerun, but she couldn’t hear anything else. Still, the television indicated someone was probably present.
She rapped on the door and waited, her hands hovering near her waistband. Several seconds later, the door swung open and a young, petite woman with long brown hair and a fading shiner on her right eye looked out at her.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked.
“I’m looking for Ron Duhon. Are you his girlfriend?”
The girl shot her a derisive look. “Hell, no, I’m not his girlfriend. You think I stick with guys that punch me in the face? I kicked his ass to the curb a week ago.”
“Did Ron do that?” Shaye pointed to her eye.
“Yep. I told him to consider it his eviction notice. He was never on the lease anyway.”
“But he used to live here?”
“If you want to call it that. He worked offshore most of the time. When he was in town, he showered here. Slept here sometimes, but spent most of his time in French Quarter dives waving dollars at cheap whores. I shoulda kicked him out before he hit me.”
“Do you have any idea where he’s staying now?”
“Nowhere that I know of. He came by here yesterday to get the last of his things. Said he had a job with a pipeline in Alaska and was leaving tomorrow. Good riddance, I say.”
Shaye’s mind raced. The new job matched what Ron said when he gave notice at the oil company, but she couldn’t work up the same “good riddance” sentiment as Ron’s ex. No way would he leave town without finishing the job. And for all Shaye knew, that might mean cleaning house—Emma, Shaye, Corrine, and the girl standing in front of her.
Indecision coursed through her as her mind weighed the pros and cons of giving the girl information. What if she was lying and in on it with Ron? The black eye was real, but she could have gotten it from someone else. What if the girlfriend changed her mind and took him back? She’d probably tell him everything Shaye told her.
What if he kills her?
That one question outweighed all the risks. No way was Shaye living with
this woman’s death on her conscience. She pulled out her identification and showed it to the girl. “You might be in danger. Can I please come in and talk to you?”
The girl’s eyes widened and she stared at Shaye as if waiting for the punch line. When none was forthcoming, she stepped back and nodded. Shaye walked into the apartment, praying she was doing the right thing.
Chapter Eighteen
Emma poured herself another cup of coffee and checked her cell phone for the hundredth time. She was breaking the rules by having it on her during her shift, but she was beyond caring. As soon as her boss arrived in the morning, she was resigning anyway, and with no notice. If anyone wanted to put remarks in her permanent file for that decision, then so be it. Better a mark on her employment record than an obituary in the local paper.
It had seemed impossible, but after Shaye’s phone call on her way back from Fort Polk, Emma had been more nervous than ever. The story the soldier had told Shaye horrified her, but at the same time explained so much. Maybe David had suffered some sort of mental break. Maybe this Ron was the source.
Maybe Ron was her stalker, getting revenge on Emma for killing his ally.
Ron made as much sense as anyone else, and Shaye seemed to think he was capable. She’d told Emma her plan to contact Ron again with the hope of getting a photo that the skater kid could identify. It sounded like a good idea, except for the part where Shaye was essentially going to willingly put herself in front of a crazy man. Emma had tried to talk her out of it, but Shaye had insisted that they needed something to give the police so they’d pick Ron up. Even if they couldn’t hold him for long, it would buy Emma time to get out of town without being observed.
Emma couldn’t argue with Shaye’s reasoning, but didn’t like the young woman taking such risks. Shaye had promised to meet Ron in a public place and call Emma the moment she had the photo. Emma had been obsessing over her silent phone ever since. Shaye should have made it back to New Orleans over an hour ago. Where was she? Why hadn’t she called?