Ciarra pulled the paperwork out and scanned the pages. In the spot next to the cause of death, it stated, ‘deferred pending further investigation.’ She pushed the papers back into the envelope and opened the police station’s front door. The older building on the corner of North Street and Washington Boulevard had housed both Acadia’s Police Department and the Howard Parish Sheriff’s Department for as long as Ciarra could remember.
Ciarra spotted Jackson Trudeau and his partner, Fred Jurgins hovering near her desk. They were Howard Parish Deputy Sheriffs. Jackson had been her father’s best friend since childhood and was the one who had convinced Ciarra to give the police academy a shot. “Okay boys, ready for the scoop?” Jackson and Fred were working the grave cases of the solicitor’s grandmother and the taxi driver’s brother as the cemeteries were not in Acadia city limits.
“That’s why we are here, Pacelli.” Fred appeared a little rough around the edges today.
Ciarra could only conclude his new bundle of joy, Avery, was keeping him up at night. “Our new addition like the night shift, Jurgins? You look like you need a nap.”
Fred rubbed his face and grumbled, “You don’t know the half of it. Wait, cause your turn will come and I will enjoy every minute of it.” He chuckled. “Oh who am I kidding? I love that little girl. I just need more than four hours of sleep.”
Ciarra’s heart ached at the mention of ‘her turn’. That wouldn’t come to pass. She waved the sorrow off and apprised the two detectives of the judge’s autopsy.
Jackson asked, “So, you really believe the grave robbery and his sudden death are interlinked?”
Ciarra handed over Liam Montreuil’s case file. “Do you remember hearing of a case involving a five year old boy who had been hit and killed by one of your deceased’s brothers who is a taxi driver?”
Jackson’s eyes scrunched and then widened with recognition. “Are you talking about Kevin Borque?”
“Yes. Leon was the taxi driver. So, here’s the rundown on that case. You have little Liam’s momma, Kiyana, and Liam standing on the sidewalk along with Liam’s grandmother, Shaundra Williams. Shaundra and Kiyana are window browsing at Le Femme’s. Liam spots Harold’s Toy Emporium across Main Street and becomes all kinds of excited. He’s tugging on momma’s hand like mad to get her to go that way. Kiyana tells the boy something along the lines of, “Not right this moment. Maybe a little later, sweetie.”
But little Liam is a typical five year old who wants to see that incredible train set in the window, and he manages to wrench his hand free from Kiyana’s grip. Kiyana can’t turn around and catch him fast enough. The little boy leaps into the road. Leon Borque is running a little late for his next pickup because he has been at the bar having a lunch and a drink in between pickups. Naturally he doesn’t see the boy in time to stop.”
Rick picked up the story from there. “Initially, he blows a 0.04 on a Breathalyzer test. Seemingly impaired. But, during the court proceedings, expert testimony showed that Mr. Borque also ate a turkey sandwich with his one shot of Tennessee whiskey, thus slowing down the alcohol absorption rate. The prosecution, Solicitor Baker, sees that if he doesn’t act quickly, it would be a real possibility of this man getting completely off.
So, he tries to bargain with the defending attorney, who of course knows what Baker is up to, but realizes a boy has died and the driver had been drinking. Baker offers to drop voluntary manslaughter down to driving under the influence. The defending attorney wants his client cleared of all charges. Not going to happen though because he did blow 0.04. Mr. Borque receives ten days in jail, a five hundred dollar fine, one year suspended license – both regular and taxi—and thirty hours community service going around to area high schools talking about how bad it is to drink and drive.”
Ciarra folds her arms over her chest. “And let’s just say Mrs. Kiyana Montreuil is none too impressed.”
Jackson rubbed his chin, those eyes squinting once again. “So, how does this all tie in? I have two graves dug up and you have two. All four have a pointer bone missing. And it just so happens that these four cases are tied into the judge’s death?”
“What do you think?”
“How is the doctor tied into this?”
Rick stepped in. “He was the doctor on call that day in the emergency room. He couldn’t save the boy.”
Jackson turned to his partner. “We could go check on Leon Borque and ensure he is still living. And . . . well needless to say, we know the judge isn’t. What about your two?” Jackson handed back the file.
Ciarra tucked it under her arm. “Solicitor Baker is presently in court and the doctor I’m assuming is at home.” Ciarra contemplated telling them about the Voodoo and the doctor’s accident. She would see what they turned up first.
“Do you think she is going around killing the people supposedly responsible for her son’s death?”
“I think she had something to do with the grave robberies. Not so sure about the judge’s death.”
“Well, I will call you in a while after visiting with Mr. Borque.” Jackson and Fred walked away and headed for the front of the building.
Rick tapped a cigarette in his palm. “Why didn’t you tell them about the Voodoo?”
“I need a little more to go on.” And she didn’t want her father’s best friend to think she’d fallen off her rocker. It was bad enough Rick decided she’d gone nutty.
“But you are worried about the others’ well-being.”
“I am. Follow me. I have an idea.” Ciarra headed straight for the Captain’s office and knocked.
She stepped in and found her boss staring out his window. He wore a simple black suit with a white shirt and blue striped tie. “Sorry sir. But I need to see about overseeing a couple of men who could be in harm’s way.”
Captain James Turner ran a hand over his bald head and turned to her. “What is this about, Pacelli?”
“The grave robberies. They seem to be connected to one woman. Maybe her husband also.”
“So, you want to go protect them?”
She knew it was extreme seeing as how the judge’s death was allegedly natural causes. Her gut was telling her she was onto something though. “We want to keep the option open, yes. In the meantime, we are going to find the woman and her husband.”
“You bring me further proof of the connection and we can see what we can do. The best option would be to find your suspects and keep an eye on them.”
“Yes, sir.” She turned to Rick who was shaking his head. She raised her eyebrow daring him to open his mouth as she walked out of the Captain’s office. He trailed behind and asked, “What did you expect?”
She threw her arms up, frustrated at herself. “I don’t know. I just know there is something real wrong here. Think about it, Rick. She . . . or whoever dug up these graves took just a freaking finger bone. That’s it. Can you think of any logical explanation why someone would do that? And all four are related to the four men who this woman thinks are responsible for her son’s death. The judge and solicitor didn’t put this man away. He got a slap on the wrist. Who is the logical suspect? And how the hell did she kill Judge Reynolds with the coroner claiming his death was natural?”
Rick held open the door. “I get where you are coming from, and I’m trying to keep an open mind. Someone is no doubt disturbed. Let’s see if we can find Mr. and Mrs. Montreuil and go from there.”
Ciarra hoped she was just as crazy as Rick thought. Then at least no one else would die.
Chapter 4
Trent hadn’t wanted the detective to leave. Not out of fear for his own safety, but rather for her company. He’d made them some coffee and warmed some croissants. Surprisingly, she hadn’t turned down the simple invitation to eat. After she took his statement, he tried to veer the conversation toward more personal things such as what she did for fun outside the station. At first, she wouldn’t answer him. So, he filled her in on his likes such as going to see a movie at the end of his shift to drown out
that night’s horrors, searching the antique bookstores for first edition books he loved to collect, and turn off his phone—even if were for a half hour—and put on some classical music to relax.
She had smiled at the mention of the classical music. A genuine smile. She had murmured, ‘Jack loved classical.’
Trent was in awe of her stunning face lighting up, almost a glow. She was stunning.
Then he had to go screw it all up by asking who Jack was. The smile disappeared. ‘An old friend.’ She had rose from the chair and placed her cup in the sink. ‘I need to go.’ He had tried to get her to stay longer, but she wasn’t having it. He’d hit a nerve, yet he hadn’t been able to back pedal. And he certainly had no idea how Jack played into it.
She had let him know she would be in touch soon and left.
Now, he sat listening to the haunting music, all of his muscles loosening, the tension sliding away. The last notes echoed through the room and all was quiet.
He turned off the stereo and headed for the shower. Once that was accomplished, he was relaxed enough to finally get some sleep. His last thoughts were of the striking Detective and her smile, and then the disturbing dream:
Standing in the dense, darkened forest with the moon creating crazy shadows from its illumination of the dancing leaves on the surrounding trees, his attention is drawn to the glow of the flickering light through the swaying branches. He moves forward to get a closer look. The wind carries the chanting toward him along with the crackling fire and a whiff of incense. He can’t make out the words. They are gibberish, but they are haunting nonetheless. The more he moves toward the fiery glow, the further he seems to be away from it.
A woman’s scream slices through the night followed by a small boy’s cries. Are they hurt? Possibly caught in the fire? And as he takes one step forward, he is suddenly transported to the site and standing in front of the blazing fire pit.
Several people draped in black robes with hoods and black skull masks covering their faces gathers around the long, stone table and the person who is lying on it with his or her hands and feet bound. Is it the same woman whose screams he’d heard seconds ago? He can’t get close enough to see the face. One turned around and started toward him, reaching out. Trent turned to run and there stood the little boy who had died in his emergency room after he’d been hit by a car. The one who continued to haunt his dreams every now and again. He sat on the ground crying for his mama. Trent tried to reach down and grab the boy, but the boy disappeared into thin air. One second he was there. The next, he was gone.
The person in the robe grabbed a hold of Trent and covered his mouth. He struggled to break free but this one was too powerful.
“Your time has begun. Tick tock.”
The chirping of the cell phone sitting on Trent’s nightstand fully woke him. He gulped in air as he gripped the pillow, the need to hold something from the real world overwhelming because he sure in hell didn’t want to go back to his hellish nightmare.
He grabbed the phone. “Yeah.”
“Trent, it’s Lindsay.”
He groaned. “What’s going on?”
“Are you okay? Did I wake you?”
Trent took a couple more deep breaths. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry. I want to talk about Jason.”
“Is our brother ordering you around yet?”
Trent pushed himself up and propped the pillow he had been squeezing behind his head. “I’m pretty sure Sammy unpacked the little bell waiting on his arrival.”
“Trent, seriously. He is not himself. There’s some deep depression. The doctor told me there would be no way he could ever race again. That’s all Jason knows how to do.”
“He will be fine.”
“No, I don’t think he will. What if the hospital board told you that you could no longer practice medicine? No longer help another patient again?”
Trent sat up and rubbed the top of his head. If someone told him he couldn’t do what he loved the most, he would go berserk. “Sorry, Linds. I get it. He will have to figure out what’s next. That won’t happen overnight. And I’m sure he will drive all of us completely insane. But at some point, he will realize there is life outside the next big race or party.” He sighed. “How is he physically? Are they really going to allow him to travel?”
“Yes. He’s nearly ready. And it’s not a quick recovery. Did you know this didn’t just happen? It’s been a couple of weeks. His next of kin notification was to his racing team manager. He was going downhill emotionally and the manager finally called us.”
A familiar voice spoke up in the background. One Trent thought he would never hear again. “Mon ami, it will be fine. Like I spoke earlier of, I will send the best neurologist over and have your brother assessed before you depart.”
The hair on the back of Trent’s neck spiked up, and his hands trembled.
Lindsay murmured, “Shit.”
He sprung out of the bed. “What the hell is Tristan doing there? Linds, have you lost your damn mind?” Trent paced the floor, his arm flinging dramatically in the air. “I thought maybe when Greg mentioned you of all people were going to Nice, I was overreacting with the whole dumbass Delacroix thing. Apparently not.”
“Trent, calm down. It’s not like what you are thinking.”
“I knew only bad crap could come from you going there. I told Greg that.”
“You’re not going to listen, are you?”
“Listen to what? My baby sister’s downward spiral into loopy land again? No thank you. You know the old saying, ‘Bite me once, shame on you. Bite me twice, shame on me.’ Geez, Lindsay, kick that piece of crap out the door.”
Lindsay’s voice was quiet and calm. “Are you done?”
Trent wasn’t even close, but he was spent at the moment. He sat back down on the bed. “For now.”
“Good. He heard I was here and showed up to lend a helping hand. Nothing more. He knows how I feel. When Jason has clearance to leave, Tristan has offered his private jet along with hiring a private nurse for the journey.”
“Tell him—”
“No, Trent. If he hadn’t offered those two things, we would be here another week or two for complete clearance of his health to board a commercial jet. At least on Tristan’s there is a bed.”
“One I’m sure you are all too familiar with.”
“Wow. That was a great one.” She sniffled.
“Damn, Linds . . .”
“Don’t bother. While I’m here dealing with all of this on my own, you are there not having to uphold yourself to any family obligations as usual. Goodbye.”
“Linds, wait.” But the line was already dead.
She was right. Trent loved his family but kept them and any obligation he might be called up for at a safe distance. After their parents’ deaths, he was afraid to become tight knit with his brothers and sister. He didn’t want to feel the pain of loss again. He didn’t want to feel anything.
And yet, here he was with a ray of emotions – anger, fright, bursting love for his sister, and overwhelming protecting instincts. He very much wanted to go to Nice and rip Tristan Delacroix’s head clear off his shoulders. That pig had hurt Lindsay to the point of a thirty-day mental evaluation after swallowing a bottle full of pills.
There had to be something Trent could do so Lindsay wouldn’t have to rely on that punk. He would just have to hire his own private jet and an air flight nurse to go rescue his siblings.
By early evening, Ciarra and Rick had no luck in locating Kiyana and Eduardo Montreuil. Simple DMV and court record searches produced an address on the outskirts of Howard Parish out in the country, but the place lay empty. The landlord told her they hadn’t lived there for over a couple months now. No forwarding address was left. He did volunteer that the mother wasn’t looking too good the last time he’d seen her. He’d been a little worried and figured maybe she ended up in the hospital or something.
Ciarra had phoned the hospital to check if Mrs. Montreuil w
as a patient. That turned into a dead end. Ciarra and Rick were planning on working their way over to Acadia Memorial when Jackson’s number appeared on her chirping phone. “Pacelli.”
“I think you may be onto something, Ciarra. I don’t know what or how, but you are right. There is definitely a connection.”
Ciarra stopped just outside of Rick’s car. “What did you find out? Did you talk to Leon Borque?”
“Didn’t get a chance. He died a couple of days ago. His body was discovered this morning.”
Her gut was tingling. “Has the coroner said anything?”
“He believes natural death, but won’t confirm it yet.”
“We can’t find the Montreuils yet.”
“Mind telling me what your thoughts are?”
She looked down at her watch her grandmother had given her just before she had passed away. It read six thirty. “Meet me over at Acadia Memorial. I will explain then.”
Rick shook his head and opened the car door. “I still don’t see how you get Voodoo out of all this.”
Ciarra climbed into the passenger side, not surprised by Rick’s comment. She punched in the Captain’s cell number. She was positive her boss would now allow her and Rick to stand guard at the hospital. “You will.”
Ciarra and Rick pulled into the parking lot adjacent to Acadia Memorial’s emergency room entrance. Fred Jurgins and Jackson Trudeau climbed out of their truck as the car pulled up. Ciarra was a bit hesitant to explain her thoughts on the Voodoo curses causing the deaths of the judge and the taxi driver. But these two were willing to lend a helping hand, and she trusted Jackson with her life. Not to mention she trusted her own instincts. And those were flashing big warning flags. She was on to something.
They climbed out of Ciarra’s car. Ciarra approached the two deputy sheriffs while Rick lit a cigarette. “You will think I have gone crazy, but here it goes. The finger bones are the key.”
Deadly Curses Page 5