by Jana DeLeon
“Nothing to speak of, but I’m just getting started,” Shaye said. “I toured the apartment across the street and have the information for the listing agent, but since I was here, I thought I’d take a look at the apartment from your vantage point…just to make sure there’s nothing I’ve overlooked.”
“Oh, of course.” Madison walked through the living room to the glass wall directly in front of her recliner. “I was standing here,” she said, and pointed to the area next to the end table.
Shaye stepped into the area she’d indicated and looked down at the apartment across the street. With the sun shining bright overhead, the mirrored glass didn’t allow them to see inside, but Shaye would be able to tell from the angle that Madison was correct about the visibility from her unit.
“Were the lights on before the man arrived?” Shaye asked.
“No. I would have noticed. He turned them on when he got there.”
Shaye nodded and looked around the apartment. “You have a beautiful place. I can see why you chose it.”
“Thank you. I really love it, or at least, I used to. Nothing feels the same now.”
“Don’t give up on it. You picked this place for a reason and that reason hasn’t changed.”
Madison nodded. “I’m surprised you didn’t go for something like this. I mean, I’ve seen your mother’s house in one of those home and garden magazines and it’s gorgeous. And this building is so secure.”
“I looked at a couple of units similar to this but not nearly as elegant, but the view that you love is exactly the reason I didn’t pick one of them. I’ve lived my entire life under a microscope and I didn’t want to be on display. It works for you because you’re comfortable in the dark, but that’s something I haven’t mastered yet.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry. I hadn’t even thought about the light.”
“Please don’t apologize. You couldn’t have known, and I have no trouble telling people my limitations. A few years ago, I might have felt differently, but after everything that’s happened, I’ve found a lot of freedom in not caring what other people think.”
“That sounds like something I need to do.”
“It takes some time to retrain your thoughts, but it’s worth it.” Shaye looked back at the apartment building across the street. “I’d like to come back sometime, if that’s okay, and see it after dark.”
“Of course.”
“Do you have any plans for tonight?”
Madison almost laughed. “No. I’m not much of a party girl.”
Shaye smiled. “Even a hermit needs an occasional breath of air. And I think you’re safe out there as long as you’re smart about it. Stay in well-lit areas with lots of people around. Basically, everything smart women already do, just take it up a notch. This time of year, it’s easy enough to stay in a crowd all day and a good part of the night.”
“I guess that’s the upside of no friends, family, or physical contact with coworkers. My Christmas list is really short.”
“Mine too, which is good given how much I hate shopping. If I get done with the other things I need to do, I might stop by tonight. Is nine too late?”
Madison shook her head. “I’ll still be up. I’m not much of a sleeper lately.”
Shaye squeezed her arm. “It will get a lot easier once you have answers.”
“And if you can’t find any?”
“It will still get easier. It just takes longer. I’ll text you either way about tonight.”
Madison nodded and walked Shaye out. She locked the door and pulled the dead bolt after Shaye left and leaned against the door, looking across her living room and out at the city. It had already been four days since her life had been turned upside down. Since then, it hadn’t gotten easier. In fact, it felt as if everything had gotten more difficult.
But if anyone knew how to handle the unknown, it was Shaye Archer.
Madison just prayed she could summon the amount of strength Shaye had.
Jackson returned to his desk following a briefing on a new case and saw Detective Maxwell headed for the break room. He grabbed the coffee mug from his desk and followed the detective down the hallway, hoping for a chance to speak to him privately. He’d maintained a calm demeanor the night before when Shaye had described her latest case, but the truth was it had him kind of spooked.
Shaye had already gone through seven different levels of hell, and much of it in just the last several months. The last thing he wanted was for some killer who couldn’t even be identified to find out she was investigating and fixate on her. If there was any chance of turning it into a police investigation, then Shaye could back off the case.
You can’t protect her from everything.
He shook his head. Those words had been recycling through his thoughts since last night. Not that he hadn’t thought them before now, but it had been a while since they’d been cropping up every hour or so. Still, Shaye had chosen her path, and even if she’d taken up cake decorating instead of returning to investigating, she would still have some level of risk simply because of who she was and the money she had access to.
But none of that logic was about to stop him from mounting his white horse and riding into the break room.
Maxwell was pouring a cup of coffee when Jackson walked in. Fortunately, the room was otherwise empty. “You got a minute?” Jackson asked.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“It’s about a case Shaye took on.”
“Oh, man, I can’t give you information for her. If the brass finds out, I’d be demoted or worse. I like Shaye but I got a kid on the way and another that needs speech therapy.”
“I would never ask you to do anything that would risk your job. Shaye might contact you, but the information is for me and strictly off the record.”
Maxwell frowned. “You trying to get the jump on one of her cases?”
“Actually, I’m hoping she’ll drop it altogether, but if you ever tell her I said that, I’ll deny it like crazy.”
Maxwell’s expression cleared. “I see. You’re afraid she’s about to walk into it, and you’re hoping I tell you exactly what she might be walking into.”
“Yeah.”
Maxwell shook his head. “Dude, you got it bad. Not that I blame you. She’s a looker and a class act. The way she’s handled everything that happened to her…you know it wouldn’t have gone down that way with most people.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m trying to prevent a sequel.”
“I hear you. So what case is she getting in the middle of?”
“That’s just it. It’s not a case here. You took a call the other night where a woman said she witnessed a murder in an apartment across the street but it was clean by the time you got there.”
“Oh man, that was a weird one. Yeah, the woman said she saw the murder and described everything about it except what the perp or the victim looked like. She has some disorder that she can’t see faces or something. I’ve never heard of it but I looked it up. Apparently, it’s real and seriously fucked up. I can’t imagine living like that.”
“But you had the apartment processed?”
Maxwell nodded. “Came up clean. The place had been updated to sell so all the flooring was new. Trust me, there was no blood. No sign of forced entry. Plenty of hair fibers, but the apartment’s for sale. Between contractors, Realtors, and potential buyers, probably twenty people or more a day pass through there.”
“No security cameras? Guards?”
“Nada. I knocked on doors but most everyone was in for the night. No one saw or heard anything.”
“Is the unit below that apartment occupied?”
“It was leased, but the tenants moved out the week before.”
“So no one would have heard walking.” Jackson shook his head. “What was your take on Madison, the witness? You think she imagined it? Had a nightmare, maybe?”
Maxwell shook his head. “I believed her.”
Jackson blew out a breath. It wasn’t w
hat he wanted to hear. He’d hoped Shaye’s compassion for Madison had caused her to miss something in the woman’s story or demeanor, but if Maxwell had bought it as well, then it was likely that Madison Avery had witnessed a murder.
“Shit,” Jackson said.
“Sorry, man. I know you were probably hoping I’d say it was all the ravings of a lunatic, but the reality is, I think she really saw something. Maybe it wasn’t as serious as she thought. Maybe when the perp realized he’d been seen, he stopped the attack and got the woman out of there. Or maybe it wasn’t an attack at all but some kinky sex thing and they didn’t want to get arrested for trespassing.”
“You checked missing persons?”
“As much as I could. All I had was a description of the clothes and the hair but those didn’t fit anyone in the database. Look, the truth is, I wanted to spend some more time on it…poke around for another day or two and see if I could come up with anything, but the brass nixed it. Said I had real crimes with real clues. Bunch of asshats.”
Jackson nodded. He couldn’t have said it any better.
“I’ve got to head out, but if Shaye comes up with anything I can run with, tell her to let me know. The thought of someone like that walking around doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Me either. Thanks.”
Maxwell headed out and Jackson poured himself a cup of coffee. He was about to head back to his desk when his cell phone signaled a text.
Meet me in the parking lot.
His curiosity was piqued when he saw the text was from Detective Elliot.
Elliot was one of the detectives working on the Clancy files. John Clancy had been the catalyst that had set off all of the departmental drama earlier that year. He was a human trafficker who had been at work in New Orleans for years, and Shaye had been one of his “products.” Elliot had been tasked with attempting to identify those sold and the customers. People who’d lost loved ones to Clancy needed to know what had happened. Needed closure. That’s what they were hoping to provide.
In addition to Clancy’s files, Elliot was also reviewing journals kept by Emile Samba, the man who’d purchased Shaye from Clancy and held her captive for seven years to use in satanic rituals. Detectives speculated that because Emile had lived in more than one city, he was likely responsible for more than one murder. They were hoping his journals would reveal other sordid crimes from Emile’s past that they could put a solved stamp on and give other victims’ families some answers.
And there was one more issue Jackson and Shaye thought Elliot would find answers for.
When everything went down with exposing Emile, and Bernard’s and Pierce’s suicides, Shaye and Corrine fled New Orleans in order to recover without the prying press looking in their windows. When she returned, Shaye was in a better mental place than Jackson expected, given everything that had happened, but her memory was still returning in pieces, each piece exposing another horror that she had to process.
The last big reveal had been a doozy.
From reading the police reports and her medical file, Jackson knew that Shaye had been pregnant while she was held captive, and her physiology showed all the signs of having given birth. But given her age and the circumstances of the pregnancy, no one expected that the child had survived. But Shaye was convinced otherwise.
She’d finally remembered the labor, the birth. And she’d remembered her baby crying.
Jackson had been so overwhelmed with anger, grief, and sympathy that he hadn’t even known which to address first. Sympathy had won out, and he’d assured Shaye he would assist her in whatever route she wanted to take. Anger had settled in as soon as he was alone, and he’d punched a hole in his bedroom wall before breaking down into tears over a life that no child should ever have to endure.
Shaye had been adamant about not sharing that information with anyone—not even Eleonore and Corrine—so Elliot wasn’t in the know, but because of Jackson’s relationship with Shaye, the kind detective was feeding him information as he came across something new. And because Jackson wasn’t cleared to work on the Clancy files or Emile’s journals, and never would be as long as the brass had issues with Shaye, Elliot usually gave him information after hours and away from the department. The fact that he wanted to speak to Jackson on the clock was both intriguing and troubling.
Something was definitely up.
6
Shaye left Madison’s building and headed back across the street. She wanted to check all access points to the other building and locate a manager who might be able to provide her more information about the structure and those who had regular access to it. But before she started down that avenue of thought, there was an appointment that she needed to make. She pulled out the business card Monique had given her for the listing agent and dialed.
“Hi, my name is Shaye Archer,” she said when he answered. “I’d like to make an appointment to discuss real estate in the French Quarter.”
“Of course. Yes, Ms. Archer. I’m available this afternoon at one thirty, if that works for you. If not, I can rearrange—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Shaye said. “One thirty is perfect. Should I meet you at your office?”
“My office is fine or if it’s more convenient, I’m happy to meet you somewhere…one of my properties, perhaps?”
“Your office is better. I’ll see you then.”
She slipped her cell phone into her pocket and sighed. That conversation was not going to be fun. Clearly, Trenton Cooper had known immediately who she was and by default, also knew how deep her pockets were. He’d be trying to sell her everything from a castle to his own socks if he thought he could make it happen.
The front entry to the building was propped open and two men were hauling in a large crate that, given its size, was probably a refrigerator. She waited as the two men negotiated the entry, then stepped into the lobby area and looked around. The building, while nice, was not nearly as elegant as Madison’s, nor did it have the amenities, such as a security guard. The elevators were to the left and a hallway branched off to the right, so she headed that direction, hoping to find an office with a human being manning it.
At the end of the hall was a door with the word “Management” stamped on the outside. She knocked and heard a man’s voice inside yelling for her to enter. She opened the door and scanned the cramped, stuffed office, but didn’t see anyone.
“Hello?” she said as she took a step around a stack of boxes and sidled by three old televisions. The room couldn’t have been bigger than fifteen feet square but looked like one of those hoarders shows. She spotted three huge office desks in the room but only one chair, and every square foot of the surface space and most of the floor was stacked with boxes, appliances, or decor. There was a narrow path to one desk that continued on toward a door in the back of the room, so Shaye took another step down the path to the desk and called out again.
There was a loud thump and then some grumbling and finally, a young man popped up from the floor behind the desk, rubbing his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been looking for a screw I dropped and had just zeroed in on it. I didn’t want to come up without it.”
He put a small screw on a stack of paper on the desk and looked over at Shaye. “How can I help you?”
“Are you the building manager?”
“Hardly. Catching him in this place is like spotting a unicorn. The owners have a contract with one of those big commercial management firms. Dude’s got like ten buildings in New Orleans that he has to keep up with.”
“So you are…”
“Oh, sorry. I’m the maintenance guy. I mean, I only do simple stuff. I don’t have the licenses to do electrical or elevators. We have companies we use for the hard stuff. I’m mostly fixing drywall, replacing lightbulbs, a new light switch, touch-up paint, that sort of thing.”
He didn’t look at Shaye while he was talking, choosing instead to focus on one of the many piles of boxes on the floor. It was clear that he was uncomfortabl
e, but that could be his norm. Plenty of people suffered from social anxiety.
“My name is Shaye,” she said, and stuck out her hand.
He glanced up at her, then rubbed his hand on his pants before giving hers a shake. “Jason Parks. I’m sorry for all my rambling. Is there something I can help you with? Are you new to the building?”
“I’m not a resident, but I’m looking into an apartment for a friend. Would you mind answering some questions?”
“Sure. I mean, if I know the answers.”
“Thanks.” She smiled and he blushed, then looked at the floor again. Aha. Jason Parks was shy, especially if a girl was nice to him.
He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and looked up at her, keeping his head lowered. “What do you want to know?”
“Does the building have security cameras?” She hadn’t seen any indication of a security system, but it didn’t hurt to verify.
“No, ma’am. A lot of the residents keep asking, but the manager says it’s not in the budget.”
“Is there a card or password to operate the elevator?”
Jason shook his head.
“So anyone can walk into the lobby and take an elevator up to an apartment?”
“Yes. There was some talk about getting one of those card-key things for the elevators, but then no one could make deliveries unless we had someone working the lobby to let them up so they never did anything about it. But all the units have individually keyed locks and dead bolts on the inside.”
“How often do you change the locks?”
“We rekey them as soon as someone moves out, then rekey them again when someone new moves in. I thought it was a waste of money, but the manager told me the lawyers said we had to, so I call the locksmith out for move-ins and move-outs. Not my money, I guess.”
“What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I assume you have access to all the units, right? I mean, in case there’s a leak or something and no one is home.”
“Oh, sure. We have keys to all the apartments.”
“Where do you keep them?”