Unseen

by Jana DeLeon

  “Mitzi? Is that what this is about? What in the world is a classy broad like you doing trying to run down some whore? Your man hire her services? Maybe that’s why she cleared out.”

  “So she’s gone? Since when?”

  “This ain’t kindergarten. I don’t take roll call. She pays every two weeks and I never got the last payment. I been watching, but she ain’t been back far as I can tell.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Ain’t nothing gone from her place. Not that there’s much to collect, but all her clothes are still hanging in the closet. Same dirty laundry in the basket on the bed. Ain’t none of it moved since the first time I went to check it out.”

  “Is everything still in the unit?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I was gonna clear it out as soon as I found someone to take the place, except for the furniture. It ain’t that great but if somebody ain’t got nothing, it’s better than sitting on the floor.”

  “You know there are laws concerning how you have to treat abandoned property, right?”

  He snorted. “I guess she’ll just have to sue me.”

  “I have a better idea. How about I pay up her rent and you let me take a look in her apartment.”

  “You got a warrant?”

  “I’m not a cop.”

  “So what’s your beef? That furniture ain’t worth fifty bucks.”

  “My beef is that the woman is missing, and I’m interested in finding her. Why is none of your business.”

  He scowled a bit, but the offer of easy cash was too much for him to ignore. “Hey, you want to pay two hundred bucks to look at some furniture that belongs in the dump then I ain’t got no problem with it.”

  Shaye pulled the cash out of her purse and handed it to him. He counted it out, then reached into the desk next to him and handed her a key.

  “Unit 12,” he said. “Across the courtyard on the bottom floor.”

  “Thanks.” She took the key and left the office, unable to look at his smug face any longer. He had no right to sell or give away Mitzi’s things. Not without going through the proper court procedure, and it killed her to hand over money to the perv, but it was the quickest way to get what she needed. If she left without accessing the unit, she had no doubt he’d clean it out and then anything that might help her case would be long gone.

  She walked around the courtyard until she found the apartment and opened the door. The manager had been right about the furnishings. They were few and hanging on by a thread. A stained brown couch that sagged in the middle sat against the far wall, a packing crate next to it serving as an end table. A folding table and two metal chairs stood in the nook area of the kitchen. A coffeepot stood on the counter along with a dish towel. Two unwashed dishes were in the sink.

  A hallway off the kitchen led to a tiny bathroom and a small bedroom, and that was the sum total of it. She started with the bedroom closet, but the few clothes hanging there didn’t yield anything of value and the one shoe box on the shelf contained a pair of spiked-heel shoes and nothing else. She made a note that the shoes didn’t appear to have been worn, then turned around to check the rest of the bedroom. It was a short search. The nightstand didn’t have any drawers, and a glass with a small amount of brown liquid was the only thing on it. She took a whiff. Whiskey.

  There was nothing under the bed or in between the mattresses, but then if Mitzi was hiding anything, she probably wouldn’t put it in the first place a burglar would look. She headed into the bathroom next. There was a small cabinet for the sink, but the only thing in it was hair products and a cosmetic bag that contained only cosmetics. The mirror was one of those medicine cabinet kind but didn’t hold anything out of the ordinary. When she closed the cabinet, it jiggled and she paused.

  She put both hands on the side of the cabinet and pulled it gently from the wall. It moved easily then held, probably secured at the top. She leaned over the sink and lifted the entire cabinet up, surprised at how light it was, then placed it on the floor. When she looked back up at the wall, she smiled.

  Bingo.

  Mitzi’s hiding place was behind the cabinet. An envelope had three hundred dollars in cash, and a plastic baggie held white powder. She placed both items on the counter and shook her head. Sometimes people got a line on a better deal. And if that had happened to Mitzi, Shaye could understand leaving the furniture and even the clothes, assuming the new gig was something other than hooking. But no way would she have left the cash or the drugs.

  Mitzi was officially missing.

  And she’d bet her PI license that Mitzi and Carla had met the same outcome.

  Jackson exited the car and looked over at his senior partner, Detective Grayson. Their working relationship had started off great, with Grayson actually requesting Jackson to work with him. But when the big fallout happened around Shaye, and Grayson realized that Jackson had initially suspected he was in on the cover-up, things had gotten tense for a while, even though Grayson had admitted from the beginning that he would have suspected himself as well. Over time and after many apologies, Grayson had gradually let it go and their relationship, while not as good as it was in the beginning, was settling back into something reasonably comfortable. More importantly, they were 100 percent focused on the job again, and that meant solving more cases.

  Grayson pointed to a path that led to Lake Pontchartrain. “It’s down this way.”

  “A floater? Why did we get the call?”

  “ME says it’s murder. Probably a body dump.”

  “Must be recent or he couldn’t have made that determination on site. Wouldn’t be enough left.”

  Grayson nodded. “Guess we’re about to see.”

  The path wasn’t an official Recreation and Parks installation, so it wasn’t paved or even groomed. More likely, locals used it to access a favorite fishing spot. The end of the trail opened onto a small cleared area with an embankment sitting about six inches above the water. A man with a ball cap sat on a stump. The fishing rod and tackle box next to him and the paleness of his face let Jackson know he’d been right on at least one count.

  Grayson glanced over at the man, then looked back at Jackson. “Let’s get the story from the ME so he can move the body, then we’ll talk to the fisherman.”

  “Definitely not the catch he expected.”

  They approached the ME and her assistant and nodded. The body had already been bagged and was ready for transport.

  “What do we have?” Grayson asked.

  “Female Caucasian,” the ME said. “In her twenties. Her throat was slit.”

  “That’s COD?” Grayson asked.

  “I can’t be positive until I do the autopsy. It’s possible the killer could have slit her throat and then tossed her and she drowned before bleeding out. Either way, it’s a homicide.”

  “Any idea on time of death?” Grayson asked.

  “I can’t be specific yet until I run some tests and account for the temperature of the water, but my initial estimate is three days or more,” the ME said. “However, I don’t think she was in the water that long. My guess is she was dumped sometime in the past twenty-four hours, but since I have no idea when she was removed, that might be hard to pin down.”

  “What do you mean?” Grayson asked. “The fisherman didn’t pull her out?”

  “No,” the ME said. “Sorry, I thought you knew. It looks like an animal dragged her out of the water, probably to feed. Could have been a gator or something else.”

  “How bad is the predation?” Jackson asked, his instincts kicking into overdrive. The slit throat and potential time of death had set off alarms.

  “Not horrible. Most of the fingers are still intact, so I can run prints. The damage was predominantly to the internal organs.”

  “I’d like to take a look,” Jackson said.

  “Of course,” the ME said, and motioned to her assistant to unzip the bag.

  Grayson narrowed his eyes at Jackson. “You got something in mind?”

  J
ackson nodded. “And I’m hoping I’m wrong.”

  The assistant pulled back the bag and Jackson leaned over for a closer look. The damage was fairly extensive and he blanched involuntarily. Her own mother wouldn’t have been able to identify her the way she was now, but the long platinum-blond hair snaking around her corpse was still there. The remnants of a silver top clung to her chest and around her neck.

  “Was she wearing shoes?” Jackson asked.

  “One,” the ME said, and motioned again.

  The assistant unzipped to the bottom of the bag and exposed the woman’s feet. A red high-heeled shoe held on to her ankle by one thin strap.

  “Thanks,” Jackson said. He motioned Grayson to the side.

  “What’s up, Lamotte?” Grayson asked. “Based on your expression, it’s nothing good.”

  “Let’s get the story from the fisherman first,” Jackson said. “He’s not going to have much to tell, and the poor guy probably needs a stiff drink or two. What I’ve got will take a while, and you might need a drink of your own when I’m done.”

  Grayson closed his eyes for a moment, then looked back at Jackson. “Please tell me that this does not involve Shaye Archer.”

  “I wish I could.”

  He watched her enter the building, practically running from the cab. It gave him a rush that he’d never experienced before. He’d always thought that the killing hit the peak of his emotions. He regretted killing his mother with drugs, and he wouldn’t take the easy way out again. But he was making up for it now. All that adrenaline and those few seconds of fear when the whore knew she was going to die. The feel of his knife, cutting through her throat like butter. He was never as hard as he was then, and the sexual release afterward was so intense it felt like shock waves through his entire body.

  But this…this slow teasing was the foreplay he’d been missing.

  And he’d been missing a lot.

  When he’d slid his finger across his throat and all the color had disappeared from Madison’s face, his cock had gotten so hard it had been painful. He’d fought the urge to enter the nearest restroom and give in to the overwhelming desire and forced himself to watch from a distance as she got into the car. Because of the holidays, traffic was clogged more than usual, and he’d managed to follow. He was some distance away when it stopped, but close enough that he’d seen which building she’d run into.

  Figuring he had some time until she exited, he ducked into the nearest convenience store bathroom. His swollen cock was the first thing he needed to attend to. He’d grabbed it and closed his eyes, picturing her terrified face, and in two jerks, his body exploded with release. He collapsed back against the wall and kept his eyes closed as the spasms rocked his body, his cock still twitching in his hand until it finally went limp.

  He opened his eyes and smiled.

  He’d thought Madison’s seeing him had been a really bad thing. Not just because she’d interrupted him during the best staged event he’d ever put together, but because of the threat of being exposed. Of being caught. But instead, it had given him a new life. A new thrilling avenue that the other way didn’t offer.

  Now he just had to determine the extent of his range.

  He opened his backpack and pulled out a pair of sweats, a T-shirt, and blue tennis shoes and swapped them out for the clothes she’d seen him wearing. Time to see if Madison Avery was really as face-blind as the news story claimed.

  12

  Shaye pulled up in front of the bar that the Gravediggers owned. It was on a corner in an area of the Ninth Ward that was known for its violent crime. Mostly due to the Gravediggers, if one believed the rumors. Actual arrests were in short supply, but that wasn’t surprising. In these types of areas, eyewitnesses didn’t exactly grow on trees.

  Even though it was only 11:00 a.m., a row of motorcycles was parked on the sidewalk in front of the building and loud music blasted from inside the bar. Since most of them probably had unconventional employment, Shaye didn’t think anything of the small crowd. Unfortunately, it meant she had more of them to contend with than she was hoping for. Still, she wasn’t a cop and didn’t pose a real threat, so maybe she could locate Rattler and call this line of inquiry closed.

  As she stepped inside, her eyes immediately watered from the thick smoke that filled the room. She blinked a couple of times and spotted the bar off to the right and headed that direction. Three men sat at one end, and she took a seat closest to the exit. The rest of the patrons were playing pool or sitting at tables. Everything but the overly loud music had ceased as soon as she’d walked in.

  “You lost, sweetheart?” the bartender asked.

  “I hope not. I’m looking for Rattler.”

  The bartender raised one eyebrow. “You don’t exactly look like the type of woman Rattler goes for.”

  “What kind is that?”

  “The kind with no standards,” one of the guys sitting at the bar said, and all of them laughed.

  “I’m not looking for a date,” Shaye said. “I just wanted to ask him some questions.”

  The bartender shook his head. “We’re not big on answering questions around here. You the cops?”

  “No. I’m a private investigator.”

  “Really? And what exactly would a private investigator want with Rattler?”

  “I’m trying to locate his girlfriend Carla.”

  The bartender looked over at the three men. “Any of you seen Rattler’s old lady lately?”

  The men all shook their heads.

  The bartender turned back to Shaye. “Rattler and Carla wasn’t really a solid thing, you know? She was gone more than she was around. What’s she done?”

  “Nothing that I’m aware of, except go missing. I was asked to look into it.”

  “By who?”

  “Friends,” she said, not about to give him the real story.

  “You mean other whores? How’d they scratch up enough money to hire you?”

  “How they’re paying isn’t important, but they are paying, so I’m trying to do my job. Can you tell me where to find Rattler?”

  “You found him,” a voice sounded behind her.

  She forced herself to remain calm and turned around to face the man behind her. He was about six feet two and thin with brown hair and tattoos up both arms. Shonda had been right that the only thing about him that stood out was the boa constrictor wrapped around his left arm. If he had on a long-sleeved shirt and no snake, people would pass Rattler on the sidewalk without a second glance. And Shaye was betting he knew that, which was exactly why he had the snake.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m a private investigator, and I’ve been retained to locate your girlfriend Carla.”

  “She ain’t my girlfriend.”

  “Okay, but you lived together, right?”

  “Not lately.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “What’s this about? She got some rich uncle that died or something? Because I might take her back if she’s got some money coming.”

  “No rich uncle that I’m aware of. Just some concerned friends. They haven’t seen her since last week.”

  “You want me to believe some whores hired a PI because Carla took a powder for a couple days? They ain’t got the money, one. And two, even if they did, the last thing they’d spend it on is running down Carla. The girl’s a flake. Here, there, she never stayed anywhere for long. What’s this really about?”

  “Exactly what I told you, whether you choose to believe it or not. I’m just asking some questions on behalf of some concerned citizens.”

  “Whatever. Look, I told you I don’t know where Carla is and don’t care besides. Girls like her are a dime a dozen…literally. If she done got herself into trouble then that’s no surprise, and it ain’t on me.”

  “What kind of trouble might she get into?”

  “What?”

  “You said if she’d gotten into trouble then it wasn’t on you. I presumed you had an idea what she might have gotten into.”

  He shrug
ged. “She was a hooker and an addict. Do you really need to know more than that?”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe three weeks ago.” He looked over at the bartender. “When was that night we had boiled crawfish? That’s the night Carla blew out of here pissed over something.”

  “It was about three weeks ago,” the bartender said. “We don’t keep no calendar in here.”

  “And no one saw her after that night?” Shaye asked.

  The bartender shook his head.

  “Look,” Rattler said. “She got pissed. She left. She does it a lot. Why a bunch of whores got their G-strings in a bunch over it, I don’t know. Probably she’ll come crawling back when she’s out of cash and can’t give a blow to get some blow. And if she doesn’t, so what? It’s not my problem. Now, you being in the bar is dragging things down, and that is my problem.”

  “I’m leaving,” Shaye said.

  “Good,” Rattler said. “I don’t want to see you around here again.”

  Shaye headed out of the bar, fighting the overwhelming urge to jog back to her car. She’d deliberately avoided giving her name, hoping that no one would recognize her. Kidnapping wasn’t something she worried about on a regular basis, but a certain element might see her as an easy payout, especially since they weren’t aware that she had a very anxious cop who knew her exact location and was waiting for her to check in.

  She jumped in her SUV and drove away, waiting until she was completely out of the Ninth Ward before pulling over to send Jackson a text.

  Am done with Rattler. Safely back in 7th Ward.

  She watched the screen until she saw Jackson had read the text, then pulled away. He might not have time to reply. A couple seconds later, a simple “Good!” came through. She’d looked up the address for the Franklin Motel before she’d left that morning, so she punched it into GPS and guided her SUV in that direction. As she drove, she mulled things over.

  Rattler was clearly dangerous based on his ties to the Gravediggers alone. And Shaye had no problem believing he’d tuned Carla up more than once. She didn’t even have a problem believing he could kill someone. But had he killed Carla?