by A. C. Mason
“I’m sorry to wake you, but I’m trying to find Joanna.”
“What? She didn’t come back home last night?”
“I gather she’s not with you. She never answered her phone, but her car is parked behind Faith Chapel.”
“Hell, I couldn’t get her to answer either. Guess I must have fallen asleep.”
Nice someone got a little sleep. He certainly didn’t seem too worried about her. Not answering her phone all night and not returning home were two big reasons to worry.
“Where are you?” He sounded wide awake then.
“At Magdalen House. I’m going to recheck the building just to make sure she’s not here. Maybe she’s up front in her office.”
“Yeah, that’s probably where she is.” His tone of voice hinted at skepticism. “Call me back after you check.”
“I’ll do that. If I haven’t located her after my search, I’m calling the police to report her missing.”
“That’s probably not necessary. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation about where she is.”
“I can’t think of one. Listen, I’m wasting time talking. I need to find her. The only explanation is this... something bad has happened.”
Three
Jamie pulled into the curved driveway in front of the house she shared with her sister and hurriedly got out of her car. Her heart raced. Joanna was not in her office. Where could she be? Maybe Bertha was right. She had car trouble and finally found someone to give her ride home.
She realized how irrational her reasoning sounded. She would have called either Adrien or me. Something is definitely wrong.
Still, she clung to the faint hope her sister had made it home. She unlocked the door and rushed inside. “Joanna, are you here?” No answer. “Joanna?” Panic filled her. In her heart, she knew now, more than ever, something bad had happened to her sister.
People who met her and Joanna always asked if they were twins. They weren’t, but only fifteen months separated their births. The two of them reacted to each other’s thoughts and feelings like a lot of twins reportedly did.
The sound of a vehicle approaching the house drew her attention. Please be her. She ran back and peered out the door. It wasn’t. An unfamiliar car with a male driver came into view.
The driver parked behind her car and got out. She stood in the doorway and waited for him. A foreboding crept over her. She had the distinct feeling this man was a cop.
“Ms. Chatelaine?”
“Yes, I’m Jamie Chatelaine.”
“I’m Detective Bourque from the Oak Pointe City Police. May I come inside?”
Her breath stuck in her throat. She couldn’t speak, so she simply motioned him into the house and directed him to the living room.
“There’s no easy way to tell you except to come right out with it,” he said. “You might want to sit down.”
Edging toward the sofa, she closed her eyes briefly, but remained standing. “This is about Joanna, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid so.”
“What happened to her?”
“The body of a woman was discovered this morning in the woods near one of Oak Park’s jogging paths. We found a cell phone with your number coming up four times. Three other missed calls from someone named Adrien.”
“Oh my God.” Her voice shook as she sank onto the sofa. This couldn’t be happening. “I’ve been trying to contact her since midnight.”
“Are you familiar with Adrien?”
“He is her fiancé.”
“I know this is difficult, but I have to ask you a few more questions.” He moved closer to her.
“Of course. Please have a seat.”
Bourque sat on the edge of the sofa and faced her. “When did you last see your sister?”
“Last night about nine…she received a phone call from someone and left the house shortly after. She told me this woman needed her help.”
He frowned. “What sort of help?”
Jamie rubbed her forehead. Tears welled in her eyes. “Joanna…is a licensed social worker.” She couldn’t bear to use past tense. “I do some counseling occasionally, but for the most part my work is administrative.
“Some of the women we try to help at Magdalen House are addicted to drugs or alcohol. They reach out to us sometimes. I suppose we’re like AA sponsors in many ways. We try to talk them out of having that drink or shooting up with their drug of choice…or getting into a car with men who might do them harm.”
“So she didn’t give you the name of the woman she planned to meet.” Detective Bourque’s voice hinted at disbelief.
“I know that’s hard to believe, but we treat any private meeting with the people we help as confidential. We’re well aware of how dangerous it is to go out alone at night.”
“Do you know anyone who would have a grudge against Joanna? Someone who might want to harm her?”
“No, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her.” Her thoughts abruptly strayed back to her youth. “Growing up around here, we hardly ever locked our doors. The area has grown so much in the last few years. With the growth comes crime.” She gazed at the detective. “I’m sorry. I’m just rambling.”
“No need to apologize,” he said. “Tell me more about your operation in Old Town. Are there rooms where women can stay the night if necessary?”
His tone sounded suspiciously like he had asked if she provided a place for the women to entertain johns. Or was she being overly guarded? He’s a cop. He had to ask questions.
“We started our Women’s Outreach Program—Magdalen House—without any fanfare—only word of mouth. Meals are provided for single mothers, also groceries for any children at home or wherever they’re living. Other women who need food and can’t afford to buy groceries are taken care of. Tri-Parish Food Bank supplies our groceries.
“There’s a lot of donated clothing, which we supply to the women,” she continued. “As far as shelter for the night, it’s on a case by case basis and they can’t have male guests.”
“Is there a front for the shelter to conceal the true purpose of your organization?”
“You could say so,” she said with hesitation.
He leaned forward slightly, his expression telling her he was waiting for an answer and determined to get one. “I will need to visit your shelter as part of my investigation into your sister’s death.”
“What about the murders of the two other women? Are the Oak Point police actively investigating their deaths also, or just my sister’s because she’s not a prostitute? Regardless of Rita’s and Chanara’s current situation, they were someone’s daughters, someone’s sisters.”
Bourque studied her with his penetrating blue eyes. “I couldn’t agree more with your feelings about the other women. Now that we know your shelter is here in town, we may be able to gather more information to help us solve all three. You’ve kept your place undercover pretty well…for good reason, I’m sure. But apparently an unauthorized person or persons knows the true purpose of the house.”
“The entire front of the house is occupied by Faith Chapel on Fourth Street. Joanna and I have our offices in the vestibule. If a woman comes in for help, she is taken through the chapel to the dining hall or clothing area.
“Our operation isn’t undercover so much as it is discreet,” she added. “Most people in Old Town know about Magdalen House. Other parts of town not so much. If the media gets hold of the true purpose…” She held his gaze for a long moment.
Bourque seemed impressed. “You have a pretty elaborate setup there. I understand where you’re coming from about the media. I assure you my detectives and I will be as discreet as possible to ensure your safety and that of the women who use your facilities.”
“Can I see Joanna?” She didn’t intend to take no for an answer.
“Her body’s been taken to the morgue. You can go down there and positively identify the body. Otherwise the body will be released to you as soon as the autopsy is co
mpleted.”
She cringed each time he used the word body. It sounded so impersonal. But then, to him this was impersonal. Joanna wasn’t his sister. He was all business…police business.
The front door opened suddenly and distracted her from the detective’s hypnotic eyes. Thank God. Michael and Adrien are here.
Four
Caleb stood, resting his hand on the butt of his gun. Jamie rushed over to the two men who came inside. Apparently she knew them. One of them hugged her.
“Joanna’s been found. She’s d…” The rest of her sentence faded, muffled in his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
The second man stared at Caleb with an expression of disbelief. “Where is she? Is she hurt?”
“I’m sorry, but she’s deceased. I’m Detective Bourque with the Oak Pointe City Police. And you are?”
“What happened?” he demanded.
Caleb surveyed the man with a critical eye. Everything about him implied money. He wore an expensive-looking suit with a black silk tie. Those didn’t come off the rack at Raymond’s, a department store in town. The brown leather loafers he wore were no doubt Italian-made. Even the five o’clock shadow on his face that women considered sexy was meant to impress. He had a bad feeling about this guy. “Are you a relative?”
“Joanna and I are engaged. I’m Adrien Blanchard,” he said with an air of entitlement.
No wonder Caleb thought the man looked like high society. The Blanchards of Oak Pointe were old money. Robert Blanchard, Adrien’s father, had made his fortune in the offshore oil business and numerous other enterprises, including a multi-state chain of drug stores.
“Where was she found?” Blanchard spoke as if he were used to ordering people around and expected an answer yesterday.
Jamie stepped forward and stood beside him. “She was discovered near a jogging path in Oak Park.”
“Jogging path? What in hell was she doing out there?” His voice mirrored the anger of his expression.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Caleb said. “Ms. Chatelaine told me her sister received a phone call last night from someone who needed help. Do you have any idea who she went to see?”
He shook his head. “She wouldn’t say who or where she would be. If it were for counseling, the person’s name was confidential.”
Caleb raised his eyebrows. “She wouldn’t even tell her fiancé?”
The other man sidled up beside Jamie and put his arm over her shoulder. Her expression seemed a cross between surprise and discomfort at his action. Or did he imagine her reaction for personal reasons? He found her extremely attractive.
“We’ve both cautioned her and Joanna for not leaving any information at all about where they were going,” the man said. “A number of the women they deal with have abusive husbands or boyfriends. I finally talked Jamie into telling me who she was meeting and where she would be.”
Caleb felt an odd sensation—like jealousy, which was crazy. He hardly knew the woman.
The man stepped forward and offered his hand to Caleb. He introduced himself as Michael Phillips.
He was slightly shorter than Blanchard, who appeared to be at least six feet tall. He dressed more casually than the other man, wearing a pair of grey pants with a sports coat, and a white dress shirt with no tie. Neither man wore a jacket or overcoat.
Caleb moved his gaze over the trio. “I have to ask each of you about your whereabouts last night.”
Blanchard looked highly insulted. “You can’t possibly believe I, or any of us, had anything to do with her death.”
“Don’t take it personally,” Caleb said. “Right now, until each of you can be eliminated, everyone is a suspect.”
“Oh, so we’re all guilty until proven innocent?” He fisted his hands at his sides and took a step toward Caleb.
Jamie placed her hand on his arm. “Please, Adrien, don’t cause any trouble.”
He forced his arm away from her.
“Take it easy.” Phillips grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him back. “In this type of situation, the police always start investigating the people closest to the victim. Isn’t that right?”
Caleb narrowed his eyes. “About eight out of ten murders of women are committed by their spouse or boyfriend.”
“Well, I’m one of those two who didn’t,” Blanchard said.
“Then tell me where you were last night.”
“At home alone,” he said. “… still trying to get in touch with Joanna.”
Caleb met Blanchard’s gaze. “Can you be more specific?”
He frowned. “Like how?”
“If you were at work during the day, what time did you arrive home? Did you leave at any time?”
“After work, I was here visiting with Joanna from seven until she received that phone call…about nine. Then I left and went home.” He blew out a deep breath, clearly agitated. “And no, I didn’t leave at any time afterwards.”
Caleb didn’t believe him, but he’d deal with verification later. He turned to Jamie.
Her eyes watered. “About one this morning, Michael and I drove around trying to locate Joanna. As you know, we had no luck so we came back home. I left here about six and drove to Magdalen House to see if she had gone back over there after her meeting. I had hoped she spent the night in one of the rooms. Oh…” She covered her mouth with her hand for a short moment.
His interest heightened. “Did you remember something else?”
“Her car was parked in the lot behind Faith Chapel.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. “Give me the make and model of the car and we’ll have it towed to police garage so we can go though it for evidence.”
“The car is a 2010 silver Toyota. I have the license number somewhere.”
“Don’t worry about that. We’ll find it.” Caleb jotted the info down in his notebook, then phoned in the request for a tow truck to meet him at the location so he could check the vehicle out where it was left. He returned his attention to Phillips.
“What about you?” he asked, assessing the man. “Tell me your whereabouts last night.”
“I didn’t leave my office until eight. After that I went home to get cleaned up and have a bite to eat. Then I was here with Jamie from about ten-fifteen or ten-thirty until one when we left to go searching. About four o’clock this morning, I went back to my house to get ready for work.”
Caleb couldn’t detect any deception with his statement. “You were alone at home?”
Phillips shrugged. “My uncle was there, but he was asleep when I arrived.”
“His uncle acts as a chaplain for our program,” Jamie explained. “Father Gregory Phillips. He and several Protestant pastors alternate performing Sunday services at the chapel.”
Caleb wrote down the names and addresses of the men, including the priest. He handed his business card to each of the men and to Jamie. His hand lingered on hers longer than he intended. He quickly let his hand drop to his side.
Nodding to the group, he said, “If any of you think of something that might be important, give me a call. I’ll get back in touch with y’all if I have further questions.”
Jamie’s face took on a horrified look as if a terrible thought had suddenly occurred to her. “Joanna is another victim of that serial killer…the one who killed the two women that frequented our mission, isn’t she?”
“Right now it’s too early in the investigation to tell.”
“I’ll bet you do know,” Blanchard said with an indignant tone of voice. “You’re just not saying because you don’t want the department to look bad. Joanna was another victim of the Mistletoe Man. Why hasn’t he been apprehended? The police ought to be out looking for him instead of interrogating the people who loved her.”
Caleb kept his voice as neutral as possible, despite the urge to punch Blanchard in the mouth. “When we have evidence leading to his identity, he will be arrested and charged.” He started for the door, thinking all the way, Some
times there’s a real thin line between love and hate.
Five
Back at the office, Caleb sat at his desk and mentally went back over the scant information he’d gotten from his meeting at Jamie Chatelaine’s house. He needed to find out more about the two men. Without verifiable alibis, he couldn’t eliminate either from his suspect list.
Delving into Jamie’s background wouldn’t hurt. Sadly he couldn’t eliminate her either. People have been known to murder a relative for the most inane reasons. Come to think of it, there was no logical or sane reason for murder. He’d seen too much of this insanity in the last five years, most of it in Iraq. Shaking off his thoughts of war, he went back to reviewing the case.
A brief inspection of Joanna Chatelaine’s car had told him the vehicle was moved to that spot. The driver’s seat had been pushed back to accommodate a person who was much taller than the victim. Hopefully there would be fingerprints, trace evidence or DNA inside.
He glanced up when Marino strode into the office. “So what’d you find out at the truck stop?”
Marino waved a plastic baggie containing the cell phone. “Only call made on the phone was to our victim’s cell. I sure wish ol’ Rob wouldn’t have handled the phone. It’s not likely we’ll get any prints from it. I took his prints so we could eliminate them.”
“We couldn’t be lucky enough to get prints. I’ll bet the killer wore gloves.” He creased his forehead. “You didn’t happen to discover any gloves in the trash, did you?”
Marino shook his head. “I checked out the area immediately surrounding the welcome center to see if I could locate any other evidence, but didn’t find anything.”
“The phone’s probably a burner anyway.”
“No doubt.”
“Phil’s must have surveillance cameras. Could there be video?” Caleb hoped for a break.
Marino’s expression soured. “The camera in the area of the trash can where he disposed of the phone mysteriously got sprayed with black paint. Convenient, ain’t it?”