The Mistletoe Murders

by A. C. Mason

  Jamie decided right then not to give up on Magdalen House. She would carry on for the memory of both her sisters. Time for a shower and to get dressed. People were depending on her. If, while she was in the process of continuing her mission to help abused and drug dependent women, she happened to discover the killer of her sister and the other women, that development would be a bonus.

  Were the police even motivated to solve their murders? They, along with most people in town, considered prostitutes low life. Of course, Detective Blue Eyes might work a little harder to find Joanna’s killer.

  She finished the last bite of toast, placed her coffee mug in the sink, and hurried upstairs to take a shower.

  Her resolve to continue the work at Magdalen House and the possibility of discovering Joanna’s killer made her pause. What would she do if she actually stumbled across information leading to the killer? Would she recognize evidence if she saw it? She had no experience in solving a crime.

  Even more frightening was the thought that she might come face to face with the person who murdered her sister. Who knew? The killer could be someone she dealt with on a daily basis. Her heart skipped a beat.

  Sixteen

  Alisha was intently studying her computer screen when Caleb walked through the division squad room on his way back to his office. He noted her frown.

  “Whatever you’re looking at must be real interesting or equally disturbing.”

  “Both,” she said, motioning him over. “I’ve been checking out sex offenders to see who’s in the area.”

  “And?”

  She leaned back in her chair. “Baby, there are dozens.”

  His turn to frown. “Here in Oak Pointe?”

  “Several are in the city, but others are in this parish and surrounding ones. Why are there so many in this area?”

  “After Katrina a large number of ex-cons convicted of every type of crime moved north. Some have returned to New Orleans; some decided to stay,” he said. “Keep in mind not every person designated as a sex offender is a rapist or guilty of possessing child porn. If you recall, there have been one or two cases of eighteen year old male high school students convicted of rape after having consensual sex with their sixteen year old girlfriends.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. Still, it seems like a large number.” Alisha shook her head. “Plus there are all these dead prostitutes. Is Oak Pointe the new Sin City?”

  “Come on now. Every time Oak Pointe grows in population, the criminal element also grows.”

  Alisha exhaled. “I know. I’m just frustrated with what seems like a sudden crime wave.”

  She isn’t the only one. “I know the feeling, but we can’t let it get to us. Make a list of the offenders inside the city limits and any others within a twenty-five mile radius of Oak Pointe. They need to be checked out.”

  “Hopefully we’ll get something,” she said. “Oh, Dr. Daigle called. He finished his report on Joanna Chatelaine and sent it over. It’s on your desk.”

  He started toward his office, but stopped. “How come you got back so quickly from the meeting? You could’ve stayed behind and hung around yakking with Marino and Bertrand and company.” He grinned. “You aiming for a promotion?”

  She laughed. “I could be. The only problem is, if I get promoted I might have to leave Homicide.”

  “True, you could be assigned to traffic patrol, or some other exciting division.” He shook his head and chuckled all the way into his office.

  Caleb removed his jacket, hung it on the coat tree in the corner, and sat to check out the autopsy.

  The manner of death—homicide—nor the cause wasn’t a surprise. His interest increased the further he delved into the autopsy report. Her time of death was determined to be between nine-thirty and eleven p.m. the night before her body was discovered.

  Interesting. Phillips’ alibi covered not all, but most of that time period. Of course he couldn’t have lied about the times. Blanchard didn’t have a true alibi for any of it, even though his old man provided him one. Too convenient, if you ask me.

  He shook his head. I’m as bad as Marino wanting Blanchard to be the killer. He couldn’t let tunnel vision lead him on the wrong track.

  There was still a small window of opportunity for Phillips to have killed Kim Hendricks and Joanna Chatelaine. Or their killer could be a person not connected to the Chatelaine sisters and their women’s outreach center. Aggravated, he went back to examining the report.

  Full toxicology report is pending to determine any drugs in her system. Standard procedure in an autopsy. Preliminary drug tests were negative. No evidence of forcible sex.

  Michael Phillips and Adrien Blanchard both had the opportunity to get close enough to Joanna to disable her. She was familiar with them, so she wouldn’t be uncomfortable if she ran into one of them on the street. Still the fact remained…their serial killer could be any man walking down any street in town. One of those sex offenders might be their man.

  Caleb rose from his chair, grabbed his jacket, and headed back into the squad room. Bergeron and Marino had finally come back to their desks. He paused to address his three detectives.

  “Jackson is making a list of sex offenders within a twenty-five mile area of the city. We need to check out the alibis for all of them. Divide it up.” He studied the reactions of Marino and Bergeron. Surprisingly, they didn’t look disgruntled at all about the assignment. “I’m going to Old Town to visit Faith Chapel and the women’s outreach center.”

  He started to walk away, but stopped and turned back to Alisha. “See what you can dig up on our friend Martin Verbois. By the way, his address on Druid Place is bogus. It’s an empty lot.”

  She widened her eyes. “No kidding.”

  As he walked away, Caleb heard the two male detectives questioning her about the name and smiled at Alisha’s response.

  “If you two would stick around here and do some work, you’d know all about it.”

  Caleb made it to the elevator when he heard Chief Baker’s voice behind him.

  “Glad I caught you before you got ambushed by the press,” he said, breathing hard.

  “Thanks for that. I don’t like talking to the media.” Caleb eyed him with suspicion.

  “Ambushed is the optimum word here. I’m scheduled to meet with them downstairs in the conference room and I want you with me. You are head of Homicide.”

  Dammit to hell! I’m still being ambushed. “I suppose you want me to do all the talking.”

  Baker gave a low chuckle. “Most of the talking. I’ll say a few words, then you take over.”

  “All I can tell them is a bunch of nothing. We don’t have any suspects and hardly any leads.”

  “Well, we will just have to play it by ear.” Baker pressed the down button several times. “Or make up something.” He laughed.

  Caleb didn’t think Baker’s remark funny at all. He’d like to head for the stairs, go out the rear door of the station, and leave Baker to his own devices. The old man would never catch up with him. Of course, he’d be out of a job.

  The elevator arrived and Caleb followed Baker into the car. Once downstairs he caught a glimpse of reporters, both print and television, heading inside the room. His chest tightened. He hated any kind of public speaking. The one time he had to testify in court, he felt tongue-tied. He took a deep breath. Let’s get this over with.

  ~ * ~

  Half expecting another package or message from the killer, Jamie guardedly checked the area surrounding her front door. What if there’s a photo of another murdered woman or a threatening note lying on the steps? Her heartbeat sped up. Perspiration beaded beneath her sweater.

  She sighed with relief. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. No strange packages outside the door. My goodness, if the anticipation of hearing from the killer causes me this much stress, how will I deal with the situation if I actually discover the killer?

  Seventeen

  The open door to Jamie’s office at Faith Chapel provi
ded her with a full view of the entrance. She spotted Detective Bourque as soon as he entered the building. She took a deep breath and walked out to meet him.

  He was extremely attractive and sexy. She recalled the jolt in the pit of her stomach as his hand brushed against hers yesterday when he handed her his business card. What is wrong with me? My sister has been murdered and I’m attracted to the detective.

  “Hello.” Her tone sounded a bit brusque to her ears. She hadn’t meant it that way. He made her nervous. She didn’t want to be attracted to him.

  He smiled briefly. “Good morning. How are you?” Even his smile seemed official to her.

  “Pretty good under the circumstances, I suppose.”

  “You haven’t had any more phone calls or packages left on your doorstep, have you?”

  “No, thank goodness.”

  “Good,” he said. “I want to speak to all of your workers, if possible. Can you give me a list of names?”

  “Sure. Come into my office.” She led him inside and motioned for him to be seated in a nearby chair.

  Bourque continued to stand and surveyed the room. He seemed to take an interest in her diploma and the photograph of her and her two sisters.

  “Another sister?” He indicated with a head movement toward the photo. “I recognize you and your sister Joanna.”

  “Yes, her name was Joelle.”

  “I noticed you used past tense. Is she deceased?”

  “She died at twenty-five of an overdose of cocaine.”

  “I’m sorry. So you and your siblings all have names beginning with J.”

  “That’s not the whole story about our names. The J names are actually our middle names.”

  He finally sat in the chair. “I noticed on the diploma your name is listed as M. Jamie Chatelaine. What’s the M for?” His manner was definitely less official than when he first arrived.

  With the conversation turning away from death to a more lighthearted topic, she began to relax a little. “The first name for each one of us begins with an M. And they all sound as if the two names should be reversed, especially mine.” She rolled her eyes. “Our mother’s idea of giving us unique names.”

  He grinned. “And yours is?”

  “Marcella.”

  “Marcella Jamie? I see what you mean.”

  “Joanna’s is Madison. Joelle’s first name was Magdalena.”

  “So Magdalen House is named for her.” He cocked his head slightly to one side. “Didn’t you say you had a brother?”

  “Jonathan, but we call him Jon. His first name is Martin.”

  His pleasant expression sobered for a split second. The average person wouldn’t have noticed. Without her considerable contact with people of many socio-economic levels, she wouldn’t have noticed the change.

  “Does he live here in town?”

  “No, he’s a physician in St. Martinville.”

  “Martin from St. Martinville.” His attempt at levity didn’t quite come across as such. “What about that list of your employees?”

  Confused by his sudden change in demeanor, she resumed her computer work. “Sure, I’ll have it for you in a second.”

  Eighteen

  Caleb couldn’t blame her for the confusion he saw in her face. Her brother’s name had hit him like a ton of bricks. His training at keeping a straight face must have deserted him. He sure would have made a lousy poker player today.

  Handing him the list she’d printed out, Jamie started around her desk when the phone rang. “Excuse me.” She returned to her seat and answered the call.

  From her end of the conversation, Caleb figured the call was from the coroner’s office informing her about the completion of the autopsy.

  Jamie appeared drained when she hung up. She sat still for a long moment.

  He leaned closer to her. “Are you okay?”

  She met his gaze with teary eyes. “Not really. Joanna’s body will be transferred to Oak Garden Funeral Home by tomorrow. I’ll have to go make the arrangements.”

  Caleb would’ve loved to put his arms around her and comfort her. If he did, he might not want to let her go. “Did the coroner give you any details about the autopsy?” He spoke softly, trying not to upset her any more than necessary.

  “A little.” She sniffed. “She was strangled to death. He mentioned something about a toxicology report. Does that mean she was drugged?”

  Caleb shrugged. “Not necessarily. Testing for drugs is standard procedure.”

  Jamie practically leaped out of the chair. “Joanna did not do drugs!”

  He held up his hand in defense. “Preliminary tests did not give any indication of drugs or alcohol in her system.”

  She exhaled. “I’m sorry about the outburst. I’ll take you to the shelter area so you can talk to my people.”

  “I can do this some other time if you prefer.”

  She shook her head. “No, I want you to do all you possibly can to find whoever killed her and the three others. As quickly as you can,” she added. “Come with me.”

  He walked with her through the chapel, noting the Spartan décor. Six dark wood pews were placed three on each side of a center aisle in front of a simple altar. A silver candlestick on each end sat atop a plain white cloth that covered the altar.

  She stopped in front of a closed door and placed her hand on a small keypad on the wall. “We only have two full time employees,” Jamie informed him. “Oscar Guidroz and Bertha Robinson. They’re our cooks and kitchen workers. One other is a part time employee—Margo Bertrand.”

  “You mean they’re paid employees?”

  “Yes, all the others on the list are volunteers.”

  He glanced at the paper in his hand. Seven additional names to the three she mentioned were listed.

  “We had hoped to be able to pay more of them, but Magdalen House is financed strictly by donations…and some savings Joanna and I threw into the till.”

  “What about Father Phillips? What does he contribute to this enterprise?”

  “His time, mostly, but he does donate money occasionally. He’s also the pastor for the Catholic parish here in town—St. Anthony’s—so Magdalen House isn’t his only job. A couple of Protestant ministers are also involved with our program.” She keyed in several numbers on the keypad. A click sounded, and she led him inside.

  A fortyish woman with dark hair streaked with a few stands of gray greeted Jamie and was introduced to Caleb as Margo Bertrand.

  “She’s in charge of all the volunteers,” Jamie said. “She schedules their time and anything else concerning them. We would be lost without her.”

  One after another Caleb spoke to the people who were present. His interviews with employees and a few volunteers didn’t produce any new leads.

  Several women seemed reticent to talk, a problem he’d run into on prior cases. If only people who had information would come forward, more crimes would be solved.

  Caleb left Magdalen House feeling discouraged. The name of Jamie’s brother came back to mind and raised his interest. Martin Chatelaine…Martin Verbois.

  There were lots of men named Martin. It might simply be a weird coincidence. But checking out Dr. Martin Jonathan Chatelaine wouldn’t hurt a bit.

  Nineteen

  Friday, December 13

  Dr. Jonathan Chatelaine placed his suitcase in the trunk of his black Mercedes sedan, walked around to the driver side and got in the car. Not anxious to leave, he sat for a while with the engine idling.

  The gloomy day was a downer. Not that sunshine would’ve helped his mood much.

  He wasn’t looking forward to this trip to Oak Pointe. Not only because of one sister’s death, but because he knew the other sister would never quit trying to help women like Joelle.

  Those women didn’t want help. Prostitutes were on the street because they wanted to be...because they wanted to get money any way they could in order to buy drugs or alcohol. He couldn’t understand why any man would pay for sex, much less from on
e of those women and take a chance on contracting an STD.

  A feeling of guilt briefly passed over him. Doctors were bound by oath to heal, but he couldn’t forget the humiliation of having a sister who ended up in a life of drugs and prostitution and having the family’s dirty laundry plastered all over the local newspaper. He couldn’t heal Joelle. The others were just like her.

  He brushed off his bout of conscience and backed out of his driveway, still thinking about Joanna and Jamie.

  Why did his sisters believe they could save women like those who came to this so-called Women’s Outreach Center?

  Joanna certainly found out how dangerous and foolhardy it was attempting such an endeavor. If Jamie didn’t wise up and walk away from Magdalen House, she would meet up with the same fate.

  ~ * ~

  Jamie ended her call to Adrien by punching the disconnect button hard enough to break a fingernail. She rummaged through the desk drawer in search of an emery board, fuming the whole time.

  He had way too many excuses for not going with her to make the funeral arrangements for Joanna, a woman he supposedly loved. So she had to go alone. About par for the day. It is Friday the thirteenth.

  Her trip to the funeral home progressed as she expected. She picked out a casket, provided the director all the pertinent information and paid a deposit for the services. She couldn’t get out of the place fast enough.

  Another trip back would be necessary to bring clothing for Joanna to be buried in. The director told her she could drop them off with their secretary at the front office. If just making the arrangements upset her this much, she would be a basket case at the service.

  A stop at Flowers Galore, a florist shop right down the street, was the next item on her agenda. She wanted the flowers on top of her sister’s casket to be special.

  A mixture of floral scents hung in the air inside the shop. Jamie inhaled the delicate scent of roses and an almost overpowering smell of a certain kind of lily. Its name escaped her at the moment.