The Mistletoe Murders

by A. C. Mason

  Caleb’s private office was empty when she arrived on the second floor. A detective, the only person in the squad room, sat at one of the desks. He stood and walked toward her. She didn’t know this man. He wasn’t that Detective Marino she’d met before and he didn’t look thrilled to see her. Even with furrows across his forehead, his expression seemed more curiosity than worry about her business with Caleb.

  Before she could even ask about Caleb’s whereabouts, he spoke curtly, “If you’re looking for Bourque, he isn’t here. He’s on vacation.”

  “Vacation?” How strange for him to take leave time in the middle of these murder cases. Then she realized. His vacation was a forced one. She glared at him, but didn’t respond further. Turning away, she walked quickly to the elevator.

  Jamie kept pressing the down button and started to head for the stairs. The elevator arrived and an African-American woman stepped forward as if to exit. Instead she motioned for Jamie to get on with her. They were the only people in the elevator.

  “I’m Detective Jackson,” she said in a low voice. “Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Chatelaine?”

  Jamie shouldn’t have been surprised that this detective knew her name. The other officer didn’t seem like a friend of Caleb’s. Or maybe he just didn’t like her. Was Detective Jackson friend or foe?

  “I need to speak to Caleb. It’s important.” She didn’t dare reveal her information to this woman.

  “Can you tell me what this is about?”

  “I’d rather talk to him. A detective told me he went on vacation, which seemed strange to me. I couldn’t tell whether he was angry or happy about it.” Jamie slid a cautious look at Detective Jackson. “His leave was forced. Am I correct?”

  She paused for a short moment. “I’m not certain exactly what took place in the chief’s office. His suspension isn’t official, but it’s pretty close.” She leaned closer. “You didn’t hear that from me.”

  “I understand perfectly. I saw the video of that reporter harassing him. Caleb didn’t answer his cell when I called last night nor earlier. I discovered something important he needs to know. He probably doesn’t want to speak to me. He’s not exactly happy with me at the moment.”

  The elevator door slid open and Jamie and the detective exited the car. They continued to walk toward the main entrance, but stopped midway down the hall.

  Jackson narrowed her eyes. “Do you have information related to the murders? Or is what you want to talk to him about a personal matter?”

  “I have information,” Jamie said. “But I need to give it to him personally. If you call his cell, he might answer.”

  “Let’s take a walk outside.”

  Jamie pulled her jacket closer. A shiver flickered over her, more from nerves than cold temperature.

  “Baby, if you have information about the murders, you can tell me,” Detective Jackson said gently, at the same time eyeing her sternly. “Are you sure that’s what you want to speak to him about?”

  “Yes, I’m certain. He’s the only one I’ll speak to.” Jamie realized the detective must have thought she wanted her to call for personal reasons, which was true. Could he have told her and the others about withholding information? “It’s about the car that ran me off the road.”

  Jackson relented and pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her black slacks. “I’m with Jamie Chatelaine right now…No, no, she’s all right. She says she has information about the car that ran her off the road.” She handed the phone to Jamie.

  “What do you have?” His voice sounded gruff.

  “I have the location of the black Acura,” Jamie said, eyeing Jackson with caution.

  “Where is it?”

  She hesitated for a long moment.

  “Don’t worry about Jackson.” His voice softened. “Just tell me.”

  “It’s parked in a garage behind Michael’s house.”

  “Michael Phillips?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know the location?”

  “I saw it there a short time ago.” She told him the address.

  “Okay, you go home where you’re safe and I’ll talk to you later. Hand the phone back to Jackson.”

  She didn’t know what he said to the other detective. Jackson simply murmured yes or no in response.

  Jamie walked back to her car. Before turning the key in the ignition, she sat trying to interpret the events of the past hour. Conflicted and confused, images of Adrien and Michael raced through her mind. Why did Michael have that car hidden in his garage? The license plate was smeared with mud so no one could identify the owner.

  Did the car really belong to a friend serving overseas in the military? What in the world was going on?

  If she had found it difficult to accept Adrien as Joanna’s killer, to think of Michael as the murderer would be doubly hard.

  Jamie started the car and backed out of the parking space at police headquarters. All the way to her house she could hardly concentrate on driving. Somehow she managed to arrive home without getting into an accident or being stopped for a traffic violation.

  In a daze, she exited the car and walked up to the front door. Twisting her key in the lock, she opened the door. A familiar male voice behind her made her heart thump.

  “Move inside and shut off your nice new alarm. Don’t scream or try to fight me.” He pushed her forward through the doorway using both hands on her shoulders.

  A lump formed in her throat. With trembling fingers, she keyed in the code.

  “Michael…” A strong odor filled her nostrils as a cloth roughly covered her nose and mouth.

  A spiraling sensation took over her senses. Darkness closed in around her.

  Fifty-three

  Caleb had just braved the Christmas shopping rush in order to buy a present for his grandmother when he received the call from Jamie and was on his way back home. His plans were changed. He pulled into a store parking lot. Sitting in his truck with the engine idling, he processed the information for a few minutes, then sat up straight when realization hit him.

  Damn, I don’t know where all these jolts of memory and reasoning are coming from, but it’s about time. I’ve been off my game way too long. The name of the first man to visit Sarah Verbois hit him—Phillip Michaels. Turn that around and you get Michael Phillips. Without a doubt he was also the man in the video outside the insurance agency.

  But was he guilty of multiple murders? Or simply trying to frame Blanchard for murder? And why? If Phillips were the driver who ran Jamie off the road, he had to be the one killer of all the victims except Branson.

  Convinced of Phillips’ involvement, Caleb drove to the man’s residence. A light over the front door illuminated Father Greg as he came out of the house carrying a suitcase. The priest’s car was loaded with boxes.

  “Hello, Father,” Caleb said, exiting his truck. “You moving out?”

  “Indeed I am. The remodeling work on the rectory has been completed. Not that I haven’t appreciated Michael’s hospitality, but I’m glad to be moving back home.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. There’s no place like your own.”

  Father Greg set his suitcase down on the front stoop and eyed Caleb with curiosity. “How can I help you, Detective Bourque?”

  “Is Michael here?”

  “You just missed him. Is there a message I can give him?”

  “No, but there is something you can do for me. What can you tell me about a black Acura that reportedly is in the garage back there?”

  The priest frowned. “Is there a problem concerning that car? Jamie seemed upset when she asked me about it.”

  “She told me about discovering the Acura. Is it still on the premises?”

  “First let me put my bag in the car. Then I’ll show you.” He placed the suitcase on the back seat and locked his car.

  Shining his flashlight ahead, Caleb followed the priest down the long driveway to the garage, noting the apartment above. It seemed larger
than the average garage apartment of that era. “Does Michael rent out that place?”

  “No, he has his photography studio up there.”

  Interesting. The photo of the deceased Kim Hendricks came to Caleb’s mind. “Have you ever been up there?”

  “No, he always had some excuse for not letting me see his work.” He looked away for a short moment. “Ever since childhood, he’s been self-conscious about anything he attempted. He’s an adult. I suppose he had his reasons.”

  Unfortunately Caleb had an idea about Phillips’ reasons…and they weren’t good.

  Father Greg lifted the garage door for Caleb to look inside. “He told me the car belonged to a friend of his who was overseas with the military.”

  Caleb didn’t comment. He directed his flashlight beam inside and stared at the mud-caked license plate. He didn’t want to disturb any fingerprints or other trace evidence, but he really needed to see the plate number. Later…got to find Phillips now.

  “Do you know where Michael went?”

  “I’m not sure, but I suspect he went to find Jamie.”

  “Why do you think so?”

  “When I told him Jamie asked about the car, he had an odd expression…a cross between anger and fear. He told me he’d come to the rectory later to help me unpack my things. Then he left in his own car.”

  “How long ago did he leave?” Caleb’s heart thumped hard and fast.

  “About fifteen or twenty minutes ago,” Father Greg said. “Do you believe he would hurt Jamie?”

  Caleb pointed to the Acura. “If he drove Jamie off the road in that car, yes I do. I’m going after him.”

  His eyes widened. “Let me go with you. If there’s any trouble I can talk to him.”

  “Come on,” he called over his shoulder as he raced back to his truck.

  Father Greg jogged behind him. The priest was out of breath when he slipped into the passenger seat. “I can’t imagine why Michael would want to hurt Jamie.”

  Caleb stared straight ahead at the street as he drove. “I was just about to ask you if you knew of a reason.”

  He seemed deep in thought for a long moment. “Years ago he had issues about his mother, my sister Elaine. I believed he had moved on since then.”

  “What kind of issues?”

  “Elaine had an addiction to cocaine and was involved in prostitution. Michael was born out of wedlock. We never knew anything about his father.

  “For a while Michael tried to find information on his biological father, but he quit after not having any luck. I often thought he might be Robert Blanchard, Adrien’s father, but I’m not so sure anymore. A much older man hung around Elaine for a while. I never knew his name.”

  Fifty-three

  A hazy view of a strange room greeted Jamie when she opened her eyes. Her head throbbed. Where am I? Cold from the tile floor seeped through her clothes. Michael…he brought me here.

  Shifting her body, she looked around, trying to comprehend her situation and determine her whereabouts.

  A wall of photos stared back at her. Photos of women apparently deceased. A breath caught in her throat. There were pictures of Joanna, Kim Hendricks, Rita Naquin, Chanara Brown, and the last victim, Tracy Dumont. She knew then where he had taken her.

  Her heart beat increased. Joanna’s picture up there meant Michael had killed her, not Adrien. He intended to kill her too. Blood pulsed in her temples. A wave of nausea coursed through her. Stop. Take deep breaths. You are not going to die.

  Where was Michael? She didn’t have to wait long to find out. He came out of a room that might have been a bedroom at one time, a camera in one hand, a gun in the other.

  “You’re awake. How do you like my photo gallery?” Setting the camera down on a small table, he pointed toward the photos with his gun.

  “You killed Joanna. How could you?” She scrambled up from the floor and faced him. Her whole body shook as anger overpowered her fear. “You won’t get away with these murders.”

  Michael grabbed her by the wrist and forced her against the wall. “I knew I should have tied you up like I did the others.”

  “Why didn’t you?” A lump formed in her throat.

  “I hoped we could come to an understanding.”

  “An understanding? I’ll never comprehend your actions.”

  He pushed her to the floor. Her heart slammed against her chest.

  “Close Magdalen House and I’ll let you go.”

  She looked up at a stranger, a person she had thought was a friend. “I have no intention of closing the women’s shelter. Even if I said I would, you’d probably still end my life.”

  He barked out a harsh laugh. His eyes seemed to glaze over as if lost in the past. “Those women didn’t deserve to live. They were parasites. You, Joanna, and all the others who try to help them were too stupid to see that.”

  “Helping someone isn’t stupid.” Keep him talking. “Adrien isn’t guilty of murder. You framed him, didn’t you?”

  “Indeed I did. My plan would’ve worked if it hadn’t been for Caleb Bourque.”

  She thought his plan had worked. “What do you mean? Isn’t Adrien in jail?”

  “Not for long, I’m afraid.” Michael stooped down in front of her. She instinctively recoiled.

  “The insurance policy created what appeared to be proof that Adrien killed Joanna. His flings with strippers made the police suspect he may have killed the others.”

  Her brain seemed on overdrive with so many confusing elements to contend with, not to mention fear and the residual effects of whatever drug he’d given her. She had to keep him talking to stall for time. Caleb could be outside right now or at least nearby.

  “You created the insurance policy? How did you pull that off?”

  He stood and began to pace. Turning back to her, he gave a smirk. “I pretended to be Adrien and got a woman to pose as Joanna and a man to be our witness cleverly named Martin Verbois at the agency in Baton Rouge. I know people who can create fake IDs. Actually Adrien does too.”

  “How did you know what Adrien said in his phone call? You know…the phrase “it’s for the best.”

  “I was wondering when you’d ask about my psychic ability,” he said sarcastically. “I put a bug in Joanna’s office long before I killed her. Those little machines come in pretty handy.”

  “You went to a lot of trouble to create the illusion of guilt.”

  “It’s no illusion. They are guilty. I had to show everyone the truth because no one else was punishing them. I enjoyed causing the downfall of the Blanchards, all those women, and bringing Oak Pointe’s hierarchy to its knees.”

  The amount of hate emanating from him almost smothered her. She took a deep breath. Keep him talking. As long as he’s answering questions, he is not going to shoot her.

  “Why did Adrien need five hundred thousand dollars?”

  Michael blew out an annoyed sigh. “To pay his bookie, of course. Are you finished asking questions?” He squatted down in front of her, pointing his gun at her.

  Heart pounding, she tried to ignore the closeness of the gun barrel to her face and continued. “You’re doing these things because of your mother, aren’t you?”

  His sneer sent chills up her spine. “That’s standard psychobabble. I killed prostitutes because I hated my mother. You sound just like your sister did that night. Trying to analyze me…trying to convince me I was wrong for killing them.”

  He stood and moved closer to the window, peering outside through a slat in the blinds.

  “Who is Martin Verbois?”

  Michael spun around to face her, an angry frown furrowing his brow. He spit out the words. “My biological father.”

  Jamie blinked. “So why did Adrian use his name?”

  “Confusing, isn’t it?” His voice dripped with derision. “Our lives sound like a soap opera or one of those old country western songs. Although I think those guys in country songs had better morals.” He laughed. “His mother was one of Marti
n Verbois’ daughters. My father and his daughters were nothing but trash.”

  “Caleb knows about the car,” Jamie said, hope creeping into her voice. “He was on his way to your house. Father Greg probably told him that you went looking for me.”

  “Oh yes, my uncle will tell all, just as he told you the whole sordid story. I figured you called Bourque about the car.”

  “Father Greg never said a word to me about your mother except her name. I found out the rest on my own.”

  He waved the gun in her direction. “None of that matters now. At any rate, your cop boyfriend won’t find you here.”

  The haze of whatever he had drugged her with must finally be wearing off. She just figured out Michael’s reasoning.

  “I see a light just went on in your head. He’s already been to my house and didn’t find you, so he and the good Father are running all over town looking for you and me. He’s not smart enough to think about returning.”

  Her heart sank. Caleb was smart enough to figure out her location, but he might not be able to find her in time.

  She stared at Michael in disbelief. How could someone have such an innocent façade for years and his true personality turn out to be so evil?

  The gun he pointed at her was a revolver. That much she knew about guns. The knowledge didn’t help her to figure out how to escape. Prayer can bring about miracles, Father Greg had told her. Praying certainly couldn’t hurt. Silently she began…Our Father, who art in Heaven…

  ~ * ~

  Jamie’s rental car was parked in her driveway. At least she did make it home. Caleb didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. He tried her cell again. The call went straight to voice mail.

  He pulled his truck up in front of a neighbor’s house. “Stay here until I check out the situation, Father,” he said in a low voice, glancing at the priest.

  Father Greg nodded, but didn’t appear happy to comply.

  Caleb exited the vehicle as quietly as he could. He skirted along the edge of her property toward the front entrance. With his weapon drawn, he approached the door and slowly twisted the knob. It was unlocked. He stepped inside and swung his gun around.