by Linda Ladd
“Lord have mercy, Claire, he looks even better in person.”
Claire watched Holliday stop at a table and scribble his name on a napkin, smiling and chatting as if he wasn’t worried one bit about being under suspicion in a murder investigation. He seemed incredibly comfortable and at ease and unconcerned.
“Remember that poor, beaten girl stretched out cold on your table, Nancy? Remember her eyes and her mouth? Your hero there just might turn out to be the one who did all that. Just look at his hands. Nice big murder weapons.”
“Yeah, all that’s true. But he didn’t do it.”
Nancy was teasing, of course. She was laughing at Claire’s serious warning. “Tell me he isn’t hot. Make me believe it.”
“He’s okay.”
“Are you kidding me? Oh, that’s right, now I get it. You’ve got a guy like Nick panting after you, don’t you? And he’s even better looking than Jack, I have to agree. So guess I’ll have to take Jack.”
“We’re professionals, Nancy. Please don’t forget that. You’re acting just like Zee did about that guy.”
“Have you ever seen me act in less than a professional manner?”
“No. But Holliday hasn’t come over here yet.”
Nancy laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep my head. Maybe.”
It didn’t take Holliday long to disengage himself from his adoring public. Then he headed straight for Claire. She watched him approach, football fans reaching out to touch him. Jeez. The Big Easy was one heck of a football-lovin’ city, all right.
“Don’t forget to introduce us when he gets here,” Nancy said. “I mean it. I just wanna meet him, shake that big weapon of a hand, that’s all.”
“Get a hold on your hormones, Nancy. I mean it.”
“I’m not gonna jump his bones, Claire. At least I don’t think so.”
Then Holliday was there, towering over them, and the rapt expression on Nancy’s face made Claire want to laugh.
Holliday said, “Hey, there, Detective. Fancy meeting you here.”
“Yeah, fancy that. Are you following me, or what?”
“Actually, I am. We need to talk.”
“How’d you know where I was?”
“I called Zee. He said you were here.”
Damn, Zee knew better than that. She felt her phone vibrate so she jerked it out, expecting it to be Black and glad for a reason to ignore Holliday. Maybe she’d go home and deal with Black sooner than she thought.
“Hi, I’m Jack Holliday,” the big former jock was saying to Nancy.
Nancy took the hand he held out and smiled. “Nice to meet you. I’m a huge fan. Have been ever since your Tulane days. I’m a Tulane grad myself.”
Claire moved away. Caller ID said Zee Jackson.
“Just a heads-up, Claire. Jack Holliday called me and asked where he could find you.”
“And you obliged him.”
“Well, yeah. He said he’s gotta talk to you about the case. Said it’s real important.”
“How’d he get your number?”
“I gave him my card.”
“Okay, he found me. And it better be important. Talk to you later. Have fun tonight.”
Claire punched off, and yes, she was a tad peeved. But if a suspect suddenly had some new information to add to his initial statement, she was all ears. She turned back to Holliday. “I guess you know that Nancy’s the Lafourche Parish medical examiner, Mr. Holliday.”
Momentarily, he looked startled, but then it turned into interest. “No kidding? I’d never of guessed that. Want to join me for a beer, Nancy?” Nancy nodded, and Jack called over the bartender and ordered two cold Turbodogs. Then he turned to Claire. “How about letting me buy you an Abita, too, Detective?”
“You really think I’m gonna do that, Mr. Holliday?”
“No. I was just being polite. I take it that you’re still on duty?”
“No, I’m definitely off duty. But I’m not going to sit around and drink with you. You are a person of interest in this case until I can rule you out as a suspect in the murder of Madonna Christien.” That was all rather official-sounding, yes, but all true, too.
“What about after that?”
Holliday had to be smarter than this. If he was coming on to her, Claire considered what his motives might be. Other than to charm her into going easy on him, she couldn’t come up with anything much that made sense. And some friend he was to Black. She placed her attention on the band.
Nancy was being hit on by a good-looking guy standing on the other side of her, so Holliday swiveled his chair around to face Claire and became quite the chatterbox all of a sudden. “You’re really good on that fiddle. You play zydeco like a born Cajun.”
“So?” Okay, that was rude. But Holliday was not taking the hint to get lost.
“I meant it as a compliment. I like Cajun music.”
“Really? I thought you hailed from Colorado.”
“Ah, you’ve been checking me out.”
“That’s why they call me a detective.”
“So you’re with Nick, huh? I was surprised I didn’t put that together. He talks about you a lot. I guess I just didn’t expect you to be working as a deputy down there in the bayous. The connection just didn’t click at first. I should’ve recognized you, though. I’ve seen pictures of you in the newspapers.”
“So, Zee said that you have information pertinent to our case, Mr. Holliday.”
“Call me Jack, will you?”
“Well, no.”
“Is there somewhere around here where we can talk privately?”
Claire wondered if he really did have something important to tell her. Maybe he was just going to hit her with some cockamamie, made-up story that put him in a better light.
Holliday suddenly waxed serious. “It’s important, Claire.”
Now that was irksome. They were not on a first-name basis. They looked at each other, did some sizing-up, followed by a rather challenging eye lock.
“Okay, I’m game. Give it to me.”
“I want to show you something. In private.”
Now she was curious. She glanced around. “There’s an empty booth over there. That private enough for you?”
Holliday trailed her to a window booth overlooking the Mississippi River, the water of which looked very dark and cold in the December evening. The plate glass was foggy, and outside the deck railings were wrapped with more tiny white twinkling Christmas lights and fake greenery and red plastic bows.
“You haven’t worked down there in Lafourche Parish long, have you?”
“Mr. Holliday, please, let’s just keep this professional, okay?”
Holliday kept up the staring, his eyes crawling all over her face like she was some kind of exotic Syrian butterfly he’d just discovered. Claire stared back without blinking. She could ogle with the best of them.
She spent the time wondering if he was really capable of strangling Madonna to death. She visualized his hands around her throat, those big fists of his beating her black and blue and throwing her down on that glass coffee table and pressing on her windpipe until the light went out of her eyes. Then she thought of him hunched over that poor little woman, inserting a sharp needle into her eyelid. Okay, nope, he didn’t seem the type, but sometimes non-types killed people, too. Sometimes killers were just as handsome and easygoing and polite and rich as Jack Holliday. Sometimes they wore warm, friendly smiles like the one he was giving her right now. Sometimes they even smiled all warm and friendly-like while they choked the life out of their victims.
He said, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m just waiting for you to tell me why you really came down here.”
“So you and Nick are together?”
What? Somehow, that really grated on her nerves, too, even when she was slightly irritated as hell with Black. “Yes, we are. So why are you so interested in Black and me?”
“Exclusively?”
Claire could only stare a
t him. “Please tell me that you’re not trying to hit on me, not when Black’s sticking his neck out to alibi you. Because that would make you a colossal jerk.”
“I’m not hitting on you. You’re just so different than I thought you’d be. Booker told me that you and Black are seriously committed.”
“You know what, sir? None of this is any of your business, and it’s none of Booker’s business. Look, I don’t discuss my private life, especially with suspects. So I’m outta here. It’s in your best interest to stay away from me while I’m investigating this case. Are we clear on that?”
After that, Holliday decided it was time to declare his innocence again. “I didn’t kill that girl, I swear to God, and I’m going to prove it. Then I hope we can become friends.”
“I’ve got all the friends I need. This is getting downright tedious. Now, one last time, do you have something to show me concerning the Christien case, or not?”
Holliday smiled and pulled out his ace in the hole. “I’ve got a DVD of that party we had in New York. I put my video cam on the buffet behind the table, and let it roll. You’ll see everything that happened the entire night.” He retrieved it from the inside pocket of his Windbreaker. He slid it across the table. “Watch it. You’ll see. It’s dated and everything. Lots of witnesses were there who’ll alibi me. There’s no way I could have been down here and killed that girl. Talk to all of them. I want you to.”
They both glanced up as a gaggle of giggling young women came in the front door, their arms full of shopping bags. Christmas shopping with the BFFs. Something Claire needed to do. What to buy Black? That was a perennial problem. Maybe a portable lie detector machine would be nice, at least for her.
“Listen, Detective, I got a call from Wendy Rodriguez today. She told me that you and Zee had been out to her house grilling her.”
“That’s right. But I wouldn’t exactly call it grilling. We’re questioning everybody associated with Ms. Christien.”
“She said you were asking about the gifts that Madonna gave me.”
“You want to add something to your statement about that?”
Claire listened to him start talking again about Madonna and her fixation on him, and wished he’d just leave. He had already given her the video. All she wanted tonight was to enjoy herself for a single hour, and he had to show up and ruin everything. She was going to kill Zee for telling him where she was. And she was going to get rid of Holliday right now, even if she had to walk him out to his car at gunpoint.
A Very Scary Man
Malice and the professional killer came off their life on the sea and settled back into their prior lives in New Orleans and the deep bayous. They rarely met except at the Maze of Terror, which he was reinforcing now with his new knowledge of welding that he’d perfected through his shipboard duties, in anticipation of some scary fun and games. He did find a job, the perfect vocation for someone who intended to break the law in truly horrific ways. So he worked diligently there, made a good impression, and pretended that he forgave his old girlfriend and his former friend for betraying him. But he hadn’t. More than anything in his life, he wanted to kill them. He wanted to see the lifeblood leak slowly out of their veins. Indeed, he would kill them. All he had to do was bide his time, plan carefully, and do the deed so well that he would never get caught. The professional killer had taught him well, indeed.
Then the day came when he got the perfect opportunity. One sunny, clear day, during Mardi Gras, he followed his two coveted victims out to a remote bayou. They were fishing there and having a picnic with their two children. They were laughing and playing games, having a good time celebrating their little girl’s birthday. He watched the happy little family, thinking it should have been his family, his children, his life, damn them all to hell. But it wasn’t his. He had no family and never had. Their children were getting older now, the boy almost twelve and the girl a little younger. So he hid himself in the bushes with his serpent Mardi Gras mask in place and watched and waited for the exact right moment.
When the children moved up the bank toward his hiding place, he waited until they were out of sight of their parents, then moved quickly. When the boy entered the woods, looking for a place to dig worms, he grabbed him and subdued him. It only took seconds. Then he taped his hands and feet and mouth and went after the little girl, still sitting on the bank with her fishing pole, but well out of sight of her parents. She was even easier, freezing in terror when he ran at her. She didn’t make a peep. It all happened within a minute or two, and he taped her up securely, and then left them hidden there in the bushes. He took off the mask and headed down the bank toward the two people who had filled his dreams with visions of bloody murder every night for months on end.
His old girlfriend and her rotten husband got up from the blanket when they saw him. She was straightening her clothes, embarrassed he’d found them making out. His blood ran cold with fury. They waved at him, and he smiled and waved back. He had played his part well; they didn’t know how much he hated their guts. They thought he was still their friend. That was the way to murder people: make them think you loved them, disarm them with kindness, and then cut their throats. But Malice knew her husband always carried a weapon so he had to be careful. When he got right up to them, he glanced around and found the bayou still deserted. Then he pulled the .45 out of his coat pocket and fired a slug point-blank into the man’s forehead. Bam, you’re dead. His only true love screamed and tried to run away, but he caught her easily and held her tightly against his chest. She was struggling hard, but he forced a brutal good-bye kiss on her mouth as he had daydreamed of doing for years and years and years, and then he pressed the gun against her breast and fired. She fell backwards, writhing and groaning in agony, and he stood above her and told her how much he loved her and how much he had always loved her. Then he squatted down beside her and fired a bullet into her forehead to end her suffering.
Heartbroken, now that she was gone forever, that he’d never see her again, he sat on his heels, watched her bleed out, and wept hard for a while. Once Malice regained his composure, he took time to remove the dead man’s gun from the holster he wore at the small of his back and then arranged the body in the exact position in which Malice wanted it to be found. A nice little suicide/murder scenario was always a nice touch, and something the police usually took at face value. After he was satisfied with every detail, he walked back to where he’d left the dead woman’s two beautiful children. He hated her boy the most. When he returned from the Merchant Marine, he had found out the real reason his true love had never come back to him. She had gotten knocked up with his best friend’s baby, the boy who was lying limp and frightened at his feet. If that hadn’t happened, she would have come back to him, and they would’ve eventually married. He knew she would have. It was the kid’s fault, and he needed to suffer for what he’d done. Suffer greatly, and so did the little girl.
Squatting down, he took the hand towel and chloroform out of his knapsack, saturated the towel, and pressed it over the little girl’s face. It didn’t take long. When she was unconscious, he picked her up. She was as light as a feather, and he carried her quickly to his boat, still bound and gagged. Then he went back for the boy. He was big and strong for his age, like his father had been as a kid, so he chloroformed him until he lay limp and unmoving, and then he carried him down to the bank and threw him into the bottom of the boat with his sister.
Climbing into the stern, he headed straight for the deserted old house where his murder mentor was staying. The Maze of Terror wasn’t quite finished yet. They might get away from him out there, but not in the cellar of his fellow assassin. So, finally, at long last, he had his own helpless little victims to torment. Victims that he really detested for what their parents had done to him. He couldn’t wait to start the fun and games.
Chapter Fourteen
Nicholas Black pushed through the front door of the Cajun Grill, right behind a bunch of silly girls, just about as pissed o
ff as he had ever been in his life. It didn’t help when he caught a glimpse of Claire getting cozy in a booth with Jack Holliday. Nope, he did not like that, not one bit. He was not happy, and he intended to show it for a change. He threaded his way through the tables, nodded at Nancy at the bar, then stopped beside the booth. Claire and Jack glanced up at him. They both looked startled to see him, as well they should.
“Am I interrupting anything important, Claire?”
Jack immediately appeared embarrassed and looked down. Then he said quickly, “Hey, Nick. No, no, I just came down here to give the detective a DVD of my birthday party at the Ritz and tell her a couple more things that I thought might help exonerate me.”
Not smart, that, Nick thought. “Well, I’m surprised to find you here, Jack. Your lawyer would be, too, trust me. Scoot over,” he ordered Claire, and not in any lovey-dovey tone, either. “You should’ve told me that we were eating out tonight, sweetheart. And I would’ve joined you about an hour ago instead of sitting around waiting for you to show up at home.”
Claire frowned, but she did make room for him, and Nick slid in beside her. He tried to control his anger. Flying off the handle was not his style. Truthfully, it was a rare occurrence for him, especially where Claire was concerned. His profession necessitated him to remain calm, cool, and collected at all times, and he’d learned how to do it, but Claire could push his buttons like nobody else. He did not like or appreciate her giving him the cold shoulder. He didn’t like what she said next, either.
“Yeah, Black? I guess I figured you were still over in London Town. You know, hard at work in the clinic, changing your patient’s meds, and all that kinda stuff.”
Miffed by that, to be sure, Nick didn’t respond to her jibe. Which was probably the best way to go with Claire. Jack looked slightly embarrassed as ice pellets began to form in the air around the booth. He glanced from one of them to the other. “Okay, I think I’ll take off and let the two of you enjoy your dinner. We can talk about this later. I have your number, Detective. I’ll call you.”
“Sure you don’t want to join us?” Nick offered tightly, but he sure as hell didn’t want his old friend sitting there and witnessing the argument they were going to have. “On the other hand, sometimes three is a crowd, Jack.”