by Linda Ladd
Feeling guilty about taking off, she called Black and explained where she was going and asked him for the code to Jack’s entrance gate. He said he’d call Jack and they’d meet her there. Five minutes later, he called back with the code and permission for her to enter the house but asked her to wait for them. It was still dark when she reached the spiked gate at Rose Arbor, the hour very late now, and the gate was closed. She decided not to step on Old Nat’s toes again by barging onto the property. He’d appreciate the courtesy, no doubt, and she’d appreciate not getting shot. So she climbed out of the Range Rover and pushed the bell. Nobody answered.
Claire had the distinct feeling that Old Nat was already creeping around in the dark under the canopy of live oaks and zeroing in on her head with his trusty shotgun. Probably enjoying it, too. The two of them just didn’t quite cotton to each other, in Zee’s vernacular. Well, that was just too bad. She had some questions to ask him, and he was going to answer them, like it or not.
So, without further ado, she punched in the code and watched the gates whir themselves open. She drove through and watched it close securely behind her. Once up the drive and at the front portico, she saw no fancy, six-figure-window-sticker vehicles sitting around the driveway, no limousines, either. Nobody home. Well, good.
Picking up the murder binder, she got out of the car, climbed the steps, and shined her flashlight on the newel post. The fleur-de-lis was still there, whittled into the wood, just like in the old Polaroid. Whoever had done it was pretty good. It occurred to her that Bobby LeFevres, or Rene, or Clyde, or Kristen or anybody else, including Old Nat, could have wielded the knife that had carved it. She sat down, focused her flashlight, and stared at the design.
After a moment, she walked up to the front door. It was unlocked so she breezed inside as if she owned the place. She had permission. She wasn’t going to steal his fancy antique furniture or priceless Ming vase. She flipped on the light and the chandelier flared. She stood there a moment and looked around with fresh and determined detective eyes. Could this really be the old house where Gabe was held captive? It looked as if Rose Arbor had been restored pretty much along original antebellum architectural lines. Slowly, methodically, she walked from room to room, not quite sure what she was looking for. But Gabe had said that he had been held in a cellar so a cellar she was going to find. Off the kitchen, she found a large butler’s pantry with glass-fronted cabinets, and it was full of the most beautiful gold-edged dishes and crystal goblets, each etched with the letter H with lots of curlicues and flourishes. More priceless stuff handed down from Granny Holliday.
Moving through all the downstairs rooms, she turned on the overhead chandeliers one after another, pulled open doors, looking for something, anything, that would help her. Some instinct told her that she had to search this house, compelled her, even if she had to rip it apart, board by board. And she had learned to follow her instincts most of the time.
Finally, she hit pay dirt on her return visit to the butler’s pantry. A small door was hidden by a curtain, and she discovered that it opened onto steps descending into what appeared to be a root cellar. There was no basement in the house, but the first floor was built up off the ground about twelve feet. She flipped on the light switch at the top of the steps. The steps went down halfway and then took a sharp right turn. She inched down cautiously, an unsettling sense of unease descending over her. She pulled out her weapon, just in case, and stepped down onto the floor, her finger right alongside the Glock’s trigger.
Was this it? Where Gabe and Sophie had been held and tortured? It was extremely dank inside that musty, cold, and nasty place. She could smell mildew and dirt and mold, but there was little else to see. The bricked walls had been whitewashed, but the floor was dirt. She peered up into the floor joists above her head and wondered where all the spider webs were. Holliday must have one hell of a good housekeeper on staff. There were a couple of small windows, rectangular and high on the walls. How would it have felt to be imprisoned there, a monster coming down the steps in some kind of hideous mask with a whip in his hand? She thought of little Sophie, who was so sweet, so little, and how hard it must be for Gabe not knowing what had happened to her.
When a deep voice suddenly spoke behind Claire, she nearly came out of her skin. She dropped the binder, and jerked around, both hands gripping her weapon out in front of her. To her shock, it was Yannick the Snooty Butler, of all people, the all-around indispensable servant at Jack’s grandma’s house in the Garden District. This time he wore a distinctly startled expression on his face. He quickly raised both his hands, palms out, in a whoa-don’t-shoot-me-dead sort of way.
“Good heavens, put that gun down,” he choked out, real shaky like, and his manner wasn’t nearly as haughty as the last time they’d exchanged pleasantries. Deadly weapons had a way of disarming stuck-up butlers, she guessed.
Claire lowered the weapon and sheathed it in her shoulder holster. “I’m sorry, sir. You startled me.”
“What are you doing down here, miss?” Yannick glanced around, puzzled. “Do you always pull your gun on people like that?”
“Yes, sir, when they sneak up on me. What’re you doing out here in the middle of the night? I thought you worked in town.”
“I’m here to oversee the night custodial service that cleans this house. They come at night and are gone by dawn so as not to disturb Mr. Jack. They’re upstairs and ready to go to work.”
“How did you know I was down here?”
“I saw your vehicle and called Mr. Jack and asked him if he was expecting company tonight. He said to tell you that he and Dr. Black are on their way. The door in the pantry was standing open, and the light was on.” He gazed curiously at her. “I must say, Detective, that I’m surprised to find you down here in Mr. Jack’s root cellar with a gun in your hand.”
Then Yannick gave her that wary look that people usually reserve for when they happen upon machete-wielding escapees from mental institutions. He didn’t seem concerned enough to hightail it out of her scary company, though.
“How long have you worked for the Holliday family, Yannick?”
“For many years, even before Miss Catherine bought this place. Well, I think I’ll go upstairs now and wait on Mr. Jack.”
Apparently not wanting to answer any more questions and without further ado, Yannick turned on his heel and headed up the steps. Since the shadowy cellar made her jumpy, she picked up the binder and followed him. Inside the kitchen, she met up with him again. This time he was busily instructing a small army of cleaners, all of whom were dressed in matching black uniforms and holding various feather dusters, brooms, mops, dustpans, and cans of Pledge. They all stared at her as if she were some kind of armed alien apparition, so she hurried past them when she heard Black’s voice call her name from out in the foyer. She met up with Black and Holliday under the giant, sparkling chandelier.
Black said, “So, what’s up now, Claire? Why are we here?” He observed her face a moment, and then frowned and said, “Are you all right?”
“I just need permission to take a look around this house.”
“Looks to me like you already have,” Black said on a wry note.
“Why?” asked Jack.
“I’m following a hunch. Case related. You know how I am. A dog with a bone.”
“Why don’t you just tell us what’s going on?” Black again.
Claire frowned. “I need to talk to Jack, ask him some questions.”
Jack said, “Okay, what’d you want to know?”
“I want you to tell me about the history of this house. Everything you know about it.”
“Why? Does this have something to do with my sisters? Do you have a new lead?”
“I think maybe Gabe and Sophie were held right here in this house, probably down in your root cellar.”
Jack actually gasped, a soft but audible intake of breath.
Black said, “Here? How do you know?”
“He kept them in my
root cellar? This one? Here at Rose Arbor? Oh, my God.”
“Gabe told me that he remembers a dark place like a cellar with a dirt floor and it was inside an old boarded-up house. I think this is that place. If this guy held Gabe down there, Jack, he might have held your sisters down there, too.”
“But how? My grandmother lived here for years. She would’ve known about it.”
“It wasn’t her house then, and I want to know whose house it was. Would Yannick or Old Nat know who owned this place that far back? I need to interview both of them. See what they can tell me. My gut tells me that I’m on to something pertinent to the case.”
“Both of them have worked for my grandmother for years. I sort of doubt if they’ll know who had this place before that. But we can ask them.”
“This is tied together. I think you were right. I think the same guy who killed Gabe’s parents and took him captive killed your parents, too. I think all this is happening now, Madonna, Wendy, the attempt on Gabe’s life, all because he’s getting rid of witnesses. He’s killing anybody who got away and might be able to identify him or lead authorities to him. Maybe he found out you were questioning Madonna Christien about her kidnapping, panicked, and got rid of her.”
“How the hell did you figure out that it was this house?” Black said.
“It’s a hunch. I saw a picture of Bobby and Kristen at Rene’s place tonight, taken back when they were young. Rene said Old Nat was out there with them, and I saw the fleur-de-lis carved on the newel post and recognized it.”
“The one outside at the top of the steps?” said Jack.
“Yeah. I can’t prove it, but I think this is the house. I’ve also seen the file on Gabe’s parents’ murders. It’s right here.” She held it up. “Rene took it and kept it at his house to protect Gabe and his family.”
Black said, “He’s going to be in big trouble if that gets out.”
“The LeFevres family asked him to keep it quiet. They didn’t want Gabe’s past to be publicized, didn’t want him to find out how bad it really was. So he got the department to seal it. He took it out of storage later.”
“Let me see it.” Jack was not asking; he was demanding.
Claire handed it over, and he moved into the adjoining formal parlor and sat down at a desk. She and Black followed him, and Claire watched his face as he sifted slowly through the photographs. His jaw tightened when he saw the picture of Gabe’s bloodied back. He handed the folder to Black.
“I want this animal. I want him dead. The deader, the better.”
“Well, join the crowd, Holliday. Gabe’s been searching for him for years with blood in his eyes. He thinks he’s still around here, in the bayous, murdering people and snatching their kids. So do I.”
Black looked up from the file. “I’ve got an idea, Claire. Something that might help.”
Usually his ideas were right on target, so Claire jumped on it. “What?”
“Let me hypnotize Gabe. See what we can pull out of his memory. It worked on you not so long ago. It might work on him. Maybe he’ll remember the killer’s face or something his mind is blocking out. Maybe he’ll remember the fleur-de-lis.”
Jack said, “Would Gabe feel up to that? After all he’s been through?”
Claire nodded. “I think Gabe would do anything to get the guy who put those scars on his back.”
Black said, “I have all the equipment we’ll need back at the house. Gabe’s still there. Let’s go see if he’ll agree to it.”
Everybody was all for that, and they headed out again to the French Quarter. Claire decided her interview with Yannick and Old Nat could just wait. She only hoped Gabe was up for a visit to his nightmarish past.
Chapter Twenty-seven
“Are you absolutely certain that you want to do this, Gabe? I have to warn you that it could bring up some things that you probably don’t want to relive.”
“Yeah. I’ve been dealin’ with stuff I don’t want to relive my whole life.”
Nicholas Black sat in his desk chair inside his large home office on Governor Nicholls Street. It was equipped with all the video equipment needed to record Gabe’s private session, which would allow him to remain in the house, since he was still suffering dizzy spells from his concussion. Gabe was lying in front of him on a tufted brown leather couch. Jack Holliday and Claire sat and watched from a nearby conference table. Nick remembered only too well the night he had put Claire under hypnosis. Lots of revelations had come out of her mouth, ones that had scared the hell out of both of them.
Tonight, however, Nick only hoped that he could pull something out of Gabe’s subconscious mind that could help catch the sociopath who had been haunting his life for so many years. That’s what he needed to do, because Nick was pretty sure that Gabe was experiencing post-traumatic stress and a good deal of suppressed anger issues as well. And now, after having talked at length and one-on-one with Gabe not an hour ago, he was absolutely positive Gabe was suffering a heavy dose of survivor guilt. But why wouldn’t he? After what he had lived through, he certainly had good reason to suffer those syndromes and more. But he also feared that Gabe might be a time bomb, ready to go off at any moment. After all this was over, Gabe needed serious therapy, and Nick was going to make sure he got the treatment he needed
“Just a heads-up, Gabe. Everybody isn’t suggestible to hypnotism. You may be in that group. This may not work at all.”
Gabe stared up at the ceiling. “I want to do this. Let’s get started.”
“I can instruct you not to relive any scenario where you or your sister is being beaten or abused or hurt in any way. I can have you only focus on the parts where you’re with or around your abductor, when and where he took you, that sort of thing. It’ll be as if you’re watching a movie, not like you’re experiencing it again. You won’t feel pain or fear or panic. Understand?”
“Whatever. Just get on with it.”
“Close your eyes and try to relax.”
Gabe heaved in a couple of deep breaths, shut his eyes, wiggled around a bit, and then lay still. Nick wondered if Gabe could withstand new memories of the trauma. It would not be good for him to be reminded of the abuse he’d suffered. Gabe had managed to survive the horror of what had happened to him somehow and become the decent man that he was. Nick didn’t want to mess that up. He had to be careful about what he pulled out of him.
Nick took a cleansing breath himself and then began the session. He spoke softly and told Gabe how relaxed he was, how he was floating around on clouds, going back, back, back into the past, but he wasn’t at all sure Gabe was going to be suggestible. Claire had been easy to hypnotize, to her own chagrin.
As it turned out, it didn’t take long for Gabe, either. A half an hour later, Nick had managed to regress Gabe back to his childhood years and then to the abduction itself. “You are okay, Gabe. Nobody is going to hurt you. You are just watching what happens in that cellar. Tell me what you see.”
Gabe shifted around on the couch, as if uncomfortable, agitated. “It’s very dark. Cold and damp and it smells funny. There’s a boy in there. He’s shivering and trying to keep warm. He’s got his hands over his ears. The masked man didn’t find him this time but he got his little sister. He got Sophie. She’s upstairs with the monster now, screaming and crying and calling for him to come help her.”
“How did he capture the boy and Sophie?”
“He got them out on the bayou. He killed their mama and papa.” Gabe stopped, and despite Nick’s instructions that he wouldn’t feel the pain, he let out a muffled sob. Nick glanced at Claire, and her face looked absolutely stricken. She cared deeply for this man. It was an awful thing for her to have to watch. He had tried to persuade her to wait outside, but she wouldn’t have any of it.
Nick leaned forward, spoke soothingly. “Remember, Gabe, it’s just a movie you’re watching. You are not there with them. You are not suffering. You are not afraid. You are just watching what happened to them a long, long time ago. It isn
’t real. Remember that, it is not real.”
Gabe quieted, tears still wet on his cheeks. “Okay.”
“Where are they now, Gabe?”
“They’re still in the cellar, and the windows are all boarded up. It’s so dark they can barely see each other. He keeps them down there, but they can hear him when he’s coming back to scare them. They can hear him walking on the floor above them and making the boards creak.”
“Are they tied up? So they can’t get away from him?”
“No, he didn’t tie them up, but there’s a bolt on the outside of the door. Sometimes he forces them to take pills that makes them go to sleep.” Gabe started shivering again and gave a low moan.
“You are not there with them, Gabe. Remember, you are just watching them from a distance. You are safe. You are perfectly fine. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
Again, Gabe settled down, but his breathing was coming fast and hard. “They are so scared when he comes for them. He’s really mean and he hurts them. They try to hide when he opens the door at the top of the steps because he makes them go upstairs and that’s where he hurts them.”
Nick glanced at Claire and Jack again. Neither one of them was handling Gabe’s suffering very well. He should have insisted they wait outside. He didn’t need for them to go to pieces, too. Jack, especially. Right now, Jack’s hands were clenched so hard on the top of the table that his biceps were rigid. Nick turned back to Gabe. “What happens to them when he takes them upstairs?”
“It’s dark up there. There are sheets and blankets over furniture and the windows are covered with boards. They hear mice and rats scuttling around and spiderwebs stick to them when they try to run, but they can’t see anything.”
“Where is this house, Gabe? Do you recognize it? Do you know how to get to it?”
“It’s close to a river. He takes them there in a boat. He tapes them up and then he puts a cloth over their face. It smells awful and makes them go to sleep.”
“Do you know how to get there?”