“Right.” Ray noted Chris writing in a notepad when he couldn’t since he was holding the computer.
“So he has no family?” Ray asked for confirmation.
“He had a sister. He said Sheena reminded him of his little sister who had been killed in a car accident many years ago.”
“Did you visit with him frequently?”
“Our conversations usually took place out here. I’ve only been in his house once to see the blueprints for”—Carol stretched her eyes wide so as not to give away a secret to the child who looked back and forth among the adults—“He was very respectful about my being a married woman, almost old-fashioned. The only time he ever came into my house was to put together you-know-what. I offered him some eggnog, but he declined. He said he took medication that didn’t mix well with alcohol.”
“When did you last see him?”
“About two weeks ago. He left one morning, and I haven’t seen him since. When he left, it was strange that he wasn’t dressed nice like he usually dresses. He had on jeans and a sweatshirt. He usually wears suits and ties when he goes to work unless he’s going to a construction site; then, he wears jeans and a sport shirt. The only time he wears sweats or warm-ups is cool evenings when he jogs.”
“So, would you say he’s in good physical shape?” Chris questioned.
“Great shape. I know he’s run in a couple of charity marathons.”
“Did you ever hear him talking to himself or overhear any conversations with someone else?” asked Chris.
Sheena piped up, “Mr. Ray told me sometimes he hears things other people don’t hear. He said it was his music to create. I miss Mr. Ray. He brings me treats home from work.”
“Yes, he does, Reese’s bars,” confirmed Carol.
“Well, thank you,” Ray said as he fumbled to hand Mrs. Johnson his card. “If you think of anything that might help us find him or if he comes home, please, call me.”
Carol called after them, “Officers, should I keep my L-O-A-D-E-D G-U-N handy?”
“Can’t hurt,” Ray said with a curt nod.
♣♣♣
Ray and Chris took the bagged items and Ray Gautier’s computer to the police lab, and Ray started back out the door rather than heading for his office. Chris asked, “Where are you going?”
“To Bertram and Associates.”
“Ray, it’s after eight o’clock.” She chortled. “Nobody will be there. We’ll have to go in the morning.”
“Of course,” he said. “It’s just that this is the first real lead we’ve had.”
“I know,” Chris agreed. “I have an idea. Let’s have dinner together, get a real night’s sleep, and I’ll meet you here at seven A.M. And I swear if you don’t go home, I’m gonna lock you up for your lunacy.”
“You would try.” Ray agreed to Chris’s suggestion. Before he left he typed in the information he had on Raiford Gautier for the Office of Motor Vehicles. “I’ll have a printout in the morning.” He grinned, but being determined to learn more about his look-alike, Ray called his mother after he got home rather late.
♣♣♣
“Raiford Reynolds!” Dorothy Reynolds answered cheerfully. “What are you doing calling your old folks so late?”
Ray’s father piped from the background, “Speak for yourself.”
His mother continued, “Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure, Mom. I have to ask you something very personal.”
“Of course, honey. What do you need?”
“Mom, did Audrey by any chance have twins?”
“Why would you ask that?”
Ray explained what was going on.
Dorothy answered, “Honey, honestly, I really don’t know. Father Dawler only told us your mother was named Audrey and that she had been a prostitute. He said he thought she might have been on drugs and you might have some problems because of the drugs and the fact you were premature.” Her voice took on a nostalgic twang. “But you were the most beautiful baby. You looked just like a little toy, and the only problem you’ve ever had is migraines.” She sighed. “Adoptions thirty years ago were still very private, almost secretive. You know if Dad and I had known there were two of you, we would’ve taken both. You should’ve been together if that’s what happened. Of course, the agency may have thought they were helping two couples who desperately wanted a baby. Ray, I would never suggest you abuse your powers as a detective, but you can get information civilians can’t. Look into it.
“Ray, not to change the subject, but will you be able to come this weekend?”
“I don’t know, Mom. I think Ronnie would understand my trying to keep someone alive.”
“I’m sure she would, honey.” She took a long breath and sighed. “I’ll call you if you can’t get away.”
“Thanks—for everything. I love you, Mom. Tell Dad I love him, too. Good night.”
Ray sat for a while thinking about his life. The cat he had brought home with him jumped onto his lap. He rubbed Cyclops’s head absentmindedly as he thought. It had been good for the most part. He had been spoiled rotten. As his mother had said, the only physical problem he had ever had was migraines. Now, he wondered. Is there another just like me, and maybe he has real problems stemming from poor prenatal care?
Ray made a note in his notebook:
Visit Bertram and Associates
Visit Hall of Records
Question nuns at Catholic Charity Hospital
He was more determined than ever to find Larkin Sloan alive and, now, to find and know the other Raiford. He fell asleep with the cat beside him, but he had disturbing dreams all night.
9
Patient Partner
“You’re late,” Ray said as Chris drove into the parking lot. He waited leaning against his antique Mustang.
“It’s seven-oh-two. I brought breakfast. Coffee does not breakfast make. I know you haven’t eaten.”
“We have a lot to do.”
“They won’t even open until nine.”
“The Hall of Records opens at eight.”
“Why the Hall of Records?”
“I have a twin.” He plunged his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
“Ray?”
“I’m certain of it.”
“Well, shut up and have breakfast. Knowing you, we’ll miss lunch, but I love you anyway. At least you obviously went home last night.” She nodded approval. “Black is your color.”
Ray dressed in gray dress trousers with a black button-down shirt and a silver silk tie. “I wanted to make a better impression at Bertram and Associates than I did with Dr. Fairchild.”
“The navy slacks with a light blue oxford shirt and blue striped tie you wore to conduct interviews at the school were fine.” Chris patted his cheek, and asked, “But how on Earth do two sets of adoptive parents name their kid Raiford? It’s not exactly the most common name, now is it?”
“Just luck I guess.” He shrugged.
They walked into the station together. He held the door open for her. His first stop was the printer. “Fuck me!” he blurted, holding up a document.
“What?” asked Chris taking the printout from Ray. “Shit!” She looked up at her temporary partner, eyes wide. “Maybe you do have a twin. Blue Escort. That’s a lead.”
She grabbed a second fax. “Prints show nothing. No record, not even a traffic violation.”
Ray nodded and they sat down. He gratefully ate the ham and cheese croissants. Stifling a burp, he commented, “If you stay around, Mom can quit harping on me about needing to gain weight. I’ll get fat.”
“Are you saying I’m fat?” Chris teased.
“No way!” Ray raised his hands as if in surrender, nodding his head toward her navy-blue pin-striped pantsuit with a simple white silk blouse and blue loafers. “You’re beautiful.” He pointed his finger at her. “That is not sexual harassment.”
“I never thought it was. Thanks for the compliment.”
“Chris, may I ask you s
omething?”
“Sure.”
“Why aren’t you married with a houseful of kids? You love mothering people.”
“I’m the eldest of seven. My mother died when I was twelve. I mothered six siblings. I still have time. I’m the same age as you, Ray. I could ask you the same basic question.”
“I never met Miss Right, someone who could actually deal with being a cop’s wife. I was engaged. When I got shot during a domestic disturbance call—that ended that.” He spread his hands out in front of him in a sharp, flattening motion. “She went running to the arms of my so-called best friend.”
“Marry me, Ray.” Chris laughed. “I understand.”
Ray laughed loudly, dimples etching deeply. “No. You’d strangle me on our wedding night. My best friend you might be, but we’re too much alike to be lovers.”
“True,” she agreed, “but at least I’m patient enough to put up with your bullshit.”
“Well, will you go with me to the Hall of Records?”
“Yes, but after we go to Bertram and Associates, just in case we get bogged down going through hundreds of old records. You know the case is more important than your personal needs.”
“What if they’re connected? What if I have an identical twin”—He picked up the printout of Raiford Gautier’s driver’s license—“who’s killed twelve women?”
“You’ll deal with it. You can come to work for the FBI. We’re all screwed up in the head.”
“Thanks, Chris. I’m glad to know you think I’m screwed up in the head, just not as badly as my twin.”
“Ray, somehow, I don’t think our guy is a killer. Maybe he’s just someone who needs a little mothering. Hey! He looks as good as you. Maybe I’ll take him home with me since I can’t have you.”
Ray laughed as he dropped his Styrofoam cup into the trash. “Well, move your butt, Mom. Let’s get to work.”
♣♣♣
Roughly two hours later, Ray and Chris walked into the opulent lobby of Bertram and Associates where the patterned flooring reflected the light from the crystal chandelier. The receptionist greeted them with enthusiasm. “Mr. Gautier! How nice to see you.”
“Here we go again,” Ray muttered. He introduced himself and Chris and asked to speak to anyone who could give them information that might help them find Mr. Gautier.
After a brief trip down the hall, the receptionist escorted them to the owner, Walter Bertram, himself. When they walked into the office, Mr. Bertram exclaimed, “My goodness! Janice said you looked like Ray, but this is unbelievable.”
“More unbelievable is that we have the same name,” Ray said.
“True,” agreed Mr. Bertram, shaking hands with both officials. “Please sit down, detectives. Have you finally come to investigate my missing person’s report?”
“You filed a missing person’s report?” Ray asked.
“Yep. And I haven’t heard a word.” Bertram moved to stand behind his chair.
“No, sir,” Ray admitted. “That’s not why we came, but I’ll look into it. We need to find Mr. Gautier because it’s possible he’s involved in the disappearance of Larkin Sloan.”
“No way!”
“Tell us everything you can about Raiford Gautier,” said Chris as she and Ray sat in chairs on the opposite side of Bertram’s desk.
“Wow!” Bertram exclaimed. “It could take a while.” He sat down in his executive chair.
“We’re patient,” assured Chris with a genuine smile.
“Ray’s a wonderful man and a gifted architect. He’s like a son to me.”
Here we go again. Ray shook his head. Another surrogate child.
Walter Bertram looked fatherly to Chris with his glistening bald pate encircled by a blue-gray ring from ear to ear around the back of his head. He was a tad on the heavy side, but his soft gray eyes defined by deep crow’s feet made him look gentle and made her think of her own father. His statement penetrated her thoughts. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been contemplating making him my partner. He’s just that good. Since I’m in the middle of a divorce, Ray’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a son because my daughter has no interest in the business. He designed the entire community where he lives. You’ve seen it, I assume, so you know how good he really is.” Bertram laced his fingers together on top of his desk.
“He does have talent,” Ray agreed. “How did he come to be a part of your company?”
“Ray applied for an internship here when he was in college. I’m a Tulane alum, so I offer an internship to architectural majors. His drawings were excellent, his grades outstanding. He came to work for nothing; he was on scholarship, no real income. He was here on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and drove back to Tulane on Tuesdays and Thursdays for his classes.”
“And he’s been with you since?” Ray prompted.
“Not quite. He was a very likeable young man. I’m a sucker for a hard-luck case. So, I invited Ray to stay in our garage apartment. He ate all his meals with us. My wife did his laundry. We fell in love with him, but, more importantly, our nineteen-year-old daughter did, too. Yes, Ray loved her, too, more than she loved him.”
“So, he’s involved with your daughter?” Chris asked.
Bertram frowned deeply at the memory. “Not anymore. They went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras at my daughter’s—Abigail’s—insistence. Ray isn’t a big-crowd type. His idea of a crowd was a fraternity bash.” He chuckled slightly. “He was a Delt at Tulane, just like me.”
A Delt? Ray could not believe this man who looked like him was in the same fraternity on a different campus.
“Thousands of drunks just didn’t appeal to him, but he loved the girl. While they were there, some drunks mugged them. Ray took the worst of it. He defended Abbey. He ended up in the hospital with severe head trauma. After that, Ray started hearing voices. His doctors said he was probably schizophrenic and the brain injury aggravated the problem. Bullshit is what I say.” He slapped the top of his desk to emphasize his irritation. “Trauma caused it.”
Chris waited a moment for Ray to speak. When he didn’t she asked, “So, you’re saying Mr. Gautier has a mental condition?”
The older man sighed and re-laced his fingers across his slightly protruding middle. “He started taking medication and got better. Nonetheless, my very immature child couldn’t cope with a boyfriend with a serious psychological condition. After being physically and mentally damaged, Ray had to deal with emotional damage—Abbey’s rejection. He went home, but still managed to graduate with high honors. Ray is very intelligent and compulsively diligent.” Bertram folded his arms as if to protect his memory of Ray Gautier.
Chris took over the questions, uncertain of what had come over her partner. “He left your company. When and how did he come back?”
“Abbey moved to New York. I found out Ray couldn’t get a job, as brilliant as he was, because of his condition. I called him and offered him a job. When he asked about Abbey, I told him she had moved. He came back to work for me about four years ago. I’m the only one here who knows about his condition.”
“How has he behaved?”
“Until his mother’s death at Christmas, Ray hadn’t had any symptoms. After her death, I think he stopped taking his meds. He started missing work, coming in late. Then, he stopped showing up. He wasn’t at home either.”
Bertram glowered at the two law enforcement officers. “I filed a missing person’s report, but in light of all the brutal murders, one missing schizophrenic was insignificant. I’m angry, detectives, but that’s how I feel. And if you think Ray has killed anybody, you’re the crazy ones.” He pointed a decisive finger at the two younger people to drive his point home. “When you find him, treat him right. Bring him back. He needs somebody to watch after him. I owe him that. He probably saved my daughter’s life and lost a great part of himself in doing so.”
Speechless, Ray mumbled a hasty good-bye and thanks. Chris thanked Mr. Bertram for his time and promised to call him when his Ra
y was found.
Visibly shaken, Ray left the office with his shoulders slouched, but Chris held back a moment to speak to the owner of the company. “Mr. Bertram, my partner was adopted. He thinks your Ray is his twin. What you’ve shared with us has made a world of difference to my Ray.” She looked toward the door with worry etched on her face. “I promise you no harm will come to yours from us, but if he does contact you, get him to come to us. That way we can ensure his safety and both their sanities.”
She left her card and found her partner in the lobby. He started to speak, but she put her finger to her lips. “Shh. Let’s go. It’s time for a long patient afternoon in the Hall of Records.”
“You don’t understand. I know who beat him up. It’s been seven and a half years, but I was at the same Mardi Gras celebration. If I had gone with my fraternity brothers rather than staying with Rob to get a tattoo, I would’ve met him then, and none of this would be happening.”
“Don’t be silly. None of this is your fault. Now, let’s go see what we can find out at the Hall of Records.” Ray’s revelation weighed on her, but she refused to voice her thoughts.
♣♣♣
Usually a magpie, Chris was quiet all the way to the Hall of Records. Ray studied her facial expression. It was obvious she was deep in thought about something that brought a crease to her brow.
“What’s wrong, Chris?” he asked. “You look as if you’re ready to cry.”
“I’m fine. I was just remembering some unpleasant things. Don’t worry about me. My life experiences are where I get the patience to deal with you. We’re here.”
“Something’s bothering you.”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Her tone felt like a slap in the face. Ray had never seen her in such a mood.
“Okay,” he said with reluctance. “For now.”
Chris scowled at him. She knew he would eventually get her to talk and she dreaded it.
10
Vital Information
The clerk at the Hall of Records balked at Ray’s request for all the birth and adoption records from thirty years earlier. Chris pulled FBI identification. “These records might be linked to a serial killer.”
Lucky Thirteen (The Raiford Chronicles Book 1) Page 7