Lucky Thirteen (The Raiford Chronicles Book 1)

by Janet Taylor-Perry

  “I have no idea. Latrice forbad me to go anywhere but here. I don’t know what’s above us other than what you’d expect a church to have.”

  Ray turned to Chris, “Go get everybody else to work on finding out about these women’s doctors, and I’ll get us a search warrant for this place. I want every jot and tittle in place so this maniac doesn’t get off on a technicality.”

  “We could just bring her in for questioning,” Chris suggested.

  “Yeah, but that would alert her that something is going on, and without some more concrete evidence, we couldn’t hold her for more than seventy-two hours. If she’s the one we want, she could do something once she’s released and hurt somebody or disappear.” Ray shook his head. “I hate to agree with the notion of letting y’all stay, but you could be on to something. We’ll be back as soon as possible.”

  “We’ll be fine,” assured Raif and Larkin together.

  “And, I’m sending somebody here to baby sit the two of you. Chris, which little stooge would be best?”

  “Patrick,” she answered.” He wouldn’t stand out in a crowd.”

  “I agree. Arrange it with him.” Reluctantly, Ray and Chris left, after speaking with the reassigned patrolmen. He instructed them to look for Agent Swift soon.

  As he drove back to the stationhouse, Ray phoned Judge LaVigne at home and was assured his search warrant as soon as the judge had enough information in his hands to issue one.

  Back at the station, Ray sent Baker to the Hall of Records to find out who owned the old monastery. “I hope you get the sweet little college co-ed who works part time. The clerk is a bitch.” Ray shrugged at Baker’s scowl.

  Chris immediately began investigating who the victims used as gynecologists and sent Swift to the monastery. The agent entered with a sleeping bag and burgers for the evening meal. His two charges found him down-to-earth and delightful company.

  Disgruntled officials who had already gone home grudgingly returned to their offices for Baker to look through records. The same woman who had given Ray and Chris grief about the birth records let Brian Baker in. She grumbled, “Couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow?”

  “No, ma’am,” said Brian, remembering Ray’s warning. “If we wait, another woman might die. Do you want that on your conscience?”

  “Humph!” grunted the woman. “Will it go faster if I help you look, Detective Baker?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with an uneasy feeling. She rubs me the wrong way. “That would be quite helpful, but I think I need to do this more discreetly. Thanks for the offer.”

  He gave her a disarming smile, causing her to shrug and open a novel from beneath the counter. She read while Baker searched.

  His hunt complete, Baker called Ray in transit. “Investigation turned up the owner of the monastery to be Restoration and Revival, Inc.”

  “Who owns the company?” He held his breath.

  “None other than Latrice Descartes.” Baker chuckled. “Get this, pal. It’s the ‘Mark of the Beast.’ The woman’s address is 666 Causeway Annex, Eau Bouease, Louisiana. You got everything you need to obtain a valid search warrant. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Who came to let you in?”

  “Your friend. I ignored her. I didn’t even tell her exactly which property I was looking for.”

  “Good call.”

  Chris’s inquiries by phone to the victims’ relatives found that three of the women had used Dr. Bill Sullivan, just as Larkin had. Two of them had used Dr. Sessums, and six, Dr. Jimenez. Bianca had gone to the health department. Knowing there would be great resistance to personnel records being handed over, Dantzler pulled some strings and got court orders for personnel files at each of the doctors’ offices.

  As soon as physicians’ offices opened the next morning, Dantzler, Chris, and Ray each went to a different office. Dantzler visited Dr. Sessums and Chris took the doctor’s office with the most victims.

  Unable to explain his need to interview the man personally, Ray felt compelled to see Larkin’s doctor, almost as if a voice guided him. He shivered at the thought. He did not approach the personnel office. Rather, he went directly to Dr. Sullivan, an amiable giant at six-six and a good two hundred fifty pounds.

  Ray broke the ice by saying, “You should be on the football field.”

  “Was,” he clipped. “Played five years as a defensive lineman for the Chargers. After three concussions, I came to my senses before I lost my senses. I changed direction in life. Delivering babies brings me joy. What can I do for you, Detective? You do not appear to be pregnant.” The doctor gave his unusual patient an impish, but good-natured grin.

  “I’m not,” laughed Ray. “I need to ask you about a possible employee, Latrice Descartes.”

  “Oh, yes. Latrice. She was a trip.” He opened a candy dish and popped a lemon drop into his mouth, offering Ray one. The detective declined with a hand wave. Dr. Sullivan characterized Latrice around his lemon drop. “I often wondered if she should be named Larry. Latrice was former military, a Marine. She was most unladylike. More like a lumbering bull. I had a hard time believing she wanted to be an obstetrics nurse, but she was highly qualified. However, the only position I had at the time was in billing. She worked several months part time here and at the health department. She left us to go full time at the health department. She was a good employee. Is she in trouble?”

  “She might be of real help in an investigation. I need her file.”

  “Do you have the proper documents compelling me to give it to you?”

  “Of course I do.” Ray handed the court order to Dr. Sullivan.

  The doctor gave the paperwork a quick read and nodded. “Come with me, Detective Reynolds.” As the two men walked down the hall, the doctor asked, “Detective, does this have anything to do with Larkin Sloan?”

  “Perhaps. Why do you ask?”

  “Intuition.” The doctor shrugged. “She’s a trip, too. You’ll fall in love with her when you meet her.”

  “Are you in love with her?”

  Dr. Sullivan laughed. “I’m married, Detective, but if I weren’t, Miss Sloan would be my kind of gal. I don’t remember all my patients so vividly. She’s unusual. Of course, I’m also nearly twenty years her senior. If Latrice has had anything to do with Larkin’s disappearance, find both of them, whatever it takes.”

  He pulled a file and handed it to Ray. “Good luck, Detective. If I can be of any further service, let me know.”

  All three investigators obtained information showing that Latrice Descartes had worked for each doctor at the time the various victims had been kidnapped and killed. She had indeed had access to all their records for medical billing purposes. She had only worked part time at the health department until a month before Larkin disappeared.

  Dantzler frowned looking at Ray and Chris. “You two don’t look as if you had any trouble getting information.”

  “I didn’t,” Chris said. “Why do you think I took the office with the most victims?”

  “Beats me.”

  Chris chortled. “Really, Lawrence. I’m a woman. Sometimes it does have its advantages. I talked openly and showed the proper documentation. The human resource coordinator gave me just what I needed.”

  Dantzler looked at Ray. “How’d you fare?”

  “I made a new friend, one that really likes Larkin Sloan. You?”

  “I met with serious opposition—patient confidentiality. I had to prove I didn’t want patient information, just employment confirmation. I got what I needed even if the HR person in that office probably will never speak to me again. And she was hot and not wearing a wedding band.”

  Chris rolled her eyes. Ray caught the look and raised an eyebrow in question. She just shook her head.

  ♣♣♣

  Ray and Chris returned to the wine cellar two days later to find Raif, Larkin, and Patrick having a relaxed late breakfast. “Perhaps, you should’ve waited to eat,” suggested Ray. He held up the searc
h warrant. “Do you wanna see what’s upstairs?”

  All agreed they did, and Ray cautioned the civilians not to touch anything. However, he gave them rubber gloves just in case.

  The unusual assortment of sleuths made their way up the creaking stairs to a locked door on which Ray deftly picked the lock, thankful he had trained with a locksmith. They entered a corridor lined with cells where monks had once slept. The cubicles appeared to have been undisturbed for eons. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and cobwebs invaded the corners and spaces. The small narrow rectangular windows covered in decades of grime allowed very little light to filter in. Feeling certain it would be a mistake to use the electric lights installed around 1900, Ray distributed flashlights. The beams sent rats and roaches scurrying. Sandwiched between Ray and Raif, Larkin shivered at the scratchy noises. Ray touched her hand. Raif caressed her shoulder.

  Further snooping found a kitchen and dining hall in the same condition as the small bed chambers the monks and acolytes had used. Out the other side of the kitchen rose another set of stairs with a locked door at the top. Once again, Ray picked the old lock.

  The group entered the side door of the sanctuary, and the pungent odor of decay sent them back into the stairwell. Ray reached into his back pocket and pulled out a packet of scented wipes. He gave one to each person and asked, “Shall we try again?”

  Inside with the wipe against their noses, the group could not believe what they beheld. The stained glass windows, which should have drawn breaths of awe for their craft and beauty, instead cast eerie dancing shadows and a deathly pall over the room. The dark pine pews remained undisturbed, but the marble altar and communion utensils stood defiled and cursed, caked with dried blood.

  Ray, Chris, and Patrick snapped pictures from every angle of the room and scraped numerous samples of the dried blood into evidence vials. “Do you think she drinks the blood?” asked Larkin in innocent disgust.

  “How repulsive!” Chris gagged.

  The group made their way back to the relative safety of the wine cellar. With a severe scowl on his face Ray said, “We have a lot of circumstantial evidence. Unless our victims’ DNA turns up in these blood samples, all we can get her for right now is conspiracy to kidnap, and that on the word of a man a good lawyer could make seem completely unreliable. I’m sorry, Raif, but you know it’s true.”

  Raif nodded.

  His brother continued, “She could say all the grossness upstairs was there long before she bought the place, and we would be hard pressed to prove otherwise. Right now, we can’t say for certain it’s human blood. Santeria practitioners kill chickens. Some Voodoo rituals might use animal blood. We need more than this if we want to nail her. What we need is to catch her in the act.” He handed Patrick all the evidence vials and envelopes. “Get this stuff to the lab ASAP. I want to get these two housed somewhere safe.”

  Larkin opened her mouth to protest, but Ray put his index finger against his lips in sharp command. Her eyes widened at his audacity to order her to do anything. The detective told Patrick, “We’ll be close on your heels. Take care of this.”

  The FBI agent left with the evidence. Once the door closed, Ray looked around at the others. “I have a plan, but it involves a great deal of deception and could prove to be very dangerous.”

  20

  Laying a Trap

  “What do you have in mind, Ray? Are you considering using me as bait?” Larkin asked, planting herself in her usual spot near the headboard of the old bed.

  “Well, sort of,” he admitted.

  “Should I be prepared to be led away like a lamb to the slaughter?” A hint of fear and annoyance tinged her voice.

  “You won’t be alone. I’ll be with you.” The detective looked toward his twin. “My plan really has more to do with my brother and me trading places.”

  “What?” gasped Raif, his already fair face blanching. His sapphire blue eyes exuded both anger and apprehension.

  “I told you my plan involved deception.” Sitting patiently at the foot of the bed and looking at the cheap blanket, he smoothed a wrinkle. “How good a liar are you, Raif?” The detective made eye contact with his brother.

  Wrapping his arms tightly about himself, Raif answered, “Well, I really don’t know. I’ve never made a habit of lying.”

  “I’ll have to do more lying than you. You’ll simply need to follow Chris’s lead.”

  “Oh, my God!” Chris hollered. “Are you serious, Ray?”

  “Do I look as if I’m joking?” the detective responded, lines etching his brow.

  Chris paced in agitation waving her index finger in a tick-tock motion. “Let me get this straight.” She paused. “You want Raif”—she pointed at the cop’s twin—“to pretend to be you”—the point turned to her partner—“while you stay here and pretend to be him.” A perfectly French manicured index finger jabbed into Ray’s chest. “So you can be here when this Latrice person finally comes onto the property?”

  “You know it.” He looked at the fingernail poking into his chest. “Do you mind?”

  “You’ve lost it.” The FBI agent snapped her hands to her hips, arms akimbo, muscles taut.

  “I want to catch the nutcase in the act.”

  “We have enough to bring her in for questioning now!” Chris shrieked.

  Ray sighed. “But not enough to nail her. And I’m sure she’d try to pin it all on Raif.”

  Ray turned to Larkin. “I swear I won’t let her hurt you, but if you don’t agree to this charade, I can’t pull it off.”

  “I know you won’t let anything happen to me, Ray.” Larkin looked at the other twin. “I worry more about your being able to fool Latrice. I’ll go along with your plan if you can fool me into believing you’re Raif.”

  “You’re on!” he chuckled. “This should be interesting. Raif, let’s get started.”

  With arms crossed, Raif said, “Well, the first thing we need to do is to get you very scruffy looking.” He held up an index finger and waved it back and forth. “No shaving. As a matter of fact, before you meet Latrice, you might get a makeup artist to make you even rattier. I think for all our sakes we’ll let you walk through a stink bomb rather than not bathe. Of course, she did tell me to take a bath, but I’m nuts. Remember, Latrice thinks I’m off my meds and gone completely off the deep end.” He flipped his hands into the air and grinned. “I’ll have to get you to hear voices.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be hearing yours. As a matter of fact, I’ll need to meet this woman before Halloween. I’ll probably wear a hidden ear piece so I can hear your instructions.”

  “This is crazy, Ray.” Chris voiced her objections again. “It’s too dangerous. The boys upstairs will never agree.”

  Ray mumbled, “They don’t have to know.”

  “Not just crazy—stupid!” The FBI agent paced back and forth across the room, stopping in front of Raif. She glared at Ray’s mirror image. “I thought you might be more sensible.”

  Raif smiled. “I’m not worried about Ray’s being able to fool Latrice. I’m concerned about being him.”

  “That’s easy. Act like a stubborn jackass.” She glowered at her partner. “What’s the Cajun word you use—fooyay? This is foolish!” she finished with a crescendo.

  Raif sighed. “I tried so hard to lose the Cajun accent. Now I have to get it back.”

  “I don’t sound Cajun,” the detective argued.

  Everyone else in the room laughed as he took umbrage.

  “Fooyay!” joked Raif.

  “Yes, foolish action,” agreed Ray’s temporary partner. “I’ll say it again—foolish, foolish, foolish.”

  Larkin nodded. “Yes, you do sound a little Cajun. In a charming way.”

  The FBI agent put both hands to her head. “It’s not funny.” The woman continued to argue. “Ray, this creature is capable of killing you. I mean, she’s physically capable of overpowering a man your size. She’s done it to several victims. What did you learn about her? S
he’s a former Marine. She’s trained to kill. If she suspects anything, this could blow up in your face. Not to mention get you fired.”

  “Not if you have my back. Chris, trust me. This is our best chance to put the nail in her coffin.”

  Larkin shivered at the use of that particular idiom.

  “You okay?” Chris asked.

  “Yeah. Just use a different phrase. There’s been enough death.”

  “Sorry,” Ray mumbled before presenting more arguments for his case. “We’ve run her fingerprints. She’s smart. The only place we’ve found her prints is on the outside doorknob. She owns the place, so we would expect that. We have to wait on the DNA from the blood samples. By the time the results get back, it could be too late. She has coerced and manipulated men in a weakened state to help her and then killed them, just like a black widow.”

  Raif grunted under his breath, “I thought black widows killed the male after mating. Latrice might be a virgin herself. I can’t imagine a normal man being attracted to her.”

  Everybody looked astonished at Raif’s comment.

  “What?” Raif asked, standing up straight and spreading his arms out wide, palms facing his brother. “You haven’t seen her. She’s five-ten, a hundred sixty pounds, hair shorter than yours, very masculine features, and very muscular. This woman has biceps almost as big as mine. She’s scary, Ray. I’m saying this to you while I’m totally in control of my faculties.”

  Ray nodded. “I believe you. That’s why you’re going home with me for a couple of days. Chris will stay with Larkin. She’ll shoot first and ask questions later if anything unusual happens.”

  Chris looked around at the other three. “You’re all nuts.” The agent stomped to the small refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of water, and chugged half of it. “Damn you! Count me in.”

  Pleased with himself, Ray grinned with smugness. “When you and I return, brother, and I pass Miss Sloan’s test, we’ll set the snare, lay the trap, and catch this poisonous snake.”

  The two Raifords left Chris and Larkin well supplied for a couple of days. Baker and the FBI agents were left with the impression that Ray and Chris were hiding Raif and Larkin in a secure location. Ray felt it would be prudent for the fewest people possible to know about the change of identities until the last minute.