by Martha Reed
Dupree flattened both hands on the table. “The killer used a blade to remove her scalp. Dr. Sabatier found traces of carbon steel on the skull. It was a crude attempt with multiple hesitation cuts. The blade wasn’t a hunting knife and it wasn’t serrated. She believes the killer used a high-end kitchen knife.” He cleared his throat. “CSI didn’t find a knife at the crime site.”
“But the scalping didn’t kill Dee,” Jane pursued. “What did?”
“Dr. Sabatier listed asphyxiation as the cause of death.”
“Fuck!” Gee slammed her fists against the table. “He tied Dee up and then he strangled her?”
“Yes.” Dupree’s shoulders dropped. “For what it’s worth, we believe the killer took the scalp post-mortem. It’s a small thing, but at least Ms. Gardere didn’t need to endure that trauma.”
“Did he rape her?” Jane asked.
“No. There’s no evidence of sexual assault.”
“This is a fucking nightmare.” Gee pressed her palms to her temples.
“What about Fancy’s wig?” Jane asked. “Did CSI pull anything from that?”
“No, unfortunately. The killer soaked it in bleach.”
Gee slumped against her chair, scratching a rough plastic patch on the table with the square edge of her thumbnail. “What do we do now? Wait for someone else to die? And who will Ryan go after, next?”
“We don’t know that Embry is our POI, yet.” Dupree smoothed his tie with his hands. “There’s another idea I’d like to run by you.” He flicked the intercom switch. “Gentlemen? We’re ready for you now. Conference Room A. Come in.”
Chapter Forty-Two
The latch clicked and the golden maple door swung open. Before she even turned, Jane heard the familiar throaty chuckle. She caught the lemony citrus note and the blushing rose tone underlying the rich bergamot of his cologne. Fuck. Sultan Parfum Musk Aoud. I should have known.
“Good morning.”
His voice sent a shiver through her frame from her earlobes to her toes. Pushing back from the table, Jane took up a protected position, placing her back against an interior wall.
Dupree stood up and extended his hand.
“Special Agent Carter. Good to see you again.”
‘Carter’ was a tall, slender, fit black male, approximately six foot two and 35 years old. He was built long, lean and loose like an NFL running back. His hair was clipped short on both sides and kept longer on top with a clearly shaved diagonal parting his scalp. He was wearing belted khaki slacks with a butter yellow sports shirt and a lightweight navy windbreaker. From this angle, his lapel was folded back so Jane couldn’t see if it had the logo or the capital letter acronym written on it. Carter carried a tablet and a couple of flat gray envelopes tucked under his arm and he looked exactly like what he was. FBI.
“Antwon? You good?” Carter grasped Dupree’s outstretched hand. “This is Special Agent Cesar Mayas. Cesar’s on reassignment from the Boston Bureau. He’s a great resource for our team. Knows the ground. I’d like to bring him in.”
“Glad to have you.” Dupree reached out again.
“Thanks. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Cesar was looking sharp. He sported a pencil-thin mustache and looked as dapper as Jane remembered in a tailored broadcloth shirt, platinum cufflinks, lightweight gray slacks and a blazer. His hair is shorter than the last time I saw him. Jane hid her smile behind her fingers. And he’s going way gray. How old is Cesar now? 40? 41?
Gee caught Jane staring. “Man candy.” Crossing her legs at the knees, she thoughtfully stroked her Adam’s apple. “Tag. I saw him first.”
Two chairs squealed in unison as the FBI special agents sat.
“Sounds like a challenging case,” Carter offered.
“It has been, so far.” Dupree tapped his laptop. “But we’ll crack it.”
“I have no doubt.”
“These are our two principal witnesses. Ms. Gigi Pascoe and Ms. Jane Byrne.”
Jane’s heart hammered against her ribcage as Mayas turned. The tight conference room grew even warmer.
“I already know Ms. Byrne.” Mayas smiled uncertainly. “Hello, CJ. How’ve you been?”
“You know him?” Gee went goggle-eyed. “You’ve worked with the FBI before?”
Jane suddenly didn’t know where to rest her hands. “Yes, back in Massachusetts. We resolved a child abduction case together.”
“The one where you shot that guy?”
“No.” She squirmed. “That was another case, a hostage situation. A different thing.”
“Don’t mind me asking.” Gee whispered, slipping out of her jacket and hanging it on the back of her chair. “But did you ‘know him’ know him, or know him?”
“It was business, Gee.”
“Thank you, Jesus.” She fanned her blush away. “This was about to get complicated.”
“Chief Nunn mentioned you the other day.” Mayas smoothed his mustache. “In a good way.”
“It’s Jane now,” Jane stated, lowering her chin. “And I think about her, too. And the team. How’s everyone doing?”
“They’re good, really good. Anetta’s settled in. She’s running the show.”
“I’ll bet she is. And John? And Sarah, and the twins?”
“Also fine. Those kids are growing like weeds. They’re four now.”
Four. Jane felt sorrow’s shadow cross her soul like a dense cloud suddenly blotting out the sun. That’s the choice I didn’t take, the opportunity I missed. If I ever do go back, I won’t be a godmother to those kids. I’ll be a stranger.
“What’s going on?” Dupree looked confused. “Have we tripped into witness protection?”
“No.” Jane blinked. “I left.” It crushed my heart to do it, but I needed to leave. Clenching her fists, she owned the fierce gift of her freedom. I am Jane Byrne. I left all of that behind me and I’m not going to be afraid of anyone or anything, anymore.
Mayas carefully folded his manicured hands. “Jane? Will you be able to work with me on this case? Or should I recuse myself?”
“No! Don’t do that!” Gee exclaimed.
“I can work with you,” Jane replied easily. “Why did you come back to NOLA?”
“Diabetes. My Dad’s not doing well.” Mayas settled back. “My family needs me. Temporary hometown reassignment offered the perfect solution.”
“Welcome home.” Dupree cleared his throat. “Special Agent Carter will be opening the zero file for this case. Win? Why don’t you lead off?”
“Thank you.” Carter propped his tablet against the intercom. Squinting, he adjusted the screen to counteract the glare from the canister lights. “I’m Winston Carter and I’m a hate crime specialist with the NCAVC, the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime division of the FBI.” His smile revealed some self-deprecating humor. “It’s a mouthful, but it fills up my resume.”
“Your resume stands up just fine on its own,” Mayas stated firmly.
“Thank you again.” Carter flicked the tablet. “Fourteen hours ago, Detective Dupree filed an incident submission on the Fancy Abellard homicide and the subsequent homicide of Delilah Gardere with our NIBRS data collection system.”
“Here we go,” Gee sassed. “Acronym soup.”
He looked up. “NIBRS is an acronym for the National Incident-Based Reporting System, the system we use to collate hate crime statistics. This incident data tripped a flag because of the violent nature of the offenses, the close timing, the known relationship between two of the victims and the potential for bias motivation.”
“So, you think this is a hate crime?” Gee asked.
“We believe it’s a distinct possibility.”
“Then let’s get something straight.” Gee stared down her pointed finger. “Fancy and Dee weren’t victims. They were my friends.”
“Pardon me, of course, you’re right.” Carter had the grace to look unsettled. “I didn’t mean to sound insensitive.”
“
An important thing to remember,” Mayas studied Gee carefully, “is that you’re not alone in this. Many hate crimes go unreported out of shame or fear.” He tapped the table. “Thank you for coming forward and meeting with us today.”
“I’m not ashamed.” Gee stoutly folded her arms. “Or afraid.”
“Glad to hear it.” Carter quickly pecked out a sentence on his keyboard. “Intolerance can have a devastating impact on families and communities. It plants the seed of terrorism in our country.” He looked up. “Any questions, so far?”
Gee thoughtfully tapped her chin. “You married?”
“Really, Gee?” Jane hissed. “Stop fucking around.”
“What? I was asking for you.”
“In the interest of full disclosure, I’m not.” Carter illuminated the room with a million-dollar smile. Squaring his windbreaker, he side-eyed Mayas and continued. “Before we dig in, we do need to disclose that we’ve already run preliminary background and security clearance checks on you both.”
Jane felt a ripple of unease as Gee straightened.
“Security checks? What for?”
“Standard protocol,” Mayas rumbled. “Everything was public information.”
“We’ll start with yours.” Carter expanded a document on his screen. “Gigi Pascoe, age 32, lifelong NOLA resident. Six misdemeanors for public intoxication, two for possession of marijuana less than one ounce and one arrest for assault with intent to do physical harm.”
“Bitch was trying to steal my beads.” Leveling her gaze at Mayas, she flicked her fingers. “What can I say? It was Mardi Gras and I was young.”
Something, something’s going on there. Jane’s stomach stirred as Carter focused on her.
“Cynthia Jane ‘CJ’ Allamand, AKA Jane Byrne. Aged 34. No misdemeanors on record, but charged with felony manslaughter during an officer-involved shooting using excessive force.”
“Justice was served.” Jane stated flatly. “The Grand Jury ruled I had the lawful right to discharge my service weapon during the commission of a crime.”
“True,” Mayas agreed slowly, “but the court appointed five-year probationary period remains pending.”
Fucker. Jane felt stung. Don’t you think I know that?
“Probation?” Gee’s jaw fell open. “Does Maman and Pops know that?”
“No one does.” Jane snapped. “And don’t let it get out. You’ll cost me my job.”
“You didn’t tell the Guardian Storage people, either?”
“I needed the job, Gee.” An aggravating tinnitus started buzzing in her ears. “I still do.”
“What I don’t get.” Mayas’ forehead channeled into wrinkles. “Is why take an alias? CJ, you left the state.”
“I told you it’s Jane, now. Jane Byrne.” She battled her temper. How do I explain this so that it makes sense? She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t trying to hide. After the hearing I didn’t feel like the same person anymore. When I walked out of that courtroom I felt invisible, anonymous, like a ghost.” She plowed her fingertips down the tensed muscles in her thighs. “I needed to draw a line in the sand. I needed to make a before time and an after to get past it, to put that shit behind me, to somehow get to the other side.” Jane shook the tension from her hands. “Legally changing my name did that. It helped me finish it and move the fuck on.” She straightened. “Is that going to fuck things up and keep me from helping you catch this prick?”
“No, it won’t.” Carter smiled warmly. “Actually, your prior law enforcement experience as a detective is considered a plus.”
“It is?” Jane raised her chin as unanticipated hope lifted her spirit and warmed her soul. Carter needs my experience. He thinks I’m a value add. The blush crept outward from her core until it tingled her fingers and toes. I’ll need to brush up on my Logic Tree skills, but maybe my training and my years on the force weren’t wasted?
“Let’s pursue this thought.” Carter’s windbreaker strained as he folded his arms. He glanced at Mayas, who nodded. “We have a suggestion. We need to flush this killer out. Staying inside, locked up tight, won’t do it. We need to bring this scumbag into the light. Ms. Pascoe? You seem to be the single commonality, the killer’s central focus.”
Gee scowled sardonically. “Lucky me.”
“What’s your ask?” Jane said.
Carter leaned in. “We’d like to hire you and Ms. Byrne as non-law enforcement consultants.”
Jane’s heart leapt into her throat. “Undercover? You want us to work undercover for the FBI?”
“Yes.” Mayas added quickly, tapping the table again. “Hired for this specific case only. Undercover operations have proven to be very effective. You two have access to the LGBTQ community. You can both go where we can’t get in.”
“Interesting.” Gee leaned on one elbow like a poker player holding a winning hand. “What’s it pay?”
“The standard Federal hourly contractor rate,” Mayas replied smoothly. “Minus state and federal withholding.” Removing two envelopes marked CONFIDENTIAL from his blazer, he slid them over the table. “Here’s your formal release with a legally binding contract. Review these documents and let us know if you have any questions. I know we dropped this on you.” He smiled at Gee. “A federal pay grade scale card is included.”
“Let’s plan on regrouping tomorrow after you’ve had time for review,” Carter added.
“What about hours?” Jane asked as her brain lit up with fresh possibilities. “Can I quit working security?”
“No! Don’t do that.” Carter’s eyes widened with alarm. He raised his palm. “You need to pursue your normal lives. Undercover duty needs to fit seamlessly into your existing lifestyle and your current schedule. Don’t alter anything. If there’s a conflict, you’ll need to behave as you normally would by scheduling time off for vacation or taking a sick day or leave of absence. Continue to keep everything as transparent as possible. We don’t want to spook the killer.”
Funny that. Working for the FBI was my dream job. Jane agreed thoughtfully. “What brought this on?”
“Because,” Carter settled back, “after reviewing Detective Dupree’s case notes - thank you again, detective - we believe the investigation needs to be elevated above the baseline hate crime status.”
“About goddamn time,” Gee interjected savagely. “Two of my friends are dead.”
“And judging from the data.” Flicking his tablet, Carter stared. “We believe metro NOLA has activated a serial killer.”
Chapter Forty-Three
“Ryan’s a serial killer?” Gee gaped.
Special Agent Carter’s head snapped up. “Who’s Ryan?”
“Ryan Embry.” Gee glanced uncertainly at Dupree. “An ex-friend of mine.”
“We couldn’t be that lucky,” Mayas wondered. “Could we?”
“Since we spoke this morning,” Dupree interjected, “we’ve identified Embry as a potential POI. We’re picking him up for a prelim now.”
Carter looked surprised. “You have enough evidence to support an arrest?”
“Not yet. It’s premise and hearsay, but the logic is compelling. We’re still reviewing the crime scene tapes out of Guardian Storage.”
“Any indicators?”
“Not so far. There are over 400 hours of tape to review.”
“If I work undercover,” Gee asked, “will I get a gun?”
“Carrying a weapon is a personal choice you’ll need to make,” Carter emphasized. “The Bureau will not be issuing you one, no.”
“If you do purchase a personal weapon,” Dupree inserted. “We strongly recommend that you take a safety training course plus you’ll need a carry permit according to Louisiana law.”
Gee turned. “Jane? Do you have a gun?”
“No.” Jane dropped her focus to the linoleum. “I had to surrender my service weapon as a condition of probation.”
“I’ll think about it.” Gee repeatedly slid the envelope beneath her fingertips. “If we do
go with this, what’s the next step?”
“You tell us.” Mayas smoothly adjusted his cufflinks. “What would you normally do over the weekend?”
“Seriously?” Gee laughed, looking wicked. “How much detail can you handle? Saturday night means Club Femme du Monde. Tomorrow night the club’ll be hopping.”
“Where is this club?” Carter asked.
“Frenchmen Street,” Dupree responded automatically. “It’s a known nuisance bar.”
“Nuisance, my ass.” Gee sent him a sour look.
“That area is solid cover.” Mayas nodded grimly. “Plenty of foot traffic. No one will notice a HUMINT surveillance unit.”
“Everyone’s so high that no one will notice.” Dupree scowled.
Gee laughed. “Everyone’s so high that nobody cares.”
“In any case,” Mayas interrupted. “You won’t see us, but we’ll be there.” Reaching into his breast pocket, he distributed a pair of silver sealed foil pouches. “You’ll need to wear these.”
“Condoms?” Gee tossed the foil pouch between her hands like a hot potato. “How lucky do you think we’re gonna get?”
“Those are audio GPS wires,” Mayas replied sternly. “Clip them inside your shirt, the hem of your pants or your skirt,” he flushed, “whatever you’re wearing tomorrow night. Make sure that it’s physically attached to your person, meaning, don’t drop it in a handbag that might get left behind. We’ll use those wires to listen in and track your position via GPS.”
“I like a lot of different positions,” Gee’s teased, flipping the foil packet between her fingers like a cardsharper. “How does this thing turn on?”
“It’s always on. Once it’s removed from the protective sleeve, we’ll record everything you say and track your movements. It’s an automated feature.”
“Everything, son?” Leaning back, Gee slid the foil pouch into her hip pocket. “I hope you’re ready for this. You sure it’s legal?”
“It is, as long as you volunteer to wear it.”
“No worries from me. Dupree?” Gee straightened. “I’m seriously missing my wheels. When do I get The Boat back?”