Broken (The Raiford Chronicles #3 Book 1)

by Janet Taylor-Perry

  Edyta Descartes laughed again. "Are you going to stick zat pin een zat doll?"

  "Do you want me to?"

  "I zink you are bluffing."

  Raif tilted his head and pursed his lips. Then, he took the pin and plunged it into the doll's right arm.

  Edyta Descartes cackled and applauded. "Bravo! Ees eet real?"

  "Yes."

  "Ah"—She waved a finger back and forth—"but you do not believe. Your faith does not lie een zee vorld of evil. Alzough you are angry, you do not hate. No, you love even zee most unlovable. Now, do I reward such character? Do I betray blood?"

  Edyta Descartes became quiet and closed her eyes. Neely took Raif's hand. Edyta Descartes sighed, but she did not open her eyes as she spoke. "Your priestess does not practice dark magic. She seeks the light, as do you. You should believe een miracles, my beautiful rose tattoo. And zis senile old voman vould like to visit Palermo before she dies, but zat vill not happen. Good-bye."

  Edyta Descartes's head drooped. Raif jumped to his feet. He checked Edyta's pulse. "Get the nurse," he commanded Neely. He stashed the voodoo doll in his pocket as Neely zipped to the nurses' station.

  The nurse ran into the room. Checking the old woman's pulse, she said, "She's dead."

  Raif rubbed his head and looked as if he were getting one of Ray's migraines. He stared dubiously at Neely. "I failed," he murmured.

  "No, you didn't. Palermo. She wasn't talking about visiting Italy. That's his last name," surmised Neely.

  "Do you think?"

  "Absolutely.

  Outside the long-term care facility, Raif called Ray. "What happened?" Ray demanded.

  "Palermo. Track down Lloyd Palermo. He is either a state trooper or impersonating one."

  "What did you do?"

  "I stuck a pin in a voodoo doll."

  Raif hung up and hugged Neely close. "Hotel or home?" he asked.

  "Home. We need to be a united family."

  "Home it is."

  They headed directly back to the airport. International travel took a good bit of time.

  The moment Parker had confirmation that Lloyd was an actual state trooper, he began a search for anyone with that name, first or last, that had served as a Louisiana State Trooper in the last ten years. He found twenty-five throughout the state. When Ray relayed the message from Raif, Parker retrieved a printout. "Got him. Time to bring him in for questioning."

  Dozens of phone calls and several late-night visits to judges' homes later, Parker Reynolds and six local law enforcers along with four FBI agents descended on an apartment not far from the Eau Boueuse Police Station. Parker knocked resoundingly. "Lloyd Palermo, open up. Police."

  Shirtless and rubbing sleep from his eyes, a tall, muscular man with very short dark hair opened the door. "What do you want? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

  "Too late," Parker said. "Step outside, please."

  "What for?"

  "Please." Parker indicated with his hand the concrete stoop.

  "This sounds like you're here to arrest me. What are the charges?" He held up an index finger. Leaving the door open, Palermo walked back to his bedroom and put on a shirt and his shoes. Then he stepped out the door with his hands behind him.

  He said, "No clue what this is all about, but I'll go quietly with you, Officer?"

  "Detective. Detective Parker Reynolds."

  "Detective Reynolds." Palermo looked at the army sent for him. "I'm sure there's some sort of misunderstanding. What is it that I've supposedly done?"

  Parker snapped handcuffs on the man. "Let's start with gunning down my aunt in front of my cousin." He went on to read a list of charges and Palermo's rights as he walked him to a waiting police cruiser.

  Raif and Neely arrived home late the next afternoon. There was a note on the front door. It read:

  Get some sleep. Arraignment 9 A.M. tomorrow. I can't believe it was one of our own.

  Ray

  "It's over," Raif said as he sank onto the sofa. Neely stood behind him and massaged his shoulders. He reached up and caught her hand. "Come around here."

  Neely sat beside Raif and he pulled her close. "Oh, baby. I'm so tired. Just feeling you beside me gives me strength. I cannot believe God saw fit to give you to me. I've done nothing worthy of you."

  "Raif, I love you so much. You're the most amazing man I've ever known. That crazy old woman said I should believe in miracles. You are my miracle."

  Raif kissed Neely. "My beautiful Neely, I have a question for you."

  "What?"

  "Will you share my bed? You've never slept in my bed."

  "Until the day I die."

  Raif lifted Neely into his arms and with renewed energy bounded up the stairs.

  21

  Not the Same Mistake Twice

  Gigi Cockerill sat in the press section of the packed courtroom and watched Parker Reynolds with his wife. What she observed told her to move forward and not to make the same blunder twice and fall in love with the wrong man.

  Feeling her gaze on him, Parker turned. Their eyes locked. Sheena followed his line of vision. Gigi smiled and nodded.

  "I think she finally gets it," Parker murmured.

  "If she doesn't, I can make it very clear." Sheena folded her arms across her chest and glared across the courtroom.

  Oh, shit, thought Gigi. That's love. He's told her everything. You're a good one, Parker—just not mine. Will I ever learn? Being determined to win the Pulitzer that Raiford Reynolds had prompted her to believe she could write, she immediately turned her attention to the entrance of the accused.

  Lloyd Palermo was escorted into the courtroom in shackles. It seemed the room became a refrigerator upon his entrance. Ray and Raif exchanged haunted looks as memories of frigid air surrounding Lloyd's mother came back to them, confirmation few would understand.

  The list of charges was exhaustive: Four official counts of murder in the first degree (Olivia Baker wheeled Brian into the courtroom to gloat that Lloyd had failed in that attempt.); one count of attempted murder; thirteen counts of conspiracy to commit murder; fifteen counts of conspiracy to assault; thirteen counts of grand theft; multiple counts of contributing to the delinquency of a minor; and a number more.

  Lloyd Palermo would not stand trial in Eau Boueuse. The federal indictments against him insured the closest place would be Baton Rouge.

  Ray rubbed his head as the charges were listed, one by one. "What's wrong," Raif asked.

  "I think the prosecutors have jumped the gun. Frankly, the evidence is shaky."

  "How can you say that?"

  "We still don't have what I consider a solid case. I gave what we had to the feds. I would have waited to file charges. They took that out of my hands, even if they did let Parker put the cuffs on him. Let's hope they prove their case. Parker said, he told them to just bring him in for questioning first, let him build the case."

  They continued to whisper until the judge shot them a look.

  The defendant seemed to be in shock, but he pled not guilty.

  "Not guilty?" Raif hissed. "What about the guy in Honolulu?"

  "Maybe if we can get him back here. Shh," Ray scolded, "before the judge throws us out."

  Lloyd looked over his shoulder at the twins. His mind raced. I planned so carefully. How could this have happened? Has Raiford Reynolds made a pact with the devil?

  Lloyd was denied bail and transported immediately to Angola to await trial. The judge well remembered his mother's escape. He would not make the same error his colleague had made. A twelve-car convoy prepared to escort the accused. Ray went to his prized black 1967 Mustang Shelby GT. "I think I'll make it thirteen for luck," he said to his brother. "Are you coming?"

  Raif looked around at his family. Neely stood arm in arm with Larkin. "The Rose Tattoo," Raif whispered.

  "What?" asked Ray.

  "Edyta Descartes said that Lloyd's downfall was harming the rose tattoo. Ray, how is it possible I'm so connected to Neely I just
ended up at her place at the lowest point in my life? How can she love me? Look at her, Ray. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"

  "Yes, the angel she's with."

  "Of course, you would say that. Yes, I'm coming with you. I won't make the same mistake twice. I need to see this son-of-a-bitch locked away. Ray, if he gets the death penalty, I have to be there. I have to finish this for Chris."

  "Me, too. We'll be there together."

  Outside the entrance near where Ray was parked, six heavily armed guards escorted Lloyd Palermo to the waiting armored transport van. He paused and stared at Ray. "How?" he asked. "How could you think I did this?"

  A chill to his bones, Raif stepped to within inches of true evil a second time. He said simply, "You shouldn't have made the same slip your mother made. You should've listened to your grandmother's warning. You shouldn't have harmed the rose tattoo. You see, she's connected to me. According to Edyta, I was your mother's downfall. So, it appears you targeted the wrong Raiford. Maybe you were too stupid or too bent on revenge to listen to your grandmother, but I wasn't. By the way, she said, 'Good-bye,' to me."

  Lloyd Palermo stared in utter confusion at Raif and thought as the guards ushered him into the van, what rose tattoo?

  Ray and Raif followed the convoy to Angola where they personally walked with the guards to see Lloyd Palermo securely locked up. Both had narrowly escaped death at the hand of his mother after she was supposed to have been under lock and key. Neither intended to put himself or his family at risk again. They would not make the same mistake twice.

  22

  Excuses Are Like Asses

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  September, 2028

  Patrick Gautier left the stuffiness of an inquiry into possible plagiarism and fell face first onto his bed in is dorm room.

  "Did the bitchy old broad win? Are you expelled?" asked Todd Sarazin, Patrick's roommate. He moved his laptop aside and sat forward.

  "No," Patrick groaned. "I'm still here, but I feel like an idiot. If I'd just had Aunt Larkin read the damned paper first, none of this would have happened."

  "Don't sweat it then." Todd waved his hand. "Hey, let's celebrate instead."

  Patrick snorted. "Your celebrations get a little crazy."

  "Crazy is what you need tonight." He stood and slapped Patrick on the shoulder. "A couple of beers. Sexy babes. I know just the place."

  "I will not get drunk."

  "Fine." Todd wiggled his eyebrows. "I might. And maybe we'll both get lucky."

  A few hours later, Patrick and half a dozen fraternity brothers wandered into a strip club on Bourbon Street. "Whoa!" Patrick said as he watched an exotic Cleopatra lose everything but her headdress.

  "That one might just be a painted-up hussy." Todd snickered behind a bottle of beer.

  Patrick rolled his eyes at his friend. "Just because these girls dance, does not mean they're hookers."

  "Uh-huh."

  Another girl came on stage as Cleopatra left. The male announcer called her Vixen Fox. Her routine started with her fully covered in silver fox. Patrick scrunched up his face. "Not too original."

  He ordered a beer and waited and watched as several more girls performed. At almost midnight, the announcer said, "Now for your enjoyment welcome a newcomer all the way from the Emerald Isle. Give it up for Irish Spring with her last performance of the night."

  When the girl came on stage, Patrick leaned in to get a better view. "Now this one is breathtaking. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! She can cast a spell on me any time."

  Somewhat petite, she looked like a fairy, costume and all. Sheer green silk fell in front of Patrick. He reached out and let the material trail across his hand. When the music stopped, the girl bent to retrieve her scarf and their eyes met. She graced him with an innocent smile.

  Last performance of the night. She'll be leaving. Patrick turned to his friends. "We need to go."

  "So soon?" Todd objected.

  "Yeah. I have someplace I need to be."

  The guys left, and Patrick looked around as if searching for something. Ah. At the bus stop. He started over. Todd reached for him. "Don't go over there."

  He did not listen. "Excuse me," he said with a hand on the post of the bus stop sign.

  The girl started and pulled her jacket more tightly at her throat.

  The young man continued, "I just wanted to tell you I thought you were fantastic. My name's Patrick." He extended his hand.

  Irish Spring looked at it as if it were an alien. In a brisk Irish brogue she said, "Ya should be knowin', Patrick, that there's no touchin' of the girls on or off stage. I'm not a hooker. When I leave that stage, I'm merely a student at Tulane. I dance to earn a livin'. That's the end of it."

  "I'm sorry," he apologized, pulling his hand back. "I didn't think you were a hooker. I'm a student at Tulane too. I'm studying structural engineering. How about you?"

  The girl looked at this tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed man. He was audacious, yet non-threatening. "Photography," she replied.

  The bouncer from the club exited the rear for a smoke. He saw Patrick talking to the dancer and asked, "Jenna, is this prick bothering you?"

  "No, Falon. He's 'armless. Just a fan."

  Patrick said, "You can't work every night. I'd like to call you—take you to dinner. What d'ya say?"

  The bus pulled up. The girl said from the steps of the bus, "Patrick is a strong, fine, Irish name. I'm in the student directory if ya can find me." And she was gone.

  Back in his dorm room, Patrick searched every name in the student directory, finally finding a Jenna Thornton. Thornton is an Irish surname; not as overtly Irish as O'Something, but Irish, he thought. She was a freshman, too, but she lived off campus. Uncommon. Maybe because she's foreign?

  The next morning, Patrick dialed the number listed for Jenna Thornton. Sleepily, an Irish brogue answered, "'Ello?"

  "Hello, Jenna," he said. "This is Patrick Gautier from last night. How about lunch instead of dinner?"

  Jenna sat up. The man had actually looked for her and found her. She said a bit anxiously, "Patrick from the bus stop?"

  "Yes."

  "How did ya find me? I didna even tell ya me name."

  "Falon called you 'Jenna.' I looked for every Jenna in the student directory. Thornton is an Irish surname."

  "I dona believe it."

  "Honest to God."

  "Aire ya stalkin' me, Patrick?"

  "Should I? Would that get your attention?"

  "No!"

  "Then, how about lunch—with all your clothes on?"

  Jenna was too stunned to say "no." She stammered, "All roight. I'll meet ya."

  "It's raining. You don't need to catch the bus. I'll pick you up. I have the address in the directory."

  "Very well. What time is it?"

  "Almost eleven on a Sunday. I should've gone to church, but I had to find you."

  "Me, too, but I was too tired. Can ya give me two hours?"

  "I'll pick you up at one."

  At one on the dot, Patrick pulled into the cheap apartment complex in the metallic blue Porsche Boxster convertible he had received for graduation. Jenna waited on the balcony of her second-floor apartment. Patrick grabbed an umbrella and ran up the stairs to fetch her.

  In the warm, dry car, Jenna said, "Patrick is a fine Irish name, but Gautier is French."

  "I'm American," Patrick replied with an impish grin.

  "An audacious American. Me grandmother warned me aboot yer sort."

  "What sort is that—handsome, charming, and polite?"

  "And rich," Jenna added, rubbing the luxurious leather as she settled into the car.

  With a grin, he said, "That's my father, but he's handsome, charming, and polite too." He went to the driver's side and stowed the umbrella beneath the seat before sliding behind the steering wheel. "I just work for peanuts summers in his office." He clicked his seatbelt and drove away.

  "What does he do?"

  "Bertra
m and Gautier, architects, although Grandpa Walter is retired, so it'll just be Gautier and Associates when Dad changes the name officially. Of course, in a few years, it'll be Gautier and Gautier."

  "Ye're ambitious."

  "Yes, I suppose."

  Patrick pulled into a Chinese restaurant. "Do you like Chinese? If not, we can go someplace else."

  "Chinese is excellent."

  Patrick and Jenna dined and talked. She relaxed in his presence. He was harmless. He simply found her attractive, even fully dressed.

  When Patrick took Jenna home, he said, "You really shouldn't take the bus home so late. It's dangerous. Someone not as nice as I am could accost you at the bus stop. If you'd like, I could pick you up."

  "That's not necessary, Patrick. I'm a big girl, and I can take care o' meself."

  "Have it your way." He gave her a half smirk. "But if you change your mind, call me." Patrick gave Jenna his cell number.

  "Thank ya. I will."

  "When can I see you again?"

  "Sunday is me only night off."

  "You work six nights a week?"

  "Six nights, four hours, eight dances, two an hour. I make good money. A lot of students dance."

  "I'm sure you make excellent money. You're beautiful, and your routine was hypnotic."

  "Ya only saw one. I do eight different dances each night."

  "Maybe you could give me a private show sometime." He wiggled eyebrows in mischief.

  "Private dances aire five hundred extra, and there's still no touchin'."

  "I could afford it."

  "With yer da's money?" She grinned at the bold American.

  "Touché."

  Jenna laughed. Patrick escorted her to her door where he asked, "Is there any chance of touching the Tulane co-ed?"

  Jenna smirked playfully. "Ya mighta earned a wee peck."

  Patrick put a hand on Jenna's arm and leaned in to kiss her. His six-two frame had to bend to Jenna's five-five height. She tiptoed to meet him in the middle. The kiss was longer than a peck, but Patrick left asking nothing more than another date the following Sunday.