Midnight Caller

by Leslie Tentler

  “Let’s do it.” Trevor shifted his gaze to Girard, who glared at him from inside the cage. He reminded Trevor of a rabid dog. They’d also picked up Girard’s accomplice in the attack, a hulking giant with a shaved head who sat on one of the cell’s benches. Trevor easily recalled him from the shadowed storage room.

  McGrath rapped on a Plexiglas window to get the guard’s attention. He pointed to the men in question. “Put those two beauty queens in rooms three and four.”

  As the officer extracted the prisoners, he bumped shoulders with a wiry-looking male who paced nervously within the confined space. Despite the heat generated by the tight press of bodies, he huddled inside a worn denim jacket.

  Trevor nudged McGrath. “The tweaker over there. What’s the charge?”

  McGrath consulted the clipboard. “Collared for drug possession, Class C amphetamines. Not enough for resale, so it’s probably for his own use. You recognize him?”

  The man turned to pace in the other direction, raking his hands through his unwashed hair. A set of scabbed scratch marks trailed down the right side of his neck before disappearing under the jacket’s turned-up collar. Trevor felt a black anger grab hold. Stalking in through the cell door, he dragged the man out.

  “Take off your jacket!”

  McGrath moved forward. “Rivette—”

  “Take it off!” When the man cowered in confusion, Trevor tore the garment from him and slung it to the concrete floor. A thorny barbed-wire tattoo was wrapped around the addict’s right forearm.

  “Rivette!”

  It took both McGrath and Thibodeaux to pull him off.

  30

  Mallory’s was a dive in every sense of the word. The place was shabby, with air that hung heavy with cigarette smoke and smelled like stale beer. James Rivette had a regular perch he used whenever he wasn’t tending bar. Tonight was one of his nights off, so he sat on the last vinyl-covered stool near the alcove that held the restrooms. His right hand clutched a whiskey glass. A cloudy oblong mirror ran the length of the wall behind the bar, and in front of it was the usual lineup of bottles in various shapes and sizes.

  Looking up, James caught his own reflection. He barely recognized the thick, hunched shoulders and graying hair. The sagging jowls. At one point, he’d been a damn fine-looking man. But all his life he’d gotten the short end of the stick. The disappointments had eventually caught up to him, deepening the lines in his face. He’d given his best years to the NOPD, and for what? The higher-ups had used their first opportunity to cheat him out of his pension.

  Coughing, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. A man should have a small nest egg, or at least someone to care for him in his advancing years. James hung his head, feeling intensely sorry for himself.

  His thoughts settled on his oldest son. He’d been ruminating on him a lot lately, ever since seeing him on the street outside the bar and making the 911 call. Trevor was a man now, a cocky FBI agent who carried a badge and a gun. He’d always hated those federal sons of bitches, with their fancy suits and superior attitude. But it fit, James reflected sourly. Trevor always did think he was better than everyone else.

  You think I won’t do it, Trev?

  Go to hell.

  He swallowed the remainder of his whiskey. Trevor hadn’t wanted to listen to reason. There hadn’t been an ounce of forgiveness in his heart.

  It wasn’t his fault. The boy had antagonized him, forced his hand. He was just a kid—how the fuck did he know what he saw? James rapped the empty glass on the sticky bar top and growled for a refill.

  He’d lost everything because of his son.

  CNN blared from a TV set hanging over the bar. But the crowd tonight was too boisterous for him to hear much of what the female news anchor said. Instead, he watched the slow crawl of text across the bottom of the screen. Someone started up the jukebox, adding the Neville Brothers to the cacophony.

  “Glenlivet, single malt,” a man announced to the bartender as he slid onto the stool next to James. “And I’ll pay for my friend here. Whatever he’s having.”

  A hundred-dollar bill dropped onto the bar.

  James mumbled a gruff thanks. Shifting his eyes to the mirror, he glimpsed the man’s dark sunglasses that were out of place at night in the dimly lit establishment. Maybe he was a rich celebrity hiding from those—what did you call them? Paparazzi.

  The bartender served them. As the man lifted the scotch to his lips, James noticed his ring. Made of white gold, it resembled a coiled serpent that wrapped halfway up his index finger. Sharp fangs protruded from the snake’s open jaws and its eyes were green emeralds. James had never seen anything like it.

  “Careful you don’t put someone’s eye out with that, pal.”

  The man laughed, a rich melody that fell an octave below the barroom noise. James sipped his whiskey, still not looking directly at the man, and felt slightly unnerved.

  “Do I know you?”

  “I have a business proposition for you, Mr. Rivette.”

  He laid a stack of bills in front of him.

  A neon sign in the window advertised Budweiser beer. James watched it blink on and off several times. Then he returned his gaze to the proffered cash. Despite the wetness of the whiskey, his mouth had gone dry. He estimated the cash was more than he’d make in two months tending bar.

  “A business proposition? You talking about a job?”

  “It’s quite simple, actually. And if you don’t mind me saying so, I think it’s something you’re going to enjoy.”

  The man explained what he wanted James to do.

  31

  Another day had passed, and the messages Rain had left on Trevor’s cell phone had all gone unreturned.

  Staring out the French doors of her office, her gaze leveled on the officer who sat in her parlor with his nose buried in the evening edition of the Times-Picayune. This is what being a shut-in feels like, she realized. She’d become an adult who required babysitting and was forced to rely on others for the smallest of errands—like shopping for groceries or simply walking outdoors to retrieve the mail. With the continued cancellations in her patient sessions, even the distraction of work had been mercilessly removed from her grasp.

  Night was falling outside, bringing with it a thickening gray haze. Rain’s thoughts dissolved as the doorbell chimed. Laying aside the paper, the officer rose from the sofa and moved to the foyer. He looked out the window before opening the door.

  Rain’s stomach did a small flip as Trevor entered. He spoke with the officer, but she could hear nothing of their conversation from her location. When he finally reached her office, she already stood at her desk. “I’ve been calling—”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”

  “The raid on the Ascension’s been all over the news. They’re calling Armand Baptiste a suspect in the murders.”

  Trevor slid his hands into his pockets. Up close, the rub of shadow under his eyes and stubble on his jaw told her how deeply he’d been involved in the chain of events.

  “We found duplicates of the rosaries in Baptiste’s office at the club,” he said. “His fingerprints were on the case they were stored inside. It’s enough to implicate him.”

  “But he’s disappeared?”

  “He’s either in hiding here in New Orleans or he’s on the run. Law enforcement across four states is looking for him.” His shoulders slumped under his dress shirt, and Trevor hesitated before speaking again. “We also caught the guy who attacked you. His DNA matched the scrapings from under your nails.”

  Her pulse quickened. “He worked for Armand?”

  “No, Rain. He worked for D’Alba.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He walked over to where she stood in front of the darkening window. “It was a publicity stunt. D’Alba didn’t have a choice but to fess up when the junkie he hired to do the job ratted him out.”

  A weight settled on her lungs that made it hard to breathe. “Why would he do something
like that?”

  “Because he knew Dante’s connection to Midnight Confessions could deliver a huge amount of attention, and he wanted to up the ante. The attack on you was the perfect setup for leaking the story about Dante calling in to the show. It heightened the drama and kicked off a media cyclone.”

  Rain blinked, trying to clear her head. She hadn’t forgotten to set the security system when she’d gone out that day. David had given her pass code to the intruder. He’d actually paid someone to assault her, or worse. She closed her eyes, feeling ill. “Has he been charged?”

  “With conspiracy to commit assault.”

  She fell silent for several seconds, giving the shock waves careening through her a chance to subside. When she glanced again at Trevor, he was rubbing his fingers tiredly over his forehead. The knuckles on his right hand were red and abraded.

  “Did you hit him?”

  “Does it matter?” he asked sharply.

  It was there. The ominous look in his eyes that reminded her of the sky graying before a storm. Rain searched his face as worry coiled inside her. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  He glanced away, studying the sage green of the office wall. “You should know D’Alba claims you were in on it. He said you agreed to and helped stage the attack.”

  She nearly laughed in disbelief. “And you believed him?”

  “No.”

  But it was clear a seed of doubt, however small, had been planted. Several nights ago, Trevor had asked how she could have ever been involved with David. He’d questioned her about keeping Oliver’s possession of her pass code a secret. Whatever trust she’d won from him was now tenuous, if David hadn’t managed to destroy it completely.

  Rain couldn’t keep the defensive edge from her words. “Why on earth would I go along with a plan like that, when I wanted out of my contract?”

  “D’Alba had an answer for that, too. He said he offered to release you early without financial repercussions if you went along with the scheme.”

  The lie was like a slap in the face. Despite everything, it was impossible to comprehend the low David had stooped to this time. His words came back to her. The show is my last hope. I won’t let it go. I’ll do whatever I have to. “You do realize he knows about us?” Rain moved closer to Trevor. She laid her palm against his chest, no longer caring if the officer in the next room witnessed the intimate gesture. “He’d say anything to come between us, not to mention try to get himself off the hook.”

  “I know that, Rain.” Letting go of a breath, he gently lifted her hand from his shirt, squeezing her fingers before releasing them. But his eyes appeared distant, troubled. “Look, I’ve got to go. The investigation is changing. We’ve got police and FBI agents all over the city, looking for Baptiste. I just wanted to come by and update you on the situation.”

  No, Rain thought wildly. He’d come here to get her reaction. To gauge her face and her words for honesty. Anger tightened her throat, making her voice tremble. “Don’t you want to take me in for questioning, Agent?”

  “Don’t do this,” he muttered, looking away.

  “Of course, there’s no hurry. Anytime you want to interrogate me, you know where I am. Being held like an inmate in my own home.”

  “It’s still not safe. If you need to go out, an officer can accompany you—”

  “What I need is for you to not shut down on me.” Their eyes locked in the room’s encroaching shadows.

  “I’ve got to go,” Trevor repeated. He turned to leave.

  “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  The question made him pause. His image reflected back to her in the door window.

  “If you can doubt me, it’s easier to close me out.” Rain hugged her arms over her chest. “It’s how you deal with anyone who cares about you. Brian, your sister, me. What happened to you, Trevor? This goes beyond your father. What happened that’s made it so hard to trust anyone?”

  He turned around, and Rain was momentarily frozen by the depth of emotion she saw on his face. Then with a defeated stance, he pivoted on his heel and walked out.

  Rain sat on her bed, watching from the window as the night grew darker. She’d gone upstairs once Trevor’s car had pulled away, not wanting the officer to see the tears in her eyes. Tucking her knees under her chin, she wrapped her arms around her legs and tried to quell the heaviness in her heart.

  If David could convince the police that the attack on her was a publicity stunt in which she’d willingly participated, the charges against him would have to be dropped. But even more upsetting was the idea that Trevor would ponder her involvement. Did he actually think she had been complicit in David’s scheme?

  She recalled his troubled expression as he left the house. The accusation she’d hurled at him had hit its mark, causing his soul to bare itself to her for only a moment. He kept a deliberate distance from those he cared for, but why? All Rain knew was that she needed answers if she was ever to have any chance of understanding him.

  Reaching a decision, she changed into jeans and sneakers. Then quietly, she went down the staircase of the old house. Rain breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the officer had moved to the kitchen. She peeped in at him through the doorway. He was devouring a sandwich as he watched an episode of COPS on television. His mouth full, he gave encouragement to two on-screen policemen as they chased a potbellied, shirtless man down a hill.

  Tiptoeing to the back of the house, Rain hit the bypass button on the alarm system. The noise from the television drowned out its soft beep. She went out through the service entrance. It was a simple matter to open the courtyard gate and slip away unseen.

  32

  Synapse was closed, its doors locked and the lights in the gallery dimmed to a faint glow. A rap on the front window caused Annabelle Rivette to glance up from her paperwork. Rising from behind the desk in Alex’s office, she stole a peek at Haley who was in the next room playing. Then she went cautiously down the hall and into the main exhibit space.

  Although she looked different from the alluring female in Alex’s photo, Annabelle recognized the petite redhead who stood outside on Julia Street. She disarmed the security system and unlocked the door.

  Rain Sommers wore no makeup, and her hair was pulled into a ponytail from which coppery tendrils escaped. Her baby blue T-shirt advertised the New Orleans Jazz Festival. She gazed in surprise at Annabelle from the doorway.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was looking for Brian and Alex,” she explained. “I went through the lobby and tried their apartment, but no one was home. I thought maybe they were down here?”

  “They’re out of town on business, but I expect them back later tonight. I’m here catching up on the books.” Annabelle could see disappointment etched on the other woman’s features, and she looked past her to the darkened sidewalk in front of the gallery. She appeared to be alone. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you all right? You seem a little…upset.”

  “I just needed to talk and I thought…” Her voice trailed away, and she shook her head apologetically. “I should’ve called first. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

  “I’m Annabelle. Would you like to come in?”

  Rain had taken a few steps back, but at the offer she halted her retreat. She hesitated before slowly coming inside. “I’m Rain Sommers.”

  “I know who you are.” Annabelle locked the door behind them. “Does Trevor know you’re here? Considering what’s going on, I’m surprised he’d let you out at night alone.”

  “He doesn’t know.” Rain tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, looking as if she was deciding how much to say. “He thinks I’m at home under guard.”

  “Should I call and tell him where you are?”

  “No, please don’t. We sort of had a…disagreement tonight. He left…”

  Annabelle studied Rain. When she spoke again, her voice was tentative. “You care about my brother, don’t you?”

  Although the questi
on seemed to catch her off guard, Rain met her eyes.

  “I think I might be falling in love with him.” She ran her hands along the front of her jeans, then pressed them against her face. “I shouldn’t have said that…I’m a little tired. A lot’s happened over the past few days.”

  Annabelle touched Rain’s shoulder. She walked her farther inside the gallery and tried to put her at ease. “I tease Trevor about being my big brother, but he’s actually a whopping twenty-eight minutes older than me. Did you know we’re fraternal twins?”

  “I’m afraid there’s a lot about Trevor I don’t know,” Rain admitted. “I guess that’s why I’m here… I was hoping Brian might shed some light.”

  “Trevor’s had a wall around him for a long time. You look like you just ran into it.”

  Rain gave a weak laugh. “Something like that.”

  Annabelle pressed her lips together in contemplation. Rain appeared skittish, as if she might bolt back out through the door at any time. The tell was there in her haunted expression and shimmering eyes; her feelings for Trevor were sincere.

  She deserved to know.

  “If you still feel like talking, maybe I could be a substitute for Brian? I know we just met, but I’ve been looking at your photograph over Alex’s desk for so long I feel like I already know you. Regardless, you shouldn’t be running around by yourself. It’s not safe.”

  Rain stared at the floor. “Thank you for being so nice.”

  “Let’s go into the back, though.” She reset the security system using the keypad near the door. “I don’t want anyone thinking the gallery’s still open.”

  She led her down the hall, stopping to introduce her to Haley. While Rain chatted with her daughter, Annabelle inserted a movie into the DVD player. Soon, Haley was immersed in a colorful animation featuring a sassy talking fish and sea creatures.