CHAPTER 44
Wednesday, January 31
1:52 a.m.
“Minnie?” Jaye whispered. She sat up in bed and turned toward the door and the soft snuffling sound that had come from the other side. She hadn’t heard from her friend since their captor had discovered them talking. Since he had forced Jaye to seal Anna’s letter with a kiss.
Jaye had been worried sick about the other girl. Fearful that he had punished her for befriending Jaye. That he had hurt her. She had been afraid for Anna as well. Had she received the letter? What had she thought? Had she recognized the lip print as Jaye’s?
It had been torture waiting and wondering, praying her friends were safe but so desperately afraid they were not. She had slept little in the past five days; she had paced and agonized, prayed and planned.
She had to get out of here. She had to save Minnie and warn Anna. There had to be a way.
The sound came again and Jaye scrambled off her cot. “Minnie? Is that you?”
“It’s me.”
Jaye made a sound of relief and tiptoed to the door and knelt down in front of it, pressing her mouth close to the pet hatch. “I’ve been so worried about you. What did he do? Was it awful?”
“He was very angry.” Tabitha mewed and Minnie shushed her. “I…I almost didn’t come tonight. If he finds out I’m here… I’m so afraid, Jaye.”
Rage welled up in Jaye. She squeezed her hands into fists. “I hate him,” she said, tone low but fierce. “I hate him so much. For what he’s done to us. And because of Anna. When I get out of here, I swear I’m going to make him pay. I promise I will.”
“Don’t say that, Jaye. He may be listening.” Minnie sounded frightened. “You’ll make him even angrier. He’ll hurt you.”
A part of her wanted to scream that she didn’t care. She wanted to shout at the top of her lungs for him to come and get her, that she wasn’t afraid of him.
But she had to think of Minnie. And Anna. She couldn’t do anything that might endanger them. She wouldn’t.
“Minnie?” Jaye pressed even closer to the door. “Do you know…is Anna…has he—” The question stuck in her throat. She couldn’t utter it. As if saying the words aloud might make them come true.
They hung in the air anyway, taunting her.
Has he hurt Anna? Was she…alive?
“I think she’s okay.” Minnie paused and Jaye sensed that she was pausing to listen, to glance over her shoulder and make sure they were alone. When she spoke again, her voice was slightly muffled, as if she had pressed her mouth to the door. “The other night…he came in…he was upset. Something had gone wrong…it had to do with Anna. He was muttering to himself. He said some things…some bad things.”
Her voice trailed off and Jaye laid her hands on the door. “What, Minnie? What did he say? What bad things?”
For a moment the girl didn’t respond, when she did, her voice shook. “He’s going to move us, Jaye. I don’t know where or when, but it has something to do with Anna. With hurting Anna.”
CHAPTER 45
Wednesday, January 31
Seventh District Station
“Hey, partner. Got a minute?”
Quentin lifted his gaze. Terry stood at the entrance to the men’s locker room, expression repentant. It had been twenty-four hours since their argument, and Terry had obviously come to his senses and cooled down.
Unmoved, Quentin slammed his locker and sat on the bench, back to the other man. “I’m a little busy right now.”
Terry came into the room, stopping to stand in front of him. “I don’t blame you for being angry.”
Quentin ignored him. He bent, tied his running shoes, then stood. “I’m taking a run now, Terry. Excuse me.”
“I acted like an ass.”
“For starters. Like I said, I’m going for a run.”
Quentin stepped over the bench and headed for the door.
“I’m sorry.” Quentin stopped but didn’t look back. “The things I said, they were wrong.”
Quentin turned then, facing the other man. “They stunk,” he said flatly. “I didn’t deserve them. Neither did Penny.”
“I know, I—” He looked away. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, Malone. I feel like…it’s all falling apart. Me. My life, the job. And I don’t know how to stop it.”
Quentin’s anger at the other man evaporated. “You need help, Terry. You can’t do this on your own.”
“You mean a therapist.”
“Yeah. The department has a—”
“No way.” Terry sank onto the bench. “Word will get around. I don’t want everybody knowing my business.”
“You think they don’t know now?” Quentin crossed to his friend. “You think they don’t see? Come on, Terry, you’re smarter than that.”
Terry dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t want to screw up anymore, Malone. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”
“See the shrink. Do it, Terry. You need help.”
His partner lifted his head; he looked at him. “Will you back me up, partner? If I do this, will you help me get Penny and my kids back?”
Quentin had serious doubts that anything Terry did would induce his wife to take him back, but he kept his opinion to himself. “Yeah, I’ll back you up.”
“Thank you.” He slipped off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
Quentin frowned, noticing for the first time that his partner was wearing glasses. “What’s with the specs?”
“I got myself an eye infection from wearing my contacts too long without changing them. My optometrist says no contacts for at least a month. Just another thing I’m screwing up at.”
“I saw his eyes, Malone. They were orange.”
Colored contacts. Of course.
Quentin swore, run forgotten. He crossed to his locker and yanked it open. “You got anything going right now?”
Terry shook his head. “Why? What’s up?”
“A research mission, but that’s all I can say. You want to tag along anyway?”
“I’m with you, partner.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Quentin and Terry entered the Eyeware Showcase at the New Orleans Center. They crossed the carpeted showroom, heading toward the service counter. Quentin showed the young man behind the desk his shield and asked to speak with the manager.
“What’s this all about?” Terry asked while the man scurried into the back room to find his boss.
“A hunch,” Quentin supplied. “You’ll see.”
Within moments, an elegantly dressed middle-aged woman emerged from the back. She crossed to the desk and smiled. She introduced herself as Pamela Bell. “How can I help you, Detectives—”
“Malone and Landry,” Quentin supplied. He held up his shield, as did Terry. “I was hoping you could be of some help with an investigation we’re working on.”
“I’ll be happy to try.”
“I’m interested in learning about colored contact lenses. Do they only come in the traditional colors like blue and green, or are they available in colors like red and orange?”
“Absolutely.” She bent, rummaged under the counter for a moment, then emerged with a table-tent advertisement for colored contacts. It depicted models with eyes in various colors, from bright violet and Easter-egg blue to devil red.
“That’s amazing,” Quentin murmured. “Creepy-looking.”
“We sell a lot of the bizarre colors around Halloween and Mardi Gras. The yellow, red and orange. Also to people who like to be different. You know what I mean.”
Quentin frowned. “No, I don’t.”
She glanced past Quentin, then returned her gaze to his. “To those kids, you know, they call themselves Gothics. Also to…night people. The people into the alternative-music scene, the downtown clubs.”
Quentin nodded. Terry said nothing. “Can anyone wear them?”
“Sure. But the effect is most startling on people with light eyes.”
�
�Do you know, Ms. Bell, are these contacts widely available in this area?”
“Certainly. They’re a popular novelty item, especially since the price has become so reasonable.”
Malone thanked the woman and he and Terry left the store, then the mall. “You’re awfully quiet,” Quentin said as they crossed the parking lot.
“What can I say? It’s difficult to comment on what I know nothing about.” Terry glanced at him, then away. “And since you’re not commenting, our little errand just now had something to do with the Kent, Parker and Jackson homicides.”
“Maybe.”
“Do you have a suspect?”
“No comment.”
“I heard some talk, that your writer friend got a look at the guy. At his eyes. I heard they were some weird color.”
Malone unlocked his Bronco, then glanced at his friend. “Interesting the things you can hear while hanging around the squad room. Got any opinions on that bit of information?”
They climbed into the SUV, buckled in and Malone started the engine. Terry looked at him. “Seems to me you might be on the right track. If the victim wasn’t confused.”
“She wasn’t.” Malone backed out of the parking space. “Why do you think our perp changed his eye color like that? What’s his motivation.”
“To be scarier. To intimidate.” Terry shrugged. “Who knows.”
“Or maybe he does it for himself, to make him feel more powerful. Not of this world.”
“I can’t imagine, buddy.”
They drove back to the Seventh in silence, parting when they reached the station: Terry on another call, Malone to make some calls.
In the middle of his third, a memory hit Malone with the force of a freight train. For a New Year’s Eve millennium party the year before, Terry had come dressed as Father Time. Only instead of the long white beard and flowing white robe, he’d spiked his spray-painted hair and dressed in biker gear. The effect had been like something out of that old futuristic movie, MAD MAX.
Except for his eyes. They had been bright red.
Colored contacts.
Dammit, Terry, why didn’t you say something?
Malone ended his conversation and hung up the phone. It meant nothing, he told himself. The manager of the Eyeware Showcase had said the colored contacts had become a popular novelty item.
So why hadn’t Terry said something? He couldn’t have just forgotten.
“Hey, partner.”
Startled, Malone swung in his chair to fully face the door. “Terry! You’re back.”
“Cut-and-dried burglary. In and out in fifteen minutes. No clues, no suspects, no chance of catching the little weasels.”
Malone forced himself to smile and lean casually back in his chair. “Bet the citizens didn’t like hearing that.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Jackass yuppies, what do they expect? You choose to live a couple of blocks from the projects, fancy renovations or not, you’re gonna get hit. Period.” He stretched and yawned. “What gives with you? When I walked in, you looked like you’d seen a ghost. You get another lead or something?”
“Nah. Just tired. It’s been one mother of a day.”
“Tell me about it.”
Malone glanced at his watch, scrambling for a way to ask the other man where he’d been two nights ago without tipping him as to why he was asking.
He cleared his throat, hating himself for his suspicions. And for what he was about to do. “What’re you doing tonight? Going to Shannon’s?”
Terry frowned. “I’d love to but I’m beat. I think I’m going to crash.”
“No way.” Malone smiled. “Not the Terror.”
“I’m turning over a new leaf, man.” He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He grinned. “So, why are you so beat? Big night the last couple of nights?”
Terry stared at him a moment, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Meaning what?”
“Just wondering if I missed a good party.” Malone arched his eyebrows. “Why so defensive?”
“Last night I was with the kids.” He made a face. “We went to Chuckie Cheese. The night before I hooked up with diMarco and Tarantino from the Fifth. We tipped a few.” He dragged a hand through his hair, expression sheepish. “Man, can those two drink. I couldn’t keep up.”
“The Terror couldn’t keep up?” Malone laughed, relieved. “There is hope for you.”
As he walked away, he motioned for Malone to kiss his ass.
“Get some sleep,” Quentin called after the other man. “You look like crap.”
Terry flipped him off, then disappeared around the corner. Quentin forced himself to wait to the count of one hundred, then grabbed his jacket and punched out. If he left now, made most of the lights and ran the ones he didn’t, he should be able to catch diMarco and Tarantino before they checked out for the day.
Quentin caught the two detectives as they were on their way out of the station house door.
“Hey, Malone, what brings you out to God’s country?”
“Figured I’d better check on my baby bro. Make sure he’s staying out of trouble. Give him a little advice.”
The two detectives hooted with amusement. “Good luck. That kid’s a bigger hot dog than you are.”
“I’ll tell him you said so.” He started off then stopped and glanced back. “Terry said the three of you tipped a few the other night.”
“Put him under the table.” Tarantino laughed. “Good Cajun boy like him, I couldn’t believe it. What a lightweight.”
“We had to carry him out,” diMarco added.
“What bar was that?” Quentin asked with what he hoped was casual interest. He hoped the other two wouldn’t hear the hint of desperation behind the question.
“Fast Freddy’s on Bourbon.”
Bourbon. In the French Quarter. “That’s that new place. I haven’t been there yet.”
“The joint was packed. Great music, lots of chicks.”
“Come out with us next time,” Tarantino suggested. “We’ll drink you under the table.”
Quentin forced a laugh. “Fat chance of that.”
“Nice talking to you, Malone.” The two started off, then diMarco stopped suddenly and looked back at Quentin. “Ask your partner how a guy with his reputation managed to get so stinking drunk when we never even saw him take a drink?”
CHAPTER 46
Thursday, February 1
5:45 p.m.
Anna spent the next twenty-four hours doing what Malone thought she should: lying low, hiding out, allowing others to solve her problems for her. She paced the floor waiting for the phone to ring, jumped at every unexpected noise and agonized over Jaye and Minnie.
At the end of those hours, she came to a decision. She was done being a victim. With being a frightened little mouse to Kurt’s cat. She had been doing that for twenty-three years. She was done with sitting back and waiting for Malone and his team to find and save Jaye. To save her.
The time had come to stop hiding. To take charge and do something. She was going to take Malone’s suggestion and get a list of Ben’s patients from him.
Only she wasn’t going to ask. She wasn’t going to try to wheedle or cajole the names out of him. Because he wouldn’t give them to her voluntarily. She was certain of that.
Anna crossed to her apartment door and peeked out at laSalle. “Hey, Joe, you need anything?”
He smiled. “Nope. But thanks for asking.”
“Who’s replacing you tonight?”
“Morgan. At six.”
“I’m going to wash my hair. So if I don’t see you until tomorrow, have a great night off.”
She ducked back into her apartment, locking the dead bolt behind her. She collected her portable phone and carried it to the bathroom, closed and locked the door behind her. She didn’t know why she felt the need for subterfuge, for absolute privacy, but she did. She didn’t want to chance anyone listening in on what s
he was about to say.
Guilty conscience. That’s why. What she was about to do was pretty crummy. Especially since Ben had been nothing but good to her.
But she had to do this. And no one would be hurt, she reminded herself. Not even Ben. And someone—or several someones—might be helped. Most importantly Jaye and Minnie.
Taking a deep breath, Anna quickly dialed Ben’s number. He answered almost immediately. “Ben,” she murmured, feeling a pinch of guilt. “It’s Anna.”
“Anna, it’s so good to hear from you.”
At the pleasure in his voice, the pinch became a stab. She ignored it. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore. Plenty of aches and pains. But mostly I’m pissed for having been so stupid.” He paused. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay. Not great.”
“What can I do?”
“I’m glad you asked, because that’s why I’m calling. For help.”
“You’ve got it. Just ask.”
“That fear group you told me about, is there still room in it for me?”
For several moments, he said nothing. Then he cleared his throat. “You’ve taken me by surprise.”
“I have to do something, Ben. I can’t go on this way, hiding in my apartment, jumping at every sound. I think the group might help.”
“You have a genuine reason to be afraid now, Anna. In the group we deal with irrational fears. Things like—”
“My fear that after twenty-three years Kurt was going to come find and punish me for botching his kidnapping plan? Things like giving up the things I love, like my writing, to avoid being exposed to the public?”
“Yeah, things like that. But considering recent events in your life—”
“Please, Ben.” She lowered her voice. “I’m tired of living this way. I need help.”
He let out a long breath. “All right, Anna. We meet tonight. At seven. But I’ll have to talk to the group before I let you participate. They have to give their okay.”
“I’ll wait in your office,” she offered, feeling ill at her own duplicity. “For however long it takes.”
“They’re a good group of people,” he went on. “I’d be surprised if they turn you away.”
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