Flash Point

by Metsy Hingle

  “We had sex, Jack. Very, very good sex, I’ll admit. And I suppose it was unrealistic of me not to think it would happen because of the physical attraction between us. But sex is all that it was. Please don’t read any more into it.”

  “Look at me, Kelly,” he commanded, and she lifted those big brown eyes to his. “We both know there was a great deal more than sex going on between us last night. I love you.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said, shaking her head in denial.

  “No, I’m not,” he told her, but because he could see she was upset, he decided not to press her further. At least for now. “But we’ll deal with that later. Right now, I want you to tell me everything you’ve found out about Sister Grace’s death.”

  She told him, beginning with the troubling messages on her machine from Sister Grace before her death. She told him about her subsequent visits to the convent and conversations with the other nuns, about her slow progression through Sister Grace’s journals. And she told him about the telephone calls that Sister Grace had received from Dr. Gilbert, Margee Jardine and someone named Lianne. Finally she told him about her conversation with Sister Mary Clarence, who had claimed that Sister Grace had been anxious shortly before her death.

  “I keep going over it all in my head, trying to come up with some logical reason why Dr. Gilbert would have contacted her, but I can’t.”

  “Maybe that’s because there is no logical reason,” Jack offered. He couldn’t help thinking of his conversation earlier with Leon. What were the odds of Gilbert’s murderer being related to Kelly, a woman who had predicted his murder? And here he was faced with another coincidence. Gilbert contacting Sister Grace and, within weeks, both of them ending up dead.

  “Do you think I’m making too much of this? That it’s all just a coincidence?”

  “No,” Jack told her. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “But where’s the connection?”

  “You.”

  “Me?” she returned.

  “Think about it, Kelly. You’re the one link between both Gilbert and Sister Grace’s deaths. And if I’m right, you could be in danger.”

  “I’m not going to back away from this, Jack.”

  He didn’t expect that she would. “Then I want you to let me check out those leads for you.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Kelly. You’ll need to trust me on this.”

  “Two Monday night specials,” the waitress announced as she placed a steaming plate of red beans and rice with sausage in front of each of them. “Want refills on those teas?”

  “Yes, please,” Kelly said politely.

  Jack nodded.

  By the time their tea glasses had been topped off a second time and they’d put a dent into their meals, Kelly had relented somewhat. “I copied all the phone messages that were logged in for Sister Grace at the convent during this past year,” she told him. Pulling out several sheets of paper from her camera bag, she handed them to him.

  Jack scanned the half-dozen sheets of neatly written names with the dates, phone numbers and messages on them. “Sister Grace was a popular lady.”

  “Apparently. I called the number listed for Dr. Gilbert, hoping maybe I could reach someone who could tell me why he was calling Sister Grace.”

  Jack didn’t bother telling her that she had no business doing that and it was a police matter because he knew that, as headstrong as Kelly was, it would likely fall on deaf ears. “Any luck?”

  “No. The number was disconnected.”

  “I recognize some of these names—including my mother’s—I’ll check out the ones that I don’t.”

  “I already have,” she informed him.

  “And?”

  “Most were people from the parish, former students or friends. The only two that I didn’t contact was this Lianne person and Margee Jardin, because there was no number for either of them.” She paused. “I met Margee at your mother’s party. She’s an attorney, right?”

  “Yes.” He speared another bite of sausage from his plate, ate it while he considered Margee’s calls. Her message had said she needed to discuss something important.

  “How well do you know her?”

  “Almost as well as I know Meredith. She and her family lived down the street from us, and she hung around our house a lot when we were growing up. She’s sort of like an honorary sister. Why?”

  “I just wondered. Does she work at your brother’s firm?”

  Jack smiled and put down his fork. “Hardly. She and Peter are always at each other’s throats. They’ve been that way since we were kids. Margee used to be with the D.A.’s office, and a couple of years ago she took an offer from a big criminal firm here in the city.”

  “I guess she could have been one of Sister Grace’s students, but I don’t remember her being at St. Joseph’s with Meredith and me.”

  “That’s because she’s my age. She was already in college when you were just starting high school. Besides, Margee didn’t go to St. Joseph’s. She went to Ursuline Academy,” he told her, referring to the city’s oldest Catholic school for girls.

  “Maybe she was calling on behalf of a client,” Kelly suggested.

  “It’s possible,” Jack answered. “But instead of speculating, why don’t I give Margee a call tomorrow and ask her about the calls?”

  “I’d appreciate it,” Kelly said.

  Jack caught the note of relief in her voice, wondered at it. “Did you think I’d refuse?”

  She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it since she’s a friend of your family’s. I don’t want to cause you any problems.”

  “It won’t be a problem.” And he hoped that it wouldn’t. “Then that leaves this Lianne person. You said she claimed to have been at St. Ann’s?”

  “Yes,” Kelly told him. “At least that’s what she told Sister Mary Clarence. But I don’t remember anyone with that name when I lived there, and except for a few stints in foster care, I was there until I turned eighteen.”

  Jack felt that ache in his chest again as he thought of Kelly’s early life. How lonely she must have been. Somehow, someway, he would make sure that she never felt alone again.

  “I guess it’s possible she lived there before me or even after me. I mean, Sister Grace was a nun for more than fifty years and half of those were spent at St. Ann’s.”

  “But the name Lianne isn’t all that common. Maybe someone who’s working at St. Ann’s now will remember her. I’ll stop by and see what I can find out, maybe we can get a last name on her.”

  “Actually, I’ve already tried,” she confessed. “I went by after I left the convent.”

  No surprise there, Jack thought. “Did you find out anything?”

  “Not much. No one at the new location remembers anyone by that name, but Miss Sally, she’s the cook who’s been there forever, she remembers a girl named Lianne who lived there a long, long time ago. She said it was at least thirty or thirty-five years ago.”

  “Then I doubt it’s the same woman,” Jack told her. “You said Sister Mary Clarence described the woman on the phone as a polite, lovely young woman. The Lianne the cook remembers would have to be close to fifty. There has to be another Lianne.”

  “I guess you’re right. But I don’t know who she is or how to find her. I’ve already asked the Mother Superior running St. Ann’s now if I could go through the records to try to locate this Lianne person, but she refused. She said information on the girls who lived there is confidential. And since I didn’t feel I could go into the reasons why I needed the information, I didn’t press it.”

  “Maybe I’ll have better luck. If they still say no, I’ll ask Alex to issue a search warrant and force them to give us the records,” Jack told her as he reached for his glass of tea. He took a swallow, continuing to watch Kelly over the rim of the glass.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?” Jack asked.

  “It probably wouldn
’t be good for you careerwise.”

  Jack set the glass aside. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that I’m sure you’re already getting some flack for your relationship with me because of the Gilbert case. What is your captain going to say when you tell him I had another vision about Sister Grace’s death? And Alex Kusak may be your friend, but no district attorney in his right mind is going to issue a search warrant based on a psychic’s visions.”

  Although he hated to admit it, Kelly had a point. But the truth was, he needed a look at those records, anyway. And he’d already started the wheels rolling. To find the killer, he would need to open the doors to Kelly’s past—something that he knew she was reluctant to do.

  “Tomorrow I’m going to go to the Our Lady of Perpetual Help Shrine and see if, by chance, anyone remembers Sister Grace meeting with someone there last month, and tonight I’m going to try to go through some more of Sister Grace’s journals,” Kelly said.

  “I think I just might know of a way for us to get a look at those records at St. Ann’s.”

  “How?”

  “My mother. She’s on the board of St. Ann’s Guild,” Jack explained. “She could say she’s doing a tribute in honor of Sister Grace and say that she needs to get in touch with the girls who lived at St. Ann’s during her years there,” he continued as the idea took shape in his mind.

  “Jack, I can’t ask your mother to lie for me.”

  “Who says she’d be lying? She’ll think doing the tribute is a great idea. She’ll probably thank us for thinking of it.”

  She gave him a wry look. “I’m not sure about that, but it might help us find out who Lianne is.”

  Deciding he had to tell her the rest of it, he reached over and took her hand. “There’s another reason I need to go through those records, Kelly.”

  “Me,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “You need to find out who I really am, what my connection is to Gilbert’s killer.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I know you’d rather I didn’t go poking around in your past, but I don’t see where I have a lot of options. The DNA link to you is the only solid lead we have. It may be our only shot at finding the killer.”

  “I understand. You have a job to do. It’s just…it’s just that I’ve deliberately kept that door closed all these years.”

  “Is there any particular reason why?” The question had gnawed at him for some time now.

  “Remember the dream I told you I have about the fire?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think my mother died in that fire. And I think the reason I don’t remember and have always had those horrid dreams is because the person who killed her was my father. I think he meant to kill me, too. I think the reason I never pressed to find out about my birth parents is because I didn’t want to find out the truth. Somehow, not knowing for sure seemed easier to live with.”

  Jack squeezed the fingers he was holding tighter and wished he could wipe out that haunted look in her brown eyes. Instead he was sticking his nose into a past that would probably cause her more pain. But what choice did he have? “I’m sorry.”

  “So how are you folks doing? Ready for some dessert and coffee?” the waitress asked as she returned to the table and began clearing away the remains of their dinners. “We’ve got hot apple pie, chocolate mousse cake, bread pudding and lemon torte. What can I get you?”

  “Nothing for me,” Kelly told her, and pulled her fingers free from Jack’s. She folded her hands in her lap.

  “Just a check,” Jack said. And when they were alone again, he said, “Kelly, you know, there might be another way for us to find Gilbert’s killer without me poking into your past.”

  “How?”

  “Let me take you to see Gilbert’s car, the one his body was found in,” he suggested. “You saw the man’s murder when you picked up the newspaper he’d been reading. Maybe if you see or touch the car he died in, you’ll be able to see who the murderer is.”

  Sitting in the bar at the far end of the restaurant, she dipped her head so that the red hair from the wig shaded her face. She ignored the come-on looks from the cowboy three stools over. She lifted her martini glass to her lips and watched in the mirror over the bar as the police detective whispered something to Kelly Santos before standing to pull back her chair for her. Then picking up her camera bag, he motioned toward the exit.

  The rage that she’d lived with for the past year threatened to consume her as the pair made their way to the door. What she wouldn’t have given to know what she’d told him that had his face going all serious. The little bitch had wrapped him around her little finger. She’d seen right through her act. The way she had encouraged him to touch her, to hold her hand. Sweet, delicate, sad little Sarah, conning people with those big, sad brown eyes.

  Damn her!

  All these years, she’d thought she’d gotten rid of her, had even forgotten she’d ever existed. Only to have her come back now using the name Kelly Santos and threatening to ruin her life.

  Well, she simply wouldn’t have it. She’d killed her once and gotten away with it. She’d simply have to kill her again. And this time, she’d make sure she stayed dead.

  Fifteen

  “I expected there to be a lot more people here,” Kelly told Jack and Leon as they led her to the police department garage section where evidence from vehicles in crime scenes was analyzed.

  “There usually are,” Jack informed her. “But I asked them to take a break. I thought it would be easier for you without an audience.”

  “Thank you,” she said, moved by his sensitivity. She shouldn’t be surprised, she told herself. Hadn’t Jack been sensitive to her feelings ten years ago when she’d been a pathetic teenager? Now here she was, embroiled in a passionate affair with him while she was trying to find out who killed Sister Grace. Only the more time she spent with him, the harder it was becoming for her to keep her emotions separate, to not allow herself to be lulled into believing that she could actually have a future with him.

  You know what happens when you let your emotions interfere with your judgment, Kelly. Don’t you remember what happened with Garrett?

  “The car they found Gilbert in is that dark gray Lincoln in the third bay over there on your left,” Leon said, motioning to the car.

  Leon’s words brought Kelly back to the task at hand. The November chill in the air outside permeated the concrete garage, yet her palms felt damp as she stared over at the vehicle. Its two front doors were open, reminding her of a hawk with its wings spread in flight as it prepared to swoop down on its hapless prey. She shivered at the analogy.

  As though sensing her apprehension, Jack asked, “You okay?”

  Kelly nodded and continued toward the car. She stopped a few feet away from what Jack had called the bay, that section she’d seen in commercial service stations where they lifted a car up on a rack to look beneath its underbelly. Only no mechanics raced around it. There were no noisy whooshes of air or straining metal sounds, no radios blaring. The car simply sat there in the concrete square. Waiting. Waiting for her to come and search out its secrets.

  God, she didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to see what had happened in that car again, feel Dr. Gilbert’s shock, then fear as the life drained from his body. But she had to do it.

  Take control of your emotions, Kelly. Remove yourself from the equation. Do what you did when you were at St. Ann’s. Pretend it’s not real, it’s not happening to you. Pretend you’re reading a sad story. Pretend you’re watching a frightening movie.

  Jack cupped her chin, tilted her head upward. “I know I pressured you to do this, but if you’re not up to it, it’s okay. Just say the word and we’ll leave.”

  “No. I can do it. I need to do it.”

  “All right, then. Just take your time. The car’s already been dusted for prints, so you don’t have to worry about touching it. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Kelly told him, and turned her full attention to t
he car. In her vision she’d only glimpsed the car beneath the light of a streetlamp. She’d attributed her impressions of shabbiness to the poor lighting in the alley. But here in the well-lit crime investigation sector, the car looked just as shabby. She suspected the dark gray color was actually black that had faded with age and exposure to the elements. The interior upholstery that at one time had been a rich tan leather was now a sickly hue that fell somewhere between beige and dirt. The leather was cracked in several places. A strip of silver tape had been used over what she suspected was a large gash in the seat. Two cigarette burns were visible on the driver’s armrest. The leather casing on the steering wheel was torn. But it was the dark stains on the driver’s seat and the mat beneath the steering wheel that made her stomach pitch. Blood. Dr. Gilbert’s blood.

  Bracing herself, Kelly reached out and touched the passenger’s seat. Immediately she felt herself spinning, as though whirling about like a leaf in the eye of a storm, until suddenly, she was back to that night…back in the French Quarter alley with street musicians and Halloween revelers celebrating in the distance…

  “It’s about damn time you showed up. I’ve been waiting in this alley for twenty minutes and nearly got mugged twice.”

  “I was detained,” she said cooly, and wished the muggers had taken care of him for her. It certainly would have saved her the trouble of having to sneak away from the party and come here to deal with him. But at least tonight she would finally be free of him.

  “Well, you’re damn lucky I waited,” he informed her, his Mississippi drawl even thicker due to the liquor. “Another two minutes and I’d have been gone.”

  “Then I guess it’s fortunate that I showed up when I did.” Following his lead, she opened the passenger door of the car and nearly gagged on the stench of whiskey and stale cigars as she slid inside. Furious that she had been forced to deal with such a cretin, she made herself pull the car door closed, shutting out the noise from the street musicians and revelers who’d flocked to New Orleans’ French Quarter to celebrate Halloween.

  “Fortunate is right, missy. I’m a busy man,” he said, puffing up his chest and straining the buttons on his dated suit coat. “I’ll have you know, I’ve got better things to do with my time than to wait around for the likes of you.”