Into The Mist: A LaShaun Rousselle Mystery (LaShaun Rousselle Mysteries Book 4)

by Lynn Emery

  “Hold on. So you don’t know where this woman has been, how she ended up with kids, and where the kids are now. Are you even sure they exist?” LaShaun looked around at the group of law officers.

  MJ sat on the edge of the sheriff’s desk. “Oh yeah, they’re definitely not phantom kids. Maybe they were kidnapped.”

  “Could explain all the missing pieces. A lot of this mumbo jumbo stuff might be just window dressing,” Det. Anderson said.

  “To throw us off the trail of the real crime? Seems like a lot of trouble to go through. Most criminals aren’t that creative, or smart.” Chase frowned in concentration.

  “Did you figure out that weird message somebody left at two crime scenes?” MJ looked at LaShaun.

  “A linguistics expert is working on it. She thinks it’s a hybrid ancient language. She’s working on finding the key to translate both.” LaShaun shrugged at the set of frowns facing her. “Translating an unknown language takes time.”

  Sheriff Godchaux raised a thick eyebrow at LaShaun. “I don’t like civilians having inside knowledge about an open case.”

  “She only know what’s been reported in the news,” LaShaun countered.

  “This is bayou country. Talk of voodoo and devil spirits was bound to get out,” MJ said with a grimace.

  “Oh, just great.” Det. Anderson gave a snort of disgust. “So you’ve got a group of crystal ball gazers working on a major case? Sure, makes sense way out here in superstition land.”

  “No crystal balls, Det. Anderson. Professor Portier has access to the best research resources around. We’re using databases, apps, and our years of experience. You know, sort of like the police?” LaShaun smiled when his face flushed pink.

  “Yeah, Anderson. Even way out here in nowhere-ville we use computers and our brains.” Sheriff Godchaux glared at Det. Anderson until the big man cleared his throat and looked away. The sheriff was about to go on when his phone rang. He barked into the phone, “Now what?”

  The sheriff grabbed a yellow legal pad and made notes. Det. Anderson stared at the door as if debating whether or not to leave. MJ watched their boss with a worried expression. Chase clutched LaShaun’s arm and pulled her aside.

  “No telling how long I’ll end up working. Just a warning.” Chase pressed his lips together before he spoke. “I want you both safe, so no investigating strange noises. The deputy assigned to that part of the parish will be making frequent checks.”

  “Thanks. Chase we…” LaShaun glanced at his colleagues.

  “I’ll always pick your side, no matter what my mother or anyone else thinks,” Chase said softly. “I shouldn’t have let what she said get to me.”

  LaShaun moved closer to him until their bodies touched. Chase looped an arm around her waist. “I’ll be careful. Between me, Beau, and Mr. Marchand’s shotgun, I think we’ll be okay.”

  “Don’t forget all the supernatural defenses your pals installed. Yeah, I noticed.” Chase’s dark eyes twinkled.

  “You’ve been hanging with psychics too long, Deputy Broussard.” LaShaun grinned up at him. She tamed the urge to kiss him hard right there in front of his hardened co-workers. “I’ll get out of the way so y’all can figure this thing out.”

  “Kiss Ellie for me. Show her my picture so she won’t forget what daddy looks like.” Chase walked LaShaun to the door and opened it.

  Sheriff Godchaux dropped his phone handset into the cradle. “Where do you two think you’re going? We’re not done by a long shot.”

  LaShaun turned around. “Sheriff, I don’t know anything about Kris Evans, her kids, or why she was in our home. I’ll trust the professionals to solve those puzzles.”

  “You may not know Kris Evans, but she knows you. She’s awake, weak, but definitely conscious. Not only is she talking in a kind of code nobody understands, but she’s saying your name.” Sheriff Godchaux stood. “I want you over at that hospital. We need answers. If your friend can’t keep Ellie, I’ll have Anderson babysit if necessary.”

  “Wait, what?” Det. Anderson blurted out, mouth hanging open.

  “We needs answers. The woman might die any minute,” Sheriff Godchaux barked.

  “Relax detective. I’m sure Savannah can hang on another couple of hours.” LaShaun suppressed a laugh at the look of shock the burly man wore.

  “I don’t like any of this,” Chase muttered.

  “Let’s go.” Sheriff Godchaux marched past them all, a clear signal debate was not an option.

  Twenty minutes later Chase, LaShaun and the sheriff arrived at Vermilion Parish General Hospital. MJ stayed behind at the station. Since Savannah agreed to keep Ellie longer, a relieved Det. Anderson went off to follow more leads. The doctor had insisted on meeting with them before they were allowed to question his patient. They sat in a small conference room on the first floor. Dr. Wilkinson’s name was embroidered in blue on his white coat. His short cut red hair contrasted with his pale white skin. LaShaun mused he must not be out in the sun much playing golf with the other doctors.

  “Doctor, we realize you’re concerned about Miss Evans, but we’ve got a missing six-year-old and a murder on our hands. This woman is connected to both.” Sheriff Godchaux gazed at the doctor steadily.

  “Of course I’m willing to cooperate, but not at the risk of this woman’s life. Her wellbeing has to be my first priority.” The doctor wore a taut frown. “That said, it appears a brief visit is necessary.”

  “And we appreciate your understanding how urgent it is that we talk to Ms. Evans,” Chase put in.

  “You have ten minutes only. She’s stable, but still extremely fragile. Her wounds are significant.” Dr. Wilkinson looked at LaShaun.

  Chase stood. “Thanks, doc. Take us to her now.”

  “Fine.” Dr. Wilkinson stood and led them to the elevator.

  Curious glances followed them as they made their way to the wing where Kris Evans was being treated. The critical care section had semi-private rooms. To accommodate the sheriff’s department, she was the only occupant in Room 333. Conversation died away as they passed the busy clinical station.

  “Remember, she’s still a very sick person. No matter what she allegedly did—”

  “We get it, doc. Trust me,” Sheriff Godchaux interrupted. “Stand by in case we need you.”

  Dr. Wilkinson grimaced at him. “But you said you’d be careful.”

  “And we will. Ten minutes, like we agreed.”

  Sheriff Godchaux pushed past him and opened the door wide. Chase also nodded at Dr. Wilkinson as he walked by. LaShaun lingered behind the two men. Anger radiated from the doctor like heat waves from sizzling pavement in the summer.

  “We’ll do our best not get her upset, Dr. Wilkinson,” LaShaun said, then ducked in and let the door whisk close behind her.

  “He’s pissed,” Chase said quietly.

  “No matter what she’s done, I don’t want to harm her,” LaShaun said. She faced the sheriff.

  “Calm down. The doctor might not be happy I pulled strings, but the clinical team met and agreed a short Q&A wouldn’t hurt. Seeing you might calm her down. I mean she’s saying your name. The woman’s been really agitated from what I hear.”

  “Really?” LaShaun turned back to study her.

  Kris Evans lay beneath crisp white sheets. A blanket lay folded halfway down to give extra warmth to her legs. A gauze bandage wrapped around her neck. Sutures had been used to close a gash on her left check. Straps tied to the railing on either side of the bed kept her wrists restrained. She stirred as if she sensed a change in the room’s atmosphere when they came in. Her eyes fluttered open, and her gaze wandered around the room. Then she focused on LaShaun.

  LaShaun stepped forward. “You asked for me, but we’ve never met before you broke into my house.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Kris Evans seemed to strain against the bandages around her throat to speak. Then a flood of raspy phrases came out. Her head moved from side to side.

  “What the h
ell?” Sheriff Godchaux pulled back and stared at the woman.

  “She’s speaking gibberish.” LaShaun moved close to the bed. She leaned over until her ear was only inches from Kris Evans’s mouth.

  “Gibberish is right. We won’t get anything out of her, damn it,” Sheriff Godchaux huffed.

  Dr. Wilkinson had come in while they were distracted. “Excuse me, but my patient is a human being, not just your suspect.”

  “Your patient was injured while committing a felony, Dr. Wilkinson. Like it or not she’s a suspect,” Sheriff Godchaux snapped. “We definitely want her to recover, doctor. So we can get some answers.”

  “We’re almost done, Dr. Wilkinson.” Chase stepped between the two men, his voice conciliatory.

  LaShaun had her cell phone out recording the stream of sounds coming from Kris Evans. “Our expert might get some sense out of what she’s saying.”

  “What’s she doing?” Dr. Wilkinson moved around Chase to stand on the opposite side of the hospital bed. “Maybe Ms. Evans needs an attorney present.”

  “You’re her doctor, not her lawyer.” Sheriff Godchaux raised a forefinger and started to say more, but Chase interrupted.

  “We didn’t ask her questions. Ms. Evans started talking on her own,” Chase put in.

  “She’s in critical condition and heavily sedated, so Ms. Evans can’t give informed consent.” Dr. Wilkinson raised his arm, pulled back his sleeve and looked at his expensive wristwatch. “Your ten minutes just expired.”

  Sheriff Godchaux glared at the doctor. “I don’t think you fully appreciate the seriousness of—”

  “He’s right, sheriff. Ms. Evans is out of it, and we can’t even understand what she’s saying. We should let the doctor and his staff continue their treatment. The faster she recovers, the better it will be for our investigation.” Chase raised an eyebrow at his irate boss.

  “Fine. But my office must be notified of any change in her medical status. Is that understood?” Sheriff Godchaux continued to stare down the doctor.

  “Yes.” Dr. Wilkinson crossed his arms.

  “I have what I need,” LaShaun said low to Chase. “Thank you, Dr. Wilkinson.”

  “Yes, thanks,” Chase held out a hand. The doctor hesitated a few seconds before shaking it. “We apologize for any disruption in your routine.”

  LaShaun left the room first. She slipped her phone into the pocket of her jacket as she left. She waited in the hallway while Chase had a whispered exchange with Sheriff Godchaux. Fuming, he strode out with Chase right behind him. Once they were in the parking lot, Sheriff Godchaux let loose.

  “I’m going to talk to the hospital CEO about Dr. Wilkinson. He’s a sanctimonious…” Sheriff Godchaux huffed in anger.

  “The man is doing his job, boss. Besides, he’s right. Any decent lawyer could argue Kris Evans has diminished capacity. No way could she consent to giving a statement,” Chase replied.

  “That gobbledygook isn’t a statement,” Sheriff Godchaux muttered.

  “Yes, it is. She was speaking a coded language.” LaShaun held up her cell phone. “And I intend to figure out what she was saying.”

  Chapter 8

  Chase stood holding Ellie in the crook of one arm in Savannah’s law office. The sheriff had merely waved when Chase told him he was talking a break after hours of work. He would go right back but wanted to see Ellie. Dealing with the gritty side of life wore down cops of all kinds. His family was a touchstone to the good things in life.

  “A language. You sure? Gobbledygook sounds pretty accurate to me.” Chase bounced Ellie while she grinned at him in adoration.

  Savannah tilted her head to one side as they all listened to the recording a second time. “I agree. Don’t know what the heck she’s saying.”

  “Any language sounds like gibberish if you don’t speak it. People create secret written and spoken languages all the time. This sounds familiar. I already forwarded it to the TEA.” LaShaun turned off the recording and dropped the phone in her pocket. She lifted the tote bag to her shoulder. “Now come to mama. Back to our regularly scheduled programing. It’s almost lunch and nap time for you.”

  “I’m hungry. What about you baby girl?” Chase grinned at Ellie.

  “Dada.” Ellie patted his right cheek with a small hand.

  “Yeah, she’ll agree with anything her daddy says.” LaShaun gave an exaggerated sigh.

  “We’ll have a nice family lunch at the diner. No talk of secret languages, cults, or crime. I’m buying.” Chase winked at LaShaun.

  “Goes without saying,” LaShaun wisecracked.

  They exchanged goodbyes with Savannah, her daughter, and Savannah’s legal secretary and made their way to Anna’s Kitchen. The café was busy even though it was only eleven thirty in the morning. True to his word, Chase talked about anything but work. LaShaun felt a weight lift as they behaved like a normal young family. Ellie of course made a small mess of her kid’s meal. Both parents took turns cleaning her up and tucking napkins around her neck to keep her outfit clean. By the time they parted, tension from their earlier arguments seemed forgotten. Chase gave them both hugs and kisses before he drove off in his department issued SUV.

  “Look.” Ellie pointed to a large green wreath hung from a lamppost on Main Street.

  “Yes. We’re going to have a great Christmas honey bun.” LaShaun smiled at the picturesque downtown decked out in holiday finery.

  ****

  For the new days, the festive mood held. Mostly. Christmas with Chase’s family came off without a hitch. LaShaun wondered how many warning lectures her mother-in-law had gotten. Mr. Broussard and Chase’s four siblings kept shooting significant looks at the elder Mrs. Broussard. When Queen Elizabeth came close to making loaded comments, Mr. Broussard cut her off with skill. One of Chase’s sisters would deftly re-direct the conversation flow. Laughing children and presents helped them all have a merry Christmas. A week later, LaShaun and Chase opted to have a quiet New Year’s celebration away from the extended Broussard family. Instead, they danced to eighties tunes and sipped champagne to candlelight at home.

  The first week of the new year roared in with cold, windy weather. They even got a few flakes of sleet. Gray clouds hung heavy for several days, mirroring the return of gloomy thoughts about missing Dina Menard. Though he hadn’t mentioned the case, Chase had worked during the holidays. LaShaun knew his thoughts never went far from the grim reality of what might have happened to her.

  Ten days into the new year, LaShaun had a video conference with her friends from the TEA. Dr. Portier displayed a slideshow with her findings. LaShaun sat at her breakfast table staring at the screen of her laptop. Miss Rose and the others were presumably doing the same in their homes. LaShaun took distracted sips from the mug of hot cocoa as she studied the scribbles.

  Dr. Portier’s voice came through the speakers suddenly. “Sorry for the interruptions before we could even get started. My dean is a workaholic. Happy New Year everyone.” Voices from the others returned the greeting.

  “It would be even happier if that child had been found,” Miss Rose said.

  “Amen,” Justine and Pauline said together.

  “To that end, let’s get right to it. What have you learned, Sandy?” Shelia appeared in a small window in the corner of the video conference display. The others stayed invisible, giving most of the screen to the slides.

  “Well, none of this tells us where the poor little girl is. Sorry for that. But these messages lead us down an extremely intriguing path.” Dr. Portier paused. The silence dragged on as suspense built.

  “Spill it, Sandy. Geez!” Justine finally blurted out.

  “Sorry, guys. I wasn’t being dramatic, just organizing the notes on my computer. Ah, here we go. Dr. Bakir and two other members of the TEA identified the writing. This is the infamous Jairo language. My best guess? Kris Evans used the spoken version.” Dr. Portier’s image popped onto the screen.

  “Oh my,” Daniel Rayford breathed. “That
’s not good.”

  “One of you clue the rest of us in. Start with who the hell Jairo is. Please and thank you,” Justine blurted out.

  “And why is he and his language bad news?” Pauline added.

  “Not a who, a what,” Daniel replied. “An eleventh century Saxon monk named Randolphus Gywnek claimed to have received divine visions from an angel. This angel dictated a true accounting of the slaying of Abel and other events in the Bible. When Randolphus woke up, he wrote down these so-called accurate tales in a language he created. Well, he said this is a language from a warrior group of angels.”

  “Which he called the Jairo Sacred Script. After the angel. The name Jairo translates as one who enlightens,” Dr. Portier broke in to explain.

  “According to Randolphus, Cain was justified in killing his brother. Even more, the angel Jairo claimed that Satan was trying to impose divine order and was the good guy. God set loose destruction in the world. He was expelled from the church, and then formed his own philosophy,” Daniel said.

  “Pooh, never heard of him or an angel called Jairo.” Justine scowled into the web camera.

  “Well as you can imagine, he and his followers caused quite a stir. They were considered heretics, blasphemers. Some accounts allege that the Templar Knights assassinated many of the followers of this Jairo Sacred Script movement. Rumors persisted right into the sixteenth century that they weren’t destroyed, just went deep underground,” Dr. Portier said.

  Pauline’s image popped onto the screen in a tiny window in one corner of the display. “Great. Now what does this message say, and how did a single mother on the bayou end up with it on her wall?”

  “I can partially answer your question.” Dr. Portier controlled a pointer to follow the symbols on her slide. “This first line says, ‘We are the sacred ones who will restore the right order. Defy us and perish. Your children will lead the way.’ I don’t like the sound of that last bit.”

  “Okay, a member of this movement, started in eleventh century England, is in south Louisiana and kidnapped a six-year-old? Okay, I’m not going to be the one to present such a theory to the police. Count me out.” Justine gave a gruff laugh.