Prosperine slapped the girl hard, sending her head snapping backwards as she struggled to maintain her balance on the narrow balcony. Jack rushed to help, but his hand moved through her body like a ghost’s. Prosperine was right. He was dead.
The girl was no match for the taller, more powerful woman. “It’s your turn to die, Caprice,” she roared, lifting the terrified servant girl into the air.
Caprice screamed something — words Jack couldn’t understand — and Prosperine heaved the girl toward the railing. As she fell, she shouted other words lost in the melee.
“What have you done?” Jack cried as he saw the crumpled girl lying down there on the stones. “How many more must you kill before you’re satisfied?”
“Ah, Lucas, this is your fault, you know. If you had been a dutiful husband, none of this would have happened. You, your whore Elberta, that servant boy who buried you, and now the sneaking bitch Caprice. I had to kill them all because of you. Go back to hell, Lucas. Leave me alone. This is the world of the living, and you don’t belong here!”
As the evil creature went inside, Jack rushed down the stairs. He sat beside the fallen woman, felt a weak pulse, held her head in his lap and caressed her cheek.
“Caprice, Caprice! Speak to me. Can you hear me?”
His head spun as the veil was lifted from him. He looked up — there was no balcony, no staircase and no open bedroom door. There were only Jack and Tiffany Bertrand, whose broken body writhed in spasms. She pushed and screamed while Jack watched helplessly.
CHAPTER FORTY
Jack called at 12:46 a.m. Landry’s gut wrenched as he braced himself to hear a slobbering drunk say he was so very sorry and that it would never happen again.
Instead, he heard a frantic plea. “Landry, come to the building quickly. Something horrible has happened. Tiffany’s hurt!”
He yelled at Cate and they flew into the living room. Someone had pushed aside the furniture he’d used as a barrier, and the door stood open.
Cate screamed, “Oh God, she’s not here!”
They dressed in seconds and raced to Toulouse Street, where they found Jack on the patio with Tiffany’s head cradled in his lap.
“She’s gone,” he sobbed. “She was still breathing when I got to her, but she died.”
While Cate called 911, Landry knelt next to his friend. Jack was an emotional wreck, but it was imperative Landry learn what happened before the authorities arrived. Tiffany was dead, and the only other person in the building was Jack. He hoped for an explanation other than the obvious one.
Jack said, “I was pumped up after seeing you all. I had dinner — no drinks, in case you’re wondering — and I went to a meeting. When I started home, something brought me here. I know I was in a trance again, but this time I remember everything.
“I saw Prosperine and Caprice on the balcony, and I ran up the stairs to help her. It sounds crazy, but I knew what would happen. I had seen it before, in another time. Prosperine screamed at me and called me Lucas. Said I was dead and buried under the flagstones. Said it was my fault everyone died, because of my affair with Elberta. She told me to go back to hell and threw Caprice over the railing. When I ran down to help her, the scene disappeared. I was here, it was tonight, and there was Tiffany’s body. Please believe me, Landry. I haven’t been drinking —"
He sobbed as he stroked the dead girl’s hair. Sirens wailed from somewhere close, and Cate ran to the front door to let them in.
Landry said, “I believe you, but you’re in big trouble. I’ll help you as much as I can, but it will take time. You know what the cops will think. You must tell the truth, but they won’t believe you. You’re going to jail. I promise to do everything I can, and I won’t desert you, no matter what. Stay strong and be brave. Know that we’re on your side.”
The flashing lights lit up the street like a Christmas tree, and it seemed a hundred people descended on the building at once. Police officers took Jack aside while others interviewed Landry and Cate. EMTs spent only moments with Tiffany before packing up and summoning the medical examiner. Landry and Cate left before dawn, but the sun would be high in the sky before the building was empty again.
Tiffany went to the morgue.
Jack went to jail.
And Landry and Cate went back to the apartment to grieve over one lost soul and try to decide how best to help another.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Unable to sleep, Cate removed Tiffany’s few personal items from the guest bedroom. She cried as she placed them carefully in a box, where they would stay until she could find out where to send them.
Jack’s statements concerned her. Having seen it herself, she knew about paranormal activity in the courtyard, but she worried that he wasn’t telling the truth about her death. They hardly knew him, after all. What if he wasn’t who he claimed to be?
What if Jack had done a horrible thing and created an alibi around the building’s mysteries? As much as she wanted to believe him, his coincidental arrival just as the 1837 murder scene unfolded was just too great a leap even for her to accept. But it made no sense — the police would never believe that he was just an 1837 murder witness. But if he was lying, he’d have come up with something more plausible than that.
Tiffany’s death hit Landry hard. He sat in the bedroom alone, blaming God for the unfairness of this and himself for not doing enough to help her. Her plight had ignited something he hadn’t felt before. He considered himself empathetic, but his work was the driving force in his psyche. It was his love and passion. He loved Cate too — very, very much — but even she joked that Landry’s fascination with the paranormal was his true love.
Landry had helped Tiffany, but he’d gotten help in return. He had taken pity on her and traveled across the country to bring her back, and he anticipated helping solve the issues that would allow her to regain her sanity and restart her life. Lost and confused, she had no one to turn to, and she had trusted him. And they had lost her before she got the help she so desperately wanted.
Then there was Jack, another castaway who’d become more than just a friend. Landry loved how he eagerly embraced every assignment and how proud he’d been to report back with answers to Landry’s questions. He had hopes for Jack too — hopes for a new start that would give him purpose in life and put him on the right path. Now it was possible — no, it was certain — that Jack’s life would never be the same.
Unlike Cate, Landry believed Jack’s story, but what he believed didn’t matter. With no alibi, no witnesses and no other perpetrator in the building, he knew Jack faced a manslaughter charge — or worse.
Landry pulled himself together because Jack needed help fast. One call would be to Pamela Sacriste. If anyone could save Jack’s hide, it would take the best, and the best cost a lot. Landry couldn’t fathom how he’d pay her legal fees, but he had to bring her on board.
The other was Shane Young, the detective who helped Landry earlier. Young had witnessed the paranormal in another of Landry’s cases, and he’d had a cameo role in the Bayou Hauntings episode that arose from it. Young believed in the paranormal, but he couldn’t work miracles. Police officers dealt in tangible reality, and this case was anything but.
Dog-tired, Landry went to bed, and he felt Cate slip in beside him some time later. After a few hours of sleep, it was morning. He flipped on the TV and heard Jack’s name. The circumstances of Tiffany’s death looked grim for their friend. They would learn more at the district attorney’s ten o’clock press conference.
Death in Haunted Building was the Times-Picayune’s headline, and the same banner appeared on every social media outlet. “Only two people were present in the building at the time of death,” a police spokesperson stated. “One was the deceased and the other was Jack Blair, who is in custody. So far Mr. Blair has declined to speak to investigators.”
Landry had to admit it was a sensational story that appeared to have only one explanation. To make matters worse, once the news got out that he
— the famous ghost hunter — was in the thick of it, the media would pounce on the sensationalism. This could also backfire for Channel Nine. Although Jack had been on the payroll for less than twenty-four hours, he was an employee. Landry regretted that Ted would face questions too, but his boss knew how to handle himself in a crisis.
He dialed Young’s cell number and the detective said, “I’ve been expecting to hear from you. I recognized the building when dispatch got the 911 call. This is the same courtyard where you were with the same unconscious girl two weeks ago. That time she recovered. This time she didn’t. Do I have my facts right?”
Hearing the facts stated that way, Landry wasn’t sure if he should help Jack at all. He might hurt Jack’s case more than help it. He said, “There’s a supernatural aspect to all this. Jack Blair and Tiffany Bertrand weren’t the only ones in there last night.”
Young said, “Landry, you gotta get real, buddy. I’m not only your biggest fan at NOPD, I’m your only fan, and that’s because I’ve witnessed the paranormal with you. But if you’re telling me those two were the only living ones there last night, all I can say is you’d better get him the best lawyer you can find. This one will be hard to prove, my friend.”
He was right and Landry knew it. Next he called the Sacriste Law Firm and went to Pamela Sacriste’s office on Poydras Street. They reminisced about her client Craig Morisset and a strange case called The Experiments, and then he got to the matter at hand.
She took copious notes, and when he finished, she said, “I understand what you’ve told me. There’s a paranormal aspect to this girl’s death, but let’s talk about Mr. Blair’s situation pragmatically. First, people in law enforcement deal with the facts in black and white. Second, while millions of people are fans of Landry Drake, many of them take your shows with a healthy dose of skepticism. The supernatural is fun to watch and think about. It gives us cold chills and nightmares, but for most, it isn’t real. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but some people think your show is like the WWE. Those wrestlers aren’t beating each other to death in the ring. It’s contrived entertainment.”
“That’s not fair,” Landry interrupted, but she held up a finger and continued.
“That brings me to my third point. The cold facts of this murder will lead the police to only one conclusion. To them, it’s not a matter of whether Jack Blair killed the girl, it’s determining motive so they can decide what charges to bring against him. As far as they’re concerned, he killed her. By his own admission no one else — no one alive, I should say — was present. Slam dunk for the prosecution. So now let’s get down to business. You’ve told me Mr. Blair’s indigent, right?”
“Yes. He’s been living on the street for three years.”
“There’s his bail to consider, and then my legal fees. Both will be expensive. My success rate is terrific, but let’s be realistic about this one. Unless someone finds a reasonable explanation for the girl’s death, he’s going to prison for a long, long time, no matter who his lawyer is. Don’t hire me expecting a miracle.” Pamela said she’d take the case with a fifty-thousand-dollar retainer, which she figured wouldn’t last long. Plan on at least a hundred more.
None of this surprised Landry, and he admitted he wasn’t sure if he could help Jack. He believed the man was innocent but proving it would be almost impossible. Then there was the money. The only deep pocket was Channel Nine, but he couldn’t ask Ted. Between attorney’s fees and bail — which might not happen — they were looking at several hundred thousand dollars. His employer wasn’t the answer. Maybe there was no answer this time. He left after telling the lawyer he’d be in touch once he figured out what to do.
As he walked back to the Quarter, he got a phone alert from WCCY’s website. The DA had charged Jack with manslaughter, and he’d be in court for a bail hearing at two o’clock. He had to help — he had to go to court for moral support if nothing else.
And he accepted that there could be nothing else. He couldn’t raise that kind of money in a year, much less two hours.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
When he ran out of ideas or schemes or hopes, Landry always turned to the one person he could rely upon to give him honest and unbiased advice — Cate. He told her about meeting with Pamela Sacriste and said he would go to Jack’s bail hearing. They talked about the money. Landry couldn’t help him, and that meant nobody could.
“As hard as it was to hear, the lawyer’s right. People consider my show as pure entertainment — fantasy. You and I know the terrifying things that exist in the world because we’ve seen them. But my viewers watch for fun. They like to be scared, but they don’t believe a word of it. I’m like the guy in the sideshow hawking people to come see the Two-Headed Baby. They’ll pay their money, but they know it’s not real.”
“Hang on. You’re turning this into something else. This isn’t about you or your show. Some people believe; some don’t. What difference does it make? This is about Jack, not you. If anyone’s going to help him, it’s us. We’re all he has, so let’s think positively. Can you use the paranormal events in the Toulouse Street building to prove he’s innocent? Even the biggest agnostic can’t deny what he sees for himself. Go to the bail hearing to show Jack you’re supporting him. You can’t post his bail, nor would he expect you to, so don’t beat yourself up because he has to stay in jail.”
Landry said, “There’s something else you should know. I was trying to set up another hypnosis session at the building. Jack had agreed to let Dr. Little do the past life regression thing. Maybe it would have helped and maybe not. I should have told you earlier.”
She smiled and took his hand. “I already know — Dad told me, because our family doesn’t keep secrets. I understood why you wanted another session. Now you have a job to do. Spend every ounce of brainpower proving Jack didn’t kill Tiffany.”
Easy to say, but considerably harder to do.
Landry sat at his desk with a blank yellow pad and a pen in front of him. Sick to his stomach, he skipped lunch, and at 1:45 he walked into the Orleans Justice Center on Loyola Avenue, found the right courtroom and took a seat. He saw Jack among other prisoners in orange jumpsuits sitting toward the front of the cavernous room. He had hoped to get Jack’s attention so the man would know he had moral support, but he was too far away.
As the bailiff ordered everyone to rise for the judge’s entrance, someone walked down the aisle next to him and touched his arm. Without a glance his way, Pamela Sacriste took a seat in an area designated for attorneys.
What the hell is she doing here? He wondered. It can’t be for Jack, unless suddenly she’s doing free legal work.
Landry’s heart jumped when the clerk called Jack’s case and Pamela stood. “Represented by counsel, Your Honor.” She asked for five minutes with her client, entered a plea of not guilty, and requested release on bail. He wasn’t a flight risk and had never been charged with a crime, she explained, and the judge set bail at five hundred thousand dollars.
Might as well be five million, Landry thought. Even paying a bail bondsman ten percent would mean somebody would shell out fifty grand. It was impossible.
The clerk called the next case, Pamela walked back up the aisle and said, “Come with me. We have work to do.”
He tried to ask a question as they walked into the hall, but she ignored him. She looked down the corridor, found the man she wanted, and called him over. Landry’s jaw dropped when she introduced him as Jack’s bondsman. She took the man’s wire transfer instructions and told him to expect fifty grand within the hour. “I want my client out ASAP,” she ordered, and the man said he’d take care of it.
As they walked out of the building, she said, “Thanks to your friend’s hearing, I missed lunch. I’m famished. Come on. You’re going to buy me some oysters. I’ll answer all your questions, but let’s get a beer first.”
They took a cab to Mother’s, found a table and ordered. She said, “I’m sure you’re surprised. I’m sorry I didn’
t get to the courthouse in time to talk beforehand, but things happened quickly.”
“I’m in shock,” Landry said. “I never expected to see you there, and who posted Jack’s bail? What’s going on?”
“First things first. Get your phone. Call Dr. Adams in Galveston. I need to give him these wire instructions.”
“Doc? He’s the one posting the bail money? And paying your fee?”
She nodded. “And if you want Jack out of jail today, we need to get on this now. Let’s get the money wired, and then we can chat.”
He got Doc on the line, Pamela read off the bondsman’s bank information, and then she handed the phone back.
“I guess I should say thank you,” he said to Cate’s father.
“My pleasure. You have two things to do now. Make sure Jack doesn’t skip the country, because I’ve got half a million riding on his showing up in court. And prove him innocent. You’re the only one, Landry. I hired Pamela because I have faith you can make this work. You give her the tools and she’ll get him off.” Doc had amassed a fortune over the years, but the man’s generosity toward a person he hardly knew surprised Landry. Now the burden was on his shoulders. He knew that keeping Jack close wouldn’t be a problem. Proving the supernatural was behind Tiffany’s death was the issue.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Cate brushed off Landry's attempts to thank her and her father. "He has enormous faith in you, and he believes you'll find a solution to all this. I'm glad he was there when Dr. Little regressed Tiffany to see it for himself. We can't explain what happened, but you have to prove it did."
Jack was like a rescued animal. He became emotional when Landry picked him up from the jail. Weeping, he mourned the death of a person he considered just like him — lost and desperately seeking to reclaim her life. The unfairness of the tragedy overwhelmed him.
Die Again (The Bayou Hauntings Book 6) Page 16